Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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THE
SAND-HILLS OF JUTLAND.
BY
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN,
AUTHOR OF "THE IMPROVISATORE," ETC.
TRANSLATED BY MRS. BUSHBY.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1860.
* * * * *
The Following Tales
ARE DEDICATED,
WITH THE HIGHEST SENTIMENTS OF
ESTEEM AND REGARD,
TO
THE BARON CHARLES JOACHIM HAMBRO,
BY
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE SAND-HILLS OF JUTLAND 1
THE MUD-KING'S DAUGHTER 48
THE QUICKEST RUNNERS 97
THE BELL'S HOLLOW 101
SOUP MADE OF A SAUSAGE-STICK 106
THE NECK OF A BOTTLE 124
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP 137
SOMETHING 153
THE OLD OAK TREE'S LAST DREAM 162
THE WIND RELATES THE STORY OF WALDEMAR DAAE AND
HIS DAUGHTERS 170
THE GIRL WHO TROD UPON BREAD 185
OLE, THE WATCHMAN OF THE TOWER 196
ANNE LISBETH; OR, THE APPARITION OF THE BEACH 204
CHILDREN'S PRATTLE 218
A ROW OF PEARLS 222
THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND 232
THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE 236
CHARMING. 243
* * * * *
_The Sand-hills of Jutland._
This is a story from the Jutland sand-hills, but it does not commence
there; on the contrary, it commences far away towards the south, in
Spain. The sea is the highway between the two countries. Fancy
yourself there. The scenery is beautiful; the climate is warm. There
blooms the scarlet pomegranate amidst the dark laurel trees; from the
hills a refreshing breeze is wafted over the orange groves and the
magnificent Moorish halls, with their gilded cupolas and their painted
walls. Processions of children parade the streets with lights and
waving banners; and, above these, clear and lofty rises the vault of
heaven, studded with glittering stars. Songs and castanets are heard;
youths and girls mingle in the dance under the blossoming acacias;
whilst beggars sit upon the sculptured blocks of marble, and refresh
themselves with the juicy water-melon. Life dozes here: it is all like
a charming dream, and one indulges in it. Yes, thus did two young
newly-married persons, who also possessed all the best gifts of
earth--health, good humour, riches, and rank.
"Nothing could possibly exceed our happiness," they said in the
fulness of their joyful hearts; yet there was one degree of still
higher happiness to which they might attain, and that would be when
God blessed them with a child--a son, to resemble them in features and
in disposition.
That fortunate child would be hailed with rapture; would be loved and
daintily cared for; would be the heir to all the advantages that
wealth and high birth can bestow.
The days flew by as a continual festival to them.
"Life is a merciful gift of love--almost inconceivably great," said
the young wife; "but the fulness of this happiness shall be tasted in
that future life, when it will increase and exist to all eternity. The
idea is incomprehensible to me."
"That is only an assumption among mankind," said her husband. "In
reality, it is frightful pride and overweening arrogance to think that
we shall live for ever--become like God. These were the serpent's wily
words, and he is the father of lies."
"You do not, however, doubt that there is a life after this one?"
asked his wife; and for the first time a cloud seemed to pass over
their sunny heaven of thought.
"Faith holds forth the promise of it, and the priests proclaim it,"
said the young man; "but, in the midst of all my happiness, I feel
that it would be too craving, too presumptuous, to demand another life
after this one--a happiness to be continual. Is there not so much
granted in this existence that we might and ought to be content with
it?"
"To us--yes, there has been much granted," replied the young wife;
"but to how many thousands does not this life become merely a heavy
trial? How many are not, as it were, cast into this world to be the
victims of poverty, wrangling, sickness, and misfortune? Nay, if there
were no life after this one, then everything in this globe has been
unequally dealt out; then God would not be just."
"The beggar down yonder has joys as great, to his ideas, as are those
of the monarch in his splendid palace to him," said the young man;
"and do you not think that the beasts of burden, which are beaten,
starved, and toiled to death, feel the oppressiveness of their lot?
They also might desire another life, and call it unjust that they had
not been placed amidst a higher grade of beings."
"In the kingdom of heaven there are many mansions, Christ has told
us," answered the lady. "The kingdom of heaven is infinite, as is the
love of God. The beasts of the field are also His creation; and my
belief is that no life will be extinguished, but will win that degree
of happiness which may be suitable to it, and that will be
sufficient."
"Well, this world is enough for me," said her husband, as he threw his
arms round his beautiful, amiable wife, and smoked his cigarette upon
the open balcony, where the deliciously cool air was laden with the
perfume of orange trees and beds of carnations. Music and the sound of
castanets arose from the street beneath; the stars shone brightly
above; and two eyes full of affection, the eyes of his charming wife,
looked at him with love which would live in eternity.
"Such moments as these," he exclaimed, "are they not well worth being
born for--born to enjoy them, and then to vanish into nothingness?"
He smiled; his wife lifted her hand and shook it at him with a gesture
of mild reproach, and the cloud had passed over--they were too happy.
Everything seemed to unite for their advancement in honour, in
happiness, and in prosperity. There came a change, but in place--not
in anything to affect their well-being, to damp their joy, or to
ruffle the smooth current of their lives. The young nobleman was
appointed by his king ambassador to the court of Russia. It was a post
of honour to which he was entitled by his birth and education. He had
a large private fortune, and his young wife had brought him one not
inferior to his own, for she was the daughter of one of the richest
men in the kingdom. A large ship was about that time to go to
Stockholm. It was selected to convey the rich man's dear daughter and
son-in-law to St. Petersburg; and its cabin was fitted up as if for
the use of royalty--soft carpets under the feet, silken hangings, and
every luxury around.
Amidst the ancient Scandinavian ballads, known to all Danes under
their general title of _Koempeviser_, there is one called "The King
of England's Son." He likewise sailed in a costly ship; its anchor was
inlaid with pure gold, and every rope was of twisted silk. Every one
who saw the Spanish vessel must have remembered the ship in this
legend, for there was the same pageantry, the same thoughts on their
departure.
"God, let us meet again in joy!"
The wind blew freshly from off the Spanish shore, and the last adieux
were therefore hurried; but in a few weeks they would reach their
destination. They had not gone far, however, before the wind lulled,
the sea became calm, its surface sparkled, the stars above shone
brightly, and all was serenity in the splendid cabin.
At length they became tired of the continued calm, and wished that the
breeze would rise and swell into a good strong wind, if it would only
be fair for them; but they still lacked wind, and if it did arise, it
was always a contrary one. Thus passed weeks, and when at length the
wind became fair, and blew from the south-west, they were half way
between Scotland and Jutland. Just then the wind shifted, and
increased to a gale, as it is described to have done in the ballad of
"The King of England's Son."
"The sky grew dark, and the wind it blew,
They could see neither land nor haven of rest;
So then they cast out their anchor true,
But to Denmark they drove with the gale from the west."
This was many years ago. King Christian the Seventh occupied the
Danish throne, and was then a young man. Much has happened since that
time, much has changed; lakes and morasses have become fruitful
meadows, wild moors have become cultivated land, and on the lee of the
West Jutlander's house grow apple trees and roses; but they must be
sheltered from the sharp west winds. Up there one can still, however,
fancy one's self back in the period of Christian the Seventh's reign.
As then in Jutland, so even now, stretch for miles and miles the brown
heaths, with their tumuli, their meteors, their knolly, sandy cross
roads. Towards the west, where large streams fall into the fiords, are
to be seen wide plains and bogs, encircled by high hills, which, like
a row of Alpine mountains with pinnacles formed like saws, frown over
the sea, which is separated from them only by high clay banks; and
year after year the sea bites a large mouthful off of these, so that
their edges and summits topple over as if shaken by an earthquake.
Thus they look at this day, and thus they were many years ago, when
the happy young couple sailed from Spain in the magnificent ship.
It was the end of September. It was Sunday and sunshine: the sound of
the church bells reached afar, even to Nissumfiord. The churches up
there were like rocks with spaces hewn out in them: each one of them
was like a piece of a mountain, so heavy and massive. The German Ocean
might have rolled over them, and they would have stood firmly. Many of
them had no spires or towers, and the bells hung out in the open air
between two beams. The church service was over. The congregation had
passed from the house of God out into the churchyard, where then, as
now, not a tree, not a bush was to be seen--not a single flower, not a
garland laid upon a grave. Little knolls or heaps of earth point out
where the dead are buried; a sharp kind of grass, lashed by the wind,
grows over the whole churchyard. A solitary grave here and there has,
perhaps, a monument; that is to say, the mouldering trunk of a tree,
rudely carved into the shape of a coffin. The pieces of tree are
brought from the woods of the west. The wild ocean provides, for the
dwellers on the coast, beams, planks, and trees, which the dashing
billows cast upon the shore. The wind and the sea spray soon decay
these tree monuments. Such a stump was lying over the grave of a
child, and one of the women who had come out of the church went
towards it. She stood gazing upon the partially loosened piece of
wood. Shortly afterwards her husband joined her. They remained for a
time without either of them uttering a single word; then he took her
hand, and led her from the grave out upon the heath, across the moor,
in the direction of the sand-hills. For a long time they walked in
silence. At last the husband said,--
"It was an excellent sermon to-day. If we had not our Lord we should
have nothing."
"Yes," said the wife, "He sends joy, and He sends affliction. He is
right in all things. To-morrow our little boy would have been five
years old if he had been spared to us."
"There is no use in your grieving for his loss," replied the husband.
"He has escaped much evil. He is now where we must pray to be also
received."
They dropped the painful subject, and pursued their way towards their
house amidst the sand-hills. Suddenly, from one of these where there
was no lyme-grass to keep down the sand, there arose as it were a
thick smoke. It was a furious gust of wind, that had pierced the
sand-hill, and whirled about in the air the fine particles of sand.
The wind veered round for a minute; and all the dried fish that was
hung up on cords outside of the house knocked against its walls, then
everything was still again. The sun was shining warmly.
The man and his wife entered their house, and having soon divested
themselves of their Sunday clothes, they hastened over the sand-hills,
which stood like enormous waves of sand suddenly arrested in their
course. The sea-reed's and the lyme-grass's blue-green sharp blades
gave some variety to the white sand. Some neighbours joined the couple
who had just come from church, and they assisted each other in
dragging the boats higher up the beach. The gale was increasing; it
was bitterly cold; and when they were returning over the hills, the
sand and small stones whisked into their faces, the waves mounted
high with their white crests, and the spray dashed after them.
It was evening; there was a doleful whistling in the air, increasing
every moment--a wild howling, as if a host of unseen despairing
spirits were uttering their complaints. The moaning sound overpowered
even the angry dashing of the waves, although the fisherman's house
lay so near to the shore. The sand drifted against the windows, and
every now and then came a blast that shook the house to its
foundation. It was very dark, but the moon would rise at midnight.
The air cleared; yet the storm still raged in all its might over the
deep gloomy sea. The fishermen and their families had retired for some
time to rest, but no one could close his eyes in such terrible
weather. Some one knocked at the windows of some of the cottages, and
when the doors were opened the person said,--
"A large ship is lying fast upon the outer shoal."
In a moment the fishermen and their wives were up and dressed.
The moon had risen, and there was light enough to see if they had not
been blinded by the sand that was flying about. The wind was so strong
that they were obliged to lie down, and creep amidst the gusts over
the sand-hills; and there flew through the air, like swan's down, the
salt foam and spray from the sea, which, like a roaring, boiling
cataract, dashed upon the beach. A practised eye was required to
discern quickly the vessel outside. It was a large ship; it was lifted
a few cable lengths forward, then driven on towards the land, struck
upon the inner sand-bank, and stood fast. It was impossible to go to
the assistance of the ship, the sea was running too high: it beat
against the unfortunate vessel, and dashed over her. The people on
shore thought that they heard cries of distress--cries of those in the
agony of death; and they saw the desperate, useless activity on board.
Then came a sea that, like a crushing avalanche, fell upon the
bowsprit, and it was gone. The stern of the vessel rose high above the
water--two people sprang from it together into the sea--a moment, and
one of the most gigantic billows that were rolling up against the
sand-hills cast a body upon the shore: it was that of a female, and
every one believed it was a corpse. Two women, however, knelt down by
the body, and thinking that they found in it some sign of life, it was
carried over the sand-hills to a fisherman's house. How beautiful she
was, and how handsomely dressed!--evidently a lady of rank.
They placed her in the humble bed; there was no linen on it, only
blankets to wrap her in, yet these were very warm.
She soon came to life, but was in a high fever. She did not seem to
know what had happened, or to remark where she was; and this was
probably fortunate, since all who were dear to her on board the
ill-fated ship were lying at the bottom of the sea. It had been with
them as described in the song, "The King of England's Son:"--
"It was, in sooth, a piteous sight!
The ship broke up to bits that night."
Portions of the wreck were washed ashore. She was the only living
creature out of all that had so lately breathed and moved on board the
doomed ship. The wind was howling their requiem over the inhospitable
coast. For a few minutes she slept peacefully, but soon she awoke and
uttered groans of pain; she cast up her beautiful eyes towards heaven,
and said a few words, but no one there could understand them.
Another helpless being soon made its appearance, and her new-born babe
was placed in her arms. It ought to have reposed on a stately couch,
with silken curtains, in a splendid house. It ought to have been
welcomed with joy to a life rich in all this world's goods; but our
Lord had ordained that it should be born in a peasant's hut, in a
miserable nook. Not even one kiss did it receive from its mother.
The fisherman's wife laid the infant on its mother's breast, and it
rested near her heart; but that heart had ceased to beat--she was
dead! The child who should have been nurtured amidst happiness and
wealth was cast a stranger into the world--thrown up by the sea among
the sand-hills, to experience heavy days and the fate of the poor. And
again we call to mind the old song:--
"The king's son's eyes with big tears fill:
'Alas! that I came to this robber-hill.
Here nothing awaits me but evil and pain.
Had I haply but come to Herr Bugge's domain,
Neither knight nor squire would have treated me ill.'"
A little to the south of Nissumfiord, on that portion of the shore
which Herr Bugge had formerly called his, the vessel had stranded.
Those rough, inhuman times, when the inhabitants of the west coast
dealt cruelly, it is said, with the shipwrecked, had long passed away;
and now the utmost compassion was felt, and the kindest attention paid
to those whom the engulfing sea had spared. The dying mother and the
forlorn child would have met with every care wherever "the wild wind
had blown;" but nowhere could they have been received with more
cordial kindness than by the poor fishwife who, only the previous
morning, had stood with a heavy heart by the grave wherein reposed her
child, who on that very day would have attained his fifth year if the
Almighty had permitted him to live.
No one knew who the foreign dead woman was, or whence she came. The
broken planks and fragments of the ship told nothing.
In Spain, at that opulent house, there never arrived either letter or
message from the daughter and son-in-law; they had not reached their
destination; fearful storms had raged for some weeks. They waited with
anxiety for months. At last they heard, "Totally lost--every one on
board perished!"
But at Huusby-Klitter, in the fisherman's cottage, there dwelt now a
little urchin.
Where God bestows food for two, there is always something for a third;
and near the sea there is plenty of fish to be found. The little
stranger was named Joergen.
"He is surely a Jewish child," said some people, "he has so dark a
complexion."
"He may, however, be an Italian or a Spaniard," said the priest.
The whole tribe of fishermen and women comforted themselves that,
whatever was his origin, the child had received Christian baptism. The
boy throve, his noble blood mantled in his cheek, and he grew strong,
notwithstanding poor living. The Danish language, as it is spoken in
West Jutland, became his mother tongue. The pomegranate seed from the
Spanish soil became the coarse grass on the west coast of Jutland.
Such are the vicissitudes of life!
To that home he attached himself with his young life's roots. Hunger
and cold, the poor man's toil and want, he was to experience, but also
the poor man's joys.
Childhood has its bright periods, which shine in recollection through
the whole of after life. How much had he not to amuse him, and to
play with! The entire seashore, for miles in length, was covered with
playthings for him--a mosaic of pebbles red as coral, yellow as amber,
and pure white, round as birds' eggs, all smoothed and polished by the
sea. Even the scales of the dried fish, the aquatic plants dried by
the wind, the shining seaweed fluttering among the rocks--all were
pleasant to his eye, and matter for his thoughts; and the boy was an
excitable, clever child. Much genius and great abilities lay dormant
in him. How well he remembered all the stories and old ballads he
heard; and he was very quick with his fingers. With stones and shells
he would plan out whole scenes he had heard as if in a picture: one
might have ornamented a room with these handiworks of his. "He could
cut out his thoughts with a stick," said his foster-mother; and yet he
was but a little boy. His voice was very sweet--melody seemed to have
been born with him. There were many finely-toned strings in that
breast; they might have sounded forth in the world, had his lot been
otherwise cast than in a fisherman's house on the shores of the German
Ocean.
One day a ship foundered near. A case was thrown up on the land
containing a number of flower-bulbs. Some took them and put them into
their cooking pots, thinking they were to be eaten; others were left
to rot upon the sand; none of them fulfilled their destination--to
unfold the lovely colours, the beauty that lay in them. Would it be
better with Joergen? The poor flower-roots were soon done for: there
might be years of trial before him.
It never occurred to him, or to any of the people around him, to think
their days lonely and monotonous: there was abundance to do, to hear,
and to see. The ocean itself was a great book; every day he read a
new page in it--the calm, the swell of the sea, the breeze, the storm.
The beach was his favourite resort; going to church was his event, his
visit of importance, though of visits there was one which occasionally
took place at the fisherman's house that was particularly welcome to
him. Twice a year his foster-mother's brother, the eel-man from
Fjaltring, up near Rovbierg, paid them a visit. He came in a painted
cart full of eels. The cart was closed and locked like a chest, and
painted with blue, red, and white tulips; it was drawn by two
dun-coloured bullocks, and Joergen was allowed to drive them.
The eel-man was a very good-natured, lively guest. He always brought a
keg of brandy with him; every one got a dram of it, or a coffee-cup
full if glasses were scarce; even Joergen, though he was but a little
fellow, was treated to a good thimbleful. That was to keep down the
fat eels, said the eel-man; and then he never failed to tell a story
he had often told before, and, when people laughed at it, he
immediately told it over again to the same persons; but this is a
habit with all talkative individuals; and as Joergen, during the whole
time that he was growing up, and into the years of his manhood, often
quoted phrases in this story, and applied them to himself, we may as
well listen to it.
"Out in the rivulet dwelt eels, and the eel-mother said to her
daughters, when they begged to be allowed to go a little way alone up
the stream. 'Do not go far, lest the horrible eel-spearer should come,
and take you all away.'
"But they went very far, and of eight daughters only three returned to
their mother, and these came wailing, 'We only went a short way from
the door, when the terrible eel-spearer came and killed our five
sisters.' 'They will come back again,' said the eel-mother. 'No,'
said the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in pieces, and
fried them.' 'They will come again,' repeated the mother. 'Impossible,
for he ate them.' 'They will come again,' still persisted the
eel-mother. 'But he drank brandy after he had eaten them,' said the
daughter. 'Did he? Oh! oh! then they will never come again,' howled
the mother. 'Brandy buries eels.'
"And therefore one must always drink a little brandy after that dish,"
said the eel-man.
And this story made a great impression on little Joergen, and partly
influenced his life. He took the tinsel for the gold. He also wished
to go "a little way up the stream"--that is to say, to go away in a
ship to see the world--and his mother said as the eel-mother had done.
"There are many bad men--eel-spearers." But a little way beyond the
sand-hills, and a little way on the heath, he was allowed to go, he
begged so hard. Four happy days, however--days that seemed the
brightest among his childish years, turned up: he was to go to a large
meeting. What pleasure, although it was to a funeral!
A relation of the fisherman's family, who had been in easy
circumstances, was dead. The farm lay inland--"eastward, a little to
the north," it was said. The father and mother were both going, and
Joergen was to accompany them. On leaving the sand-hills, they passed
over heaths and boggy lands, until they came to the green meadows
where Skjaerumaa winds its way--the river with the numerous eels, where
the eel-mother with her daughters lived, those whom the cruel man
speared and cut in pieces, though there were men who had scarcely
treated their fellow-men better. Even Herr Bugge, the knight who was
celebrated in the old song, was murdered by a wicked man; and though
he was himself called so good, he wished to put to death the builder
who had built for him his castle, with its tower and thick walls, just
where Joergen and his foster-parents stood, where Skjaerumaa falls into
the Nissumfiord. The sloping bank or ascent to the ramparts was still
to be seen, and red fragments of the walls still marked out the
circumference of the ancient building. Here had Herr Bugge, when the
builder had taken his departure, said to his squire--"Follow him, and
say, Master, the tower leans to one side. If he turns, slay him on the
spot, and take the money from him that he got from me; but, if he does
not turn, let him go on in peace." And the squire overtook the
builder, and said what he was ordered to say; and the builder replied,
"The tower does not lean to one side, but by and by there will come
from the westward one in a blue cloak, and _he_ will make it bend." A
hundred years afterwards this prediction was fulfilled, for the German
Ocean rushed in, and the tower fell; but the then owner of the
property, Prebjoern Gyldenstierne, erected a habitation higher up, and
that stands now, and is called Noerre-Vosborg.
Joergen, with his foster-parents, had to pass this place. Of every
little town hereabout he had heard stories during the long winter
evenings; now he saw the castle, with its double moats, its trees and
bushes, its ramparts overgrown with bracken. But the most beautiful
sight was the lofty linden trees, that filled the air with so sweet a
perfume. Towards the north-west, in a corner of the garden, stood a
large bush with flowers that were like winter's snow amidst summer's
green. It was an elder tree, the first Joergen had ever seen in bloom.
That and the linden trees were always remembered during his future
years as Denmark's sweetest perfume and beauty, which the soul of
childhood "for the old man laid by."
The journey soon became more extended, and the country less wild.
After passing Noerre-Vosborg, where the elder tree was in bloom, he had
the pleasure of travelling in a sort of carriage, for they met some of
the other guests who were going to the funeral feast, as it might be
called, and were invited into their conveyance. To be sure they had
all three to stuff themselves into a very narrow back seat, but that
was better, they thought, than walking. They drove over the uneven
heaths; the bullocks which drew their cart stopped whenever they came
to a little patch of green grass among the heather. The sun was
shining warmly, and it was wonderful to see, far in the distance, a
smoke that undulated, yet was clearer than the air--one could see
through it: it was as if rays of light were rolling and dancing over
the heath.
"It is the Lokeman, who is driving his sheep," was told Joergen, and
that was enough for him. He fancied he was driving into the land of
marvellous adventures and fairy tales; yet he was only amidst
realities. How still it was there!
Far before them stretched the heath, but it looked like a beautifully
variegated carpet; the ling was in flower, the Cyprus-green juniper
bushes and the fresh oak shoots seemed like bouquets among the
heather. But for the many poisonous vipers, how delightful it would
have been to roll about there! The party spoke of them, and of the
numerous wolves that had abounded in that neighbourhood, on account of
which the district was called Ulvborg-Herred. The old man who was
driving related how, in his father's time, the horses had often to
fight a hard battle with these now extirpated wild animals; and that
one morning, on coming out, he found one of his horses treading upon a
wolf he had killed; but the flesh was entirely stripped from the
horse's legs.
Too quickly for Joergen did they drive over the uneven heath, and
through the deep sand. They stopped at length before the house of
mourning, which was crowded with strangers, some inside, some on the
outside. Vehicle after vehicle stood together; the horses and oxen
were turned out amidst the meagre grass; large sand-hills, like those
at home by the German Ocean, were to be seen behind the farm, and
stretched far away in wide long ranges. How had they come there,
twelve miles inland, and nearly as high and as large as those near the
shore? The wind had lifted them and removed them: they also had their
history.
Psalms were sung, and tears were shed by some of the old people,
otherwise all was very pleasant thought Joergen. Here was plenty to eat
and drink--the nicest fat eels; and it was necessary to drink
brandy-snaps after eating them, "to keep them down," the eel-man had
said; and his words were acted upon here with all due honour.
Joergen was in, and Joergen was out. By the third day he felt himself as
much at home here as he had done in the fisherman's cottage, where he
had lived all his earlier days. Up here on the heath it was different
from down there, but it was very nice. It was covered with
heather-bells and bilberries; they were so large and so sweet; one
could mash them with one's foot, so that the heather should be
dripping with the red juice. Here lay one tumulus, there another;
columns of smoke arose in the calm air; it was the heath on fire, they
said, it shone brightly in the evening.
The fourth day came, and the funeral solemnities were over--the
fisherman and his family were to leave the land sand-hills for the
strand sand-hills.
"Ours are the largest though;" said the father, "these are not at all
important-looking."
And the conversation fell on how they came there, and it was all very
intelligible and very rational. A body had been found on the beach,
and the peasants had buried it in the churchyard; then commenced a
drifting of sand--the sea broke wildly on the shore, and a man in the
parish who was noted for his sagacity advised that the grave should be
opened, to ascertain if the buried corpse lay and sucked his thumb;
for if he did that, it was a merman whom they had buried, and the sea
would force its way up to take him back. The grave was accordingly
opened, and lo! he they had buried was found sucking his thumb; so
they took him up instantly, placed him on a car, harnessed two oxen to
it, and dragged him over heaths and bogs out to the sea; then the sand
drift stopped, but the sand-hills have always remained. To all this
Joergen listened eagerly; and he treasured this ancient legend in his
memory, along with all that had happened during the pleasantest days
of his childhood--the days of the funeral feast.
It was delightful to go from home, and to see new places and new
people; and he was to go still farther away. He went on board a ship.
He went forth to see what the world produced; and he found bad
weather, rough seas, evils dispositions, and harsh masters. He went as
a cabin-boy! Poor living, cold nights, the rope's end, and hard thumps
with the fist were his portion. There was something in his noble
Spanish blood which always boiled up, so that angry words rose often
to his lips; but he was wise enough to keep them back, and he felt
pretty much like an eel being skinned, cut up, and laid on the pan.
"I will come again," said he to himself. The Spanish coast, his
parents' native land, the very town where they had lived in grandeur
and happiness, he saw; but he knew nothing of kindred and a paternal
home, and his family knew as little of him.
The dirty ship-boy was not allowed to land for a long time, but the
last day the ship lay there he was sent on shore to bring off some
purchases that had been made.
There stood Joergen in wretched clothes, that looked as if they had
been washed in a ditch and dried in the chimney: it was the first time
that he, a denizen of the solitary sand-hills, had seen a large town.
How high the houses were, how narrow the streets, swarming with human
beings; some hurrying this way, others going that way--it was like a
whirlpool of townspeople, peasants, monks, and soldiers. There were a
rushing along, a screaming, a jingling of the bells on the asses and
the mules, and the church bells ringing too. There were to be heard
singing and babbling, hammering and banging; for every trade had its
workshop either in the doorway or on the pavement. The sun was burning
hot, the air was heavy: it was as if one had entered a baker's oven
full of beetles, lady-birds, bees, and flies, that hummed and buzzed.
Joergen scarcely knew, as the saying is, whether he was on his head or
his heels. Then he beheld, at a little distance, the immense portals
of the cathedral; light streamed forth from the arches that were so
dim and gloomy above; and there came a strong scent from the incense.
Even the poorest, most tattered beggars ascended the wide stairs to
the church, and the sailor who was with Joergen showed him the way in.
Joergen stood in a sacred place; splendidly-painted pictures hung round
in richly-gilded frames; the holy Virgin, with the infant Jesus in her
arms, was on the altar amidst flowers and light; priests in their
magnificent robes were chanting; and beautiful, handsomely-dressed
choristers swung backwards and forwards silver censers. There was in
everything a splendour, a charm, that penetrated to Joergen's very
soul, and overwhelmed him. The church and the faith of his parents and
his ancestors surrounded him, and touched a chord in his heart which
caused tears to start to his eyes.
From the church they proceeded to the market. He had many articles of
food and matters for the use of the cook, to carry. The way was long,
and he became very tired; so he stopped to rest outside of a large
handsome house, that had marble pillars, statues, and wide stairs. He
was leaning with his burden against the wall, when a finely-bedizened
porter came forward, raised his silver-mounted stick to him, and drove
him away--him, the grandchild of its owner, the heir of the family;
but none there knew this, nor did he himself.
He returned on board, was thumped and scolded, had little sleep and
much work. Such was his life! And it is very good for youth to put up
with hard usage, it is said. Yes, if it makes age good.
The period for which he had been engaged was expired--the vessel lay
again at Ringkioebingfiord. He landed, and went home to Huusby-Klitter;
but his mother had died during his absence.
The winter which followed was a severe one. Snow storms drove over sea
and land: one could scarcely face them. How differently were not
things dealt out in this world! Such freezing cold and drifting snow
here, whilst in Spain was burning heat, almost too great; and yet
when, one clear, frosty day at home, Joergen saw swans flying in large
flocks from the sea over Nissumfiord, and towards Noerre-Vosborg, he
thought that the course they pursued was the best, and all summer
pleasures were to be found there. In fancy he saw the heath in bloom,
and mingling with it the ripe, juicy berries; the linden trees and
elder bushes at Noerre-Vosborg were in flower. He must return there
yet.
Spring was approaching, the fishing was commencing, and Joergen lent
his help. He had grown much during the last year, and was extremely
active. There was plenty of life in him; he could swim, tread the
water, and turn and roll about in it. He was much inclined to offer
himself for the mackerel shoals: they take the best swimmer, draw him
under the water, eat him up, and so there is an end of him; but this
was not Joergen's fate.
Among the neighbours in the sand-hills was a boy named Morten. He and
Joergen left the fishing, and they both hired themselves on board a
vessel bound to Norway, and went afterwards to Holland. They were
always at odds with each other, but that might easily happen when
people were rather warm-tempered; and they could not help showing
their feelings sometimes in expressive gestures. This was what Joergen
did once on board when they came up from below quarrelling about
something. They were sitting together, eating out of an earthen dish
they had between them, when Joergen, who was holding his clasp-knife in
his hand, raised it against Morten, looking at the moment as white as
chalk, and ghastly about the eyes. Morten only said,--
"So you are of that sort that will use the knife!"
Scarcely had he uttered these words before Joergen's hand was down
again; he did not say a syllable, ate his dinner, and went to his
work; but when he had finished that, he sought Morten, and said,--
"Strike me on the face if you will--I have deserved it. There is
something in me that always boils up so."
"Let bygones be bygones," said Morten; and thereupon they became much
better friends. When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, and
told all that had passed, it was remarked that Joergen might boil over,
but he was an honest pot for all that.
"But not of Jutland manufacture--he cannot be called a Jutlander," was
Morten's witty reply.
They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but
Joergen was the most active.
Up in Norway the country people repair to the summer pastures among
the mountains, and take their cattle there to grass. On the west coast
of Jutland, among the sand-hills, are huts built of pieces of wrecks,
and covered with peat and layers of heather. The sleeping-places
stretch round the principal room; and there sleep and live, during the
early spring time, the people employed in the fishing. Every one has
his _AEsepige_, as she is called, whose business it is to put bait on
the hooks, to await the fishermen at their landing-place with warm
ale, and have their food ready for them when they return weary to the
house. These girls carry the fish from the boats, and cut them up; in
short, they have a great deal to do.
Joergen, his father, and a couple of other fishermen, with their
_AEsepiger_, or serving girls, were together in one house. Morten lived
in the house next to theirs.
There was one of these girls called Else, whom Joergen had known from
her infancy. They were great friends, and much alike in disposition,
though very different in appearance. He was of a dark complexion, and
she was very fair, with hair almost of a golden colour; her eyes were
as blue as the sea when the sun is shining upon it.
One day when they were walking together, and Joergen was holding her
hand with a tight and affectionate grasp, she said to him,--
"Joergen, I have something on my mind. Let me be your _AEsepige_, for
you are to me like a brother; but Morten, who has hired me at
present--he and I are sweethearts. Do not mention this, however, to
any one."
And Joergen felt as if a sand-hill had opened under him. He did not
utter a single word, but nodded his head by way of a yes--more was not
necessary; but he felt suddenly in his heart that he could not endure
Morten, and the longer he reflected on the matter the clearer it
became to him. Morten had stolen from him the only one he cared for,
and that was Else. She was now lost to him.
If the sea should be boisterous when the fishermen return with their
little smacks, it is curious to see them cross the reefs. One of the
fishermen stands erect in advance, the others watch him intently,
while sitting with their oars ready to use when he gives them a sign
that now are coming the great waves which will lift the boats over;
and they are lifted, so that those on shore can only see their keels.
The next moment the entire boat is hidden by the surging
waves--neither boat, nor mast, nor people are to be seen: one would
fancy the sea had swallowed them up. A minute or two more, and they
show themselves, looking as if some mighty marine monsters were
creeping out of the foaming sea, the oars moving like their legs. With
the second and the third reef the same process takes place as with the
first; and now the fishermen spring into the water and drag the boats
on shore, every succeeding billow helping and giving them a good lift
until they are fairly out of the water. One false move on the outside
of the reefs--one moment's delay, and they would be shipwrecked.
"Then it would be all over with me, and with Morten at the same time."
This thought came across Joergen's mind out at sea, where his
foster-father had been taken suddenly ill: he was in a high fever.
This was just a little way from the outer reef. Joergen sprang up.
"Father, allow me," he cried, and his eye glanced over Morten and over
the waves; but just then every oar was raised for the great struggle,
and as the first enormous billow came, he observed his father's pale
suffering countenance, and he could not carry out the wicked design
that had suggested itself to his mind. The boat got safely over the
reefs, and in to the land; but Joergen's evil thoughts remained, and
his blood boiled at every little disagreeable act that started up in
his recollection from the time that he and Morten had been comrades,
and his anger increased as he remembered each offence. Morten had
supplanted him, he felt assured of that; and that was enough to make
him hateful to him. A few of the fishermen remarked his scowling looks
at Morten, but Morten himself did not; he was, just as usual, ready to
give every assistance, and very talkative--a little too much of the
latter, perhaps.
Joergen's foster-father was obliged to keep his bed; he became worse,
and died within a week; and Joergen inherited the house behind the
sand-hills--a humble habitation to be sure, but it was always
something. Morten had not so much.
"You will not take service any more, Joergen, I suppose, but will
remain among us now," said one of the old fishermen.
But Joergen had no such intention. He was thinking, on the contrary, of
going away to see a little of the world. The eel-man of Fjaltring had
an uncle up at Gammel-Skagen; he was a fisherman, but also a thriving
trader who owned some little vessels. He was such an excellent old
man, it would be a good thing to take service with him. Gammel-Skagen
lies on the northern part of Jutland, at the other extremity of the
country from Huusby-Klitter, and that was what Joergen thought most of.
He was determined not to stay for Else and Morten's wedding, which was
to take place in a couple of weeks.
"It was foolish to take his departure now," was the opinion of the old
fisherman who had spoken to him before. "Now Joergen had a house, Else
would most likely prefer taking him."
Joergen answered so shortly, when thus spoken to, that it was difficult
to ascertain what he thought; but the old man brought Else to him. She
did not say much; but this she did say,--
"You have now a house: one must take that into consideration."
And Joergen also took much into consideration. In the ocean there are
many heavy seas--the human heart has still heavier ones. There passed
many thoughts, strong and weak mingled together, through Joergen's head
and heart, and he asked Else,--
"If Morten had a house as well as I, which of us two would you rather
take?"
"But Morten has no house, and has no chance of getting one."
"But we think it is very likely he will have one."
"Oh! then I would take Morten, of course; but one can't live upon
love."
And Joergen reflected for the whole night over what had passed. There
was something in him he could not himself account for; but he had one
idea--it overpowered his love for Else, and it led him to Morten. What
he said and did there had been well considered by him--he made his
house over to Morten on the lowest possible terms, saying that he
would himself prefer to go into service. And Else kissed him in her
gratitude when she heard it, for she certainly loved Morten best.
At an early hour in the morning Joergen was to take his departure. The
evening before, though it was already late, he fancied he would like
to visit Morten once more, so he went; and amongst the sand-hills he
met the old fisherman, who did not seem to think of his going away,
and who jested about all the girls being so much in love with Morten.
Joergen cut him short, bade him farewell, and proceeded to the house
where Morten lived. When he reached it he heard loud talking within:
Morten was not alone. Joergen was somewhat capricious. Of all persons
he would least wish to find Else there; and, on second thoughts, he
would rather not give Morten an opportunity of renewing his thanks, so
he turned back again.
Early next morning, before the dawn of day, he tied up his bundle,
took his provision box, and went down from the sand-hills to the
sea-beach. It was easier to walk there than on the heavy sandy road;
besides, it was shorter, for he was first going to Fjaltring, near
Vosbjerg, where the eel-man lived, to whom he had promised a visit.
The sea was smooth and beautifully blue--shells of different sorts lay
around. These were the playthings of his childhood--he now trod them
under his feet. As he was walking along his nose began to bleed. That
was only a trifle in itself, but it might have some meaning. A few
large drops of blood fell upon his arms; he washed them off, stopped
the bleeding, and found that the loss of a little blood had actually
made him feel lighter in his head and in his heart. A small quantity
of sea-kale was growing in the sand; he broke a blade off of it, and
stuck it in his hat. He tried to feel happy and confident now that he
was going out into the wide world--"away from the door, a little way
up the stream," as the eel's children had said; and the mother said,
"Take care of bad men; they will catch you, skin you, cut you in
pieces, and fry you." He repeated this to himself, and laughed at it.
He would get through the world with a whole skin--no fear of that; for
he had plenty of courage, and that was a good weapon of defence.
The sun was already high up, when, as he approached the small inlet
between the German Ocean and Nissumfiord, he happened to look back,
and perceived at a considerable distance two people on horseback, and
others following on foot: they were evidently making great haste, but
it was nothing to him.
The ferry-boat lay on the other side of the narrow arm of the sea.
Joergen beckoned and called to the person who had charge of it. It came
over, and he entered it; but before he and the man who was rowing had
got half way across, the men he had seen hurrying on reached the
banks, and with threatening gestures shouted the name of the
magistrate. Joergen could not comprehend what they wanted, but
considered it would be best to go back, and even took one of the oars
to row the faster. The moment the boat neared the shore, people sprang
into it, and before he had an idea of what they were going to do, they
had thrown a rope round his hands, and made him their prisoner.
"Your evil deed will cost you your life," said they. "It is lucky we
arrived in time to catch you."
It was neither more nor less than a murder he was accused of having
committed. Morten had been found stabbed by a knife in his neck. One
of the fishermen had, late the night before, met Joergen going to the
place where Morten lived. It was not the first time he had lifted a
knife at him, they knew. He must be the murderer; therefore he must be
taken into custody. Ringkjoebing was the most proper place to which to
carry him, but it was a long way off. The wind was from the west. In
less than half an hour they could cross the fiord at Skjaerumaa, and
from thence they had only a short way to go to Noerre-Vosborg, which
was a strong place, with ramparts and moats. In the boat was a brother
of the bailiff there, and he promised to obtain permission to put
Joergen for the present into the cell where Lange Margrethe had been
confined before her execution.
Joergen's defence of himself was not listened to; for a few drops of
blood on his clothes spoke volumes against him. His innocence was
clear to himself; and, if justice were not done him, he must give
himself up to his fate.
They landed near the site of the old ramparts, where Sir Bugge's
castle had stood--there, where Joergen, with his foster-father and
mother, had passed on their way to the funeral meeting, at which had
been spent the four brightest and pleasantest days of his childhood.
He was conveyed again the same way by the fields up to Noerre-Vosborg,
and yonder stood in full flower the elder tree, and yonder the lindens
shed their sweet perfume around; and he felt as if it had been only
yesterday that he had been there.