No More Learning

"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 go too far,' said their mother; 'the ugly
eel-spearer might come and snap you all up. ' But they went too far,
and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and these
wept and said, 'We only went a little way out, and the ugly
eel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters to
death. ' 'They'll come back again,' said the mother eel. 'Oh, no,'
exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, and
fried them. ' 'Oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eel
persisted. 'No,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up. ' 'They'll
come back again,' repeated the mother eel. 'But he drank brandy
after them,' said the daughters. 'Ah, then they'll never come back,'
said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that
buries the eels. '"

"And therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is always
the proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels. "

This story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection
of Jurgen's life. He also wanted to go a little way farther out and up
the bay--that is to say, out into the world in a ship--but his
mother said, like the eel-breeder, "There are so many bad people--eel
spearers! " He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, out
into the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightest
of his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty and
splendour of Jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were
concentrated in these. He went to a festival, but it was a burial
feast.

A rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was
situated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.
Jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them from
the dunes, over heath and moor, where the Skjaerumaa takes its
course through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eels
live there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked
people. But do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards their
own fellow-men? Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered by wicked
people? And though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill
the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls and
tower, at the point where the Skjaerumaa falls into the bay? Jurgen
and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts still
remained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. Here it
was that Sir Bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of
his men, "Go after him and say, 'Master, the tower shakes. ' If he
turns round, kill him and take away the money I paid him, but if he
does not turn round let him go in peace. " The man did as he was
told; the architect did not turn round, but called back "The tower
does not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west
in a blue cloak--he will cause it to shake! " And so indeed it happened
a hundred years later, for the North Sea broke in and cast down the
tower; but Predbjorn Gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the
castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and
that one is standing to this day, and is called Norre-Vosborg.

Jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. They had told
him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the
stately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,
covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-trees
were the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,
and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. In a north-west
corner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like winter
snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first that
Jurgen had ever seen in bloom. He never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;
the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance
to gladden the old man.

From Norre-Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journey
became more pleasant, for they met some other people who were also
going to the funeral and were riding in waggons. Our travellers had to
sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even
this, they thought, was better than walking. So they continued their
journey across the rugged heath. The oxen which drew the waggon
stopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid
the heather. The sun shone with considerable heat, and it was
wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke
seemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it was
transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar
over the heath.

"That is Lokeman driving his sheep," said some one.

And this was enough to excite Jurgen's imagination. He felt as
if they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was still
real. How quiet it was! The heath stretched far and wide around them
like a beautiful carpet. The heather was in blossom, and the
juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the
earth. An inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for the
number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they also
mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, and
that the district was still called Wolfsborg for this reason. The
old man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of his
father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts that
were now exterminated. One morning, when he himself had gone out to
bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeet
on a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn and
lacerated the brave horse's legs.

The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too
quickly at an end. They stopped before the house of mourning, where
they found plenty of guests within and without. Waggon after waggon
stood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out to
graze on the scanty pasture. Great sand-hills like those at home by
the North Sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. How had
they come here, so many miles inland? They were as large and high as
those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was
also a legend attached to them.

Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; with
this exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed to
Jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. There were eels of
the fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;
and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.

Jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt
as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the
sand-hills, where he had passed his early days. Here on the heath were
riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, and
bilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that when
they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was
stained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonder another.
Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,
they told him--how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!

The fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;
they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

"Ours are better," said the old fisherman, Jurgen's foster-father;
"these have no strength. "

And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,
and it seemed very easy to understand. This is how they explained it:

A dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buried
it in the churchyard. From that time the sand began to fly about and
the sea broke in with violence. A wise man in the district advised
them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking
his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest
until it had got him back. The grave was opened, and he really was
found with his thumb in his mouth. So they laid him upon a cart, and
harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over
heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.
Then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had been
piled up still remained.

All this Jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of
the happiest days of his childhood--the days of the burial feast.

How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with
strangers! And he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteen
years old when he went out in a ship to see the world. He
encountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men--such
were his experiences, for he became ship-boy. Cold nights, bad living,
and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble Spanish blood boil
within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped
them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when
it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.

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

He saw the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents. He
even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but he
knew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew just
as little about him.

The poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last day
of their stay he managed to get ashore. There were several purchases
to be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.

Jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they
had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who had
always dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for the
first time. How lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people
there were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that--a perfect
maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers--the jingling
of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church
bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking--all going on at
once. Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in
the side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and the
air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,
cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.
Jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. Then he saw
just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were
gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted
towards him. Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the
sanctuary. Jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and
stood in the sacred edifice. Coloured pictures gleamed from their
golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the Virgin
with the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in
festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swung
silver censers. What splendour and magnificence he saw there! It
streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and the
faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his
heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

They went from the church to the market-place. Here a quantity
of provisions were given him to carry. The way to the harbour was
long; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for a
few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and
broad steps. Here he rested his burden against the wall. Then a porter
in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him
away--him, the grandson of that house. But no one knew that, and he
just as little as any one. Then he went on board again, and once
more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little
sleep--such was his experience of life. They say it is good to suffer
in one's young days, if age brings something to make up for it.

His period of service on board the ship came to an end, and the
vessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland. He came ashore, and
went home to the sand-dunes near Hunsby; but his foster-mother had
died during his absence.

A hard winter followed this summer. Snow-storms swept over land
and sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place to
another. How unequally things are distributed in this world! Here
there was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in Spain there was
burning sunshine and oppressive heat. Yet, when a clear frosty day
came, and Jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea
towards the land, across to Norre-Vosborg, it seemed to him that
people could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part of
the world was splendid. In imagination he saw the heath blossom and
become purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes and
lime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower. He made up his mind to go there
again.

Spring came, and the fishing began. Jurgen was now an active
helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick
at work. He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,
and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warned
him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him
down, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen's fate.

At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named
Martin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both
took service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together to
Holland. They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily
excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often
shows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day when
they fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind the
cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between
them. Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards
Martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an
ugly look. Martin only said, "Ah! ah! you are one of that sort, are
you? Fond of using the knife! "

The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen's hand sank down. He
did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned
to his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin and
said:

"Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if I
had a pot in me that boils over. "

"There, let the thing rest," replied Martin.

And after that they were almost better friends than ever; when
afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their
adventures, this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jurgen
was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but
Jurgen was the cleverer of the two.

In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle
there to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have been
erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and
thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the
walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early
spring. Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is
called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he
comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time
he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managers
bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and
have generally a great deal to do.

Jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers
inhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next one.

One of the girls, whose name was Else, had known Jurgen from
childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same
opinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite;
for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair,
and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

As they were walking together one day, Jurgen held her hand very
firmly in his, and she said to him:

"Jurgen, I have something I want to say to you; let me be your
manager, for you are like a brother to me; but Martin, whose
housekeeper I am--he is my lover--but you need not tell this to the
others. "

It seemed to Jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way under
his feet. He did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant
"yes. " It was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in his
heart that he hated Martin, and the more he thought the more he felt
convinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being he
ever loved, and that this was Else: he had never thought of Else in
this way before, but now it all became plain to him.

When the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home in
their great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.
One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others
watch him sitting with the oars in their hands. Outside the reef it
looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;
then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great
wave is coming which is to float them across the reef. The boat is
lifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; the
next moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are all
hidden--it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few
moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and
the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef
are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the
water and push the boat towards the shore--every wave helps them--and
at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.

A wrong order given in front of the reef--the slightest
hesitation--and the boat would be lost.

"Then it would be all over with me and Martin too! "

This thought passed through Jurgen's mind one day while they
were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly
ill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars' strokes from
the reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.

"Father-let me come! " he said, and he glanced at Martin and across
the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the
great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and
dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. The
boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought
remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of
bitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since they
had known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together,
nor did he endeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him, and
this was enough to make him hate his former friend. Several of the
fishermen saw this, but Martin did not--he remained as obliging and
talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.

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

"You will not go to sea again, Jurgen, I suppose," observed one of
the old fishermen. "You will always stay with us now. "

But this was not Jurgen's intention; he wanted to see something of
the world. The eel-breeder of Fjaltring had an uncle at Old Skjagen,
who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships upon
the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a bad
thing to enter his service. Old Skjagen lies in the extreme north of
Jutland, as far away from the Hunsby dunes as one can travel in that
country; and this is just what pleased Jurgen, for he did not want
to remain till the wedding of Martin and Else, which would take
place in a week or two.

The old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now that
Jurgen had a home Else would very likely be inclined to take him
instead of Martin.

Jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make out
what he meant--the old man brought Else to him, and she said:

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

And Jurgen thought of many things.

The sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in the
human heart. Many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through Jurgen's
brain, and he said to Else:

"If Martin had a house like mine, which of us would you rather
have? "

"But Martin has no house and cannot get one. "

"Suppose he had one? "

"Well, then I would certainly take Martin, for that is what my
heart tells me; but one cannot live upon love. "

Jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. Something
was working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was even
stronger than his love for Else; and so he went to Martin's, and
what he said and did there was well considered. He let the house to
Martin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to sea
again, because he loved it. And Else kissed him when she heard of
it, for she loved Martin best.

Jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on the
evening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late,
he felt a wish to visit Martin once more. He started, and among the
dunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place.
The old man made jokes about Martin, and declared there must be some
magic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond.

Jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-bye
to the old man and went on towards the house where Martin dwelt. He
heard loud talking inside; Martin was not alone, and this made
Jurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see Else
again. On second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hear
any more thanks from Martin, and so he turned back.

On the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened his
knapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and
went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. This way was
more pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter;
and he intended to go first to Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg, where the
eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit.

The sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shells
and pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over his
feet. While he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it was
a trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of great
importance. A few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves.
He wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if
this had cleared and lightened his brain. The sea-cale bloomed here
and there in the sand as he passed. He broke off a spray and stuck
it in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he was
going out into the wide world--"a little way out, beyond the bay,"
as the young eels had said. "Beware of bad people who will catch
you, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan! " he repeated in
his mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way through
the world--good courage is a strong weapon!

The sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrow
entrance to Nissum Bay. He looked back and saw a couple of horsemen
galloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people with
them. But this did not concern him.

The ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. Jurgen
called to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat.
Jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whom
he had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, and
commanded him to return in the name of the law. Jurgen did not
understand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn
back, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned.