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安徒生童话 A STORY

in the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. they had

hastened to bring forth1 flowers before they got green leaves, and in

the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it

basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. and

when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and

how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great

festival; and so it was, for it was sunday. all the bells were

ringing, and all the people went to church, looking cheerful, and

dressed in their best clothes. there was a look of cheerfulness on

everything. the day was so warm and beautiful that one might well have said: "god's kindness to us men is beyond all limits." but inside

the church the pastor2 stood in the pulpit, and spoke3 very loudly and

angrily. he said that all men were wicked, and god would punish them for their sins, and that the wicked, when they died, would be cast into hell, to burn for ever and ever. he spoke very excitedly,

saying that their evil propensities4 would not be destroyed, nor

would the fire be extinguished, and they should never find rest.

that was terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone of

conviction; he described hell to them as a miserable6 hole where all

the refuse of the world gathers. there was no air beside the hot

burning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their feet; they,

the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while eternal silence

surrounded them! it was dreadful to hear all that, for the preacher

spoke from his heart, and all the people in the church were terrified.

meanwhile, the birds sang merrily outside, and the sun was shining

so beautifully warm, it seemed as though every little flower said:

"god, thy kindness towards us all is without limits." indeed,

outside it was not at all like the pastor's sermon.

the same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed his wife

sitting there quiet and pensive7.

"what is the matter with you?" he asked her.

"well, the matter with me is," she said, "that i cannot collect my

thoughts, and am unable to grasp the meaning of what you said to-day in church- that there are so many wicked people, and that they

should burn eternally. alas8! eternally- how long! i am only a woman

and a sinner before god, but i should not have the heart to let even

the worst sinner burn for ever, and how could our lord to do so, who is so infinitely9 good, and who knows how the wickedness comes from without and within? no, i am unable to imagine that, although you say so."

it was autumn; the trees dropped their leaves, the earnest and

severe pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person. a pious10,

faithful soul closed her eyes for ever; she was the pastor's wife.

..."if any one shall find rest in the grave and mercy before our

lord you shall certainly do so," said the pastor. he folded her

hands and read a psalm11 over the dead woman.

she was buried; two large tears rolled over the cheeks of the

earnest man, and in the parsonage it was empty and still, for its

sun had set for ever. she had gone home.

it was night. a cold wind swept over the pastor's head; he

opened his eyes, and it seemed to him as if the moon was shining

into his room. it was not so, however; there was a being standing

before his bed, and looking like the ghost of his deceased wife. she

fixed her eyes upon him with such a kind and sad expression, just as

if she wished to say something to him. the pastor raised himself in

bed and stretched his arms towards her, saying, "not even you can find eternal rest! you suffer, you best and most pious woman?"

the dead woman nodded her head as if to say "yes," and put her

hand on her breast.

"and can i not obtain rest in the grave for you?"

"yes," was the answer.

"and how?"

"give me one hair- only one single hair- from the head of the

sinner for whom the fire shall never be extinguished, of the sinner

whom god will condemn12 to eternal punishment in hell."

"yes, one ought to be able to redeem13 you so easily, you pure,

pious woman," he said.

"follow me," said the dead woman. "it is thus granted to us. by my

side you will be able to fly wherever your thoughts wish to go.

invisible to men, we shall penetrate14 into their most secret

chambers; but with sure hand you must find out him who is destined

to eternal torture, and before the cock crows he must be found!" as

quickly as if carried by the winged thoughts they were in the great

city, and from the walls the names of the deadly sins shone in flaming

letters: pride, avarice15, drunkenness, wantonness- in short, the

whole seven-coloured bow of sin.

"yes, therein, as i believed, as i knew it," said the pastor, "are

living those who are abandoned to the eternal fire." and they were

standing before the magnificently illuminated16 gate; the broad steps

were adorned17 with carpets and flowers, and dance music was sounding through the festive18 halls. a footman dressed in silk and velvet19 stood with a large silver-mounted rod near the entrance.

"our ball can compare favourably20 with the king's," he said, and

turned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the street. what he

thought was sufficiently21 expressed in his features and movements:

"miserable beggars, who are looking in, you are nothing in

comparison to me."

"pride," said the dead woman; "do you see him?"

"the footman?" asked the pastor. "he is but a poor fool, and not

doomed to be tortured eternally by fire!"

"only a fool!" it sounded through the whole house of pride: they

were all fools there.

then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser5. lean as a

skeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old man was clinging

with all his thoughts to his money. they saw him jump up feverishly

from his miserable couch and take a loose stone out of the wall; there

lay gold coins in an old stocking. they saw him anxiously feeling over an old ragged22 coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammy fingers trembled.

"he is ill! that is madness- a joyless madness- besieged23 by fear

and dreadful dreams!"

they quickly went away and came before the beds of the

criminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in long

rows. like a ferocious24 animal, one of them rose out of his sleep and

uttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribs

with his pointed25 elbow, and this one turned round in his sleep:

"be quiet, monster- sleep! this happens every night!"

"every night!" repeated the other. "yes, every night he comes

and tortures me! in my violence i have done this and that. i was

born with an evil mind, which has brought me hither for the second

time; but if i have done wrong i suffer punishment for it. one

thing, however, i have not yet confessed. when i came out a little

while ago, and passed by the yard of my former master, evil thoughts

rose within me when i remembered this and that. i struck a match a

little bit on the wall; probably it came a little too close to the

thatched roof. all burnt down- a great heat rose, such as sometimes

overcomes me. i myself helped to rescue cattle and things, nothing

alive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which flew into the fire, and

the yard dog, of which i had not thought; one could hear him howl

out of the fire, and this howling i still hear when i wish to sleep;

and when i have fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and places

himself upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. now listen to

what i tell you! you can snore; you are snoring the whole night, and i

hardly a quarter of an hour!" and the blood rose to the head of the

excited criminal; he threw himself upon his comrade, and beat him with his clenced fist in the face.

"wicked matz has become mad again!" they said amongst

themselves. the other criminals seized him, wrestled26 with him, and

bent him double, so that his head rested between his knees, and they

tied him, so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of all

his pores.

"you are killing27 the unfortunate man," said the pastor, and as

he stretched out his hand to protect him who already suffered too

much, the scene changed. they flew through rich halls and wretched

hovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly sins, passed before

them. an angel of justice read their crimes and their defence; the

latter was not a brilliant one, but it was read before god, who

reads the heart, who knows everything, the wickedness that comes

from within and from without, who is mercy and love personified.

the pastor's hand trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did not

venture to pull a hair out of the sinner's head. and tears gushed28 from

his eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters of

which extinguished the eternal fire of hell.

just then the cock crowed.

"father of all mercy, grant thou to her the peace that i was

unable to procure29 for her!"

"i have it now!" said the dead woman. "it was your hard words,

your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in god and his creation,

which drove me to you. learn to know mankind! even in the wicked one lives a part of god- and this extinguishes and conquers the flame of hell!"

the pastor felt a kiss on his lips; a gleam of light surrounded

him- god's bright sun shone into the room, and his wife, alive,

sweet and full of love, awoke him from a dream which god had sent him!

the end

lastindexnext

written by anderson

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安徒生童话 A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILL

1872

fairy tales of hans christian andersen

a story from the sand-hills

by hans christian andersen

this story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of jutland, but it

does not begin there in the north, but far away in the south, in spain. the wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey in thought; then, to sunny spain. it is warm and beautiful there;

the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a cool

refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,

over the moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.

children go through the streets in procession with candles and

waving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glittering

stars, rises above them. sounds of singing and castanets can be heard, and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. it all seems like a beautiful dream.

here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves

up to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing they

could desire- health and happiness, riches and honour.

we are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couple

from the depths of their hearts. they had indeed only one step

higher to mount on the ladder of happiness- they hoped that god

would give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. the happy

little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for with

love and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury

that a rich and influential family can give. so the days went by

like a joyous festival.

"life is a gracious gift from god, almost too great a gift for

us to appreciate!" said the young wife. "yet they say that fulness

of joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. i

cannot realise it!"

"the thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said the

husband. "it seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for

ever, that we shall be as gods! were not these the words of the

serpent, the father of lies?"

"surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?"

exclaimed the young wife. it seemed as if one of the first shadows

passed over her sunny thoughts.

"faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied her

husband; "but amid all my happiness i feel that it is arrogant to

demand a continuation of it- another life after this. has not so

much been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,

contented with it?"

"yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but this

life is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to many

thousands. how many have been cast into this world only to endure

poverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? if there were no future life,

everything here would be too unequally spanided, and god would not be the personification of justice."

"the beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own which

seem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find in the magnificence of his palace. and then do you not think that

the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works

itself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? the

dumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the law

unjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation."

"christ said: 'in my father's house are many mansions,'" she

answered. "heaven is as boundless as the love of our creator; the dumb animal is also his creature, and i firmly believe that no life will be lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which will be sufficient for him."

"this world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwing

his arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. he sat by her side

on the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which was

loaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.

sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the road

beneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection-

those of his wife- looked upon him with the expression of undying

love. "such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, to

die, and to be annihilated!" he smiled- the young wife raised her hand

in gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, and

they were happy- quite happy.

everything seemed to work together for their good. they advanced

in honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. a change came certainly,

but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.

the young man was sent by his sovereign as ambassador to the

russian court. this was an office of high dignity, but his birth and

his acquirements entitled him to the honour. he possessed a large

fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she

was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. one of this

merchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year to

stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, the

daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to st. petersburg.

all the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury on

every side.

in an old war song, called "the king of england's son," it says:

"farewell, he said, and sailed away.

and many recollect that day.

the ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,

and everywhere riches and wealth untold."

these words would aptly describe the vessel from spain, for here

was the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:

"god grant that we once more may meet

in sweet unclouded peace and joy."

there was a favourable wind blowing as they left the spanish

coast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reach

their destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the stars shone brightly. many festive evenings were spent on board. at last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze; but their wish was useless- not a breath of air stirred, or if it

did arise it was contrary. weeks passed by in this way, two whole

months, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. the

ship sailed on the high seas between scotland and jutland; then the

wind increased, just as it did in the old song of "the king of

england's son."

"'mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,

their efforts were of no avail.

the golden anchor forth they threw;

towards denmark the west wind blew."

this all happened a long time ago; king christian vii, who sat

on the danish throne, was still a young man. much has happened since then, much has altered or been changed. sea and moorland have been turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable land, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees and rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the sharp west wind blows upon them. in west jutland one may go back in thought to old times, farther back than the days when christian vii ruled. the purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a chain of alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake. thus it is there today and thus it was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.

it was a sunday, towards the end of september; the sun was

shining, and the chiming of the church bells in the bay of nissum

was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. the churches

there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like a

piece of rock. the north sea might foam over them and they would not be disturbed. nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bells

are hung outside between two beams. the service was over, and the

congregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree or

bush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had not

placed a single wreath upon any of the graves. it is just the same

now. rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard; here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from the forest of west jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the waves have cast upon the beach. one of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her husband joined her. they were both silent, but he took her hand, and they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow towards the sandhills. for a long time they went on without speaking.

"it was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last. "if we had

not god to trust in, we should have nothing."

"yes," replied the woman, "he sends joy and sorrow, and he has a

right to send them. to-morrow our little son would have been five

years old if we had been permitted to keep him."

"it is no use fretting, wife," said the man. "the boy is well

provided for. he is where we hope and pray to go to."

they said nothing more, but went out towards their houses among

the sand-hills. all at once, in front of one of the houses where the

sea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, what

seemed to be a column of smoke rose up. a gust of wind rushed

between the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air;

another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped and

beat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything was

quiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat.

the man and his wife went into the cottage. they had soon taken

off their sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the dunes

which stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested in

their course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluish

stalks spread a changing colour over them. a few neighbours also

came out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on the

beach. the wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and when they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stones

blew into their faces. the waves rose high, crested with white foam,

and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide.

evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing or

moaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded above

the thunder of the waves. the fisherman's little cottage was on the

very margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; every

now and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation.

it was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise. later on the

air became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea with

undiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but in

such weather there was no chance of closing an eye. presently there

was a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said:

"there's a large ship stranded on the farthest reef."

in a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastily

dressed themselves. the moon had risen, and it was light enough to

make the surrounding objects visible to those who could open their

eyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind was

terrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if one

crept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sea

like down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the

beach. only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in the

offing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over the

reef, three or four cables' length out of the usual channel. she drove

towards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed.

it was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon the

vessel, making a clean breach over her. those on shore thought they

heard cries for help from those on board, and could plainly

distinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors.

now a wave came rolling onward. it fell with enormous force on the

bowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted high

above the water. two people were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolled towards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach. it was a woman; the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought they saw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across the sand-hills to the fisherman's cottage. how beautiful and fair she was!

she must be a great lady, they said.

they laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linen

on it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm.

life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing of

what had happened or where she was; and it was better so, for

everything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. the same

thing happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about

"the king of england's son."

"alas! how terrible to see

the gallant bark sink rapidly."

fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; they were all that remained of the vessel. the wind still blew violently on the coast.

for a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke

in pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear. she opened her

wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobody

understood her.- and lo! as a reward for the sorrow and suffering

she had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe. the child

that was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silken

curtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joy

to a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now heaven

had ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that it

should not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when the

fisherman's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, it rested

on a heart that beat no more- she was dead.

the child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxury

was cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills to

share the fate and hardships of the poor.

here we are reminded again of the song about "the king of

england's son," for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent at

the time, when knights and squires plundered those who had been

saved from shipwreck. the ship had stranded some distance south of

nissum bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said,

the inhabitants of jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudely

were past, long ago. affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice for

the unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time in

many a bright example. the dying mother and the unfortunate child

would have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast by

the winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in the

cottage of the poor fisherman's wife, who had stood, only the day

before, beside her child's grave, who would have been five years old

that day if god had spared it to her.

no one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even form

a conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter.

no tidings reached spain of the fate of the daughter and

son-in-law. they did not arrive at their destination, and violent

storms had raged during the past weeks. at last the verdict was given:

"foundered at sea- all lost." but in the fisherman's cottage among the

sand-hills near hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich spanish

family.

where heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find a

meal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for the

hungry.

they called the boy jurgen.

"it must certainly be a jewish child, its skin is so dark," the

people said.

"it might be an italian or a spaniard," remarked the clergyman.

but to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same, and

she consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as a

christian.

the boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and he

became strong on his homely fare. he grew apace in the humble cottage, and the danish dialect spoken by the west jutes became his language.

the pomegranate seed from spain became a hardy plant on the coast of west jutland. thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life!

to this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround the poor; but he also tasted of their joys.

childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of them

shines through the whole after-life. the boy had many sources of

pleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full of

playthings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral or

yellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs

and smoothed and prepared by the sea. even the bleached fishes'

skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, white

and shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones- all these

seemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts,

and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him.

how readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and how

dexterous he was with his fingers! with stones and mussel-shells he

could put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate

the room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, his

foster-mother said, although he was still so young and little. he

had a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally from

his lips. and in his heart were hidden chords, which might have

sounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere else

than in the fisherman's hut by the north sea.

one day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among other

things a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore.

some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to be fit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand- they did not

accomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours. would

jurgen fare better? the flower bulbs had soon played their part, but

he had years of apprenticeship before him. neither he nor his

friends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followed

another, for there was always plenty to do and see. the ocean itself

was a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calm

or storm- the crested wave or the smooth surface.

the visits to the church were festive occasions, but among the

fisherman's house one was especially looked forward to; this was, in

fact, the visit of the brother of jurgen's foster-mother, the

eel-breeder from fjaltring, near bovbjerg. he came twice a year in a

cart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full of

eels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it,

and jurgen was allowed to guide them.

the eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought a

measure of brandy with him. they all received a small glassful or a

cupful if there were not enough glasses; even jurgen had about a

thimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said;

he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearers

laughed he would immediately repeat it to them. jurgen while still a

boy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder's

story on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listen

to it. it runs thus:

"the eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to go

a little farther out. 'don't go too far,' said their mother; 'the ugly

eel-spearer might come and snap you all up.' but they went too far,

and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and these

wept and said, 'we only went a little way out, and the ugly

eel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters to

death.' 'they'll come back again,' said the mother eel. 'oh, no,'

exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, and

fried them.' 'oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eel

persisted. 'no,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.' 'they'll

come back again,' repeated the mother eel. 'but he drank brandy

after them,' said the daughters. 'ah, then they'll never come back,'

said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that

buries the eels.'"

"and therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is always

the proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels."

this story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection

of jurgen's life. he also wanted to go a little way farther out and up

the bay- that is to say, out into the world in a ship- but his

mother said, like the eel-breeder, "there are so many bad people-

eel spearers!" he wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, out

into the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightest

of his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty and

splendour of jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were concentrated in these. he went to a festival, but it was a burial

feast.

a rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was

situated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.

jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them from

the dunes, over heath and moor, where the skjaerumaa takes its

course through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eels

live there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked

people. but do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards their

own fellow-men? was not the knight sir bugge murdered by wicked

people? and though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls and

tower, at the point where the skjaerumaa falls into the bay? jurgen

and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts still

remained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. here it

was that sir bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of

his men, "go after him and say, 'master, the tower shakes.' if he

turns round, kill him and take away the money i paid him, but if he

does not turn round let him go in peace." the man did as he was

told; the architect did not turn round, but called back "the tower

does not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west in a blue cloak- he will cause it to shake!" and so indeed it happened a hundred years later, for the north sea broke in and cast down the tower; but predbjorn gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and that one is standing to this day, and is called norre-vosborg.

jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. they had told

him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the

stately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,

covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-trees

were the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,

and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. in a north-west

corner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like winter

snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first that

jurgen had ever seen in bloom. he never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;

the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance

to gladden the old man.

from norre-vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journey

became more pleasant, for they met some other people who were also

going to the funeral and were riding in waggons. our travellers had to

sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even

this, they thought, was better than walking. so they continued their

journey across the rugged heath. the oxen which drew the waggon

stopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid the heather. the sun shone with considerable heat, and it was

wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke

seemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it was

transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar

over the heath.

"that is lokeman driving his sheep," said some one.

and this was enough to excite jurgen's imagination. he felt as

if they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was still

real. how quiet it was! the heath stretched far and wide around them

like a beautiful carpet. the heather was in blossom, and the

juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the

earth. an inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for the

number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they also

mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, and

that the district was still called wolfsborg for this reason. the

old man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of his

father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts that

were now exterminated. one morning, when he himself had gone out to bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeet

on a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn and

lacerated the brave horse's legs.

the journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too

quickly at an end. they stopped before the house of mourning, where

they found plenty of guests within and without. waggon after waggon

stood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out to

graze on the scanty pasture. great sand-hills like those at home by

the north sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. how had they come here, so many miles inland? they were as large and high as those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was also a legend attached to them.

psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; with

this exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed to

jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. there were eels of

the fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;

and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.

jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt

as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the

sand-hills, where he had passed his early days. here on the heath were riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, and

bilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that when

they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was

stained with their red juice. here was a barrow and yonder another.

then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,

they told him- how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!

the fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;

they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

"ours are better," said the old fisherman, jurgen's foster-father;

"these have no strength."

and they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,

and it seemed very easy to understand. this is how they explained it:

a dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buried

it in the churchyard. from that time the sand began to fly about and

the sea broke in with violence. a wise man in the district advised

them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest until it had got him back. the grave was opened, and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. so they laid him upon a cart, and harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.

then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had been

piled up still remained.

all this jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of

the happiest days of his childhood- the days of the burial feast.

how delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with

strangers! and he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteen

years old when he went out in a ship to see the world. he

encountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men- such were his experiences, for he became ship-boy. cold nights, bad living, and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble spanish blood boil within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.

"i shall get over it," said a voice within him.

he saw the spanish coast, the native land of his parents. he

even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but he

knew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew just

as little about him.

the poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last day

of their stay he managed to get ashore. there were several purchases

to be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.

jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they

had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who had

always dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for the

first time. how lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people there were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that- a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers- the jingling of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking- all going on at once. every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in

the side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and the

air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,

cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.

jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. then he saw just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the sanctuary. jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and stood in the sacred edifice. coloured pictures gleamed from their golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the virgin with the child jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swung

silver censers. what splendour and magnificence he saw there! it

streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and the

faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his

heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

they went from the church to the market-place. here a quantity

of provisions were given him to carry. the way to the harbour was

long; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for a

few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and broad steps. here he rested his burden against the wall. then a porter in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him away- him, the grandson of that house. but no one knew that, and he just as little as any one. then he went on board again, and once more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little sleep-such was his experience of life. they say it is good to suffer in

one's young days, if age brings something to make up for it.

his period of service on board the ship came to an end, and the

vessel lay once more at ringkjobing in jutland. he came ashore, and

went home to the sand-dunes near hunsby; but his foster-mother had

died during his absence.

a hard winter followed this summer. snow-storms swept over land

and sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place to

another. how unequally things are distributed in this world! here

there was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in spain there was

burning sunshine and oppressive heat. yet, when a clear frosty day

came, and jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea

towards the land, across to norre-vosborg, it seemed to him that

people could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part of

the world was splendid. in imagination he saw the heath blossom and

become purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes and

lime-trees at norre vosborg in flower. he made up his mind to go there again.

spring came, and the fishing began. jurgen was now an active

helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick

at work. he was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,

and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. they often warned

him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him

down, and devour him; but such was not to be jurgen's fate.

at a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named

martin, with whom jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both

took service in the same ship to norway, and also went together to

holland. they never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily

excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often

shows it in many ways; and this is just what jurgen did one day when

they fell out about the merest trifle. they were sitting behind the

cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between

them. jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards

martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an

ugly look. martin only said, "ah! ah! you are one of that sort, are

you? fond of using the knife!"

the words were scarcely spoken, when jurgen's hand sank down. he

did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned

to his work. when they were resting again he walked up to martin and

said:

"hit me in the face! i deserve it. but sometimes i feel as if i

had a pot in me that boils over."

"there, let the thing rest," replied martin.

and after that they were almost better friends than ever; when

afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their

adventures, this was told among the rest. martin said that jurgen

was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

they were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but

jurgen was the cleverer of the two.

in norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle

there to find pasture. on the west coast of jutland huts have been

erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and

thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the

walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early

spring. every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is

called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he

comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and have generally a great deal to do.

jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers

inhabited the same hut; martin lived in the next one.

one of the girls, whose name was else, had known jurgen from

childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same

opinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite; for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

as they were walking together one day, jurgen held her hand very

firmly in his, and she said to him:

"jurgen, i have something i want to say to you; let me be your

manager, for you are like a brother to me; but martin, whose

housekeeper i am- he is my lover- but you need not tell this to the

others."

it seemed to jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way under

his feet. he did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant "yes." it was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in his

heart that he hated martin, and the more he thought the more he felt

convinced that martin had stolen away from him the only being he

ever loved, and that this was else: he had never thought of else in

this way before, but now it all became plain to him.

when the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home in

their great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.

one of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others

watch him sitting with the oars in their hands. outside the reef it

looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;

then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great

wave is coming which is to float them across the reef. the boat is

lifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; the

next moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are all

hidden- it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few

moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs. the second and third reef are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the

water and push the boat towards the shore- every wave helps them-

and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.

a wrong order given in front of the reef- the slightest hesitation- and the boat would be lost, "then it would be all over with me and martin too!" this thought passed through jurgen's mind one day while they

were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly

ill. the fever had seized him. they were only a few oars' strokes from

the reef, and jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.

"father-let me come!" he said, and he glanced at martin and across

the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the

great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and

dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. the

boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought

remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of

bitterness which he remembered between himself and martin since they had known each other. but he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so. he felt that martin had robbed him, and this was enough to make him hate his former friend. several of the fishermen saw this, but martin did not- he remained as obliging and talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.

jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became his death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now jurgen was heir to the little house behind the sand-hills. it was small, certainly, but still it was something, and martin had nothing of the kind.

"you will not go to sea again, jurgen, i suppose," observed one of

the old fishermen. "you will always stay with us now."

but this was not jurgen's intention; he wanted to see something of

the world. the eel-breeder of fjaltring had an uncle at old skjagen,

who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a bad thing to enter his service. old skjagen lies in the extreme north of jutland, as far away from the hunsby dunes as one can travel in that country; and this is just what pleased jurgen, for he did not want

to remain till the wedding of martin and else, which would take

place in a week or two.

the old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now that

jurgen had a home else would very likely be inclined to take him

instead of martin.

jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make out

what he meant- the old man brought else to him, and she said:

"you have a home now; you ought to think of that."

and jurgen thought of many things.

the sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in the

human heart. many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through jurgen's brain, and he said to else:

"if martin had a house like mine, which of us would you rather

have?"

"but martin has no house and cannot get one."

"suppose he had one?"

"well, then i would certainly take martin, for that is what my

heart tells me; but one cannot live upon love."

jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. something

was working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was even

stronger than his love for else; and so he went to martin's, and

what he said and did there was well considered. he let the house to

martin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to sea

again, because he loved it. and else kissed him when she heard of

it, for she loved martin best.

jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on the

evening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late,

he felt a wish to visit martin once more. he started, and among the

dunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place.

the old man made jokes about martin, and declared there must be some magic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond.

jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-bye

to the old man and went on towards the house where martin dwelt.

he heard loud talking inside; martin was not alone, and this made

jurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see else

again. on second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hear

any more thanks from martin, and so he turned back.

on the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened his

knapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. this way was more pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter; and he intended to go first to fjaltring, near bovbjerg, where the eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit.

the sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shells

and pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over his

feet. while he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it was a trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of great

importance. a few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves.

he wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if this had cleared and lightened his brain. the sea-cale bloomed here

and there in the sand as he passed. he broke off a spray and stuck

it in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he was

going out into the wide world- "a little way out, beyond the bay,"

as the young eels had said. "beware of bad people who will catch

you, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan!" he repeated in

his mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way through

the world- good courage is a strong weapon!

the sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrow

entrance to nissum bay. he looked back and saw a couple of horsemen galloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people with them. but this did not concern him.

the ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. jurgen

called to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat.

jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whom he had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, and commanded him to return in the name of the law. jurgen did not

understand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn

back, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned. as soon as

the boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and before he was aware of it, they had bound his hands with a rope.

"this wicked deed will cost you your life," they said. "it is a

good thing we have caught you."

he was accused of nothing less than murder. martin had been

found dead, with his throat cut. one of the fishermen, late on the

previous evening, had met jurgen going towards martin's house; this

was not the first time jurgen had raised his knife against martin,

so they felt sure that he was the murderer. the prison was in a town

at a great distance, and the wind was contrary for going there by sea;

but it would not take half an hour to get across the bay, and

another quarter of an hour would bring them to norre-vosborg, the

great castle with ramparts and moat. one of jurgen's captors was a

fisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle, and he said it might

be managed that jurgen should be placed for the present in the dungeon at vosborg, where long martha the gipsy had been shut up till her execution. they paid no attention to jurgen's defence; the few drops of blood on his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him.

but he was conscious of his innocence, and as there was no chance of clearing himself at present he submitted to his fate.

the party landed just at the place where sir bugge's castle had

stood, and where jurgen had walked with his foster-parents after the

burial feast, during. the four happiest days of his childhood. he

was led by the well-known path, over the meadow to vosborg; once

more the elders were in bloom and the lofty lime-trees gave forth

sweet fragrance, and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he had

last seen the spot. in each of the two wings of the castle there was a

staircase which led to a place below the entrance, from whence there

is access to a low, vaulted cellar. in this dungeon long martha had

been imprisoned, and from here she was led away to the scaffold. she had eaten the hearts of five children, and had imagined that if she

could obtain two more she would be able to fly and make herself

invisible. in the middle of the roof of the cellar there was a

little narrow air-hole, but no window. the flowering lime trees

could not breathe refreshing fragrance into that abode, where

everything was dark and mouldy. there was only a rough bench in the cell; but a good conscience is a soft pillow, and therefore jurgen

could sleep well.

the thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside by

an iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through a

keyhole into a baron's castle just as easily as it can into a

fisherman's cottage, and why should he not creep in here, where jurgen sat thinking of long martha and her wicked deeds? her last thoughts on the night before her execution had filled this place, and the magic that tradition asserted to have been practised here, in sir

svanwedel's time, came into jurgen's mind, and made him shudder; but a sunbeam, a refreshing thought from without, penetrated his heart

even here- it was the remembrance of the flowering elder and the sweet smelling lime-trees.

he was not left there long. they took him away to the town of

ringkjobing, where he was imprisoned with equal severity.

those times were not like ours. the common people were treated

harshly; and it was just after the days when farms were converted into

knights' estates, when coachmen and servants were often made

magistrates, and had power to sentence a poor man, for a small

offence, to lose his property and to corporeal punishment. judges of

this kind were still to be found; and in jutland, so far from the

capital, and from the enlightened, well-meaning, head of the

government, the law was still very loosely administered sometimes- the smallest grievance jurgen could expect was that his case should be delayed.

his dwelling was cold and comfortless; and how long would he be

obliged to bear all this? it seemed his fate to suffer misfortune

and sorrow innocently. he now had plenty of time to reflect on the

difference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had been

allotted to him; yet he felt sure that all would be made clear in

the next life, the existence that awaits us when this life is over.

his faith had grown strong in the poor fisherman's cottage; the

light which had never shone into his father's mind, in all the

richness and sunshine of spain, was sent to him to be his comfort in

poverty and distress, a sign of that mercy of god which never fails.

the spring storms began to blow. the rolling and moaning of the

north sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was blowing, and then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hard road with a mine underneath. jurgen heard these sounds in his prison, and it was a relief to him. no music could have touched his heart as did these sounds of the sea- the rolling sea, the boundless

sea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind,

carrying his own house with him wherever he goes, just as the snail

carries its home even into a strange country.

he listened eagerly to its deep murmur and then the thought arose-

"free! free! how happy to be free, even barefooted and in ragged

clothes!" sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fiery

nature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists.

weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when niels the thief,

called also a horse-dealer, was arrested; and now better times came,

and it was seen that jurgen had been wrongly accused.

on the afternoon before jurgen's departure from home, and before

the murder, niels the thief, had met martin at a beer-house in the

neighbourhood of ringkjobing. a few glasses were drank, not enough to cloud the brain, but enough to loosen martin's tongue. he began to boast and to say that he had obtained a house and intended to marry, and when niels asked him where he was going to get the money, he slapped his pocket proudly and said:

"the money is here, where it ought to be."

this boast cost him his life; for when he went home niels followed

him, and cut his throat, intending to rob the murdered man of the

gold, which did not exist.

all this was circumstantially explained; but it is enough for us

to know that jurgen was set free. but what compensation did he get for having been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from all

communication with his fellow creatures? they told him he was

fortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. the

burgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and many

citizens offered him provisions and beer- there were still good

people; they were not all hard and pitiless. but the best thing of all

was that the merchant bronne, of skjagen, into whose service jurgen

had proposed entering the year before, was just at that time on

business in the town of ringkjobing. bronne heard the whole story;

he was kind-hearted, and understood what jurgen must have felt and

suffered. therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad, and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world.

so jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to find

freedom, affection, and trust. he was to travel this path now, for

no goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such a

draught for his fellow-man, and how should he do it, who is love

personified?

"let everything be buried and forgotten," said bronne, the

merchant. "let us draw a thick line through last year: we will even

burn the almanack. in two days we will start for dear, friendly,

peaceful skjagen. people call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is a

good warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part of the world."

what a journey that was: it was like taking fresh breath out of

the cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. the heather bloomed in

pride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew his

pipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. fata

morgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appeared

with hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloud

called "lokeman driving his sheep" also was seen.

up towards skjagen they went, through the land of the wendels,

whence the men with long beards (the longobardi or lombards) had

emigrated in the reign of king snio, when all the children and old

people were to have been killed, till the noble dame gambaruk proposed that the young people should emigrate. jurgen knew all this, he had some little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of the lombards beyond the lofty alps, he had an idea that it must be

there, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in spain. he

thought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the red

pomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the great beehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all, and jurgen's home was denmark.

at last they arrived at "vendilskaga," as skjagen is called in old

norwegian and icelandic writings. at that time old skjagen, with the

eastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills and

arable land as far as the lighthouse near "grenen." then, as now,

the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills- a

wilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voice of the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.

in the south-west, a mile from "grenen," lies old skjagen;

merchant bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be jurgen's home

for the future. the dwelling-house was tarred, and all the small

out-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. there was no fence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rows of fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in the wind. the entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for there were so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea before it was filled. they were caught by carloads, and many of them were either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.

the old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meet

him with great rejoicing. there was a great squeezing of hands, and

talking and questioning. and the daughter, what a sweet face and

bright eyes she had!

the inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. fritters,

that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed on

the table, and there was wine from the skjagen vineyard- that is,

the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared

in barrels and in bottles.

when the mother and daughter heard who jurgen was, and how

innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still more

friendly way; and pretty clara's eyes had a look of especial

interest as she listened to his story. jurgen found a happy home in

old skjagen. it did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. he

had drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens the

heart, according to circumstances. jurgen's heart was still soft- it

was young, and therefore it was a good thing that miss clara was going in three weeks' time to christiansand in norway, in her father's ship, to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.

on the sunday before she went away they all went to church, to the

holy communion. the church was large and handsome, and had been built centuries before by scotchmen and dutchmen; it stood some little way out of the town. it was rather ruinous certainly, and the road to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted these difficulties to get to the house of god, to sing psalms and to hear the sermon. the sand had heaped itself up round the walls of the church, but the graves were kept free from it.

it was the largest church north of the limfjorden. the virgin

mary, with a golden crown on her head and the child jesus in her arms, stood lifelike on the altar; the holy apostles had been carved in

the choi

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安徒生童话-A CHEERFUL TEMPER

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

a cheerful temper

by hans christian andersen

from my father i received the best inheritance, namely a "good temper." "and who was my father?" that has nothing to do with the good temper; but i will say he was lively, good-looking round, and fat; he was both in appearance and character a complete contradiction to his profession. "and pray what was his profession and his standing2 in respectable society?" well, perhaps, if in the beginning of a book these were written and printed, many, when they read it, would lay the book down and say, "it seems to me a very miserable3 title, i don't like things of this sort." and yet my father was not a skin-dresser nor an executioner; on the contrary, his employment placed him at the head of the grandest people of the town, and it was his place by right. he had to precede the bishop5, and even the princes of the blood; he always went first,- he was a hearse driver!

there, now, the truth is out. and i will own, that when people saw my father perched up in front of the omnibus of death, dressed in his long, wide, black cloak, and his black-edged, three-cornered hat on his head, and then glanced at his round, jocund6 face, round as the sun, they could not think much of sorrow or the grave. that face said, "it is nothing, it will all end better than people think." so i have inherited from him, not only my good temper, but a habit of going often to the churchyard, which is good, when done in a proper humor; and then also i take in the intelligencer, just as he used to do.

i am not very young, i have neither wife nor children, nor a library, but, as i said, i read the intelligencer, which is enough for me; it is to me a delightful7 paper, and so it was to my father. it is of great use, for it contains all that a man requires to know; the names of the preachers at the church, and the new books which are published; where houses, servants, clothes, and provisions may be obtained. and then what a number of subscriptions8 to charities, and what innocent verses! persons seeking interviews and engagements, all so plainly and naturally stated. certainly, a man who takes in the intelligencer may live merrily and be buried contentedly9, and by the end of his life will have such a capital stock of paper that he can lie on a soft bed of it, unless he prefers wood shavings for his resting-place. the newspaper and the churchyard were always exciting objects to me. my walks to the latter were like bathing-places to my good humor. every one can read the newspaper for himself, but come with me to the churchyard while the sun shines and the trees are green, and let us wander among the graves. each of them is like a closed book, with the back uppermost, on which we can read the title of what the book contains, but nothing more. i had a great deal of information from my father, and i have noticed a great deal myself. i keep it in my diary, in which i write for my own use and pleasure a history of all who lie here, and a few more beside.

now we are in the churchyard. here, behind the white iron railings, once a rose-tree grew; it is gone now, but a little bit of evergreen10, from a neighboring grave, stretches out its green tendrils,and makes some appearance; there rests a very unhappy man, and yet while he lived he might be said to occupy a very good position. he had enough to live upon, and something to spare; but owing to his refined tastes the least thing in the world annoyed him. if he went to a theatre of an evening, instead of enjoying himself he would be quite annoyed if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side of the moon, or if the representations of the sky hung over the scenes when they ought to have hung behind them; or if a palm-tree was introduced into a scene representing the zoological gardens of berlin, or a cactus11 in a view of tyrol, or a beech-tree in the north of norway. as if these things were of any consequence! why did he not leave them alone? who would trouble themselves about such trifles? especially at a comedy, where every one is expected to be amused. then sometimes the public applauded too much, or too little, to please him.

"they are like wet wood," he would say, looking round to see what sort of people were present, "this evening; nothing fires them." then he would vex12 and fret13 himself because they did not laugh at the right time, or because they laughed in the wrong places; and so he fretted14 and worried himself till at last the unhappy man fretted himself into the grave.

here rests a happy man, that is to say, a man of high birth and position, which was very lucky for him, otherwise he would have been scarcely worth notice. it is beautiful to observe how wisely nature orders these things. he walked about in a coat embroidered15 all over,and in the drawing-rooms of society looked just like one of those rich pearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which are only made for show; and behind them always hangs a good thick cord for use. this man also had a stout16, useful substitute behind him, who did duty for him, and performed all his dirty work. and there are still, even now, these serviceable cords behind other embroidered bell-ropes. it is all so wisely arranged, that a man may well be in a good humor.

here rests,- ah, it makes one feel mournful to think of him!-but here rests a man who, during sixty-seven years, was never remembered to have said a good thing; he lived only in the hope of having a good idea. at last he felt convinced, in his own mind, that he really had one, and was so delighted that he positively17 died of joy at the thought of having at last caught an idea. nobody got anything by it; indeed, no one even heard what the good thing was. now i can imagine that this same idea may prevent him from resting quietly in his grave; for suppose that to produce a good effect, it is necessary to bring out his new idea at breakfast, and that he can only make his appearance on earth at midnight, as ghosts are believed generally to do; why then this good idea would not suit the hour, and the man would have to carry it down again with him into the grave- that must be a troubled grave.

the woman who lies here was so remarkably18 stingy, that during her life she would get up in the night and mew, that her neighbors might think she kept a cat. what a miser4 she was!

here rests a young lady, of a good family, who would always make her voice heard in society, and when she sang "mi manca la voce,"*

it was the only true thing she ever said in her life.

* "i want a voice," or, "i have no voice."

here lies a maiden19 of another description. she was engaged to be married,- but, her story is one of every-day life; we will leave her to rest in the grave.

here rests a widow, who, with music in her tongue, carried gall20 in her heart. she used to go round among the families near, and search out their faults, upon which she preyed21 with all the envy and malice22 of her nature. this is a family grave. the members of this family held so firmly together in their opinions, that they would believe in no other. if the newspapers, or even the whole world, said of a certain subject, "it is so-and-so;" and a little schoolboy declared he had learned quite differently, they would take his assertion as the only true one, because he belonged to the family. and it is well known that if the yard-cock belonging to this family happened to crow at midnight, they would declare it was morning, although the watchman and all the clocks in the town were proclaiming the hour of twelve at night.

the great poet goethe concludes his faust with the words, "may be continued;" so might our wanderings in the churchyard be continued.

i come here often, and if any of my friends, or those who are not my friends, are too much for me, i go out and choose a plot of ground in which to bury him or her. then i bury them, as it were; there they lie, dead and powerless, till they come back new and better characters. their lives and their deeds, looked at after my own fashion, i write down in my diary, as every one ought to do. then, if any of our friends act absurdly, no one need to be vexed23 about it. let them bury the offenders24 out of sight, and keep their good temper. they can also read the intelligencer, which is a paper written by the people, with their hands guided. when the time comes for the history of my life, to be bound by the grave, then they will write upon it as my epitaph-

"the man with a cheerful temper."

and this is my story.

the end

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安徒生童话 A GREAT GRIEF

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

a great grief

by hans christian andersen

this story really consists of two parts. the first part might be left out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these are useful we were staying in the country at a gentleman's seat, where it happened that the master was absent for a few days. in the meantime, there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a pug dog with her, and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her tan-yard. she had her papers with her, and we advised her to put them in an envelope, and to write thereon the address of the proprietor2 of the estate,"general war-commissary knight," &c.

she listened to us attentively3, seized the pen, paused, and begged us to repeat the direction slowly. we complied, and she wrote; but in the midst of the "general war-" she struck fast, sighed deeply, and said, "i am only a woman!" her puggie had seated itself on the ground while she wrote, and growled4; for the dog had come with her for amusement and for the sake of its health; and then the bare floor ought not to be offered to a visitor. his outward appearance was characterized by a snub nose and a very fat back.

"he doesn't bite," said the lady; "he has no teeth. he is like one of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my grandchildren's fault, for they have teased him; they play at wedding, and want to give him the part of the bridesmaid, and that's too much for him, poor old fellow." and she delivered her papers, and took puggie upon her arm. and this is the first part of the story which might have been left out.

puggie died!! that's the second part. it was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and put up at the inn. our windows looked into the tan-yard, which was spanided into two parts by a partition of planks5; in one half were many skins and hides, raw and tanned. here was all the apparatus6 necessary to carry on a tannery, and it belonged to the widow. puggie had died in the morning, and was to be buried in this part of the yard; the grandchildren of the widow (that is, of the tanner's widow, for puggie had never been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful grave- it must have been quite pleasant to lie there. the grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn over with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer bottle, with the neck upwards7, and that was not at all allegorical.

the children danced round the grave, and the eldest8 of the boys among them, a practical youngster of seven years, made the proposition that there should be an exhibition of puggie's burial-place for all who lived in the lane; the price of admission was to be a trouser button, for every boy would be sure to have one, and each might also give one for a little girl. this proposal was adopted by acclamation.

and all the children out of the lane- yes, even out of the little lane at the back- flocked to the place, and each gave a button.

many were noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one suspender; but then they had seen puggie's grave, and the sight was worth much more.

but in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a little girl clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly hair, and eyes so blue and clear that it was a pleasure to look into them. the child said not a word, nor did she cry; but each time the little door was opened she gave a long, long look into the yard. she had not a button- that she knew right well, and therefore she remained standing9 sorrowfully outside, till all the others had seen the grave and had gone away; then she sat down, held her little brown hands before her eyes, and burst into tears; this girl alone had not seen puggie's grave. it was a grief as great to her as any grown person can experience.

we saw this from above; and looked at from above, how many a grief of our own and of others can make us smile! that is the story, and whoever does not understand it may go and purchase a share in the tan-yard from the window.

the end

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安徒生童话 IN A THOUSAND YEARS

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

in a thousand years

by hans christian andersen

yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam

through the air, over the ocean! the young inhabitants of america will

become visitors of old europe. they will come over to see the

monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as

we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering2 splendors3 of southern asia. in a thousand years they will come!

the thames, the danube, and the rhine still roll their course,

mont blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the northern lights gleam over the land of the north; but generation after

generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty4 of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber5 under the hill on which

the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he

can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.

"to europe!" cry the young sons of america; "to the land of our

ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy- to europe!"

the ship of the air comes. it is crowded with passengers, for

the transit7 is quicker than by sea. the electro-magnetic wire under

the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan8.

europe is in sight. it is the coast of ireland that they see, but

the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are

exactly over england. there they will first step on european shore, in

the land of shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of

politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.

here they stay a whole day. that is all the time the busy race can

devote to the whole of england and scotland. then the journey is

continued through the tunnel under the english channel, to france, the land of charlemagne and napoleon. moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity9. there is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in

paris, the centre of europe, and elsewhere.

the air steamboat flies over the country whence columbus went

forth6, where cortez was born, and where calderon sang dramas in

sounding verse. beautiful black-eyed women live still in the

blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the cid and the

alhambra.

then through the air, over the sea, to italy, where once lay

old, everlasting10 rome. it has vanished! the campagna lies desert. a

single ruined wall is shown as the remains11 of st. peter's, but there

is a doubt if this ruin be genuine.

next to greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top

of mount olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the

place where byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem

stood in the time of the turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.

over the remains of mighty cities on the broad danube, cities

which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and

there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the

caravan sometimes descends12, and departs thence again.

down below lies germany, that was once covered with a close net of

railway and canals, the region where luther spoke13, where goethe

sang, and mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. one day devoted14 to seeing germany, and one for the north, the country of oersted and linnaeus, and for norway, the land of the old heroes and the young normans. iceland is visited on the journey home. the geysers burn no more, hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed15 in the midst of the foaming16 sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry.

"there is really a great deal to be seen in europe," says the

young american, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the

directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of

one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated17 work, 'how to see all

europe in a week.'"

the end

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安徒生童话 A LEAF FROM HEAVEN

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

a leaf from heaven

by hans christian andersen

high up in the clear, pure air flew an angel, with a flower

plucked from the garden of heaven. as he was kissing the flower a very little leaf fell from it and sunk down into the soft earth in the

middle of a wood. it immediately took root, sprouted2, and sent out

shoots among the other plants. "what a ridiculous little shoot!" said one. "no one will recognize it; not even the thistle nor the stinging-nettle." "it must be a kind of garden plant," said another; and so they

sneered and despised the plant as a thing from a garden. "where are you coming?" said the tall thistles whose leaves were all armed with thorns. "it is stupid nonsense to allow yourself to shoot out in this way; we are not here to support you."

winter came, and the plant was covered with snow, but the snow

glittered over it as if it had sunshine beneath as well as above.

when spring came, the plant appeared in full bloom: a more

beautiful object than any other plant in the forest. and now the

professor of botany presented himself, one who could explain his

knowledge in black and white. he examined and tested the plant, but it did not belong to his system of botany, nor could he possibly find out to what class it did belong. "it must be some degenerate3 species,"

said he; "i do not know it, and it is not mentioned in any system."

"not known in any system!" repeated the thistles and the nettles4.

the large trees which grew round it saw the plant and heard the

remarks, but they said not a word either good or bad, which is the

wisest plan for those who are ignorant.

there passed through the forest a poor innocent girl; her heart

was pure, and her understanding increased by her faith. her chief

inheritance had been an old bible, which she read and valued. from its pages she heard the voice of god speaking to her, and telling her to remember what was said of joseph's brethren when persons wished to injure her. "they imagined evil in their hearts, but god turned it to good." if we suffer wrongfully, if we are misunderstood or despised, we must think of him who was pure and holy, and who prayed for those who nailed him to the cross, "father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

the girl stood still before the wonderful plant, for the green

leaves exhaled5 a sweet and refreshing6 fragrance7, and the flowers

glittered and sparkled in the sunshine like colored flames, and the

harmony of sweet sounds lingered round them as if each concealed

within itself a deep fount of melody, which thousands of years could

not exhaust. with pious8 gratitude9 the girl looked upon this glorious

work of god, and bent10 down over one of the branches, that she might examine the flower and inhale11 the sweet perfume. then a light broke in on her mind, and her heart expanded. gladly would she have plucked a flower, but she could not overcome her reluctance12 to break one off.

she knew it would so soon fade; so she took only a single green

leaf, carried it home, and laid it in her bible, where it remained

ever green, fresh, and unfading. between the pages of the bible it

still lay when, a few weeks afterwards, that bible was laid under

the young girl's head in her coffin13. a holy calm rested on her face,

as if the earthly remains14 bore the impress of the truth that she now

stood in the presence of god.

in the forest the wonderful plant still continued to bloom till it

grew and became almost a tree, and all the birds of passage bowed

themselves before it.

"that plant is a foreigner, no doubt," said the thistles and the

burdocks. "we can never conduct ourselves like that in this

country." and the black forest snails15 actually spat16 at the flower.

then came the swineherd; he was collecting thistles and shrubs

to burn them for the ashes. he pulled up the wonderful plant, roots

and all, and placed it in his bundle. "this will be as useful as any,"

he said; so the plant was carried away.

not long after, the king of the country suffered from the

deepest melancholy17. he was diligent18 and industrious19, but employment

did him no good. they read deep and learned books to him, and then the lightest and most trifling20 that could be found, but all to no purpose.

then they applied21 for advice to one of the wise men of the world,

and he sent them a message to say that there was one remedy which

would relieve and cure him, and that it was a plant of heavenly origin

which grew in the forest in the king's own dominions22. the messenger

described the flower so that is appearance could not be mistaken.

then said the swineherd, "i am afraid i carried this plant away

from the forest in my bundle, and it has been burnt to ashes long ago.

but i did not know any better."

"you did not know, any better! ignorance upon ignorance indeed!"

the poor swineherd took these words to heart, for they were

addressed to him; he knew not that there were others who were

equally ignorant. not even a leaf of the plant could be found. there

was one, but it lay in the coffin of the dead; no one knew anything

about it.

then the king, in his melancholy, wandered out to the spot in

the wood. "here is where the plant stood," he said; "it is a sacred

place." then he ordered that the place should be surrounded with a

golden railing, and a sentry23 stationed near it.

the botanical professor wrote a long treatise24 about the heavenly

plant, and for this he was loaded with gold, which improved the

position of himself and his family.

and this part is really the most pleasant part of the story. for

the plant had disappeared, and the king remained as melancholy and sad as ever, but the sentry said he had always been so.

the end

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安徒生童话 A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

a rose from homer's grave

by hans christian andersen

all the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. the winged songster serenades the fragrant2 flowers.

not far from smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded

camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the

lofty pines over holy ground, i saw a hedge of roses. the

turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the

sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened3 as if they were

mother-of-pearl. on the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than

them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes4; but the rose

remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her

leaves. at last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said,

"here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will i

spread my fragrance5, and on it i will let my leaves fall when the

storm scatters6 them. he who sung of troy became earth, and from that earth i have sprung. i, a rose from the grave of homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale." then the nightingale sung himself to

death. a camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black

slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely

songster in the grave of the great homer, while the rose trembled in

the wind.

the evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely

round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.

it was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had

undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of homer. among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant

lights of the aurora7 borealis. he plucked the rose and placed it in

a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his

fatherland. the rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of

the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "here is a rose

from the grave of homer."

then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind.

a drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's grave. the sun

rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. the day was

hot, and she was still in her own warm asia. then footsteps

approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came

by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose,

pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the

home of the clouds and the northern lights. like a mummy, the flower

now rests in his "iliad," and, as in her dream, she hears him say,

as he opens the book, "here is a rose from the grave of homer."

the end

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安徒生童话 JACK THE DULLARD

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

jack2 the dullard

an old story told anew

by hans christian andersen

far in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, and

in it lived an old proprietor3, who had two sons, which two young men

thought themselves too clever by half. they wanted to go out and woo the king's daughter; for the maiden4 in question had publicly announced that she would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange his words best.

so these two geniuses prepared themselves a full week for the

wooing- this was the longest time that could be granted them; but it

was enough, for they had had much preparatory information, and

everybody knows how useful that is. one of them knew the whole latin dictionary by heart, and three whole years of the daily paper of the little town into the bargain, and so well, indeed, that he could

repeat it all either backwards5 or forwards, just as he chose. the

other was deeply read in the corporation laws, and knew by heart

what every corporation ought to know; and accordingly he thought he

could talk of affairs of state, and put his spoke6 in the wheel in

the council. and he knew one thing more: he could embroider7 suspenders with roses and other flowers, and with arabesques8, for he was a tasty, light-fingered fellow.

"i shall win the princess!" so cried both of them. therefore their

old papa gave to each of them a handsome horse. the youth who knew the dictionary and newspaper by heart had a black horse, and he who knew all about the corporation laws received a milk-white steed. then they rubbed the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that they might become very smooth and glib9. all the servants stood below in the courtyard, and looked on while they mounted their horses; and just by chance the third son came up. for the proprietor had really three sons, though nobody counted the third with his brothers, because he was not so learned as they, and indeed he was generally known as "jack the dullard."

"hallo!" said jack the dullard, "where are you going? i declare

you have put on your sunday clothes!"

"we're going to the king's court, as suitors to the king's

daughter. don't you know the announcement that has been made all

through the country?" and they told him all about it.

"my word! i'll be in it too!" cried jack the dullard; and his

two brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode away.

"father, dear," said jack, "i must have a horse too. i do feel

so desperately10 inclined to marry! if she accepts me, she accepts me;

and if she won't have me, i'll have her; but she shall be mine!"

"don't talk nonsense," replied the old gentleman. "you shall

have no horse from me. you don't know how to speak- you can't

arrange your words. your brothers are very different fellows from

you."

"well," quoth jack the dullard, "if i can't have a horse, i'll

take the billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry me very

well!"

and so said, so done. he mounted the billy-goat, pressed his heels

into its sides, and galloped11 down the high street like a hurricane.

"hei, houp! that was a ride! here i come!" shouted jack the

dullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and wide.

but his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. they spoke

not a word, for they were thinking about the fine extempore speeches

they would have to bring out, and these had to be cleverly prepared

beforehand.

"hallo!" shouted jack the dullard. "here am i! look what i have

found on the high road." and he showed them what it was, and it was

a dead crow.

"dullard!" exclaimed the brothers, "what are you going to do

with that?"

"with the crow? why, i am going to give it to the princess."

"yes, do so," said they; and they laughed, and rode on.

"hallo, here i am again! just see what i have found now: you don't

find that on the high road every day!"

and the brothers turned round to see what he could have found now.

"dullard!" they cried, "that is only an old wooden shoe, and the

upper part is missing into the bargain; are you going to give that

also to the princess?"

"most certainly i shall," replied jack the dullard; and again

the brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got far in advance

of him; but-

"hallo- hop12 rara!" and there was jack the dullard again. "it is

getting better and better," he cried. "hurrah13! it is quite famous."

"why, what have you found this time?" inquired the brothers.

"oh," said jack the dullard, "i can hardly tell you. how glad

the princess will be!"

"bah!" said the brothers; "that is nothing but clay out of the

ditch."

"yes, certainly it is," said jack the dullard; "and clay of the

finest sort. see, it is so wet, it runs through one's fingers." and he

filled his pocket with the clay.

but his brothers galloped on till the sparks flew, and

consequently they arrived a full hour earlier at the town gate than

could jack. now at the gate each suitor was provided with a number,

and all were placed in rows immediately on their arrival, six in

each row, and so closely packed together that they could not move

their arms; and that was a prudent14 arrangement, for they would

certainly have come to blows, had they been able, merely because one of them stood before the other.

all the inhabitants of the country round about stood in great

crowds around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see the

princess receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, his

power of speech seemed to desert him, like the light of a candle

that is blown out. then the princess would say, "he is of no use! away with him out of the hall!"

at last the turn came for that brother who knew the dictionary

by heart; but he did not know it now; he had absolutely forgotten it

altogether; and the boards seemed to re-echo with his footsteps, and

the ceiling of the hall was made of looking-glass, so that he saw

himself standing15 on his head; and at the window stood three clerks and a head clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single word that was uttered, so that it might be printed in the newspapers, and sold for a penny at the street corners. it was a terrible ordeal16, and they had, moreover, made such a fire in the stove, that the room seemed quite red hot.

"it is dreadfully hot here!" observed the first brother.

"yes," replied the princess, "my father is going to roast young

pullets today."

"baa!" there he stood like a baa-lamb. he had not been prepared

for a speech of this kind, and had not a word to say, though he

intended to say something witty17. "baa!"

"he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him!"

and he was obliged to go accordingly. and now the second brother

came in.

"it is terribly warm here!" he observed.

"yes, we're roasting pullets to-day," replied the princess.

"what- what were you- were you pleased to ob-" stammered18 he- and

all the clerks wrote down, "pleased to ob-"

"he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him!"

now came the turn of jack the dullard. he rode into the hall on

his goat.

"well, it's most abominably19 hot here."

"yes, because i'm roasting young pullets," replied the princess.

"ah, that's lucky!" exclaimed jack the dullard, "for i suppose

you'll let me roast my crow at the same time?"

"with the greatest pleasure," said the princess. "but have you

anything you can roast it in? for i have neither pot nor pan."

"certainly i have!" said jack. "here's a cooking utensil20 with a

tin handle."

and he brought out the old wooden shoe, and put the crow into it.

"well, that is a famous dish!" said the princess. "but what

shall we do for sauce?"

"oh, i have that in my pocket," said jack; "i have so much of it

that i can afford to throw some away;" and he poured some of the

clay out of his pocket.

"i like that!" said the princess. "you can give an answer, and you

have something to say for yourself, and so you shall be my husband.

but are you aware that every word we speak is being taken down, and

will be published in the paper to-morrow? look yonder, and you will

see in every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old head

clerk is the worst of all, for he can't understand anything."

but she only said this to frighten jack the dullard; and the

clerks gave a great crow of delight, and each one spurted21 a blot22 out

of his pen on to the floor.

"oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?" said jack; "then i will

give the best i have to the head clerk." and he turned out his

pockets, and flung the wet clay full in the head clerk's face.

"that was very cleverly done," observed the princess. "i could not

have done that; but i shall learn in time."

and accordingly jack the dullard was made a king, and received a

crown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. and this report we have wet

from the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers-

but they are not to be depended upon in the least.

the end

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written by anderson

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安徒生童话 IN THE NURSERY

1872

fairy tales of hans christian1 andersen

in the nursery

by hans christian andersen

father, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to the

play; only little anna and her grandpapa were left at home.

"we'll have a play too," he said, "and it may begin immediately."

"but we have no theatre," cried little anna, "and we have no one

to act for us; my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new one

cannot, for she must not rumple2 her new clothes."

"one can always get actors if one makes use of what one has,"

observed grandpapa.

"now we'll go into the theatre. here we will put up a book,

there another, and there a third, in a sloping row. now three on the

other side; so, now we have the side scenes. the old box that lies

yonder may be the back stairs; and we'll lay the flooring on top of

it. the stage represents a room, as every one may see. now we want the actors. let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. first the

personages, and then we will get the play ready. one after the

other; that will be capital! here's a pipe-head, and yonder an odd

glove; they will do very well for father and daughter."

"but those are only two characters," said little anna. "here's

my brother's old waistcoat- could not that play in our piece, too?"

"it's big enough, certainly," replied grandpapa. "it shall be

the lover. there's nothing in the pockets, and that's very

interesting, for that's half of an unfortunate attachment3. and here we

have the nut-cracker's boots, with spurs to them. row, dow, dow! how they can stamp and strut4! they shall represent the unwelcome wooer, whom the lady does not like. what kind of a play will you have now?shall it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama?"

"a domestic drama, please," said little anna, "for the others

are so fond of that. do you know one?"

"i know a hundred," said grandpapa. "those that are most in

favor are from the french, but they are not good for little girls.

in the meantime, we may take one of the prettiest, for inside

they're all very much alike. now i shake the pen! cock-a-lorum! so

now, here's the play, brin-bran-span new! now listen to the

play-bill."

and grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were reading

from it:

the pipe-head and the good head

a family drama in one act

characters

mr. pipe-head, a father. mr. waistcoat, a lover.

miss glove, a daughter. mr. de boots, a suitor.

"and now we're going to begin. the curtain rises. we have no

curtain, so it has risen already. all the characters are there, and so

we have them at hand. now i speak as papa pipe-head! he's angry

to-day. one can see that he's a colored meerschaum.

"'snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre! i'm master of this house! i'm

the father of my daughter! will you hear what i have to say? mr. de

boots is a person in whom one may see one's face; his upper part is of morocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. snikke, snakke, snak! he shall have my daughter!"

"now listen to what the waistcoat says, little anna," said

grandpapa. "now the waistcoat's speaking. the waistcoat has a

laydown collar, and is very modest; but he knows his own value, and

has quite a right to say what he says:

"'i haven't a spot on me! goodness of material ought to be

appreciated. i am of real silk, and have strings5 to me.'

"'- on the wedding day, but no longer; you don't keep your color

in the wash.' this is mr. pipe-head who is speaking. 'mr. de boots

is water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate; he can

creak, and clank with his spurs, and has an italian physiognomy-'"

"but they ought to speak in verses," said anna, "for i've heard

that's the most charming way of all."

"they can do that too," replied grandpapa; "and if the public

demands it, they will talk in that way. just look at little miss

glove, how she's pointing her fingers!

"'could i but have my love,

who then so happy as glove!

ah!

if i from him must part,

i'm sure 'twill break my heart!'

'bah!'

the last word was spoken by mr. pipe-head; and now it's mr.

waistcoat's turn:

"'o glove, my own dear,

though it cost thee a tear,

thou must be mine,

for holger danske has sworn it!'

"mr. de boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles6 his spurs, and

knocks down three of the side-scenes."

"that's exceedingly charming!" cried little anna.

"silence! silence!" said grandpapa. "silent approbation7 will

show that you are the educated public in the stalls. now miss glove

sings her great song with startling effects:

"'i can't see, heigho!

and therefore i'll crow!

kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!'

"now comes the exciting part, little anna. this is the most

important in all the play. mr. waistcoat undoes8 himself, and addresses his speech to you, that you may applaud; but leave it alone,- that's considered more genteel.

"'i am driven to extremities9! take care of yourself! now comes the

plot! you are the pipe-head, and i am the good head- snap! there you

go!"

"do you notice this, little anna?" asked grandpapa. "that's a most

charming comedy. mr. waistcoat seized the old pipe-head and put him in his pocket; there he lies, and the waistcoat says:

"'you are in my pocket; you can't come out till you promise to

unite me to your daughter glove on the left. i hold out my right

hand.'"

"that's awfully10 pretty," said little anna.

"and now the old pipe-head replies:

"'though i'm all ear,

very stupid i appear:

where's my humor? gone, i fear,

and i feel my hollow stick's not here,

ah! never, my dear,

did i feel so queer.

oh! pray let me out,

and like a lamb led to slaughter

i'll betroth11 you, no doubt,

to my daughter.'"

"is the play over already?" asked little anna.

"by no means," replied grandpapa. "it's only all over with mr.

de boots. now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sings:

"'father!'

and the other,

'come, do as you ought to do,-

bless your son and daughter.'

and they receive his blessing12, and celebrate their wedding, and all

the pieces of furniture sing in chorus,

"'klink! clanks!

a thousand thanks;

and now the play is over!'

"and now we'll applaud," said grandpapa. "we'll call them all out,

and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany."

"and is not our play just as good as those which the others have

in the real theatre?"

"our play is much better," said grandpapa. "it is shorter, the

performers are natural, and it has passed away the interval13 before

tea-time."

the end

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written by anderson

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安徒生童话 BY THE ALMSHOUSE WINDOW

near the grass-covered rampart which encircles copenhagen lies a

great red house. balsams and other flowers greet us from the long rows of windows in the house, whose interior is sufficiently

poverty-stricken; and poor and old are the people who inhabit it.

the building is the warton almshouse.

look! at the window there leans an old maid. she plucks the

withered leaf from the balsam, and looks at the grass-covered rampart, on which many children are playing. what is the old maid thinking of? a whole life drama is unfolding itself before her inward gaze. "the poor little children, how happy they are- how merrily they

play and romp1 together! what red cheeks and what angels' eyes! but

they have no shoes nor stockings. they dance on the green rampart,

just on the place where, according to the old story, the ground always

sank in, and where a sportive, frolicsome2 child had been lured3 by

means of flowers, toys and sweetmeats into an open grave ready dug for it, and which was afterwards closed over the child; and from that

moment, the old story says, the ground gave way no longer, the mound4 remained firm and fast, and was quickly covered with the green turf. the little people who now play on that spot know nothing of the old tale, else would they fancy they heard a child crying deep below the earth, and the dewdrops on each blade of grass would be to them tears of woe5. nor do they know anything of the danish king who here, in the face of the coming foe6, took an oath before all his trembling courtiers that he would hold out with the citizens of his capital, and die here in his nest; they know nothing of the men who have fought here, or of the women who from here have drenched7 with boiling water the enemy, clad in white, and 'biding8 in the snow to surprise the city.

"no! the poor little ones are playing with light, childish

spirits. play on, play on, thou little maiden9! soon the years will

come- yes, those glorious years. the priestly hands have been laid

on the candidates for confirmation10; hand in hand they walk on the

green rampart. thou hast a white frock on; it has cost thy mother much labor11, and yet it is only cut down for thee out of an old larger

dress! you will also wear a red shawl; and what if it hang too far

down? people will only see how large, how very large it is. you are

thinking of your dress, and of the giver of all good- so glorious is

it to wander on the green rampart!

"and the years roll by; they have no lack of dark days, but you

have your cheerful young spirit, and you have gained a friend- you

know not how. you met, oh, how often! you walk together on the rampart in the fresh spring, on the high days and holidays, when all the world come out to walk upon the ramparts, and all the bells of the church steeples seem to be singing a song of praise for the coming spring.

"scarcely have the violets come forth12, but there on the rampart,

just opposite the beautiful castle of rosenberg, there is a tree

bright with the first green buds. every year this tree sends forth

fresh green shoots. alas13! it is not so with the human heart! dark

mists, more in number than those that cover the northern skies,

cloud the human heart. poor child! thy friend's bridal chamber14 is a

black coffin15, and thou becomest an old maid. from the almshouse

window, behind the balsams, thou shalt look on the merry children at

play, and shalt see thine own history renewed."

and that is the life drama that passes before the old maid while

she looks out upon the rampart, the green, sunny rampart, where the

children, with their red cheeks and bare shoeless feet, are

rejoicing merrily, like the other free little birds.

the end

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written by anderson