A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS

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　　    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.
            
            

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分页标题#e#　　    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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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分页标题#e#　　    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
            
            

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　　    moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the
　　    water and push the boat towards the shore- every wave helps them-
　　    and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.
　　    A wrong order given in front of the reef- the slightest hesitation- and the boat would be lost, "Then it would be all over with me and Martin too!" This thought passed through Jurgen's mind one day while they
　　    were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly
　　    ill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars' strokes from
　　    the reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.
　　    "Father-let me come!" he said, and he glanced at Martin and across
　　    the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the
　　    great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and
　　    dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. The
　　    boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought
　　    remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of
　　    bitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since they had known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him, and this was enough to make him hate his former friend. Several of the fishermen saw this, but Martin did not- he remained as obliging and talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.
　　    Jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became his death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now Jurgen was heir to the little hous