Do you
understand
what I say?
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen
"
"Don't cut off my head! " said Karen, "for then I could not
repent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes. "
And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep forest.
And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and
taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the
hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.
"Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I will
go to church, so that people can see me. " And she went quickly up to
the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing
before her, and she was frightened, and turned back.
During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears,
but when Sunday came again she said: "Now I have suffered and
striven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those who
sit in church and give themselves airs. " And so she went boldly on;
but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw
the red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, and
turned back and repented right heartily of her sin.
She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into
service there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everything
that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had
a roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor's wife had
pity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious and
thoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from
the Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, but
when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake
her head.
On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked
whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she
looked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God's
Word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large
enough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her
hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind
carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in
tears she lifted up her face and said: "O God! help me! "
Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an
angel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen
that night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword,
but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched
the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it
there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wide
apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the
pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation
sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.
The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the
room had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the
pastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up,
they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen. "
"It was mercy," said she.
The organ played and the children's voices in the choir sounded
soft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through the
window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filled
with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on
the sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the Red
Shoes.
EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE
It is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the wood,
near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches surrounded it
on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes grew. Close by the
drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old willow tree, which bent
over the reeds.
From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the trampling of
horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was watching the geese
hastened to drive them away from the bridge, before the whole
hunting party came galloping up; they came, however, so quickly,
that the girl, in order to avoid being run over, placed herself on one
of the high corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child
and very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,
sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice; while he
was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed his hunting crop,
and in rough play gave her such a push with it that she fell
backward into the ditch.
"Everything in the right place! " he cried. "Into the ditch with
you. "
Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the others
joined in--the whole party shouted and cried, while the hounds barked.
While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of the
branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held herself
over the water, and as soon as the baron with his company and the dogs
had disappeared through the gate, the girl endeavoured to scramble up,
but the branch broke off, and she would have fallen backward among the
rushes, had not a strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It
was the hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a
short distance, and now hastened to assist her.
"Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the noble
baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground. He wished
to put the branch back in the place it had been broken off, but it
is not possible to put everything in the right place; therefore he
stuck the branch into the soft ground.
"Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for them
yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him great
pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well thrashed. Then
he entered the castle--but not the banqueting hall; he was too
humble for that. No; he went to the servants' hall. The men-servants
and maids looked over his stock of articles and bargained with him;
loud crying and screaming were heard from the master's table above:
they called it singing--indeed, they did their best. Laughter and
the howls of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were
feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming in the
glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their masters; now and
then the squires kissed one of these animals, after having wiped its
mouth first with the tablecloth. They ordered the pedlar to come up,
but only to make fun of him. The wine had got into their heads, and
reason had left them. They poured beer into a stocking that he could
drink with them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made
them laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on one
card and lost.
"Everything in the right place! " the pedlar said when he had at
last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called it. "The
open high road is my right place; up there I did not feel at ease. "
The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded kindly
to him as he passed through the gate.
Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken
willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near the
ditch remained fresh and green--nay, it even put forth fresh twigs;
the little goose-girl saw that the branch had taken root, and was very
pleased; the tree, so she said, was now her tree. While the tree was
advancing, everything else at the castle was going backward, through
feasting and gambling, for these are two rollers upon which nobody
stands safely. Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out
of his castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been
bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had made fun
of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink; but honesty and
industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar was the possessor of
the baronial estate. From that time forward no card-playing was
permitted there.
"That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the Bible for
the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in opposition to
it, and invented card-playing. "
The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did he
take? --The little goose-girl, who had always remained good and kind,
and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if she had been a
lady of high birth. And how did all this come about? That would be too
long a tale to tell in our busy time, but it really happened, and
the most important events have yet to be told.
It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now: the
mother superintended the household, and the father looked after things
out-of-doors, and they were indeed very prosperous.
Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow. The old
mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were cleaned and
fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant, and the floors
were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In the long winter evenings
the mistress and her maids sat at the spinning-wheel in the large
hall; every Sunday the counsellor--this title the pedlar had obtained,
although only in his old days--read aloud a portion from the Bible.
The children (for they had children) all received the best
education, but they were not all equally clever, as is the case in all
families.
In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had grown up
into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was never clipped.
"It is our genealogical tree," said the old people to their
children, "and therefore it must be honoured. "
A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the lake
had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial seat had,
as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some ruined walls was
the only remainder of the deep ditches; and here stood a magnificent
old tree with overhanging branches--that was the genealogical tree.
Here it stood, and showed how beautiful a willow can look if one
does not interfere with it. The trunk, it is true, was cleft in the
middle from the root to the crown; the storms had bent it a little,
but it still stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which
wind and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers sprang
forth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted, there was
quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries and hart's-tongue
ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe had taken root, and grew
gracefully in the old willow branches, which were reflected in the
dark water beneath when the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of
the pool. A footpath which led across the fields passed close by the
old tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion. It
had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its window panes
were so clear that one might have thought there were none there at
all. The large flight of steps which led to the entrance looked like a
bower covered with roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as
green as if each blade of grass was cleaned separately morning and
evening. Inside, in the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on
the walls. Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,
which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were tables
with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco with gilt edges.
Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people lived here; it was the
dwelling of the baron and his family. Each article was in keeping with
its surroundings. "Everything in the right place" was the motto
according to which they also acted here, and therefore all the
paintings which had once been the honour and glory of the old
mansion were now hung up in the passage which led to the servants'
rooms. It was all old lumber, especially two portraits--one
representing a man in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a
lady with powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of
them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches. Both
portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's sons used the
two old people as targets for their crossbows. They represented the
counsellor and his wife, from whom the whole family descended. "But
they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the boys; "he
was a pedlar and she kept the geese. They were not like papa and
mamma. " The portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right
place. " That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up in the
passage leading to the servants' rooms.
The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion. One day he
went for a walk across the fields with his young pupils and their
elder sister, who had lately been confirmed. They walked along the
road which passed by the old willow tree, and while they were on the
road she picked a bunch of field-flowers. "Everything in the right
place," and indeed the bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time
she listened to all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the
pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and women
in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and deed, and
with a heart full of love for everything that God had created. They
stopped at the old willow tree, as the youngest of the baron's sons
wished very much to have a flute from it, such as had been cut for him
from other willow trees; the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh,
pray do not do it! " said the young lady; but it was already done.
"That is our famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at
me at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story
attached to this tree. " And now she told him all that we already
know about the tree--the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girl
who had met there for the first time, and had become the ancestors
of the noble family to which the young lady belonged.
"They did not like to be knighted, the good old people," she said;
"their motto was 'everything in the right place,' and it would not
be right, they thought, to purchase a title for money. My grandfather,
the first baron, was their son. They say he was a very learned man,
a great favourite with the princes and princesses, and was invited
to all court festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I
do not know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old
couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it must
have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at the
spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read aloud out of the
Bible! "
"They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the
pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally to
noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor spoke about
the significance of being noble, it seemed almost as if he did not
belong to a commoner's family.
"It is good fortune to be of a family who have distinguished
themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in oneself to advance
to all that is good. It is a splendid thing to belong to a noble
family, whose name serves as a card of admission to the highest
circles. Nobility is a distinction; it is a gold coin that bears the
stamp of its own value. It is the fallacy of the time, and many
poets express it, to say that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and
that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more
brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it is
wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;
my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. One
day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, I
believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother and
the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old
woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every
Sunday to carry a gift away with her.
"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so
difficult for her to walk. '
"My mother had hardly understood what he said before he
disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her
the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this is
only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor
widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of
every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point
out--more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does
good, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he
is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs
and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when a
commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have been
here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind
that Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is
exposed in satire. "
Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he
delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.
There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the
neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies with
tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded
with people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and
looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a
festival--only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to
take place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow
flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his
father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.
There was music and songs of the kind which delight most those
that perform them; otherwise quite charming!
"Are you an artist? " said a cavalier, the son of his father;
"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that
rules--the place of honour is due to you. "
"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of course
one can't help. "
"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument--will
you not? " Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had
been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a
loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.
They wished to tease him--that was evident, and therefore the tutor
declined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged and
requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and
placed it to his lips.
That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as the
whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it
sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and
many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and
roared; "Everything in the right place. " And with this the baron, as
if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the
shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew--not into the hall,
thither he could not come--but into the servants' hall, among the
smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty
menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at
table with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the
place of honour at the end of the table--she was worthy to sit
there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat there as
if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging to one of the
oldest families of the country, remained untouched in his place of
honour; the flute was just, and it is one's duty to be so. The
sharp-tongued cavalier who had caused the flute to be played, and
who was the child of his parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house,
but not he alone.
The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange
events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in a coach
and four, were blown out of it, and could not even find room behind it
with their footmen. Two rich farmers who had in our days shot up
higher than their own corn-fields, were flung into the ditch; it was a
dangerous flute. Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was
a good thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket--"its
right place. "
The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken place; thus
originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute. " Everything was again
in its usual order, except that the two old pictures of the peddlar
and the goose-girl were hanging in the banqueting-hall. There they
were on the wall as if blown up there; and as a real expert said
that they were painted by a master's hand, they remained there and
were restored. "Everything in the right place," and to this it will
come. Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.
A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE
Al 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 fragrant 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 glistened 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 woes; 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 fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the
storm scatters 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 aurora 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 SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE
Round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the
hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle
of the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail,
whose shell contained a great deal--that is, himself.
"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more than
grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and
the sheep. "
"I expect a great deal from you," said the rose-tree. "May I ask
when it will appear? "
"I take my time," said the snail. "You're always in such a
hurry. That does not excite expectation. "
The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the
sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing
roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of
his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.
"Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the
rose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther. "
The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and
buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it
bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.
A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail
made his too.
"You are an old rose-tree now," said the snail. "You must make
haste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you;
whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not had
time to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have
not done the least for your inner development, or you would have
produced something else. Have you anything to say in defence? You will
now soon be nothing but a stick.
Do you understand what I say? "
"You frighten me," said the rose--tree. "I have never thought of
that. "
"No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you
ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your
blooming comes about--why just in that way and in no other? "
"No," said the rose-tree. "I bloom in gladness, because I cannot
do otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I
drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived!
Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above I
also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasing
happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That was
my life; I could not do otherwise. "
"You have led a very easy life," remarked the snail.
"Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rose-tree. "But
still more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinking
natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world. "
"I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said the
snail. "The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the
world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself. "
"But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to
others, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have
only given roses. But you--you who are so richly endowed--what have
you given to the world? What will you give it? "
"What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it's
good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go
on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I
have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The
world is nothing to me. "
With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the
entrance.
"That's very sad," said the rose tree. "I cannot creep into
myself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing
roses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the
wind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress's
hymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a
young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a
child in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a real
blessing. Those are my recollections, my life. "
And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail
lay idling in his house--the world was nothing to him.
Years passed by.
The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too.
Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden
there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into
their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.
Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.
A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS
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 cut off my head! " said Karen, "for then I could not
repent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes. "
And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep forest.
And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and
taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the
hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.
"Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I will
go to church, so that people can see me. " And she went quickly up to
the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing
before her, and she was frightened, and turned back.
During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears,
but when Sunday came again she said: "Now I have suffered and
striven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those who
sit in church and give themselves airs. " And so she went boldly on;
but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw
the red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, and
turned back and repented right heartily of her sin.
She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into
service there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everything
that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had
a roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor's wife had
pity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious and
thoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from
the Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, but
when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake
her head.
On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked
whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she
looked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God's
Word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large
enough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her
hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind
carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in
tears she lifted up her face and said: "O God! help me! "
Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an
angel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen
that night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword,
but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched
the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it
there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wide
apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the
pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation
sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.
The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the
room had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the
pastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up,
they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen. "
"It was mercy," said she.
The organ played and the children's voices in the choir sounded
soft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through the
window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filled
with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on
the sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the Red
Shoes.
EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE
It is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the wood,
near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches surrounded it
on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes grew. Close by the
drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old willow tree, which bent
over the reeds.
From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the trampling of
horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was watching the geese
hastened to drive them away from the bridge, before the whole
hunting party came galloping up; they came, however, so quickly,
that the girl, in order to avoid being run over, placed herself on one
of the high corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child
and very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,
sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice; while he
was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed his hunting crop,
and in rough play gave her such a push with it that she fell
backward into the ditch.
"Everything in the right place! " he cried. "Into the ditch with
you. "
Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the others
joined in--the whole party shouted and cried, while the hounds barked.
While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of the
branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held herself
over the water, and as soon as the baron with his company and the dogs
had disappeared through the gate, the girl endeavoured to scramble up,
but the branch broke off, and she would have fallen backward among the
rushes, had not a strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It
was the hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a
short distance, and now hastened to assist her.
"Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the noble
baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground. He wished
to put the branch back in the place it had been broken off, but it
is not possible to put everything in the right place; therefore he
stuck the branch into the soft ground.
"Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for them
yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him great
pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well thrashed. Then
he entered the castle--but not the banqueting hall; he was too
humble for that. No; he went to the servants' hall. The men-servants
and maids looked over his stock of articles and bargained with him;
loud crying and screaming were heard from the master's table above:
they called it singing--indeed, they did their best. Laughter and
the howls of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were
feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming in the
glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their masters; now and
then the squires kissed one of these animals, after having wiped its
mouth first with the tablecloth. They ordered the pedlar to come up,
but only to make fun of him. The wine had got into their heads, and
reason had left them. They poured beer into a stocking that he could
drink with them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made
them laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on one
card and lost.
"Everything in the right place! " the pedlar said when he had at
last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called it. "The
open high road is my right place; up there I did not feel at ease. "
The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded kindly
to him as he passed through the gate.
Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken
willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near the
ditch remained fresh and green--nay, it even put forth fresh twigs;
the little goose-girl saw that the branch had taken root, and was very
pleased; the tree, so she said, was now her tree. While the tree was
advancing, everything else at the castle was going backward, through
feasting and gambling, for these are two rollers upon which nobody
stands safely. Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out
of his castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been
bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had made fun
of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink; but honesty and
industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar was the possessor of
the baronial estate. From that time forward no card-playing was
permitted there.
"That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the Bible for
the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in opposition to
it, and invented card-playing. "
The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did he
take? --The little goose-girl, who had always remained good and kind,
and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if she had been a
lady of high birth. And how did all this come about? That would be too
long a tale to tell in our busy time, but it really happened, and
the most important events have yet to be told.
It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now: the
mother superintended the household, and the father looked after things
out-of-doors, and they were indeed very prosperous.
Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow. The old
mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were cleaned and
fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant, and the floors
were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In the long winter evenings
the mistress and her maids sat at the spinning-wheel in the large
hall; every Sunday the counsellor--this title the pedlar had obtained,
although only in his old days--read aloud a portion from the Bible.
The children (for they had children) all received the best
education, but they were not all equally clever, as is the case in all
families.
In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had grown up
into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was never clipped.
"It is our genealogical tree," said the old people to their
children, "and therefore it must be honoured. "
A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the lake
had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial seat had,
as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some ruined walls was
the only remainder of the deep ditches; and here stood a magnificent
old tree with overhanging branches--that was the genealogical tree.
Here it stood, and showed how beautiful a willow can look if one
does not interfere with it. The trunk, it is true, was cleft in the
middle from the root to the crown; the storms had bent it a little,
but it still stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which
wind and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers sprang
forth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted, there was
quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries and hart's-tongue
ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe had taken root, and grew
gracefully in the old willow branches, which were reflected in the
dark water beneath when the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of
the pool. A footpath which led across the fields passed close by the
old tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion. It
had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its window panes
were so clear that one might have thought there were none there at
all. The large flight of steps which led to the entrance looked like a
bower covered with roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as
green as if each blade of grass was cleaned separately morning and
evening. Inside, in the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on
the walls. Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,
which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were tables
with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco with gilt edges.
Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people lived here; it was the
dwelling of the baron and his family. Each article was in keeping with
its surroundings. "Everything in the right place" was the motto
according to which they also acted here, and therefore all the
paintings which had once been the honour and glory of the old
mansion were now hung up in the passage which led to the servants'
rooms. It was all old lumber, especially two portraits--one
representing a man in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a
lady with powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of
them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches. Both
portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's sons used the
two old people as targets for their crossbows. They represented the
counsellor and his wife, from whom the whole family descended. "But
they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the boys; "he
was a pedlar and she kept the geese. They were not like papa and
mamma. " The portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right
place. " That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up in the
passage leading to the servants' rooms.
The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion. One day he
went for a walk across the fields with his young pupils and their
elder sister, who had lately been confirmed. They walked along the
road which passed by the old willow tree, and while they were on the
road she picked a bunch of field-flowers. "Everything in the right
place," and indeed the bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time
she listened to all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the
pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and women
in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and deed, and
with a heart full of love for everything that God had created. They
stopped at the old willow tree, as the youngest of the baron's sons
wished very much to have a flute from it, such as had been cut for him
from other willow trees; the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh,
pray do not do it! " said the young lady; but it was already done.
"That is our famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at
me at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story
attached to this tree. " And now she told him all that we already
know about the tree--the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girl
who had met there for the first time, and had become the ancestors
of the noble family to which the young lady belonged.
"They did not like to be knighted, the good old people," she said;
"their motto was 'everything in the right place,' and it would not
be right, they thought, to purchase a title for money. My grandfather,
the first baron, was their son. They say he was a very learned man,
a great favourite with the princes and princesses, and was invited
to all court festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I
do not know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old
couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it must
have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at the
spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read aloud out of the
Bible! "
"They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the
pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally to
noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor spoke about
the significance of being noble, it seemed almost as if he did not
belong to a commoner's family.
"It is good fortune to be of a family who have distinguished
themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in oneself to advance
to all that is good. It is a splendid thing to belong to a noble
family, whose name serves as a card of admission to the highest
circles. Nobility is a distinction; it is a gold coin that bears the
stamp of its own value. It is the fallacy of the time, and many
poets express it, to say that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and
that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more
brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it is
wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;
my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. One
day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, I
believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother and
the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old
woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every
Sunday to carry a gift away with her.
"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so
difficult for her to walk. '
"My mother had hardly understood what he said before he
disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her
the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this is
only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor
widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of
every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point
out--more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does
good, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he
is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs
and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when a
commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have been
here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind
that Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is
exposed in satire. "
Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he
delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.
There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the
neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies with
tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded
with people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and
looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a
festival--only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to
take place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow
flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his
father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.
There was music and songs of the kind which delight most those
that perform them; otherwise quite charming!
"Are you an artist? " said a cavalier, the son of his father;
"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that
rules--the place of honour is due to you. "
"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of course
one can't help. "
"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument--will
you not? " Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had
been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a
loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.
They wished to tease him--that was evident, and therefore the tutor
declined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged and
requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and
placed it to his lips.
That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as the
whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it
sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and
many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and
roared; "Everything in the right place. " And with this the baron, as
if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the
shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew--not into the hall,
thither he could not come--but into the servants' hall, among the
smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty
menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at
table with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the
place of honour at the end of the table--she was worthy to sit
there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat there as
if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging to one of the
oldest families of the country, remained untouched in his place of
honour; the flute was just, and it is one's duty to be so. The
sharp-tongued cavalier who had caused the flute to be played, and
who was the child of his parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house,
but not he alone.
The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange
events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in a coach
and four, were blown out of it, and could not even find room behind it
with their footmen. Two rich farmers who had in our days shot up
higher than their own corn-fields, were flung into the ditch; it was a
dangerous flute. Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was
a good thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket--"its
right place. "
The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken place; thus
originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute. " Everything was again
in its usual order, except that the two old pictures of the peddlar
and the goose-girl were hanging in the banqueting-hall. There they
were on the wall as if blown up there; and as a real expert said
that they were painted by a master's hand, they remained there and
were restored. "Everything in the right place," and to this it will
come. Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.
A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE
Al 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 fragrant 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 glistened 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 woes; 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 fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the
storm scatters 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 aurora 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 SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE
Round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the
hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle
of the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail,
whose shell contained a great deal--that is, himself.
"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more than
grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and
the sheep. "
"I expect a great deal from you," said the rose-tree. "May I ask
when it will appear? "
"I take my time," said the snail. "You're always in such a
hurry. That does not excite expectation. "
The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the
sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing
roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of
his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.
"Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the
rose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther. "
The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and
buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it
bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.
A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail
made his too.
"You are an old rose-tree now," said the snail. "You must make
haste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you;
whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not had
time to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have
not done the least for your inner development, or you would have
produced something else. Have you anything to say in defence? You will
now soon be nothing but a stick.
Do you understand what I say? "
"You frighten me," said the rose--tree. "I have never thought of
that. "
"No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you
ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your
blooming comes about--why just in that way and in no other? "
"No," said the rose-tree. "I bloom in gladness, because I cannot
do otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I
drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived!
Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above I
also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasing
happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That was
my life; I could not do otherwise. "
"You have led a very easy life," remarked the snail.
"Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rose-tree. "But
still more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinking
natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world. "
"I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said the
snail. "The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the
world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself. "
"But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to
others, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have
only given roses. But you--you who are so richly endowed--what have
you given to the world? What will you give it? "
"What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it's
good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go
on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I
have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The
world is nothing to me. "
With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the
entrance.
"That's very sad," said the rose tree. "I cannot creep into
myself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing
roses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the
wind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress's
hymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a
young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a
child in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a real
blessing. Those are my recollections, my life. "
And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail
lay idling in his house--the world was nothing to him.
Years passed by.
The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too.
Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden
there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into
their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.
Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.
A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS
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.
