英语童话故事A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS

　A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS

　　    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 divided, 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 hous