NINTH EVENING

The air was clear again. Several evenings had passed, and the Moon

was in the first quarter. Again he gave me an outline for a sketch.

Listen to what he told me.

"I have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to the

eastern coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks and dark clouds

hung over a valley, where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stood

clothed in green. The blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours. My

light was faint, my face pale as the water lily that, torn from its

stem, has been drifting for weeks with the tide. The crown-shaped

Northern Light burned fiercely in the sky. Its ring was broad, and

from its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fire

across the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to red.

The inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for dance and

festivity; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle, they scarcely

deigned to glance at it. 'Let us leave the soul of the dead to their

ball-play with the heads of the walruses,' they thought in their

superstition, and they turned their whole attention to the song and

dance. In the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry cloak,

stood a Greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played and sang a

song about catching the seal, and the chorus around chimed in with,

'Eia, Eia, Ah.' And in their white furs they danced about in the

circle, till you might fancy it was a polar bear's ball.

"And now a Court of Judgment was opened. Those Greenlanders who

had quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended person chanted

forth the faults of his adversary in an extempore song, turning them

sharply into ridicule, to the sound of the pipe and the measure of the

dance. The defendant replied with satire as keen, while the audience

laughed, and gave their verdict. The rocks heaved, the glaciers

melted, and great masses of ice and snow came crashing down, shivering

to fragments as they fall; it was a glorious Greenland summer night. A

hundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. Life

still flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die--he

himself felt it, and all who stood round him knew it also; therefore

his wife was already sewing round him the shroud of furs, that she

might not afterwards be obliged to touch the dead body. And she asked,

'Wilt thou be buried on the rock, in the firm snow? I will deck the

spot with thy kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall dance over

it. Or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?' 'In the sea,' he

whispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. 'Yes, it is a pleasant

summer tent, the sea,' observed the wife. 'Thousands of seals sport

there, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe and

merry!' And the yelling children tore the outspread hide from the

window-hole, that the dead man might be carried to the ocean, the

billowy ocean, that had given him food in life, and that now, in

death, was to afford him a place of rest. For his monument, he had the

floating, ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the

storm bird flies round their gleaming summits!"

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen · 第 99 / 223 题