THE

 SAND-HILLS OF JUTLAND. 

 BY

 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN, AUTHOR OF "THE IMPROVISATORE, " ETC. 

 TRANSLATED BY MRS. BUSHBY. 

 LONDON:

 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 

 1860. 

 * * * * *

The Following Tales

ARE DEDICATED, WITH THE HIGHEST SENTIMENTS OF

ESTEEM AND REGARD, TO

THE BARON CHARLES JOACHIM HAMBRO, BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 

 * * * * *

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

THE SAND-HILLS OF JUTLAND 1

THE MUD-KING'S DAUGHTER 48

THE QUICKEST RUNNERS 97

THE BELL'S HOLLOW 101

SOUP MADE OF A SAUSAGE-STICK 106

THE NECK OF A BOTTLE 124

THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP 137

SOMETHING 153

THE OLD OAK TREE'S LAST DREAM 162

THE WIND RELATES THE STORY OF WALDEMAR DAAE ANDHIS DAUGHTERS 170

THE GIRL WHO TROD UPON BREAD 185

OLÉ, THE WATCHMAN OF THE TOWER 196

ANNE LISBETH; OR, THE APPARITION OF THE BEACH 204

CHILDREN'S PRATTLE 218

A ROW OF PEARLS 222

THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND 232

THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE 236

CHARMING. 243

 * * * * *

_The Sand-hills of Jutland. _

This is a story from the Jutland sand-hills, but it does not commencethere; on the contrary, it commences far away towards the south, inSpain. The sea is the highway between the two countries. Fancyyourself there. The scenery is beautiful; the climate is warm. Thereblooms the scarlet pomegranate amidst the dark laurel trees; from thehills a refreshing breeze is wafted over the orange groves and themagnificent Moorish halls, with their gilded cupolas and their paintedwalls. Processions of children parade the streets with lights andwaving banners; and, above these, clear and lofty rises the vault ofheaven, studded with glittering stars. Songs and castanets are heard;youths and girls mingle in the dance under the blossoming acacias;whilst beggars sit upon the sculptured blocks of marble, and refreshthemselves with the juicy water-melon. Life dozes here: it is all likea charming dream, and one indulges in it. Yes, thus did two youngnewly-married persons, who also possessed all the best gifts ofearth--health, good humour, riches, and rank. 

"Nothing could possibly exceed our happiness, " they said in thefulness of their joyful hearts; yet there was one degree of stillhigher happiness to which they might attain, and that would be whenGod blessed them with a child--a son, to resemble them in features andin disposition. 

That fortunate child would be hailed with rapture; would be loved anddaintily cared for; would be the heir to all the advantages thatwealth and high birth can bestow. 

The days flew by as a continual festival to them. 

"Life is a merciful gift of love--almost inconceivably great, " saidthe young wife; "but the fulness of this happiness shall be tasted inthat future life, when it will increase and exist to all eternity. Theidea is incomprehensible to me. "

"That is only an assumption among mankind, " said her husband. "Inreality, it is frightful pride and overweening arrogance to think thatwe shall live for ever--become like God. These were the serpent's wilywords, and he is the father of lies. "

"You do not, however, doubt that there is a life after this one?"asked his wife; and for the first time a cloud seemed to pass overtheir sunny heaven of thought. 

"Faith holds forth the promise of it, and the priests proclaim it, "said the young man; "but, in the midst of all my happiness, I feelthat it would be too craving, too presumptuous, to demand another lifeafter this one--a happiness to be continual. Is there not so muchgranted in this existence that we might and ought to be content withit?"

"To us--yes, there has been much granted, " replied the young wife;"but to how many thousands does not this life become merely a heavytrial? How many are not, as it were, cast into this world to be thevictims of poverty, wrangling, sickness, and misfortune? Nay, if therewere no life after this one, then everything in this globe has beenunequally dealt out; then God would not be just. "

"The beggar down yonder has joys as great, to his ideas, as are thoseof the monarch in his splendid palace to him, " said the young man;"and do you not think that the beasts of burden, which are beaten, starved, and toiled to death, feel the oppressiveness of their lot?They also might desire another life, and call it unjust that they hadnot been placed amidst a higher grade of beings. "

"In the kingdom of heaven there are many mansions, Christ has toldus, " answered the lady. "The kingdom of heaven is infinite, as is thelove of God. The beasts of the field are also His creation; and mybelief is that no life will be extinguished, but will win that degreeof happiness which may be suitable to it, and that will besufficient. "

"Well, this world is enough for me, " said her husband, as he threw hisarms round his beautiful, amiable wife, and smoked his cigarette uponthe open balcony, where the deliciously cool air was laden with theperfume of orange trees and beds of carnations. Music and the sound ofcastanets arose from the street beneath; the stars shone brightlyabove; and two eyes full of affection, the eyes of his charming wife, looked at him with love which would live in eternity. 

"Such moments as these, " he exclaimed, "are they not well worth beingborn for--born to enjoy them, and then to vanish into nothingness?"

He smiled; his wife lifted her hand and shook it at him with a gestureof mild reproach, and the cloud had passed over--they were too happy. 

Everything seemed to unite for their advancement in honour, inhappiness, and in prosperity. There came a change, but in place--notin anything to affect their well-being, to damp their joy, or toruffle the smooth current of their lives. The young nobleman wasappointed by his king ambassador to the court of Russia. It was a postof honour to which he was entitled by his birth and education. He hada large private fortune, and his young wife had brought him one notinferior to his own, for she was the daughter of one of the richestmen in the kingdom. A large ship was about that time to go toStockholm. It was selected to convey the rich man's dear daughter andson-in-law to St. Petersburg; and its cabin was fitted up as if forthe use of royalty--soft carpets under the feet, silken hangings, andevery luxury around. 

Amidst the ancient Scandinavian ballads, known to all Danes undertheir general title of _Koempeviser_, there is one called "The Kingof England's Son. " He likewise sailed in a costly ship; its anchor wasinlaid with pure gold, and every rope was of twisted silk. Every onewho saw the Spanish vessel must have remembered the ship in thislegend, for there was the same pageantry, the same thoughts on theirdeparture. 

 "God, let us meet again in joy!"

The wind blew freshly from off the Spanish shore, and the last adieuxwere therefore hurried; but in a few weeks they would reach theirdestination. They had not gone far, however, before the wind lulled, the sea became calm, its surface sparkled, the stars above shonebrightly, and all was serenity in the splendid cabin. 

At length they became tired of the continued calm, and wished that thebreeze would rise and swell into a good strong wind, if it would onlybe fair for them; but they still lacked wind, and if it did arise, itwas always a contrary one. Thus passed weeks, and when at length thewind became fair, and blew from the south-west, they were half waybetween Scotland and Jutland. Just then the wind shifted, andincreased to a gale, as it is described to have done in the ballad of"The King of England's Son. "

 "The sky grew dark, and the wind it blew, They could see neither land nor haven of rest; So then they cast out their anchor true, But to Denmark they drove with the gale from the west. "

This was many years ago. King Christian the Seventh occupied theDanish throne, and was then a young man. Much has happened since thattime, much has changed; lakes and morasses have become fruitfulmeadows, wild moors have become cultivated land, and on the lee of theWest Jutlander's house grow apple trees and roses; but they must besheltered from the sharp west winds. Up there one can still, however, fancy one's self back in the period of Christian the Seventh's reign. As then in Jutland, so even now, stretch for miles and miles the brownheaths, with their tumuli, their meteors, their knolly, sandy crossroads. Towards the west, where large streams fall into the fiords, areto be seen wide plains and bogs, encircled by high hills, which, likea row of Alpine mountains with pinnacles formed like saws, frown overthe sea, which is separated from them only by high clay banks; andyear after year the sea bites a large mouthful off of these, so thattheir edges and summits topple over as if shaken by an earthquake. Thus they look at this day, and thus they were many years ago, whenthe happy young couple sailed from Spain in the magnificent ship. 

It was the end of September. It was Sunday and sunshine: the sound ofthe church bells reached afar, even to Nissumfiord. The churches upthere were like rocks with spaces hewn out in them: each one of themwas like a piece of a mountain, so heavy and massive. The German Oceanmight have rolled over them, and they would have stood firmly. Many ofthem had no spires or towers, and the bells hung out in the open airbetween two beams. The church service was over. The congregation hadpassed from the house of God out into the churchyard, where then, asnow, not a tree, not a bush was to be seen--not a single flower, not agarland laid upon a grave. Little knolls or heaps of earth point outwhere the dead are buried; a sharp kind of grass, lashed by the wind, grows over the whole churchyard. A solitary grave here and there has, perhaps, a monument; that is to say, the mouldering trunk of a tree, rudely carved into the shape of a coffin. The pieces of tree arebrought from the woods of the west. The wild ocean provides, for thedwellers on the coast, beams, planks, and trees, which the dashingbillows cast upon the shore. The wind and the sea spray soon decaythese tree monuments. Such a stump was lying over the grave of achild, and one of the women who had come out of the church wenttowards it. She stood gazing upon the partially loosened piece ofwood. Shortly afterwards her husband joined her. They remained for atime without either of them uttering a single word; then he took herhand, and led her from the grave out upon the heath, across the moor, in the direction of the sand-hills. For a long time they walked insilence. At last the husband said, --

"It was an excellent sermon to-day. If we had not our Lord we shouldhave nothing. "

"Yes, " said the wife, "He sends joy, and He sends affliction. He isright in all things. To-morrow our little boy would have been fiveyears old if he had been spared to us. "

"There is no use in your grieving for his loss, " replied the husband. "He has escaped much evil. He is now where we must pray to be alsoreceived. "

They dropped the painful subject, and pursued their way towards theirhouse amidst the sand-hills. Suddenly, from one of these where therewas no lyme-grass to keep down the sand, there arose as it were athick smoke. It was a furious gust of wind, that had pierced thesand-hill, and whirled about in the air the fine particles of sand. The wind veered round for a minute; and all the dried fish that washung up on cords outside of the house knocked against its walls, theneverything was still again. The sun was shining warmly. 

The man and his wife entered their house, and having soon divestedthemselves of their Sunday clothes, they hastened over the sand-hills, which stood like enormous waves of sand suddenly arrested in theircourse. The sea-reed's and the lyme-grass's blue-green sharp bladesgave some variety to the white sand. Some neighbours joined the couplewho had just come from church, and they assisted each other indragging the boats higher up the beach. The gale was increasing; itwas bitterly cold; and when they were returning over the hills, thesand and small stones whisked into their faces, the waves mountedhigh with their white crests, and the spray dashed after them. 

It was evening; there was a doleful whistling in the air, increasingevery moment--a wild howling, as if a host of unseen despairingspirits were uttering their complaints. The moaning sound overpoweredeven the angry dashing of the waves, although the fisherman's houselay so near to the shore. The sand drifted against the windows, andevery now and then came a blast that shook the house to itsfoundation. It was very dark, but the moon would rise at midnight. 

The air cleared; yet the storm still raged in all its might over thedeep gloomy sea. The fishermen and their families had retired for sometime to rest, but no one could close his eyes in such terribleweather. Some one knocked at the windows of some of the cottages, andwhen the doors were opened the person said, --

"A large ship is lying fast upon the outer shoal. "

In a moment the fishermen and their wives were up and dressed. 

The moon had risen, and there was light enough to see if they had notbeen blinded by the sand that was flying about. The wind was so strongthat they were obliged to lie down, and creep amidst the gusts overthe sand-hills; and there flew through the air, like swan's down, thesalt foam and spray from the sea, which, like a roaring, boilingcataract, dashed upon the beach. A practised eye was required todiscern quickly the vessel outside. It was a large ship; it was lifteda few cable lengths forward, then driven on towards the land, struckupon the inner sand-bank, and stood fast. It was impossible to go tothe assistance of the ship, the sea was running too high: it beatagainst the unfortunate vessel, and dashed over her. The people onshore thought that they heard cries of distress--cries of those in theagony of death; and they saw the desperate, useless activity on board. Then came a sea that, like a crushing avalanche, fell upon thebowsprit, and it was gone. The stern of the vessel rose high above thewater--two people sprang from it together into the sea--a moment, andone of the most gigantic billows that were rolling up against thesand-hills cast a body upon the shore: it was that of a female, andevery one believed it was a corpse. Two women, however, knelt down bythe body, and thinking that they found in it some sign of life, it wascarried over the sand-hills to a fisherman's house. How beautiful shewas, and how handsomely dressed!--evidently a lady of rank. 

They placed her in the humble bed; there was no linen on it, onlyblankets to wrap her in, yet these were very warm. 

She soon came to life, but was in a high fever. She did not seem toknow what had happened, or to remark where she was; and this wasprobably fortunate, since all who were dear to her on board theill-fated ship were lying at the bottom of the sea. It had been withthem as described in the song, "The King of England's Son:"--

 "It was, in sooth, a piteous sight! The ship broke up to bits that night. "

Portions of the wreck were washed ashore. She was the only livingcreature out of all that had so lately breathed and moved on board thedoomed ship. The wind was howling their requiem over the inhospitablecoast. For a few minutes she slept peacefully, but soon she awoke anduttered groans of pain; she cast up her beautiful eyes towards heaven, and said a few words, but no one there could understand them. 

Another helpless being soon made its appearance, and her new-born babewas placed in her arms. It ought to have reposed on a stately couch, with silken curtains, in a splendid house. It ought to have beenwelcomed with joy to a life rich in all this world's goods; but ourLord had ordained that it should be born in a peasant's hut, in amiserable nook. Not even one kiss did it receive from its mother. 

The fisherman's wife laid the infant on its mother's breast, and itrested near her heart; but that heart had ceased to beat--she wasdead! The child who should have been nurtured amidst happiness andwealth was cast a stranger into the world--thrown up by the sea amongthe sand-hills, to experience heavy days and the fate of the poor. Andagain we call to mind the old song:--

 "The king's son's eyes with big tears fill: 'Alas! that I came to this robber-hill. Here nothing awaits me but evil and pain. Had I haply but come to Herr Buggé's domain, Neither knight nor squire would have treated me ill. '"

A little to the south of Nissumfiord, on that portion of the shorewhich Herr Buggé had formerly called his, the vessel had stranded. Those rough, inhuman times, when the inhabitants of the west coastdealt cruelly, it is said, with the shipwrecked, had long passed away;and now the utmost compassion was felt, and the kindest attention paidto those whom the engulfing sea had spared. The dying mother and theforlorn child would have met with every care wherever "the wild windhad blown;" but nowhere could they have been received with morecordial kindness than by the poor fishwife who, only the previousmorning, had stood with a heavy heart by the grave wherein reposed herchild, who on that very day would have attained his fifth year if theAlmighty had permitted him to live. 

No one knew who the foreign dead woman was, or whence she came. Thebroken planks and fragments of the ship told nothing. 

In Spain, at that opulent house, there never arrived either letter ormessage from the daughter and son-in-law; they had not reached theirdestination; fearful storms had raged for some weeks. They waited withanxiety for months. At last they heard, "Totally lost--every one onboard perished!"

But at Huusby-Klitter, in the fisherman's cottage, there dwelt now alittle urchin. 

Where God bestows food for two, there is always something for a third;and near the sea there is plenty of fish to be found. The littlestranger was named Jörgen. 

"He is surely a Jewish child, " said some people, "he has so dark acomplexion. "

"He may, however, be an Italian or a Spaniard, " said the priest. 

The whole tribe of fishermen and women comforted themselves that, whatever was his origin, the child had received Christian baptism. Theboy throve, his noble blood mantled in his cheek, and he grew strong, notwithstanding poor living. The Danish language, as it is spoken inWest Jutland, became his mother tongue. The pomegranate seed from theSpanish soil became the coarse grass on the west coast of Jutland. Such are the vicissitudes of life!

To that home he attached himself with his young life's roots. Hungerand cold, the poor man's toil and want, he was to experience, but alsothe poor man's joys. 

Childhood has its bright periods, which shine in recollection throughthe whole of after life. How much had he not to amuse him, and toplay with! The entire seashore, for miles in length, was covered withplaythings for him--a mosaic of pebbles red as coral, yellow as amber, and pure white, round as birds' eggs, all smoothed and polished by thesea. Even the scales of the dried fish, the aquatic plants dried bythe wind, the shining seaweed fluttering among the rocks--all werepleasant to his eye, and matter for his thoughts; and the boy was anexcitable, clever child. Much genius and great abilities lay dormantin him. How well he remembered all the stories and old ballads heheard; and he was very quick with his fingers. With stones and shellshe would plan out whole scenes he had heard as if in a picture: onemight have ornamented a room with these handiworks of his. "He couldcut out his thoughts with a stick, " said his foster-mother; and yet hewas but a little boy. His voice was very sweet--melody seemed to havebeen born with him. There were many finely-toned strings in thatbreast; they might have sounded forth in the world, had his lot beenotherwise cast than in a fisherman's house on the shores of the GermanOcean. 

One day a ship foundered near. A case was thrown up on the landcontaining a number of flower-bulbs. Some took them and put them intotheir cooking pots, thinking they were to be eaten; others were leftto rot upon the sand; none of them fulfilled their destination--tounfold the lovely colours, the beauty that lay in them. Would it bebetter with Jörgen? The poor flower-roots were soon done for: theremight be years of trial before him. 

It never occurred to him, or to any of the people around him, to thinktheir days lonely and monotonous: there was abundance to do, to hear, and to see. The ocean itself was a great book; every day he read anew page in it--the calm, the swell of the sea, the breeze, the storm. The beach was his favourite resort; going to church was his event, hisvisit of importance, though of visits there was one which occasionallytook place at the fisherman's house that was particularly welcome tohim. Twice a year his foster-mother's brother, the eel-man fromFjaltring, up near Rovbierg, paid them a visit. He came in a paintedcart full of eels. The cart was closed and locked like a chest, andpainted with blue, red, and white tulips; it was drawn by twodun-coloured bullocks, and Jörgen was allowed to drive them. 

The eel-man was a very good-natured, lively guest. He always brought akeg of brandy with him; every one got a dram of it, or a coffee-cupfull if glasses were scarce; even Jörgen, though he was but a littlefellow, was treated to a good thimbleful. That was to keep down thefat eels, said the eel-man; and then he never failed to tell a storyhe had often told before, and, when people laughed at it, heimmediately told it over again to the same persons; but this is ahabit with all talkative individuals; and as Jörgen, during the wholetime that he was growing up, and into the years of his manhood, oftenquoted phrases in this story, and applied them to himself, we may aswell listen to it. 

"Out in the rivulet dwelt eels, and the eel-mother said to herdaughters, when they begged to be allowed to go a little way alone upthe stream. 'Do not go far, lest the horrible eel-spearer should come, and take you all away. '

"But they went very far, and of eight daughters only three returned totheir mother, and these came wailing, 'We only went a short way fromthe door, when the terrible eel-spearer came and killed our fivesisters. ' 'They will come back again, ' said the eel-mother. 'No, 'said the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in pieces, andfried them. ' 'They will come again, ' repeated the mother. 'Impossible, for he ate them. ' 'They will come again, ' still persisted theeel-mother. 'But he drank brandy after he had eaten them, ' said thedaughter. 'Did he? Oh! oh! then they will never come again, ' howledthe mother. 'Brandy buries eels. '

"And therefore one must always drink a little brandy after that dish, "said the eel-man. 

And this story made a great impression on little Jörgen, and partlyinfluenced his life. He took the tinsel for the gold. He also wishedto go "a little way up the stream"--that is to say, to go away in aship to see the world--and his mother said as the eel-mother had done. "There are many bad men--eel-spearers. " But a little way beyond thesand-hills, and a little way on the heath, he was allowed to go, hebegged so hard. Four happy days, however--days that seemed thebrightest among his childish years, turned up: he was to go to a largemeeting. What pleasure, although it was to a funeral!

A relation of the fisherman's family, who had been in easycircumstances, was dead. The farm lay inland--"eastward, a little tothe north, " it was said. The father and mother were both going, andJörgen was to accompany them. On leaving the sand-hills, they passedover heaths and boggy lands, until they came to the green meadowswhere Skjærumaa winds its way--the river with the numerous eels, wherethe eel-mother with her daughters lived, those whom the cruel manspeared and cut in pieces, though there were men who had scarcelytreated their fellow-men better. Even Herr Buggé, the knight who wascelebrated in the old song, was murdered by a wicked man; and thoughhe was himself called so good, he wished to put to death the builderwho had built for him his castle, with its tower and thick walls, justwhere Jörgen and his foster-parents stood, where Skjærumaa falls intothe Nissumfiord. The sloping bank or ascent to the ramparts was stillto be seen, and red fragments of the walls still marked out thecircumference of the ancient building. Here had Herr Buggé, when thebuilder had taken his departure, said to his squire--"Follow him, andsay, Master, the tower leans to one side. If he turns, slay him on thespot, and take the money from him that he got from me; but, if he doesnot turn, let him go on in peace. " And the squire overtook thebuilder, and said what he was ordered to say; and the builder replied, "The tower does not lean to one side, but by and by there will comefrom the westward one in a blue cloak, and _he_ will make it bend. " Ahundred years afterwards this prediction was fulfilled, for the GermanOcean rushed in, and the tower fell; but the then owner of theproperty, Prebjörn Gyldenstierne, erected a habitation higher up, andthat stands now, and is called Nörre-Vosborg. 

Jörgen, with his foster-parents, had to pass this place. Of everylittle town hereabout he had heard stories during the long winterevenings; now he saw the castle, with its double moats, its trees andbushes, its ramparts overgrown with bracken. But the most beautifulsight was the lofty linden trees, that filled the air with so sweet aperfume. Towards the north-west, in a corner of the garden, stood alarge bush with flowers that were like winter's snow amidst summer'sgreen. It was an elder tree, the first Jörgen had ever seen in bloom. That and the linden trees were always remembered during his futureyears as Denmark's sweetest perfume and beauty, which the soul ofchildhood "for the old man laid by. "

The journey soon became more extended, and the country less wild. After passing Nörre-Vosborg, where the elder tree was in bloom, he hadthe pleasure of travelling in a sort of carriage, for they met some ofthe other guests who were going to the funeral feast, as it might becalled, and were invited into their conveyance. To be sure they hadall three to stuff themselves into a very narrow back seat, but thatwas better, they thought, than walking. They drove over the unevenheaths; the bullocks which drew their cart stopped whenever they cameto a little patch of green grass among the heather. The sun wasshining warmly, and it was wonderful to see, far in the distance, asmoke that undulated, yet was clearer than the air--one could seethrough it: it was as if rays of light were rolling and dancing overthe heath. 

"It is the Lokéman, who is driving his sheep, " was told Jörgen, andthat was enough for him. He fancied he was driving into the land ofmarvellous adventures and fairy tales; yet he was only amidstrealities. How still it was there!

Far before them stretched the heath, but it looked like a beautifullyvariegated carpet; the ling was in flower, the Cyprus-green juniperbushes and the fresh oak shoots seemed like bouquets among theheather. But for the many poisonous vipers, how delightful it wouldhave been to roll about there! The party spoke of them, and of thenumerous wolves that had abounded in that neighbourhood, on account ofwhich the district was called Ulvborg-Herred. The old man who wasdriving related how, in his father's time, the horses had often tofight a hard battle with these now extirpated wild animals; and thatone morning, on coming out, he found one of his horses treading upon awolf he had killed; but the flesh was entirely stripped from thehorse's legs. 

Too quickly for Jörgen did they drive over the uneven heath, andthrough the deep sand. They stopped at length before the house ofmourning, which was crowded with strangers, some inside, some on theoutside. Vehicle after vehicle stood together; the horses and oxenwere turned out amidst the meagre grass; large sand-hills, like thoseat home by the German Ocean, were to be seen behind the farm, andstretched far away in wide long ranges. How had they come there, twelve miles inland, and nearly as high and as large as those near theshore? The wind had lifted them and removed them: they also had theirhistory. 

Psalms were sung, and tears were shed by some of the old people, otherwise all was very pleasant thought Jörgen. Here was plenty to eatand drink--the nicest fat eels; and it was necessary to drinkbrandy-snaps after eating them, "to keep them down, " the eel-man hadsaid; and his words were acted upon here with all due honour. 

Jörgen was in, and Jörgen was out. By the third day he felt himself asmuch at home here as he had done in the fisherman's cottage, where hehad lived all his earlier days. Up here on the heath it was differentfrom down there, but it was very nice. It was covered withheather-bells and bilberries; they were so large and so sweet; onecould mash them with one's foot, so that the heather should bedripping with the red juice. Here lay one tumulus, there another;columns of smoke arose in the calm air; it was the heath on fire, theysaid, it shone brightly in the evening. 

The fourth day came, and the funeral solemnities were over--thefisherman and his family were to leave the land sand-hills for thestrand sand-hills. 

"Ours are the largest though;" said the father, "these are not at allimportant-looking. "

And the conversation fell on how they came there, and it was all veryintelligible and very rational. A body had been found on the beach, and the peasants had buried it in the churchyard; then commenced adrifting of sand--the sea broke wildly on the shore, and a man in theparish who was noted for his sagacity advised that the grave should beopened, to ascertain if the buried corpse lay and sucked his thumb;for if he did that, it was a merman whom they had buried, and the seawould force its way up to take him back. The grave was accordinglyopened, and lo! he they had buried was found sucking his thumb; sothey took him up instantly, placed him on a car, harnessed two oxen toit, and dragged him over heaths and bogs out to the sea; then the sanddrift stopped, but the sand-hills have always remained. To all thisJörgen listened eagerly; and he treasured this ancient legend in hismemory, along with all that had happened during the pleasantest daysof his childhood--the days of the funeral feast. 

It was delightful to go from home, and to see new places and newpeople; and he was to go still farther away. He went on board a ship. He went forth to see what the world produced; and he found badweather, rough seas, evils dispositions, and harsh masters. He went asa cabin-boy! Poor living, cold nights, the rope's end, and hard thumpswith the fist were his portion. There was something in his nobleSpanish blood which always boiled up, so that angry words rose oftento his lips; but he was wise enough to keep them back, and he feltpretty much like an eel being skinned, cut up, and laid on the pan. 

"I will come again, " said he to himself. The Spanish coast, hisparents' native land, the very town where they had lived in grandeurand happiness, he saw; but he knew nothing of kindred and a paternalhome, and his family knew as little of him. 

The dirty ship-boy was not allowed to land for a long time, but thelast day the ship lay there he was sent on shore to bring off somepurchases that had been made. 

There stood Jörgen in wretched clothes, that looked as if they hadbeen washed in a ditch and dried in the chimney: it was the first timethat he, a denizen of the solitary sand-hills, had seen a large town. How high the houses were, how narrow the streets, swarming with humanbeings; some hurrying this way, others going that way--it was like awhirlpool of townspeople, peasants, monks, and soldiers. There were arushing along, a screaming, a jingling of the bells on the asses andthe mules, and the church bells ringing too. There were to be heardsinging and babbling, hammering and banging; for every trade had itsworkshop either in the doorway or on the pavement. The sun was burninghot, the air was heavy: it was as if one had entered a baker's ovenfull of beetles, lady-birds, bees, and flies, that hummed and buzzed. Jörgen scarcely knew, as the saying is, whether he was on his head orhis heels. Then he beheld, at a little distance, the immense portalsof the cathedral; light streamed forth from the arches that were sodim and gloomy above; and there came a strong scent from the incense. Even the poorest, most tattered beggars ascended the wide stairs tothe church, and the sailor who was with Jörgen showed him the way in. Jörgen stood in a sacred place; splendidly-painted pictures hung roundin richly-gilded frames; the holy Virgin, with the infant Jesus in herarms, was on the altar amidst flowers and light; priests in theirmagnificent robes were chanting; and beautiful, handsomely-dressedchoristers swung backwards and forwards silver censers. There was ineverything a splendour, a charm, that penetrated to Jörgen's verysoul, and overwhelmed him. The church and the faith of his parents andhis ancestors surrounded him, and touched a chord in his heart whichcaused tears to start to his eyes. 

From the church they proceeded to the market. He had many articles offood and matters for the use of the cook, to carry. The way was long, and he became very tired; so he stopped to rest outside of a largehandsome house, that had marble pillars, statues, and wide stairs. Hewas leaning with his burden against the wall, when a finely-bedizenedporter came forward, raised his silver-mounted stick to him, and drovehim away--him, the grandchild of its owner, the heir of the family;but none there knew this, nor did he himself. 

He returned on board, was thumped and scolded, had little sleep andmuch work. Such was his life! And it is very good for youth to put upwith hard usage, it is said. Yes, if it makes age good. 

The period for which he had been engaged was expired--the vessel layagain at Ringkiöbingfiord. He landed, and went home to Huusby-Klitter;but his mother had died during his absence. 

The winter which followed was a severe one. Snow storms drove over seaand land: one could scarcely face them. How differently were notthings dealt out in this world! Such freezing cold and drifting snowhere, whilst in Spain was burning heat, almost too great; and yetwhen, one clear, frosty day at home, Jörgen saw swans flying in largeflocks from the sea over Nissumfiord, and towards Nörre-Vosborg, hethought that the course they pursued was the best, and all summerpleasures were to be found there. In fancy he saw the heath in bloom, and mingling with it the ripe, juicy berries; the linden trees andelder bushes at Nörre-Vosborg were in flower. He must return thereyet. 

Spring was approaching, the fishing was commencing, and Jörgen lenthis help. He had grown much during the last year, and was extremelyactive. There was plenty of life in him; he could swim, tread thewater, and turn and roll about in it. He was much inclined to offerhimself for the mackerel shoals: they take the best swimmer, draw himunder the water, eat him up, and so there is an end of him; but thiswas not Jörgen's fate. 

Among the neighbours in the sand-hills was a boy named Morten. He andJörgen left the fishing, and they both hired themselves on board avessel bound to Norway, and went afterwards to Holland. They werealways at odds with each other, but that might easily happen whenpeople were rather warm-tempered; and they could not help showingtheir feelings sometimes in expressive gestures. This was what Jörgendid once on board when they came up from below quarrelling aboutsomething. They were sitting together, eating out of an earthen dishthey had between them, when Jörgen, who was holding his clasp-knife inhis hand, raised it against Morten, looking at the moment as white aschalk, and ghastly about the eyes. Morten only said, --

"So you are of that sort that will use the knife!"

Scarcely had he uttered these words before Jörgen's hand was downagain; he did not say a syllable, ate his dinner, and went to hiswork; but when he had finished that, he sought Morten, and said, --

"Strike me on the face if you will--I have deserved it. There issomething in me that always boils up so. "

"Let bygones be bygones, " said Morten; and thereupon they became muchbetter friends. When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, andtold all that had passed, it was remarked that Jörgen might boil over, but he was an honest pot for all that. 

"But not of Jutland manufacture--he cannot be called a Jutlander, " wasMorten's witty reply. 

They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, butJörgen was the most active. 

Up in Norway the country people repair to the summer pastures amongthe mountains, and take their cattle there to grass. On the west coastof Jutland, among the sand-hills, are huts built of pieces of wrecks, and covered with peat and layers of heather. The sleeping-placesstretch round the principal room; and there sleep and live, during theearly spring time, the people employed in the fishing. Every one hashis _Æsepige_, as she is called, whose business it is to put bait onthe hooks, to await the fishermen at their landing-place with warmale, and have their food ready for them when they return weary to thehouse. These girls carry the fish from the boats, and cut them up; inshort, they have a great deal to do. 

Jörgen, his father, and a couple of other fishermen, with their_Æsepiger_, or serving girls, were together in one house. Morten livedin the house next to theirs. 

There was one of these girls called Elsé, whom Jörgen had known fromher infancy. They were great friends, and much alike in disposition, though very different in appearance. He was of a dark complexion, andshe was very fair, with hair almost of a golden colour; her eyes wereas blue as the sea when the sun is shining upon it. 

One day when they were walking together, and Jörgen was holding herhand with a tight and affectionate grasp, she said to him, --

"Jörgen, I have something on my mind. Let me be your _Æsepige_, foryou are to me like a brother; but Morten, who has hired me atpresent--he and I are sweethearts. Do not mention this, however, toany one. "

And Jörgen felt as if a sand-hill had opened under him. He did notutter a single word, but nodded his head by way of a yes--more was notnecessary; but he felt suddenly in his heart that he could not endureMorten, and the longer he reflected on the matter the clearer itbecame to him. Morten had stolen from him the only one he cared for, and that was Elsé. She was now lost to him. 

If the sea should be boisterous when the fishermen return with theirlittle smacks, it is curious to see them cross the reefs. One of thefishermen stands erect in advance, the others watch him intently, while sitting with their oars ready to use when he gives them a signthat now are coming the great waves which will lift the boats over;and they are lifted, so that those on shore can only see their keels. The next moment the entire boat is hidden by the surgingwaves--neither boat, nor mast, nor people are to be seen: one wouldfancy the sea had swallowed them up. A minute or two more, and theyshow themselves, looking as if some mighty marine monsters werecreeping out of the foaming sea, the oars moving like their legs. Withthe second and the third reef the same process takes place as with thefirst; and now the fishermen spring into the water and drag the boatson shore, every succeeding billow helping and giving them a good liftuntil they are fairly out of the water. One false move on the outsideof the reefs--one moment's delay, and they would be shipwrecked. 

"Then it would be all over with me, and with Morten at the same time. "This thought came across Jörgen's mind out at sea, where hisfoster-father had been taken suddenly ill: he was in a high fever. This was just a little way from the outer reef. Jörgen sprang up. 

"Father, allow me, " he cried, and his eye glanced over Morten and overthe waves; but just then every oar was raised for the great struggle, and as the first enormous billow came, he observed his father's palesuffering countenance, and he could not carry out the wicked designthat had suggested itself to his mind. The boat got safely over thereefs, and in to the land; but Jörgen's evil thoughts remained, andhis blood boiled at every little disagreeable act that started up inhis recollection from the time that he and Morten had been comrades, and his anger increased as he remembered each offence. Morten hadsupplanted him, he felt assured of that; and that was enough to makehim hateful to him. A few of the fishermen remarked his scowling looksat Morten, but Morten himself did not; he was, just as usual, ready togive every assistance, and very talkative--a little too much of thelatter, perhaps. 

Jörgen's foster-father was obliged to keep his bed; he became worse, and died within a week; and Jörgen inherited the house behind thesand-hills--a humble habitation to be sure, but it was alwayssomething. Morten had not so much. 

"You will not take service any more, Jörgen, I suppose, but willremain among us now, " said one of the old fishermen. 

But Jörgen had no such intention. He was thinking, on the contrary, ofgoing away to see a little of the world. The eel-man of Fjaltring hadan uncle up at Gammel-Skagen; he was a fisherman, but also a thrivingtrader who owned some little vessels. He was such an excellent oldman, it would be a good thing to take service with him. Gammel-Skagenlies on the northern part of Jutland, at the other extremity of thecountry from Huusby-Klitter, and that was what Jörgen thought most of. He was determined not to stay for Elsé and Morten's wedding, which wasto take place in a couple of weeks. 

"It was foolish to take his departure now, " was the opinion of the oldfisherman who had spoken to him before. "Now Jörgen had a house, Elséwould most likely prefer taking him. "

Jörgen answered so shortly, when thus spoken to, that it was difficultto ascertain what he thought; but the old man brought Elsé to him. Shedid not say much; but this she did say, --

"You have now a house: one must take that into consideration. "

And Jörgen also took much into consideration. In the ocean there aremany heavy seas--the human heart has still heavier ones. There passedmany thoughts, strong and weak mingled together, through Jörgen's headand heart, and he asked Elsé, --

"If Morten had a house as well as I, which of us two would you rathertake?"

"But Morten has no house, and has no chance of getting one. "

"But we think it is very likely he will have one. "

"Oh! then I would take Morten, of course; but one can't live uponlove. "

And Jörgen reflected for the whole night over what had passed. Therewas something in him he could not himself account for; but he had oneidea--it overpowered his love for Elsé, and it led him to Morten. Whathe said and did there had been well considered by him--he made hishouse over to Morten on the lowest possible terms, saying that hewould himself prefer to go into service. And Elsé kissed him in hergratitude when she heard it, for she certainly loved Morten best. 

At an early hour in the morning Jörgen was to take his departure. Theevening before, though it was already late, he fancied he would liketo visit Morten once more, so he went; and amongst the sand-hills hemet the old fisherman, who did not seem to think of his going away, and who jested about all the girls being so much in love with Morten. Jörgen cut him short, bade him farewell, and proceeded to the housewhere Morten lived. When he reached it he heard loud talking within:Morten was not alone. Jörgen was somewhat capricious. Of all personshe would least wish to find Elsé there; and, on second thoughts, hewould rather not give Morten an opportunity of renewing his thanks, sohe turned back again. 

Early next morning, before the dawn of day, he tied up his bundle, took his provision box, and went down from the sand-hills to thesea-beach. It was easier to walk there than on the heavy sandy road;besides, it was shorter, for he was first going to Fjaltring, nearVosbjerg, where the eel-man lived, to whom he had promised a visit. 

The sea was smooth and beautifully blue--shells of different sorts layaround. These were the playthings of his childhood--he now trod themunder his feet. As he was walking along his nose began to bleed. Thatwas only a trifle in itself, but it might have some meaning. A fewlarge drops of blood fell upon his arms; he washed them off, stoppedthe bleeding, and found that the loss of a little blood had actuallymade him feel lighter in his head and in his heart. A small quantityof sea-kale was growing in the sand; he broke a blade off of it, andstuck it in his hat. He tried to feel happy and confident now that hewas going out into the wide world--"away from the door, a little wayup the stream, " as the eel's children had said; and the mother said, "Take care of bad men; they will catch you, skin you, cut you inpieces, and fry you. " He repeated this to himself, and laughed at it. He would get through the world with a whole skin--no fear of that; forhe had plenty of courage, and that was a good weapon of defence. 

The sun was already high up, when, as he approached the small inletbetween the German Ocean and Nissumfiord, he happened to look back, and perceived at a considerable distance two people on horseback, andothers following on foot: they were evidently making great haste, butit was nothing to him. 

The ferry-boat lay on the other side of the narrow arm of the sea. Jörgen beckoned and called to the person who had charge of it. It cameover, and he entered it; but before he and the man who was rowing hadgot half way across, the men he had seen hurrying on reached thebanks, and with threatening gestures shouted the name of themagistrate. Jörgen could not comprehend what they wanted, butconsidered it would be best to go back, and even took one of the oarsto row the faster. The moment the boat neared the shore, people spranginto it, and before he had an idea of what they were going to do, theyhad thrown a rope round his hands, and made him their prisoner. 

"Your evil deed will cost you your life, " said they. "It is lucky wearrived in time to catch you. "

It was neither more nor less than a murder he was accused of havingcommitted. Morten had been found stabbed by a knife in his neck. Oneof the fishermen had, late the night before, met Jörgen going to theplace where Morten lived. It was not the first time he had lifted aknife at him, they knew. He must be the murderer; therefore he must betaken into custody. Ringkjöbing was the most proper place to which tocarry him, but it was a long way off. The wind was from the west. Inless than half an hour they could cross the fiord at Skjærumaa, andfrom thence they had only a short way to go to Nörre-Vosborg, whichwas a strong place, with ramparts and moats. In the boat was a brotherof the bailiff there, and he promised to obtain permission to putJörgen for the present into the cell where Lange Margrethe had beenconfined before her execution. 

Jörgen's defence of himself was not listened to; for a few drops ofblood on his clothes spoke volumes against him. His innocence wasclear to himself; and, if justice were not done him, he must givehimself up to his fate. 

They landed near the site of the old ramparts, where Sir Buggé'scastle had stood--there, where Jörgen, with his foster-father andmother, had passed on their way to the funeral meeting, at which hadbeen spent the four brightest and pleasantest days of his childhood. He was conveyed again the same way by the fields up to Nörre-Vosborg, and yonder stood in full flower the elder tree, and yonder the lindensshed their sweet perfume around; and he felt as if it had been onlyyesterday that he had been there. 

In the west wing of the castle is a subterranean passage under thehigh stairs; this leads to a low, vaulted cell, in which LangeMargrethe had been imprisoned, and whence she had been taken to theplace of execution. She had eaten the hearts of five children, andbelieved that, could she have added two more to the number, she wouldhave been able to fly and to render herself invisible. In the wallthere was a small, narrow air-hole. No glass was in this rude window;yet the sweetly-scented linden tree on the outside could not send theslightest portion of its refreshing perfume into that close, mouldydungeon. There was only a miserable pallet there; but a goodconscience is a good pillow, therefore Jörgen could sleep soundly. 

The thick wooden door was locked, and it was further secured by aniron bolt; but the nightmare of superstition can creep through akey-hole in the baronial castle as in the fisherman's hut. It stole inwhere Jörgen was sitting and thinking upon Lange Margrethe and hermisdeeds. Her last thoughts had filled that little room the nightbefore her execution; he remembered all the magic that, in the oldentimes, was practised when the lord of the manor, Svanwedel, livedthere; and it was well known how, even now, the chained dog that stoodon the bridge was found every morning hung over the railing in hischain. All these tales recurred to Jörgen's mind, and made himshiver; and there was but one sun ray which shone upon him, and thatwas the recollection of the blooming elder and linden trees. 

He would not be kept long here; he would be removed to Ringkjöbing, where the prison was equally strong. 

These times were not like ours. It went hard with the poor then; forthen it had not come to pass that peasants found their way up tolordly mansions, and that from these regiments coachmen and otherservants became judges in the petty courts, which were invested withthe power to condemn, for perhaps a trifling fault, the poor man to bedeprived of all his goods and chattels, or to be flogged at thewhipping-post. A few of these courts still remain; and in Jutland, farfrom "the King's Copenhagen, " and the enlightened and liberalgovernment, even now the law is not always very wisely administered:it certainly was not so in the case of poor Jörgen. 

It was bitterly cold in the place where he was confined. When was thisimprisonment to be at an end? Though innocent, he had been cast intowretchedness and solitude--that was his fate. How things had beenordained for him in this world, he had now time to think over. Why hadhe been thus treated--his portion made so hard to bear? Well, thiswould be revealed "in that other life" which assuredly awaits all. Inthe humble cottage that belief had been engrafted into him, which, amidst the grandeur and brightness of his Spanish home, had nevershone upon his father's heart: _that_ now, in the midst of cold anddarkness, became his consolation, God's gift of grace, which never candeceive. 

The storms of spring were now raging; the roaring of the German Oceanwas heard far inland; but just when the tempest had lulled, it soundedas if hundreds of heavy wagons were driving over a hard tunnelledroad. Jörgen heard it even in his dungeon, and it was a change in themonotony of his existence. No old melody could have gone more deeplyto his heart than these sounds--the rolling ocean--the free ocean--onwhich one can be borne throughout the world, fly with the wind, andwherever one went have one's own house with one, as the snail hashis--to stand always upon home's ground, even in a foreign land. 

How eagerly he listened to the deep rolling! How remembrances hurriedthrough his mind! "Free--free--how delightful to be free, even withoutsoles to one's shoes, and in a coarse patched garment!" The very ideabrought the warm blood rushing into his cheeks, and he struck the wallwith his fist in his vain impatience. Weeks, months, a whole year hadelapsed, when a gipsy named Niels Tyv--"the horse-dealer, " as he wasalso called--was arrested, and then came better times: it wasascertained what injustice had been done to Jörgen. 

To the north of Ringkjöbing Fiord, at a small country inn, on theevening of the day previous to Jörgen's leaving home, and thecommittal of the murder, Niels Tyv and Morten had met each other. Theydrank a little together, not enough certainly to get into any man'shead, but enough to set Morten talking too freely. He went onchattering, as he was fond of doing, and he mentioned that he hadbought a house and some ground, and was going to be married. Nielsthereupon asked him where was the money which was to pay it, andMorten struck his pocket pompously, exclaiming in a vaunting manner, --

"Here, where it should be!"

That foolish bragging answer cost him his life; for when he left thelittle inn Niels followed him, and stabbed him in the neck with hisknife, in order to rob him of the money, which, after all, was not tobe found. 

There was a long trial and much deliberation: it is enough for us toknow that Jörgen was set free at last. But what compensation was madeto him for all he had suffered that long weary year in a cold, gloomyprison; secluded from all mankind? Why, he was assured that it wasfortunate he was innocent, and he might now go about his business! Theburgomaster gave him ten marks for his travelling expenses, andseveral of the townspeople gave him ale and food. They were very goodpeople. Not all, then, would "skin you, and lay you on thefrying-pan!" But the best of all was that the trader Brönne fromSkagen, he to whom, a year before, Jörgen intended to have hiredhimself, was just at the time of his liberation on business atRingkjöbing. He heard the whole story; he had a heart andunderstanding; and, knowing what Jörgen must have suffered and felt, he was determined to do what he could to improve his situation, andlet him see that there were some kind-hearted people in the world. 

From a jail to freedom--from solitude and misery to a home which, bycomparison, might be called a heaven--to kindness and love, he nowpassed. This also was to be a trial of his character. No chalice oflife is altogether wormwood. A good person would not fill such for achild: would, then, the Almighty Father, who is all love, do so?

"Let all that has taken place be now buried and forgotten, " said theworthy Mr. Brönne. "We shall draw a thick line over last year. Weshall burn the almanac. In two days we shall start for that blessed, peaceful, pleasant Skagen. It is said to be only a littleinsignificant nook in the country; but a nice warm nook it is, withwindows open to the wide world. "

That _was_ a journey--that _was_ to breathe the fresh air again--tocome from the cold, damp prison-cell out into the warm sunshine!

The heather was blooming on the moorlands; the shepherd boys sat onthe tumuli and played their flutes, which were manufactured out of thebones of sheep; the FATA MORGANA, the beautiful mirage of the desert, with its hanging seas and undulating woods, showed itself; and thatbright, wonderful phenomenon in the air, which is called the "Lokémandriving his sheep. "

Towards Limfiorden they passed over the Vandal's land; and towardsSkagen they journeyed where the men with the long beards, _Langbarderne_, [1] came from. In that locality it was that, during thefamine under King Snio, all old people and young children wereordered to be put to death; but the noble lady, Gambaruk, who was theheiress of that part of the country, insisted that the children shouldrather be sent out of the country. Jörgen was learned enough to knowall about this; and, though he was not acquainted with theLangobarders' country beyond the lofty Alps, he had a good idea whatit must be, as he had himself, when a boy, been in the south ofEurope, in Spain. Well did he remember the heaped-up piles of fruit, the red pomegranate flowers, the din, the clamour, the tolling ofbells in the Spanish city's great hive; but all was more charming athome, and Denmark was Jörgen's home. 

[Footnote 1: Langobarder, a northern tribe, which, in very ancienttimes, dwelt in the north of Jutland. From thence they migrated to thenorth of Germany, where, according to Tacitus, they lived bout theperiod of the birth of Christ, and were a poor but brave people. Theiroriginal name was Vinuler, or Viniler. "When these Viniler, " say thetraditions, or rather fables of Scandinavia, "were at war with theVandals, and the latter went to Odin to beseech him to grant them thevictory, and received for answer that Odin would award the victory tothose whom he beheld first at sunrise, the warlike female, Gambaruk, or Gunborg, who was mother to the leaders of the Viniler--Ebbe andAage--applied to Frigga, Odin's wife, to entreat victory for herpeople. The goddess advised that the females of the tribe should letdown their long hair so as to imitate beards, and, early in themorning, should stand with their husbands in the east, where Odinwould look out. When, at sunrise, Odin saw them, he exclaimed, 'Whoare these long-bearded people?' whereupon Frigga replied, that sincehe had bestowed, a name upon them, he must also give them the victory. This was the origin of the _Longobardi_, who, after many wanderings, found their way into Italy, and, under ALBOIN, founded the kingdom ofLombardy. "--_Trans. _]

At length they reached Vendilskaga, as Skagen is called in the oldNorse and Icelandic writings. For miles and miles, interspersed withsand-hills and cultivated land, houses, farms, and driftingsand-banks, stretched, and stretch still, towards Gammel-Skagen, Wester and Osterby, out to the lighthouse near Grenen, a waste, adesert, where the wind drives before it the loose sand, and wheresea-gulls and wild swans send forth their discordant cries in concert. To the south-west, a few miles from Grenen, lies High, or Old Skagen, where the worthy Brönne lived, and where Jörgen was also to reside. The house was tarred, the small out-houses had each an inverted boatfor a roof. Pieces of wrecks were knocked up together to formpigsties. Fences there were none, for there was nothing to inclose;but upon cords, stretched in long rows one over the other, hung fishcut open, and drying in the wind. The whole beach was covered withheaps of putrefying herrings: nets were scarcely ever thrown into thewater, for the herrings were taken in loads on the land. There was sovast a supply of this sort of fish, that people either threw themback into the sea, or left them to rot on the sands. 

The trader's wife and daughter--indeed, the whole household--came outrejoicing to meet the father of the family when he returned home. There was such a shaking of hands--such exclamations and questions!And what a charming countenance and beautiful eyes the daughter had!

The interior of the house was large and extremely comfortable. Variousdishes of fish were placed upon the table; among others some deliciousplaice, which might have been a treat for a king; wine from Skagen'svineyard--the vast ocean--from which the juice of the grape wasbrought on shore both in casks and bottles. 

When the mother and daughter afterwards heard who Jörgen was, and howharshly he had been treated, though innocent of all crime, they lookedvery kindly at him; and most sympathising was the expression of thedaughter's eyes, the lovely Miss Clara. Jörgen found a happy home atGammel-Skagen. It did his heart good, and the poor young man hadsuffered much, even the bitterness of unrequited love, which eitherhardens or softens the heart. Jörgen's was soft enough now; there wasa vacant place within it, and he was still so young. 

It was, perhaps, fortunate that in about three weeks Miss Clara wasgoing in one of her father's ships up to Christiansand, in Norway, tovisit an aunt, and remain there the whole winter. The Sunday beforeher departure they all went to church together, intending to partakeof the sacrament. It was a large, handsome church, and had severalhundred years before been built by the Scotch and Dutch a little wayfrom where the town was now situated. It had become somewhatdilapidated, was difficult of access, the way to it being throughdeep, heavy sand; but the disagreeables of the road were willinglyencountered in order to enter the house of God--to pray, sing psalms, and hear a sermon there. The sand was, as it were, banked up against, and even higher than, the circular wall of the churchyard; but thegraves therein were kept carefully free of the drifting sand. 

This was the largest church to the north of Limfiorden. The VirginMary, with a crown of gold on her head, and the infant Jesus in herarms, stood as if in life in the altar-piece; the holy apostles werecarved on the chancel; and on the walls above were to be seen theportraits of the old burgomasters and magistrates of Skagen, withtheir insignia of office: the pulpit was richly carved. The sun wasshining brightly into the church, and glancing on the crown of brassand the little ship that hung from the roof. 

Jörgen felt overcome by a kind of childish feeling of awe, mingledwith reverence, such as he had experienced when as a boy he had stoodwithin the magnificent Spanish cathedral; but he knew that here hisfeelings were shared by many. After the sermon the sacrament wasadministered. Like the others, he tasted the consecrated bread andwine, and he found that he was kneeling by the side of Miss Clara; buthe was so much absorbed in his devotions, and in the sacred rite, thatit was only when about to rise that he observed who was his immediateneighbour, and perceived that tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

Two days after this she sailed for Norway, and Jörgen made himselfuseful on the farm, and at the fishery, in which there was much moredone then than is now-a-days. The shoals of mackerel glittered in thedark nights, and showed the course they were taking; the crabs gavepiteous cries when pursued, for fishes are not so mute as they aresaid to be. Every Sunday when he went to church, and gazed on thepicture of the Virgin in the altar-piece, Jörgen's eyes alwayswandered to the spot where Clara had knelt by his side; and he thoughtof her, and how kind she had been to him. 

Autumn came, with its hail and sleet; the water washed up to the verytown of Skagen; the sand could not absorb all the water, so thatpeople had to wade through it. The tempests drove vessel after vesselon the fatal reefs; there were snow storms and sand storms; the sanddrifted against the houses, and closed up the entrances in someplaces, so that people had to creep out by the chimneys; but that wasnothing remarkable up there. While all was thus bleak and wretchedwithout, within there were warmth and comfort. The mingled peat andwood fires--the wood obtained from wrecked ships--crackled and blazedcheerfully, and Mr. Brönne read aloud old chronicles and legends;among others, the story of Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who, coming fromEngland, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle there. His gravewas at Ramme, only a few miles from the place where the eel-man lived. Hundreds of tumuli, the graves of the giants and heroes of old, werestill visible all over the wide heath--a great churchyard. Mr. Brönnehad himself been there, and had seen Hamlet's grave. They talked ofthe olden times--of their neighbours, the English and Scotch; andJörgen sang the ballad about "The King of England's Son"--about thesplendid ship--how it was fitted up:--

 "How on the gilded panels stood Engraved our Lord's commandments good;

 * * * * *

 And clasping a sweet maiden, how The prince stood sculptured on the prow!"

Jörgen sang these lines in particular with much emphasis, whilst hisdark eyes sparkled; but his eyes had always been bright from hisearliest infancy. 

There were songs, and reading, and conversation, and everything tomake the winter season pass as pleasantly as possible; there wasprosperity in the house, plenty of comfort for the family, and plentyeven for the lowest animals on the property; the shelves shone withrows of bright, well-scoured pewter plates and dishes; and from theroof hung sausages and hams, and other winter stores in abundance. Such may be seen even now in the many rich farm-houses on the westcoast--the same evidences of plenty, the same comfortable rooms, thesame good-humour, the same, and perhaps a little more, information. Hospitality reigns there as in an Arab's tent. 

Jörgen had never before spent his time so happily since the pleasantdays of his childhood at the funeral feast; and yet Miss Clara wasabsent--present only in thought and conversation. 

In April a vessel was going up to Norway, and Jörgen was to go in it. He was in high spirits, and, according to Mrs. Brönne, he was solively and good-humoured, it was quite a pleasure to see him. 

"And it is quite a pleasure to see you also, " said her husband. "Jörgen has enlivened all our winter evenings, and you with them; youhave become young again, and really look quite handsome. You wereformerly the prettiest girl in Viborg, and that is saying a greatdeal, for I have always thought the girls prettier there than anywhereelse. "

Jörgen said nothing to this. Perhaps he did not believe that theViborg girls were prettier than any others; at any rate, he wasthinking of one from Skagen, and he was now about to join her. Thevessel had a fair, fresh breeze; therefore he arrived at Christiansandin half a day. 

Early one morning the trader, Mr. Brönne, went out to the lighthousethat is situated at some distance from Gammel-Skagen, and near Grenen. The signal-lights had been extinguished for some time, for the sun hadrisen tolerably high before he reached the tower. Away, to somedistance beyond the most remote point of land, stretched thesand-banks under the water. Beyond these, again, he perceived manyships, and among them he thought he recognised, by aid of thespy-glass, the "Karen Brönne, " as his own vessel was called; and hewas right. It was approaching the coast, and Clara and Jörgen were onboard. The Skagen lighthouse and the spire of its church looked tothem like a heron and a swan upon the blue water. Clara sat by thegunwale, and saw the sand-hills becoming little by little more andmore apparent. If the wind only held fair, in less than an hour theywould reach home; so near were they to happiness, and yet, alas! hownear to death!

A plank sprung in the ship. The water rushed in. They stopped it aswell as they could, and used the pumps vigorously. All sail was set, and the flag of distress was hoisted. They were about a Danish mileoff. Fishing-boats were to be seen, but were far away. The wind wasfair for them. The current was also in their favour, but not strongenough. The vessel sank. Jörgen threw his right arm around Clara. 

With what a speaking look did she not gaze into his eyes when, imploring our Lord for help, he threw himself with her into the sea!She uttered one shriek, but she was safe. He would not let her slipfrom his grasp. The words of the old ballad, --

 "And, clasping a sweet maiden, how The prince stood sculptured on the prow, "

were now carried into effect by Jörgen in that agonising hour ofdanger and deep anxiety. He felt the advantage of being a goodswimmer, and exerted himself to the utmost with his feet and one hand;the other was holding fast the young girl. Every possible effort hemade to keep up his strength in order to reach the land. He heardClara sigh, and perceived that a kind of convulsive shuddering hadseized her; and he held her the tighter. A single heavy wave brokeover them--the current lifted them. The water was so clear, thoughdeep, that Jörgen thought for a moment he could see the shoals ofmackerel beneath; or was it Leviathan himself who was waiting toswallow them? The clouds cast a shadow over the water, then again camethe dancing sunbeams; harshly-screaming birds, in flocks, wheeled overhim; and the wild ducks that, heavy and sleepy, allow themselves todrive on with the waves, flew up in alarm from before the swimmer. Hefelt that his strength was failing; but the shore was close at hand, and help was coming, for a boat was near. Just then he saw distinctlyunder the water a white, staring figure; a wave lifted him, the figurecame nearer, he felt a violent blow, it became night before hiseyes--all had disappeared for him. 

There lay, partially imbedded in the sand-bank, the wreck of a ship;the sea rolled over it, but the white figure-head was supported by ananchor, the sharp iron of which stuck up almost to the surface of thewater. It was against this that Jörgen had struck himself when thecurrent had driven him forward with sudden force. Stunned andfainting, he sank with his burden, but the succeeding wave threw himand the young girl up again. 

The fishermen had now reached them, and they were taken into the boat. Blood was streaming over Jörgen's face; he looked as if he were dead, but he still held the girl in so tight a grasp that it was with theutmost difficulty she could be wrenched from his encircling arm. Aspale as death, and quite insensible, she lay at full length at thebottom of the boat, which steered towards Skagen. 

All possible means were tried to restore Clara to animation, but invain--the poor young woman was dead. Long had Jörgen been buffetingthe waves with a corpse--exerting his utmost strength and strainingevery nerve for a dead body. 

Jörgen still breathed; he was carried to the nearest house on theinner side of the sand-hills. A sort of army surgeon who happened tobe at the place, who also acted in the capacities of smith andhuckster, attended him until the next day, when a physician fromHjörring, who had been sent for, arrived. 

The patient was severely wounded in the head, and suffering from abrain fever. For a time he uttered fearful shrieks, but on the thirdday he sank into a state of drowsiness, and his life seemed to hangupon a thread: that it might snap, the physician said, was the bestthat could be wished for Jörgen. 

"Let us pray our Lord that he may be taken; he will never more be arational man. "

But he was not taken; the thread of life would not break, thoughmemory was swept away, and all the powers and faculties of his mindwere gone. It was a frightful change. A living body was left--a bodythat was to regain health and go about again. 

Jörgen remained in the trader Brönne's house. 

"He was brought into this lamentable condition by his efforts to saveour child, " said the old man; "he is now our son. "

Jörgen was called "an idiot;" but that was a term not exactlyapplicable to him. He was like a musical instrument, the strings ofwhich are loose, and can no longer, therefore, be made to sound. Onlyonce, for a few minutes, they seemed to resume their elasticity, andthey vibrated again. Old melodies were played, and played in time. Oldimages seemed to start up before him. They vanished--all glimmering ofreason vanished, and he sat again staring vacantly around, withoutthought, without mind. It was to be hoped that he did not sufferanything. His dark eyes had lost their intelligence; they looked onlylike black glass that could move about. 

Everybody was sorry for the poor idiot Jörgen. 

It was he who, before he saw the light of day, was destined to acareer of earthly prosperity, of wealth and happiness, so great thatit was "_frightful pride, overweening arrogance_, " to wish for, or tobelieve in, a future life! All the high powers of his soul werewasted. Nothing but hardships, sufferings, and disappointments hadbeen dealt out to him. A valuable bulb he was, torn up from his richnative soil, and cast upon distant sands to rot and perish. Was thatbeing, made in the image of God, worth nothing more? Was he but thesport of accidents or of chance? No! The God of infinite love wouldgive him a portion in another life for what he had suffered and beendeprived of here. 

"The Lord is good to all: and His tender mercies are over all Hisworks. "

These consolatory words, from one of the Psalms of David, wererepeated in devout faith by the pious old wife of the trader Brönne;and her heartfelt prayer was, that our Lord would soon release thepoor benighted being, and receive him into God's gift ofgrace--everlasting life. 

 * * * * *

In the churchyard, where the sand had drifted into piles against thewalls, was Clara buried. It appeared as if Jörgen had never thoughtabout her grave; it did not enter into the narrow circle of his ideas, which now only dwelt among wrecks of the past. Every Sunday heaccompanied the family to church, and he generally sat quiet with atotally vacant look; but one day, while a psalm was being sung, hebreathed a sigh, his eyes lightened up, he turned them towards thealtar--towards that spot where, more than a year before, he had knelt, with his dead friend at his side. He uttered her name, became as whiteas a sheet, and tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He was helped out of church, and then he said that he felt quite well, and did not think anything had been the matter with him; the shortflash of memory had already faded away from him--the much-tried, thesorely-smitten of God. Yet that God, our Creator, is all wisdom andall love, who can doubt? Our hearts and our reason acknowledge it, andthe Bible proclaims it. "His tender mercies are over all His works. "

In Spain, where, amidst laurels and orange trees, the Moorish goldencupolas glitter in the warm air, where songs and castanets are heard, sat, in a splendid mansion, a childless old man. Children werepassing through the streets in a procession, with lights and wavingbanners. How much of his enormous wealth would he not have given topossess one child--to have had spared to him his daughter and herlittle one, who perhaps never beheld the light of day in this world. If so, how would it behold the light of eternity--of paradise? "Poor, poor child!"

Yes; poor child--nothing but a child--and yet in his thirtieth year!for to such an age had Jörgen attained there in Gammel-Skagen. 

The sand-drifts had found their way even over the graves in thechurchyard, and up to the very walls of the church itself; yet here, amidst those who had gone before them--amidst relatives andfriends--the dead were still buried. The good old Brönne and his wifereposed there, near their daughter, under the white sand. 

It was late in the year--the time of storms; the sand-hills smoked, the waves rolled mountains high on the raging sea; the birds in hosts, like dark tempestuous clouds, passed screeching over the sand-hills;ship after ship went ashore on the terrible reefs between Skagen'sGreen and Huusby-Klitter. 

One afternoon Jörgen was sitting alone in the parlour, and suddenlythere rushed upon his shattered mind a feeling akin to therestlessness which so often, in his younger years, had driven him outamong the sand-hills, or upon the heath. 

"Home! home!" he exclaimed. No one heard him. He left the house, andtook his way to the sand-hills. The sand and the small stones dashedagainst his face, and whirled around him. He went towards the church;the sand was lying banked up against the walls, and half way up thewindows; but the walk up to the church was freer of it. The churchdoor was not locked, it opened easily, and Jörgen entered the sacrededifice. 

The wind went howling over the town of Skagen; it was blowing aperfect hurricane, such as had not been known in the memory of theoldest man living--it was most fearful weather. But Jörgen was inGod's house, and while dark night came on around him, all seemed lightwithin; it was the light of the immortal soul which is never to beextinguished. He felt as if a heavy stone had fallen from his head; hefancied that he heard the organ playing, but the sounds were those ofthe storm and the roaring sea. He placed himself in one of the pews, and he fancied that the candles were lighted one after the other, until there was a blaze of brilliancy such as he had beheld in thecathedral in Spain; and all the portraits of the old magistrates andburgomasters became imbued with life, descended from the frames inwhich they had stood for years, and placed themselves in the choir. The gates and side doors of the church opened, he thought, and inwalked all the dead, clothed in the grandest costumes of their times, whilst music floated in the air; and when they had seated themselvesin the different pews, a solemn hymn arose, and swelled like therolling of the sea. 

Among those who had joined the spirit throng were his oldfoster-father and mother from Huusby-Klitter, and his kind friendBrönne and his wife; and at their side, but close to himself, sattheir mild, lovely daughter. She held out her hand to him, Jörgenthought, and they went up to the altar where once they had knelttogether; the priest joined their hands, and pronounced those wordsand that blessing which were to hallow for them life and love. Thenmusic's tones peeled around--the organ, wind instruments, and voicescombined--until there arose a volume of sound sufficient to shake thevery tombstones over the graves. 

Presently the little ship that hung under the roof moved towards himand Clara. It became large and magnificent, with silken sails andgilded masts; the anchor was of the brightest gold, and every rope wasof silk cord, as described in the old song. He and his bride steppedon board, then the whole multitude in the church followed them, andthere was room for all. He fancied that the walls and vaulted roof ofthe church turned into blooming elder and linden trees, which diffuseda sweet perfume around. It was all one mass of verdure. The treesbowed themselves, and left an open space; then the ship ascendedgently, and sailed out through the air above the sea. Every light inthe church looked like a star. The wind commenced a hymn, and all sangwith it: "In love to glory!" "No life shall be lost!" "Away to supremehappiness!" "Hallelujah!"

These words were his last in this world. The cord had burst which heldthe undying soul. There lay but a cold corpse in the dark church, around which the storm was howling, and which it was overwhelming withthe drifting sand. 

 * * * * *

The next morning was a Sunday; the congregation and their pastor cameat the hour of church service. The approach to the church had beenalmost impassable on account of the depth of the sand, and when atlength they reached it, they found an immense sand-heap piled upbefore the door of the church--the drifting sand had closed up allentrance to its interior. The clergyman read a prayer, and then saidthat, as God had locked the doors of that holy house, they must goelsewhere and erect another for His service. 

They sang a psalm, and retired to their homes. 

Jörgen could not be found either at Skagen or amidst the sand-hills, where every search was made for him. It was supposed that the wildwaves, which had rolled so far up on the sands, had swept him off. 

But his body lay entombed in a large sarcophagus--in the churchitself. During the storm God had cast earth upon his coffin--heavypiles of quicksand had accumulated there, and lie there even now. 

The sand had covered the lofty arches, sand-thorns and wild roses growover the church, where the wayfarer now struggles on towards itsspire, which towers above the sand, an imposing tombstone over thegrave, seen from miles around--no king had ever a grander one! Nonedisturb the repose of the dead--none knew where Jörgen lay, untilnow--the storm sang the secret for me among the sand-hills!

_The Mud-king's Daughter. _

The storks are in the habit of relating to their little ones manytales, all from the swamps and the bogs. They are, in general, suitable to the ages and comprehensions of the hearers. The smallestyoungsters are contented with mere sound, such as "krible, krable, plurremurre. " They think that wonderful; but the more advanced requiresomething rational, or at least something about their family. Of thetwo most ancient and longest traditions that have been handed downamong the storks, we are all acquainted with one--that about Moses, who was placed by his mother on the banks of the Nile, was found thereby the king's daughter, was well brought up, and became a great man, such as has never been heard of since in the place where he wasburied. 

The other story is not well known, probably because it is a tale ofhome; yet it has passed down from one stork grandam to another for athousand years, and each succeeding narrator has told it better andbetter, and now we shall tell it best of all. 

The first pair of storks who related this tale had themselvessomething to do with its events. The place of their summer sojournwas at the Viking's loghouse, up by _the wild morass_, at Vendsyssel. It is in Hjöring district, away near Skagen, in the north of Jutland, speaking with geographical precision. It is now an enormous bog, andan account of it can be read in descriptions of the country. Thisplace was once the bottom of the sea; but the waters have receded, andthe ground has risen. It stretches itself for miles on all sides, surrounded by wet meadows and pools of water, by peat-bogs, cloudberries, and miserable stunted trees. A heavy mist almost alwayshangs over this place, and about seventy years ago wolves were foundthere. It is rightly called, the wild morass; and one may imagine howsavage it must have been, and how much swamp and sea must have existedthere a thousand years ago. Yes, in these respects the same was to beseen there as is to be seen now. The rushes had the same height, thesame sort of long leaves, and blue-brown, feather-like flowers thatthey bear now; the birch tree stood with its white bark, and delicatedrooping leaves, as now; and, in regard to the living creatures, theflies had the same sort of crape clothing as they wear now; and thestorks' bodies were white, with black and red stockings. Mankind, onthe contrary, at that time wore coats cut in another fashion from whatthey do in our days; but every one of them, serf or huntsman, whosoever he might be who trod upon the quagmire, fared a thousandyears ago as they fare now: one step forward--they fell in, and sankdown to the MUD-KING, as _he_ was called who reigned below in thegreat morass kingdom. Very little is known about his government; butthat is, perhaps, a good thing. 

Near the bog, close by Liimfjorden, lay the Viking's loghouse of threestories high, and with a tower and stone cellars. The storks hadbuilt their nest upon the roof of this dwelling. The female stork satupon her eggs, and felt certain they would be all hatched. 

One evening the male stork remained out very long, and when he camehome he looked rumpled and flurried. 

"I have something very terrible to tell thee, " he said to the femalestork. 

"Thou hadst better keep it to thyself, " said she. "Remember I amsitting upon the eggs: a fright might do me harm, and the eggs mightbe injured. "

"But it _must_ be told thee, " he replied. "She has come here--thedaughter of our host in Egypt. She has ventured the long journey uphither, and she is lost. "

"She who is of the fairies' race? Speak, then! Thou knowest that Icannot bear suspense while I am sitting. "

"Know, then, that she believed what the doctors said, which thou didstrelate to me. She believed that the bog-plants up here could cure herinvalid father; and she has flown hither, in the magic disguise of aswan, with the two other swan princesses, who every year come hitherto the north to bathe and renew their youth. She has come, and she islost. "

"Thou dost spin the matter out so long, " muttered the female stork, "the eggs will be quite cooled. I cannot bear suspense just now. "

"I will come to the point, " replied the male. "This evening I went tothe rushes where the quagmire could bear me. Then came three swans. There was something in their motions which said to me, 'Take care;they are not real swans; they are only the appearance of swans, created by magic. ' Thou wouldst have known as well as I that they werenot of the right sort. "

"Yes, surely, " she said; "but tell me about the princess. I am tiredof hearing about the swans. "

"In the midst of the morass--here, I must tell thee, it is like alake, " said the male stork--"thou canst see a portion of it if thouwilt raise thyself up a moment--yonder, by the rushes and the greenmorass, lay a large stump of an alder tree. The three swans alightedupon it, flapped their wings, and looked about them. One of them castoff her swan disguise, and I recognised in her our royal princess fromEgypt. She sat now with no other mantle around her than her long darkhair. I heard her desire the other two to take good care of her magicswan garb, while she ducked down under the water to pluck the flowerwhich she thought she saw. They nodded, and raised the empty featherdress between them. 'What are they going to do with it?' said I tomyself; and she probably asked herself the same question. The answercame too soon, for I saw them take flight up into the air with hercharmed feather dress. 'Dive thou there!' they cried. 'Never moreshalt thou fly in the form of a magic swan--never more shalt thoubehold the land of Egypt. Dwell thou in _the wild morass_!' And theytore her magic disguise into a hundred pieces, so that the featherswhirled round about as if there were a fall of snow; and away flew thetwo worthless princesses. "

"It is shocking!" said the lady stork; "I can't bear to hear it. Tellme what more happened. "

"The princess sobbed and wept. Her tears trickled down upon the trunkof the alder tree, and then it moved; for it was the mud-kinghimself--he who dwells in the morass. I saw the trunk turn itself, andthen there was no more trunk--it struck up two long miry branches likearms; then the poor child became dreadfully alarmed, and she sprangaside upon the green slimy coating of the marsh; but it could not bearme, much less her, and she sank immediately in. The trunk of the aldertree went down with her--it was that which had dragged her down: thenarose to the surface large black bubbles, and all further traces ofher disappeared. She is now buried in 'the wild morass;' and never, never shall she return to Egypt with the flower she sought. Thoucouldst not have borne to have seen all this, mother. "

"Thou hadst no business to tell me such a startling tale at a timelike this. The eggs may suffer. The princess can take care of herself:she will no doubt be rescued. If it had been me or thee, or any of ourfamily, it would have been all over with us. "

"I will look after her every day, however, " said the male stork; andso he did. 

A long time had elapsed, when one day he saw that far down from thebottom was shooting up a green stem, and when it reached the surface aleaf grew on it. The leaf became broader and broader; close by it camea bud; and one morning, when the stork flew over it, the bud opened inthe warm sunshine, and in the centre of it lay a beautiful infant, alittle girl, just as if she had been taken out of a bath. She sostrongly resembled the princess from Egypt, that the stork at firstthought it was herself who had become an infant again; but when heconsidered the matter he came to the conclusion that she was thedaughter of the princess and the mud-king, therefore she lay in thecalyx of a water-lily. 

"She cannot be left lying there, " said the stork to himself; "yet inmy nest we are already too overcrowded. But a thought strikes me. TheViking's wife has no children; she has much wished to have a pet. I amoften blamed for bringing little ones. I shall now, for once, do soin reality. I shall fly with this infant to the Viking's wife: it willbe a great pleasure to her. "

And the stork took the little girl, flew to the loghouse, knocked withhis beak a hole in the window-pane of stretched bladder, laid theinfant in the arms of the Viking's wife, then flew to his mate, andunburdened his mind to her; while the little ones listenedattentively, for they were old enough now to do that. 

"Only think, the princess is not dead. She has sent her little one uphere, and now it is well provided for. "

"I told thee from the beginning it would be all well, " said the motherstork. "Turn thy thoughts now to thine own family. It is almost timefor our long journey; I begin now to tingle under the wings. Thecuckoo and the nightingale are already gone, and I hear the quailssaying that we shall soon have a fair wind. Our young ones are quiteable to go, I know that. "

How happy the Viking's wife was when, in the morning, she awoke andfound the lovely little child lying on her breast! She kissed it andcaressed it, but it screeched frightfully, and floundered about withits little arms and legs: IT evidently seemed little pleased. At lastit cried itself to sleep, and as it lay there it was one of the mostbeautiful little creatures that could be seen. The Viking's wife wasso pleased and happy, she took it into her head that her husband, withall his retainers, would come as unexpectedly as the little one haddone; and she set herself and the whole household to work, in orderthat everything might be ready for their reception. The colouredtapestry which she and her women had embroidered with representationsof their gods--ODIN, THOR, and FREIA, as they were called--were hungup; the serfs were ordered to clean and polish the old shields withwhich the walls were to be decorated; cushions were laid on thebenches; and dry logs of wood were heaped on the fireplace in thecentre of the hall, so that the pile might be easily lighted. TheViking's wife laboured so hard herself that she was quite tired by theevening, and slept soundly. 

When she awoke towards morning she became much alarmed, for the littlechild was gone. She sprang up, lighted a twig of the pine tree, andlooked about; and, to her amazement, she saw, in the part of the bedto which she stretched her feet, not the beautiful infant, but a greatugly frog. She was so much disgusted with it that she took up a heavystick, and was going to kill the nasty creature; but it looked at herwith such wonderfully sad and speaking eyes that she could not strikeit. Again she searched about. The frog gave a faint, pitiable cry. Shestarted up, and sprang from the bed to the window; she opened theshutters, and at the same moment the sun streamed in, and cast itsbright beams upon the bed and upon the large frog; and all at once itseemed as if the broad mouth of the noxious animal drew itself in, andbecame small and red--the limbs stretched themselves into the mostbeautiful form--it was her own little lovely child that lay there, andno ugly frog. 

"What is all this?" she exclaimed. "Have I dreamed a bad dream? Thatcertainly is my pretty little elfin child lying yonder. " And shekissed it and strained it affectionately to her heart; but itstruggled, and tried to bite like the kitten of a wild cat. 

Neither the next day nor the day after came the Viking, though he wason the way, but the wind was against him; it was for the storks. Afair wind for one is a contrary wind for another. 

In the course of a few days and nights it became evident to theViking's wife how things stood with the little child--that it wasunder the influence of some terrible witchcraft. By day it was asbeautiful as an angel, but it had a wild, evil disposition; by night, on the contrary, it was an ugly frog, quiet, except for its croaking, and with melancholy eyes. It had two natures, that changed about, bothwithout and within. This arose from the little girl whom the stork hadbrought possessing by day her own mother's external appearance, and atthe same time her father's temper; while by night, on the contrary, she showed her connection with him outwardly in her form, whilst hermother's mind and heart inwardly became hers. What art could releaseher from the power which exercised such sorcery over her? The Viking'swife felt much anxiety and distress about it, and yet her heart hungon the poor little being, of whose strange state she thought sheshould not dare to inform her husband when he came home; for heassuredly, as was the custom, would put the poor child out on the highroad, and let any one take it who would. The Viking's good-naturedwife had not the heart to allow this; therefore she resolved that heshould never see the child but by day. 

At dawn of day the wings of the storks were heard fluttering over theroof. During the night more than a hundred pairs of storks had beenmaking their preparations, and now they flew up to wend their way tothe south. 

"Let all the males be ready, " was the cry. "Let their mates and littleones join them. "

"How light we feel!" said the young storks, who were all impatienceto be off. "How charming to be able to travel to other lands!"

"Keep ye all together in one flock, " cried the father and mother, "anddon't chatter so much--it will take away your breath. "

So they all flew away. 

About the same time the blast of a horn sounding over the heath gavenotice that the Viking had landed with all his men; they werereturning home with rich booty from the Gallic coast, where thepeople, as in Britain, sang in their terror, --

 "Save us from the savage Normands!"

What life and bustle were now apparent in the Viking's castle near"the wild morass!" Casks of mead were brought into the hall, the pileof wood was lighted, and horses were slaughtered for the grand feastwhich was to be prepared. The sacrificial priests sprinkled with thehorses' warm blood the slaves who were to assist in the offering. Thefires crackled, the smoke rolled up under the roof, the soot droppedfrom the beams; but people were accustomed to that. Guests wereinvited, and they brought handsome gifts; rancour and falseness wereforgotten--they all became drunk together, and they thrust theirdoubled fists into each other's faces--which was a sign ofgood-humour. The skald--he was a sort of poet and musician, but at thesame time a warrior--who had been with them, and had witnessed what hesang about, gave them a song, wherein they heard recounted all theirachievements in battle, and wonderful adventures. At the end of everyverse came the same refrain, --

 "Fortune dies, friends die, one dies one's self; but a glorious name never dies. "

And then they all struck on their shields, and thundered with theirknives or their knuckle-bones on the table, so that they made atremendous noise. 

The Viking's wife sat on the cross bench in the open banquet hall. Shewore a silk dress, gold bracelets, and large amber beads. She was inher grandest attire, and the skald named her also in his song, andspoke of the golden treasure she had brought her husband; and HErejoiced in the lovely child he had only seen by daylight, in all itswondrous beauty. The fierce temper which accompanied her exteriorcharms pleased him. "She might become, " he said, "a stalwart femalewarrior, and able to kill a giant adversary. " She never even blinkedher eyes when a practised hand, in sport, cut off her eyebrows with asharp sword. 

The mead casks were emptied, others were brought up, and these, too, were drained; for there were folks present who could stand a gooddeal. To them might have been applied the old proverb, "The cattleknow when to leave the pasture; but an unwise man never knows thedepth of his stomach. "

Yes, they all knew it; but people often know the right thing, and dothe wrong. They knew also that "one wears out one's welcome when onestays too long in another man's house;" but they remained there forall that. Meat and mead are good things. All went on merrily, andtowards night the slaves slept amidst the warm ashes, and dipped theirfingers into the fat skimmings of the soup, and licked them. It was arare time!

And again the Viking went forth on an expedition, notwithstanding thestormy weather. He went after the crops were gathered in. He went withhis men to the coast of Britain--"it was only across the water, " hesaid--and his wife remained at home with her little girl; and it wassoon to be seen that the foster-mother cared almost more for the poorfrog, with the honest eyes and plaintive croaking, than for the beautywho scratched and bit everybody around. 

The raw, damp, autumn, mist, that loosens the leaves from the trees, lay over wood and hedge; "Birdfeatherless, " as the snow is called, wasfalling thickly; winter was close at hand. The sparrows seized uponthe storks' nest, and talked over, in their fashion, the absentowners. They themselves, the stork pair, with all their young ones, where were they now?

 * * * * *

The storks were now in the land of Egypt, where the sun was shiningwarmly as with us on a lovely summer day. The tamarind and the acaciagrew there; the moonbeams streamed over the temples of Mahomet. On theslender minarets sat many a pair of storks, reposing after their longjourney; the whole immense flock had fixed themselves, nest by nest, amidst the mighty pillars and broken porticos of temples and forgottenedifices. The date tree elevated to a great height its broad leafyroof, as if it wished to form a shelter from the sun. The greypyramids stood with their outlines sharply defined in the clear airtowards the desert, where the ostrich knew he could use his legs; andthe lion sat with his large grave eyes, and gazed on the marblesphinxes that lay half imbedded in the sand. The waters of the Nilehad receded, and a great part of the bed of the river was swarmingwith frogs; and that, to the stork family, was the pleasantest sightin the country where they had arrived. The young ones were astonishedat all they saw. 

"Such are the sights here, and thus it always is in our warm country, "said the stork-mother good-humouredly. 

"Is there yet more to be seen?" they asked. "Shall we go much furtherinto the country?"

"There is nothing more worth seeing, " replied the stork-mother. "Beyond this luxuriant neighbourhood there is nothing but wildforests, where the trees grow close to each other, and are still moreclosely entangled by prickly creeping plants, weaving such a wall ofverdure, that only the elephant, with his strong clumsy feet, canthere tread his way. The snakes are too large for us there, and thelizards too lively. If ye would go to the desert, ye will meet withnothing but sand; it will fill your eyes, it will come in gusts, andcover your feathers. No, it is best here. Here are frogs andgrass-hoppers. I shall remain here, and so shall you. "

And they remained. The old ones sat in their nest upon the gracefulminaret; they reposed themselves, and yet they had enough to do tosmooth their wings and rub their beaks on their red stockings; andthey stretched out their necks, saluted gravely, and lifted up theirheads with their high foreheads and fine soft feathers, and theirbrown eyes looked so wise. 

The female young ones strutted about proudly among the juicy reeds, stole sly glances at the other young storks, made acquaintances, andslaughtered a frog at every third step, or went lounging about withlittle snakes in their bills, which they fancied looked well, andwhich they knew would taste well. 

The male young ones got into quarrels; struck each other with theirwings; pecked at each other with their beaks, even until blood flowed. Then they all thought of engaging themselves--the male and the femaleyoung ones. It was for that they lived, and they built nests, and gotagain into new quarrels; for in these warm countries every one is sohot-headed. Nevertheless they were very happy, and this was a greatjoy to the old storks. Every day there was warm sunshine--every dayplenty to eat. They had nothing to think of except pleasure. Butyonder, within the splendid palace of their Egyptian host, as theycalled him, there was but little pleasure to be found. 

The wealthy, mighty chief lay upon his couch, stiffened in all hislimbs--stretched out like a mummy in the centre of the grand saloonwith the many-coloured painted walls: it was as if he were lying in atulip. Kinsmen and servants stood around him. Dead he was not, yet itcould hardly be said that he lived. The healing bog-flower from thefaraway lands in the north--that which she was to have sought andplucked for him--she who loved him best--would never now be brought. His beautiful young daughter, who in the magic garb of a swan hadflown over sea and land away to the distant north, would never morereturn. "She is dead and gone, " had the two swan ladies, hercompanions, declared on their return home. They had concocted a tale, and they told it as follows:--

"We had flown all three high up in the air when a sportsman saw us, and shot at us with his arrow. It struck our young friend; and, slowlysinging her farewell song, she sank like a dying swan down into themidst of the lake in the wood. There, on its banks, under a fragrantweeping birch tree, we buried her. But we took a just revenge: webound fire under the wings of the swallow that built under thesportman's thatched roof. It kindled--his house was soon in flames--hewas burned within it--and the flames shone as far over the sea as tothe drooping birch, where she is now earth within the earth. Alas!never will she return to the land of Egypt. "

And they both wept bitterly; and the old stork-father, when he heardit, rubbed his bill until it was quite sore. 

"Lies and deceit!" he cried. "I should like, above all things, to runmy beak into their breasts. "

"And break it off, " said the stork-mother; "you would look remarkablywell then. Think first of yourself, and the interests of your ownfamily; everything else is of little consequence. "

"I will, however, place myself upon the edge of the open cupolato-morrow, when all the learned and the wise are to assemble to takethe case of the sick man into consideration: perhaps they may thenarrive a little nearer to the truth. "

And the learned and the wise met together, and talked much, deeply, and profoundly of which the stork could make nothing at all; and, sooth to say, there was no result obtained from all this talking, either for the invalid or for his daughter in "the wild morass;" yet, nevertheless, it was all very well to listen to--one _must_ listen toa great deal in this world. 

But now it were best, perhaps, for us to hear what had happenedformerly. We shall then be better acquainted with the story--at least, we shall know as much as the stork-father did. 

"Love bestows life; the highest love bestows the highest life; it isonly through love that his life can be saved, " was what had been said;and it was amazingly wisely and well said, the learned declared. 

"It is a beautiful thought, " said the stork-father. 

"I don't quite comprehend it, " said the stork-mother, "but that isnot my fault--it is the fault of the thought; though it is all one tome, for I have other things to think upon. "

And then the learned talked of love between this and that--that therewas a difference. Love such as lovers felt, and that between parentsand children; between light and plants; how the sunbeams kissed theground, and how thereby the seeds sprouted forth--it was all sodiffusely and learnedly expounded, that it was impossible for thestork-father to follow the discourse, much less to repeat it. It madehim very thoughtful, however; he half closed his eyes, and actuallystood on one leg the whole of the next day, reflecting on what he hadheard. So much learning was difficult for him to digest. 

But this much the stork-father understood. He had heard both commonpeople and great people speak as if they really felt it, that it was agreat misfortune to many thousands, and to the country in general, that the king lay so ill, and that nothing could be done to bringabout his recovery. It would be a joy and a blessing to all if hecould but be restored to health. 

"But where grew the health-giving flower that might cure him?"Everybody asked that question. Scientific writings were searched, theglittering stars were consulted, the wind and the weather. Everytraveller that could be found was appealed to, until at length thelearned and the wise, as before stated, pitched upon this: "Lovebestows life--life to a father. " And though this dictum was really notunderstood by themselves, they adopted it, and wrote it out as aprescription. "Love bestows life"--well and good. But how was this tobe applied? Here they were at a stand. At length, however, theyagreed that the princess must be the means of procuring the necessaryhelp, as she loved her father with all her heart and soul. They alsoagreed on a mode of proceeding. It is more than a year and a day sincethen. They settled that when the new moon had just disappeared, shewas to betake herself by night to the marble sphinx in the desert, toremove the sand from the entrance with her foot, and then to followone of the long passages which led to the centre of the greatpyramids, where one of the most mighty monarchs of ancient times, surrounded by splendour and magnificence, lay in his mummy-coffin. There she was to lean her head over the corpse, and then it would berevealed to her where life and health for her father were to be found. 

All this she had performed, and in a dream had been instructed thatfrom the deep morass high up in the Danish land--the place wasminutely described to her--she might bring home a certain lotusflower, which beneath the water would touch her breast, that wouldcure him. 

And therefore she had flown, in the magical disguise of a swan, fromEgypt up to "the wild morass. " All this was well known to thestork-father and the stork-mother; and now, though rather late, wealso know it. We know that the mud-king dragged her down with him, andthat, as far as regarded her home, she was dead and gone; only thewisest of them all said, like the stork-mother, "She can take care ofherself;" and, knowing no better, they waited to see what would turnup. 

"I think I shall steal their swan garbs from the two wickedprincesses, " said the stork-father; "then they will not be able to goto 'the wild morass' and do mischief. I shall leave the swandisguises themselves up yonder till there is some use for them. "

"Where could you keep them?" asked the old female stork. 

"In our nest near 'the wild morass, '" he replied. "I and our eldestyoung ones can carry them; and if we find them too troublesome, thereare plenty of places on the way where we can hide them until our nextflight. One swan's dress would be enough for her, to be sure; but twoare better. It is a good thing to have abundant means of travelling atcommand in a country so far north. "

"You will get no thanks for what you propose doing, " said thestork-mother; "but you are the master, and must please yourself. Ihave nothing to say except at hatching-time. "

 * * * * *

At the Viking's castle near "the wild morass, " whither the storks wereflying in the spring, the little girl had received her name. She wascalled Helga; but this name was too soft for one with suchdispositions as that lovely creature had. She grew fast month bymonth; and in a few years, even while the storks were making theirhabitual journeys in autumn towards the Nile, in spring towards "thewild morass, " the little child had grown up into a big girl, andbefore any one could have thought it, she was in her sixteenth year, and a most beautiful young lady--charming in appearance, but hard andfierce in temper--the most savage of the savage in that gloomy, crueltime. 

It was a pleasure to her to sprinkle with her white hands the reekingblood of the horse slaughtered for an offering. She would bite, in herbarbarous sport, the neck of the black-cock which was to beslaughtered by the sacrificial priest; and to her foster-father shesaid in positive earnestness, --

"If your enemy were to come and cast ropes over the beams that supportthe roof, and drag them down upon your chamber whilst you weresleeping, I would not awaken you if I could--I would not hear it--theblood would tingle as it does now in that ear on which, years ago, youdared to give me a blow. I remember it well. "

But the Viking did not believe she spoke seriously. Like every oneelse, he was fascinated by her extreme beauty, and never troubledhimself to observe if the mind of little Helga were in unison with herlooks. She would sit on horseback without a saddle, as if grown fastto the animal, and go at full gallop; nor would she spring off, evenif her horse and other ill-natured ones were biting each other. Entirely dressed as she was, she would cast herself from the bank intothe strong current of the fiord, and swim out to meet the Viking whenhis boat was approaching the land. Of her thick, splendid hair she hadcut off the longest lock, and plaited for herself a string to her bow. 

"Self-made is well made, " she said. 

The Viking's wife, according to the manners and customs of the age inwhich she lived, was strong in mind, and decided in purpose; but withher daughter she was like a soft, timid woman. She was well aware thatthe dreadful child was under the influence of sorcery. 

And Helga apparently took a malicious pleasure in frightening hermother. Often when the latter was standing on the balcony, or walkingin the courtyard, Helga would place herself on the side of the well, throw her arms up in the air, and then let herself fall headlong intothe narrow, deep hole, where, with her frog nature, she would duck andraise herself up again, and then crawl up as if she had been a cat, and run dripping of water into the grand saloon, so that the greenrushes which were strewed over the floor partook of the wet stream. 

There was but one restraint upon little Helga--that was the _eveningtwilight_. In it she became quiet and thoughtful--would allow herselfto be called and guided; then too, she would seem to feel someaffection for her mother; and when the sun sank, and the outer andinward change took place, she would sit still and sorrowful, shrivelled up into the form of a frog, though the head was now muchlarger than that little animal's, and therefore she was uglier thanever: she looked like a miserable dwarf, with a frog's head and webbedfingers. There was something very sad in her eyes; voice she had noneexcept a kind of croak like a child sobbing in its dreams. Then wouldthe Viking's wife take her in her lap; she would forget the ugly form, and look only at the melancholy eyes; and more than once sheexclaimed, --

"I could almost wish that thou wert always my dumb fairy-child, forthou art more fearful to look at when thy form resumes its beauty. "

And she wrote Runic rhymes against enchantment and infirmity, andthrew them over the poor creature; but there was no change for thebetter. 

 * * * * *

"One could hardly believe that she was once so small as to lie in thecalyx of a water-lily, " said the stork-father. "She is now quite awoman, and the image of her Egyptian mother. Her, alas! we have neverseen again. She did not take good care of herself, as thou didstexpect and the learned people predicted. Year after year I have flownbackwards and forwards over 'the wild morass, ' but never have I seen asign of her. Yes, I can assure thee, during the years we have beencoming up here, when I have arrived some days before thee, that Imight mend the nest and set everything in order in it, I have for awhole night flown, as if I had been an owl or a bat, continually overthe open water, but to no purpose. We have had no use either for thetwo swan disguises which I and the young ones dragged all the way uphere from the banks of the Nile. It was hard enough work, and it tookus three journeys to bring them up. They have now lain here for yearsat the bottom of our nest; and should a fire by any chance break out, and the Viking's house be burned down, they would be lost. "

"And our good nest would be lost, " said the old female stork; "butthou thinkest less of that than of these feather things and thy bogprincess. Thou hadst better go down to her at once, and remain in themire. Thou art a hard-hearted father to thine own: _that_ I have saidsince I laid my first eggs. What if I or one of our young ones shouldget an arrow under our wings from that fierce crazy brat at theViking's? She does not care what she does. This has been much longerour home than hers, she ought to recollect. We do not forget our duty;we pay our rent every year--a feather, an egg, and a young one--as weought to do. Dost thou think that when _she_ is outside _I_ canventure to go below, as in former days, or as I do in Egypt, where Iam almost everybody's comrade, not to mention that I can there evenpeep into the pots and pans without any fear? No; I sit up here andfret myself about her--the hussy! and I fret myself at thee too. Thoushouldst have left her lying in the water-lily, and there would havebeen an end of her. "

"Thy words are much harder than thy heart, " said the stork-father. "Iknow thee better than thou knowest thyself. "

And then he made a hop, flapped his wings twice, stretched his legsout behind him, and away he flew, or rather sailed, without moving hiswings, until he had got to some distance. Then he brought his wingsinto play; the sun shone upon his white feathers; he stretched hishead and his neck forward, and hastened on his way. 

"He is, nevertheless, still the handsomest of them all, " said hisadmiring mate; "but I will not tell him that. "

 * * * * *

Late that autumn the Viking returned home, bringing with him booty andprisoners. Among these was a young Christian priest, one of the menwho denounced the gods of the Northern mythology. Often about thistime was the new religion talked of in baronial halls and ladies'bowers--the religion that was spreading over all lands of the south, and which, with the holy Ansgarius, [2] had even reached as far asHedeby. Even little Helga had heard of the pure religion of Christ, who, from love to mankind, had given himself as a sacrifice to savethem; but with her it went in at one ear and out at the other, to usea common saying. The word _love_ alone seemed to have made someimpression upon her, when she shrunk into the miserable form of a frogin the closed-up chamber. But the Viking's wife had listened to, andfelt herself wonderfully affected by, the rumour and the Saga aboutthe Son of the one only true God. 

[Footnote 2: Ansgarius was originally a monk from the monastery of NewCorbie, in Saxony, to which several of the monks of Corbie in Francehad migrated in A. D. 822. Its abbot, Paschasius Radbert, who died in865, was, according to Cardinal Bellarmine, the first fully topropagate the belief, now entertained in the Roman Catholic Church, ofthe corporeal presence of the Saviour in the sacrament. Ansgarius, whowas very enthusiastic, accepted a mission to the north of Europe, andpreached Christianity in Denmark and Sweden. Jutland was for some timethe scene of his labours, and he made many converts there; also inSleswig, where a Christian school for children was established, who, on leaving it, were sent to spread Christianity throughout thecountry. An archbishopric was founded by the then Emperor of Germanyin conformity to a plan which had been traced, though not carried out, by Charlemagne; and this was bestowed upon Ansgarius. But the churchhe had built was burnt by some still heathen Danes, who, gathering alarge fleet, invaded Hamburg, which they also reduced to ashes. Theemperor then constituted him Bishop of Bremen. --_Trans. _]

The men, returning from their expedition, had told of the splendidtemples of costly hewn stone raised to Him whose errand was love. Apair of heavy golden vessels, beautifully wrought out of pure gold, were brought home, and both had a charming, spicy perfume. They werethe censers which the Christian priests swung before the altars, onwhich blood never flowed; but wine and the consecrated bread werechanged into the blood of Him who had given himself for generationsyet unborn. 

To the deep, stone-walled cellars of the Viking's loghouse was theyoung captive, the Christian priest, consigned, fettered with cordsround his feet and his hands. He was as beautiful as Baldur to lookat, said the Viking's wife, and she was grieved at his fate; but youngHelga wished that he should be ham-strung, and bound to the tails ofwild oxen. 

"Then I should let loose the dogs. Halloo! Then away over bogs andpools to the naked heath. Hah! that would be something pleasant tosee--still pleasanter to follow him on the wild journey. "

But the Viking would not hear of his being put to such a death. On themorrow, as a scoffer and denier of the high gods, he was to be offeredup as a sacrifice to them upon the blood stone in the sacred grove. He was to be the first human sacrifice ever offered up there. 

Young Helga prayed that she might be allowed to sprinkle with theblood of the captive the images of the gods and the assembledspectators. She sharpened her gleaming knife, and, as one of the largeferocious dogs, of which there were plenty in the courtyard, leapedover her feet, she stuck the knife into his side. 

"That is to prove the blade, " she exclaimed. 

And the Viking's wife was shocked at the savage-tempered, evil-mindedgirl; and when night came, and the beauteous form and the dispositionof her daughter changed, she poured forth her sorrow to her in warmwords, which came from the bottom of her heart. 

The hideous frog with the ogre head stood before her, and fixed itsbrown sad eyes upon her, listened, and seemed to understand with ahuman being's intellect. 

"Never, even to my husband, have I hinted at the double sufferings Ihave through you, " said the Viking's wife. "There is more sorrow in myheart on your account than I could have believed. Great is a mother'slove. But love never enters your mind. Your heart is like a lump ofcold hard mud. From whence did you come to my house?"

Then the ugly shape trembled violently; it seemed as if these wordstouched an invisible tie between the body and the soul--large tearsstarted to its eyes. 

"Your time of trouble will come some day, depend on it, " said theViking's wife, "and dreadful will it also be for me. Better had itbeen that you had been put out on the highway, and the chillness ofthe night had benumbed you until you slept in death;" and the Viking'swife wept salt tears, and went angry and distressed away, passinground behind the loose skin partition that hung over an upper beam todivide the chamber. 

Alone in a corner sat the shrivelled frog. She was mute, but after ashort interval she uttered a sort of half-suppressed sigh. It was asif in sorrow a new life had awoke in some nook of her heart. She tooka step forward, listened, advanced again, and grasping with herawkward hands the heavy bar that was placed across the door, sheremoved it softly, and quietly drew away the pin that was stuck inover the latch. She then seized the lighted lamp that stood in theroom beyond: it seemed as if a great resolution had given herstrength. She made her way down to the dungeon, drew back the ironbolt that fastened the trap-door, and slid down to where the prisonerwas lying. He was sleeping. She touched him with her cold, clammyhand; and when he awoke, and beheld the disgusting creature, heshuddered as if he had seen an evil apparition. She drew her knife, severed his bonds, and beckoned to him to follow her. 

He named holy names, made the sign of the cross, and when the strangeshape stood without moving, he exclaimed, in the words of the Bible, --

"'Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver himin time of trouble. ' Who art thou? How comes it that, under theexterior of such an animal, there is so much compassionate feeling?"

The frog beckoned to him, and led him, behind tapestry that concealedhim, through private passages out to the stables, and pointed to ahorse. He sprang on it, and she also jumped up; and, placing herselfbefore him, she held by the animal's mane. The prisoner understood hermovement; and at full gallop they rode, by a path he never could havefound, away to the open heath. 

He forgot her ugly form--he knew that the grace and mercy of God couldbe evinced even by means of hobgoblins--he put up earnest prayers, andsang holy hymns. She trembled. Was it the power of the prayers andhymns that affected her thus? or was it a cold shivering at theapproach of morning, that was about to dawn? What was it that shefelt? She raised herself up into the air, attempted to stop the horse, and was on the point of leaping down; but the Christian priest heldher fast with all his might, and chanted a psalm, which he thoughtwould have sufficient strength to overcome the influence of thewitchcraft under which she was kept in the hideous disguise of a frog. And the horse dashed more wildly forward, the heavens became red, thefirst ray of the sun burst forth through the morning sky, and withthat clear gush of light came the miraculous change--she was the youngbeauty, with the cruel, demoniacal spirit. The astonished priest heldthe loveliest maiden in his arms he had ever beheld; but he washorror-struck, and, springing from the horse, he stopped it, expectingto see it also the victim of some fearful sorcery. Young Helga sprangat the same moment to the ground, her short childlike dress reachingno lower than her knees. Suddenly she drew her sharp knife from herbelt, and rushed furiously upon him. 

"Let me but reach thee--let me but reach thee, and my knife shall findits way to thy heart. Thou art pale in thy terror, beardless slave!"

She closed with him; a severe struggle ensued, but it seemed as ifsome invincible power bestowed strength upon the Christian priest. Heheld her fast; and the old oak tree close by came to his assistanceby binding down her feet with its roots, which were half loosened fromthe earth, her feet having slid under them. There was a fountain near, and he splashed the clear, fresh water over her face and neck, commanding the unclean spirit to pass out of her, and signed heraccording to the Christian rites; but the baptismal water had no powerwhere the fountain of belief had not streamed upon the heart. 

Yet still he was the victor. Yes, more than human strength could haveaccomplished against the powers of evil lay in his acts, which, as itwere, overpowered her. She suffered her arms to sink, and gazed withwondering looks and blanched cheeks upon the man whom she deemed somemighty wizard, strong in sorcery and the black art. These were mysticRhunes he had recited, and magic characters he had traced in the air. Not for the glancing axe or the well-sharpened knife, if he hadbrandished these before her eyes, would they have blinked, or wouldshe have winced; but she winced now when he made the sign of the crossupon her brow and bosom, and she stood now like a tame bird, her headbowed down upon her breast. 

Then he spoke kindly to her of the work of mercy she had performedtowards him that night, when, in the ugly disguise of a frog, she hadcome to him, had loosened his bonds, and brought him forth to lightand life. She also was bound--bound even with stronger fetters than hehad been, he said; but she also should be set free, and like himattain to light and life. He would take her to Hedeby, to the holyAnsgarius. There, in the Christian city, the witchcraft in which shewas held would be exorcised; but not before him must she sit onhorseback, even if she wished it herself--he dared not place herthere. 

"Thou must sit behind me on the horse, not before me. Thine enchantingbeauty has a magic power bestowed by the evil one. I fear it; and yetthe victory shall be mine through Christ. "

He knelt down and prayed fervently. It seemed as if the surroundingwood had been consecrated into a holy temple; the birds began to sing, as if they belonged to the new congregation; the wild thyme sent forthits fragrant scent, as if to take the place of incense; while thepriest proclaimed these Bible words: "To give light to them that sitin darkness, and in the shadow of death; to guide our feet into theway of peace. "

And he spoke of everlasting life; and as he discoursed, the horsewhich had carried them in their wild flight stood still, and pulled atthe large bramble berries, so that the ripest ones fell on littleHelga's hand, inviting her to pluck them for herself. 

She allowed herself patiently to be lifted upon the horse, and she saton its back like a somnambulist, who was neither in a waking nor asleeping state. The Christian priest tied two small green branchestogether in the form of a cross, which he held high aloft; and thusthey rode through the forest, which became thicker and thicker, andthe path, if path it could be called, taking them farther into it. Theblackthorn stood as if to bar their way, and they had to ride roundoutside of it; the trickling streams swelled no longer into mererivulets, but into stagnant pools, and they had to ride round them;but as the soft wind that played among the foliage of the trees wasrefreshing and strengthening to the travellers, so the mild words thatwere spoken in Christian charity and truth served to lead thebenighted one to light and life. 

It is said that a constant dripping of water will make a hollow in thehardest stone, and that the waves of the sea will in time round theedges of the sharpest rocks. The dew of grace which fell for littleHelga softened the hard, and smoothed the sharp, in her nature. True, it was not discernible yet in her, nor was she aware of it herself. What knows the seed in the ground of the effect which the refreshingdew and the warm sunbeams are to have in producing from it vegetationand flowers?

As a mother's song to her child, unmarked, makes an impression uponits infant mind, and it prattles after her several of the wordswithout understanding them, but in time these words arrange themselvesinto order, and they become clearer, so in the case of Helga worked_that word_ which is mighty to save. 

They rode out of the forest, and crossed an open heath; then againthey entered a pathless wood, where, towards evening, they encountereda band of robbers. 

"Whence didst thou steal that beautiful wench?" they shouted, as theystopped the horse, and dragged its two riders down; for they werestrong and robust men. The priest had no other weapon than the knifewhich he had taken from little Helga. With that he now stood on hisdefence. One of the robbers swung his ponderous axe, but the youngChristian fortunately sprang aside in time to avoid the blow, whichthen fell upon the unfortunate horse, and the sharp edge entered intoits neck; blood streamed from the wound, and the poor animal fell tothe ground. Helga, who had only at that moment awoke from her longdeep trance, sprang forward, and cast herself over the gaspingcreature. The Christian priest placed himself before her as a shieldand protection from the lawless men; but one of them struck him onthe forehead with an iron hammer, so that it was dashed in, and theblood and brains gushed forth, while he fell down dead on the spot. 

The robbers seized Helga by her white arms; but at that moment the sunwent down, its last beam faded away, and she was transformed into ahideous-looking frog. The pale green mouth stretched itself over halfthe face, its arms became thin and slimy, and a broad hand, withwebbed-like membranes, extended itself like a fan. Then the robberswithdrew their hold of her in terror and astonishment. She stood likethe ugly animal among them, and, according to the nature of a frog, she began to hop about, and, jumping faster than usual, she soonescaped into the depths of the thicket. The robbers were thenconvinced that it was some evil artifice of the mischief loving Loke, or else some secret magical deception; and in dismay they fled fromthe place. 

 * * * * *

The full moon had risen, and its silver light penetrated even thegloomy recesses of the forest, when from among the low thickbrushwood, in the frog's hideous form, crept the young Helga. Shestopped when she reached the bodies of the Christian priest and theslaughtered horse: she gazed on them with eyes that seemed full oftears, and the frog uttered a sound that somewhat resembled the sob ofa child who was on the point of crying. She threw herself first overthe one, then over the other; then took water up in her webbed hand, and poured it over them; but all was in vain--they were dead, and deadthey would remain. She knew that. Wild beasts would soon come anddevour their bodies. No, that must not be; therefore she determined todig a grave in the ground for them, but she had nothing to dig itwith except the branch of a tree and both her own hands. With theseshe worked away until her fingers bled. She found she made so littleprogress, that she feared the work would never be completed. Then shetook water, and washed the dead man's face; covered it with freshgreen leaves; brought large boughs of the trees, and laid them overhim; sprinkled dead leaves amongst the branches; fetched the largeststones she could carry, and placed them over the bodies, and filled upthe openings with moss. When she had done all this she thought thattheir tomb might be strong and safe; but during her long and arduouslabour the night had passed away. The sun arose, and young Helga stoodagain in all her beauty, with bloody hands, and, for the first time, with tears on her blooming cheeks. 

During this change it seemed as if two natures were wrestling withinher; she trembled, looked around her as if awakening from a painfuldream, then seized upon the slender branch of a tree near, and heldfast by it as if for support; and in another moment she climbed like acat up to the top of the tree, and placed herself firmly there. For awhole long day she sat there like a frightened squirrel in the deeploneliness of the forest, where all is still and dead, people say. Dead! There flew by butterflies chasing each other either in sport orin strife. There were ant-hills near, each covered with hundreds oflittle busy labourers, passing in swarms to and fro. In the air dancedinnumerable gnats; crowds of buzzing flies swept past; lady-birds, dragon-flies, and other winged insects floated hither and thither;earth-worms crept forth from the damp ground; moles crawled about;otherwise it was still--_dead_, as people say and think. 

None remarked Helga, except the jays that flew screeching to the topof the tree where she sat; they hopped on the branches around her withimpudent curiosity, but there was something in the glance of her eyethat speedily drove them away; they were none the wiser about her, nor, indeed, was she about herself. When the evening approached, andthe sun began to sink, the transformation time rendered a change ofposition necessary. She slipped down from the tree, and, as the lastray of the sun faded away, she was again the shrivelled frog, with thewebbed-fingered hands; but her eyes beamed now with a charmingexpression, which they had not worn in the beautiful form; they werethe mildest, sweetest girlish eyes that glanced from behind the maskof a frog--they bore witness to the deeply-thinking human mind, thedeeply-feeling human heart; and these lovely eyes burst intotears--tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Close to the lately raised grave lay the cross of green boughs thathad been tied together--the last work of him who was now dead andgone. Helga took it up, and the thought presented itself to her thatit would be well to place it amidst the stones, above him and theslaughtered horse. With the sad remembrances thus awakened, her tearsflowed faster; and in the fulness of her heart she scratched the samesign in the earth round the grave--it would be a fence that woulddecorate it so well. And just as she was forming, with both of herhands, the figure of the cross, her magic disguise fell off like atorn glove; and when she had washed herself in the clear water of thefountain near, and in amazement looked at her delicate white hands, she made the sign of the cross between herself and the dead priest;then her lips moved, then her tongue was loosened; and that namewhich so often, during the ride through the forest, she had heardspoken and chanted, became audible from her mouth--she exclaimed, "JESUS CHRIST!"

When the frog's skin had fallen off she was again the beautifulmaiden; but her head drooped heavily, her limbs seemed to needrepose--she slept. 

Her sleep was only a short one, however; she awoke about midnight, andbefore her stood the dead horse full of life; its eyes glittered, andlight seemed to proceed from the wound in its neck. Close to it thedead Christian priest showed himself--"more beautiful than Baldur, "the Viking's wife would have said; and yet he came as a flash of fire. 

There was an earnestness in his large, mild eyes, a searching, penetrating look--grave, almost stern--that thrilled the youngproselyte to the utmost depths of her heart. Helga trembled beforehim; and her memory awoke as if with the power it would exercise onthe great day of doom. All the kindness that had been bestowed on her, every affectionate word that had been said to her, came back to hermind with an impression deeper than they had ever before made. Sheunderstood that it was love that, during the days of trial here, hadsupported her--those days of trial in which the offspring of a beingwith a soul, and a form of mud, had writhed and struggled. Sheunderstood that she had only followed the promptings of her owndisposition, and done nothing to help herself. All had been bestowedon her--all had been ordained for her. She bowed herself in lowlyhumility and shame before Him who must be able to read every thoughtof the heart; and at that moment she felt as if a purifying flamedarted through her--a light from the Holy Spirit. 

"Daughter of the dust!" said the Christian priest, "from dust, fromearth hast thou arisen--from earth shalt thou again arise! A ray fromGod's invisible sun shall stream on thee. No soul shall be lost. Butfar off is the time when life takes flight into eternity. I come fromthe land of the dead. Thou also shalt once pass through the darkvalley into yon lofty realms of brightness, where grace and perfectiondwell. I shall not guide thee now to Hedeby for Christian baptism. First must thou disperse the slimy surface over the deep morass, drawup the living root of thy life and thy cradle, and perform thyappointed task, ere thou darest to seek the holy rite. "

And he lifted her up on the horse, and gave her a golden censer likethose she had formerly seen at the Viking's castle; and strong was theperfume which issued from it. The open wound on the forehead of themurdered man shone like a diadem of brilliants. He took the cross fromthe grave, and raised it high above him; then away they went throughthe air, away over the rustling woods, away over the mountains wherethe giant heroes are buried, sitting on the slaughtered steed. Stillonward the phantom forms pursued their way; and in the clear moonlightglittered the gold circlet round their brows, and the mantle flutteredin the breeze. The magic dragon, who was watching over his treasures, raised his head and gazed at them. The hill dwarfs peeped out fromtheir mountain recesses and plough-furrows. There were swarms of them, with red, blue, and green lights, that looked like the numerous sparksin the ashes of newly-burned paper. 

Away over forest and heath, over limpid streams and stagnant pools, they hastened towards "the wild morass, " and over it they flew in widecircles. The Christian priest held aloft the cross, which looked asdazzling as burnished gold, and as he did so he chanted the masshymns. Little Helga sang with him as a child follows its mother'ssong. She swung the censer about as if before the altar, and therecame a perfume so strong, so powerful in its effect, that it causedthe reeds and sedges to blossom; every sprout shot up from the deepbottom--everything that had life raised itself up; and with the restarose a mass of water-lilies, which looked like a carpet ofembroidered flowers. Upon it lay a sleeping female, young andbeautiful. Helga thought she beheld herself mirrored in the calmwater; but it was her mother whom she saw--the mud-king's wife--theprincess from the banks of the Nile. 

The dead Christian priest prayed that the sleeper might be lifted uponthe horse. At first the latter sank under the additional burden, as ifits body were but a winding-sheet fluttering in the wind; but the signof the cross gave strength to the airy phantom, and all three rode onit to the solid ground. 

Then crowed the cock at the Viking's castle, and the apparitionsseemed to disappear in a mist, which was wafted away by the wind; butthe mother and daughter stood together. 

"Is that myself I behold in the deep water?" exclaimed the mother. 

"Is that myself I see on the shining surface?" said the daughter. 

And they approached each other till form met form in a warm embrace, and wildly the mother's heart beat when she perceived the truth. 

"My child! my heart's own flower! my lotus from the watery deep!"

And she encircled her daughter with her arm, and wept Her tearscaused a new sensation to Helga--they were the baptism of love forher. 

"I came hither in the magic disguise of a swan, and I threw it off, "said the mother. "I sank through the swaying mire deep into the mud ofthe morass, which like a wall closed around me; but soon I perceivedthat I was in a fresher stream--some power drew me deeper and stilldeeper down. I felt my eyelids heavy with sleep--I slumbered and Idreamed. I thought that I was again in the interior of the Egyptianpyramid, but before me still stood the heaving alder trunk that had soterrified me on the surface of the morass. I saw the cracks in thebark, and they changed their appearance, and became hieroglyphics. Itwas the mummy's coffin I was looking at; it burst open, and out issuedfrom it the monarch of a thousand years ago--the mummy form, black aspitch, dark and shining as a wood-snail, or as that thick slimy mud. It was the mud-king, or the mummy of the pyramids; I knew not which. He threw his arms around me, and I felt as if I were dying. I onlyfelt that I was alive again when I found something warm on my breast, and there a little bird was flapping with its wings, twittering andsinging. It flew from my breast high up in the dark, heavy space; buta long green string bound it still to me. I heard and I comprehendedits tones and its longing: "Freedom! Sunshine! To the father!" Then Ithought of my father in my distant home, that dear sunny land--mylife, my affection--and I loosened the cord, and let it flutter awayhome to my father. Since that hour I have not dreamed. I have slept along, dark, heavy sleep until now, when the strange sounds and perfumeawoke me and set me free. "

That green tie between the mother's heart and the bird's wings, wherenow did it flutter? what now had become of it? The stork alone hadseen it. The cord was the green stem; the knot was the shiningflower--the cradle for that child who now had grown up in beauty, andagain rested near her mother's heart. 

And as they stood there embracing each other the stork-father flew incircles round them, hastened back to his nest, took from it the magicfeather disguises that had been hidden away for so many years, castone down before each of them, and then joined them as they raisedthemselves from the ground like two white swans. 

"Let us now have some chat, " said the stork-father, "now we understandeach other's language, even though one bird's beak is not exactly madeafter the pattern of another's. It is most fortunate that you came tonight; to-morrow we should all have been away--the mother, the youngones, and myself. We are off to the south. Look at me! I am an oldfriend from the country where the Nile flows, and so is the mother, though there is more kindness in her heart than in her tongue. Shealways believed that the princess would make her escape. The youngones and I brought these swan garbs up here. Well, how glad I am, andhow fortunate it is that I am here still! At dawn of day we shall takeour departure--a large party of storks. We shall fly foremost, and ifyou will follow us you will not miss the way. The young ones andmyself will have an eye to you. "

"And the lotus flower I was to have brought, " said the Egyptianprincess; "it shall go within the swan disguise, by my side, and Ishall have my heart's darling with me. Then homewards--homewards!"

Then Helga said that she could not leave the Danish land until she hadonce more seen her foster-mother, the Viking's excellent wife. ToHelga's thoughts arose every pleasing recollection, every kind word, even every tear her adopted mother had shed on her account; and, atthat moment, she felt that she almost loved that mother best. 

"Yes, we must go to the Viking's castle, " said the stork; "there myyoung ones and their mother await me. How they will stare! The motherdoes not speak much; but, though she is rather abrupt, she means well. I will presently make a little noise, that she may know we arecoming. "

And he clattered with his bill as he and the swans flew close to theViking's castle. 

Within it all were lying in deep sleep. The Viking's wife had retiredlate to rest; she lay in anxious thought about little Helga, who nowfor full three days and nights had disappeared along with theChristian priest: she had probably assisted him in his escape, for itwas her horse that was missing from the stables. By what power had allthis been accomplished? The Viking's wife thought upon the wondrousworks she had heard had been performed by the immaculate Christ, andby those who believed on him and followed him. Her changing thoughtsassumed the shapes of life in her dreams; she fancied she was stillawake, lost in deep reflection; she imagined that a storm arose--thatshe heard the sea roaring in the east and in the west, the wavesdashing from the Kattegat and the North Sea; the hideous serpentswhich encircled the earth in the depths of the ocean struggling indeadly combat. It was the night of the gods--RAGNAROK, as the heathenscalled the last hour, when all should be changed, even the high godsthemselves. The reverberating horn sounded, and forth over therainbow[3] rode the gods, clad in steel, to fight the final battle;before them flew the winged Valkyries, and the rear was brought up bythe shades of the dead giant-warriors; the whole atmosphere wasilluminated around them by the Northern lights, but darkness conqueredall--it was an awful hour!

[Footnote 3: The Bridge of Heaven in the fables of the Scandinavianmythology. --_Trans. _]

And near the terrified Viking's wife sat upon the floor little Helgain the ugly disguise of the frog; and she shivered and worked her wayup to her foster-mother, who took her in her lap, and disgusting asshe was in that form, lovingly caressed her. The air was filled withthe sounds of the clashing of swords, the blows of clubs, the whizzingof arrows, like a violent hail-storm. The time was come when heavenand earth should be destroyed, the stars should fall, and all beswallowed up below in Surtur's fire; but a new earth and a new heavenshe knew were to come; the corn was to wave where the sea now rolledover the golden sands; the unknown God at length reigned; and to himascended Baldur, the mild, the lovable, released from the kingdom ofdeath. He came; the Viking's wife beheld him--she recognised hiscountenance: it was that of the captive Christian priest. "ImmaculateChrist!" she cried aloud; and whilst uttering this holy name sheimpressed a kiss upon the ugly brow of the frog-child. Then fell themagic disguise, and Helga stood before her in all her radiant beauty, gentle as she had never looked before, and with speaking eyes. Shekissed her foster-mother's hands, blessed her for all the care andkindness which she, in the days of distress and trial, had lavishedupon her; thanked her for the thoughts with which she had inspiredher mind--thanked her for mentioning _that name_ which she nowrepeated, "Immaculate Christ!" and then lifting herself up in thesuddenly adopted shape of a graceful swan, little Helga spread herwings widely out with the rustling sound of a flock of birds ofpassage on the wing, and in another moment she was gone. 

The Viking's wife awoke, and on the outside of her casement were to beheard the same rustling and flapping of wings. It was the time, sheknew, when the storks generally took their departure; it was them sheheard. She wished to see them once more before their journey to thesouth, and bid them farewell. She got up, went out on the balcony, andthen she saw, on the roof of an adjoining outhouse, stork upon stork, while all around the place, above the highest trees, flew crowds ofthem, wheeling in large circles; but below, on the brink of the well, where little Helga had but so lately often sat, and frightened herwith her wild actions, sat now two swans, looking up at her withexpressive eyes; and she remembered her dream, which seemed to heralmost a reality. She thought of Helga in the appearance of a swan;she thought of the Christian priest, and felt a strange gladness inher heart. 

The swans fluttered their wings and bowed their necks, as if they weresaluting her; and the Viking's wife opened her arms, as if sheunderstood them, and smiled amidst her tears and manifold thoughts. 

Then, with a clattering of bills and a noise of wings, the storks allturned towards the south to commence their long journey. 

"We will not wait any longer for the swans, " said the stork-mother. "If they choose to go with us, they must come at once; we cannot belingering here till the plovers begin their flight. It is pleasant totravel as we do in a family party, not like the chaffinches andstrutting cocks. Among their species the males fly by themselves, andthe females by themselves: that, to say the least of it, is not at allseemly. What a miserable sound the stroke of the swans' wings hascompared with ours!"

"Every one flies in his own way, " said the stork-father. "Swans flyslantingly, cranes in triangles, and plovers in serpentine windings. "

"Name not serpents or snakes when we are about to fly up yonder, " saidthe stork-mother. "It will only make the young ones long for a sort offood which they can't get just now. "

 * * * * *

"Are these the high hills, beneath yonder, of which I have heard?"asked Helga, in the disguise of a swan. 

"These are thunder-clouds driving under us, " replied her mother. 

"What are these white clouds that seem so stationary?" asked Helga. 

"These are the mountains covered with everlasting snow that thouseest, " said her mother; and they flew over the Alps towards the blueMediterranean. 

 * * * * *

"There is Africa! there is Egypt!" cried in joyful accents, under herswan disguise, the daughter of the Nile, as high up in the air shedescried, like a whitish-yellow, billow-shaped streak, her nativesoil. 

The storks also saw it, and quickened their flight. 

"I smell the mud of the Nile and the wet frogs, " exclaimed thestork-mother. "It makes my mouth water. Yes, now ye shall have nicethings to eat, and ye shall see the marabout, the ibis, and the crane:they are all related to our family, but are not nearly so handsome aswe are. They think a great deal, however, of themselves, particularlythe ibis: he has been spoiled by the Egyptians, who make a mummy ofhim, and stuff him with aromatic herbs. _I_ would rather be stuffedwith living frogs; and that is what ye would all like also, and whatye shall be. Better a good dinner when one is living than to be made agrand show of when one is dead. That is what I think, and I know I amright. "

"The storks have returned, " was told in the splendid house on thebanks of the Nile, where, within the open hall, upon soft cushions, covered with a leopard's skin, the king lay, neither living nor dead, hoping for the lotus flower from the deep morass of the north. Hiskindred and his attendants were standing around him. 

And into the hall flew two magnificent white swans--they had arrivedwith the storks. They cast off the dazzling magic feather garbs, andthere stood two beautiful women, as like each other as two drops ofwater. They leaned over the pallid, faded old man; they threw backtheir long hair; and, as little Helga bowed over her grandfather, hischeeks flushed, his eyes sparkled, life returned to his stiffenedlimbs. The old man rose hale and hearty; his daughter and hisgrand-daughter pressed him in their arms, as if in a glad morningsalutation after a long heavy dream. 

 * * * * *

And there was joy throughout the palace, and in the storks' nest also;but _there_ the joy was principally for the good food, the swarms ofnice frogs; and whilst the learned noted down in haste, and verycarelessly, the history of the two princesses and of the lotus floweras an important event, and a blessing to the royal house, and to thecountry in general, the old storks related the history in their ownway to their own family; but not until they had all eaten enough, elsethese would have had other things to think of than listening to anystory. 

"Now thou wilt be somebody, " whispered the stork-mother; "it is onlyreasonable to expect that. "

"Oh! what should _I_ be?" said the stork-father. "And what have _I_done? Nothing!"

"Thou hast done more than all the others put together. Without theeand the young ones the two princesses would never have seen Egyptagain, or cured the old man. Thou wilt be nothing! Thou shouldst, atthe very least, be appointed court doctor, and have a title bestowedon thee, which our young ones would inherit, and their little onesafter them. Thou dost look already exactly like an Egyptian doctor inmy eyes. "

The learned and the wise lectured upon "the fundamental notion, " asthey called it, which pervaded the whole tissue of events. "Lovebestows life. " Then they expounded their meaning in this manner:--

"The warm sunbeam was the Egyptian princess; she descended to themud-king, and from their meeting sprang a flower----"

"I cannot exactly repeat the words, " said the stork-father, who hadbeen listening to the discussion from the roof, and was now telling inhis nest what he had heard. "What they said was not easy ofcomprehension, but it was so exceedingly wise that they wereimmediately rewarded with rank and marks of distinction. Even theprince's head cook got a handsome present--that was, doubtless, forhaving prepared the repast. "

"And what didst thou get?" asked the stork-mother. "They had no rightto overlook the most important actor in the affair, and that wasthyself. The learned only babbled about the matter. But so it isalways. "

Late at night, when the now happy household reposed in peacefulslumbers, there was one who was still awake; and that was not thestork-father, although he was standing upon his nest on one leg, anddozing like a sentry. No; little Helga was awake, leaning over thebalcony, and gazing through the clear air at the large blazing stars, larger and brighter than she had ever seen them in the North, and yetthe same. She was thinking upon the Viking's wife near "the wildmorass"--upon her foster-mother's mild eyes--upon the tears she hadshed over the poor frog-child, who was now standing under the light ofthe glorious stars, on the banks of the Nile, in the soft spring air. She thought of the love in the heathen woman's breast--the love shehad shown towards an unfortunate being, who in human form was asvicious as a wild beast, and in the form of a noxious animal washorrible to look upon or to touch. She gazed at the glittering stars, and thought of the shining circle on the brow of the dead priest, whenthey flew over the forest and the morass. Tones seemed again to soundon her ears--words she had heard spoken when they rode together, andshe sat like an evil spirit there--words about the great source oflove, the highest love, that which included all races and allgenerations. Yes, what was not bestowed, won, obtained? Helga'sthoughts embraced by day, by night, the whole of her good fortune;she stood contemplating it like a child who turns precipitately fromthe giver to the beautiful gifts; she passed on to the increasinghappiness which might come, and would come. Higher and higher rose herthoughts, till she so lost herself in the dreams of future bliss thatshe forgot the Giver of all good. It was the superabundance ofyouthful spirits which caused her imagination to take so bold aflight. Her eyes were flashing with her thoughts, when suddenly a loudnoise in the court beneath recalled her to mundane objects. She sawthere two enormous ostriches running angrily round in a narrow circle. She had never before seen these large heavy birds, who looked as iftheir wings were clipped; and when she asked what had happened tothem, she heard for the first time the Egyptian legend about theostrich. 

Its race had once been beautiful, its wings broad and strong. Then oneevening the largest forest birds said to it, "Brother, shall we flyto-morrow, God willing, to the river, and drink?" And the ostrichanswered, "Yes, I will. " At dawn they flew away, first up towards thesun, higher and higher, the ostrich far before the others. It flew onin its pride up towards the light; it relied upon its own strength, not upon the Giver of that strength; it did not say, "God willing. "Then the avenging angel drew aside the veil from the streaming flames, and in that moment the bird's wings were burnt, and he sank inwretchedness to the earth. Neither he nor his species were everafterwards able to raise themselves up in the air. They flytimidly--hurry along in a narrow space; they are a warning to mankindin all our thoughts and all our enterprises to say, "God willing. "

And Helga humbly bowed her head, looked at the ostriches rushing past, saw their surprise and their simple joy at the sight of their ownlarge shadows on the white wall, and more serious thoughts tookpossession of her mind, adding to her present happiness--inspiringbrighter hopes for the future. What was yet to happen? The best forher, "God willing. "

 * * * * *

In the early spring, when the storks were about to go north again, Helga took from her arm a golden bracelet, scratched her name upon it, beckoned to the stork-father, hung the gold band round his neck, andbade him carry it to the Viking's wife, who would thereby know thather adopted daughter lived, was happy, and remembered her. 

"It is heavy to carry, " thought the stork, when it was hung round hisneck; "but gold and honour must not be flung away upon the high road. The stork brings luck--they must admit that up yonder. "

"Thou layest gold, and I lay eggs, " said the stork-mother; "but thoulayest only once, and I lay every year. But neither of us gets anythanks, which is very vexatious. "

"One knows, however, that one has done one's duty, " said thestork-father. 

"But that can't be hung up to be seen and lauded; and if it could be, fine words butter no parsnips. "

So they flew away. 

The little nightingale that sang upon the tamarind tree would alsosoon be going north, up yonder near "the wild morass. " Helga had oftenheard it--she would send a message by it; for, since she had flown inthe magical disguise of the swan, she had often spoken to the storksand the swallows. The nightingale would therefore understand her, andshe prayed it to fly to the beech wood upon the Jutland peninsula, where the tomb of stone and branches had been erected. She asked itto beg all the little birds to protect the sacred spot, and frequentlyto sing over it. 

And the nightingale flew away, and time flew also. 

 * * * * *

And the eagle stood upon a pyramid, and looked in the autumn on astately procession with richly-laden camels, with armed and splendidlyequipped men on snorting Arabian horses shining white like silver, with red trembling nostrils, with long thick manes hanging down totheir slender legs. Rich guests--a royal Arabian prince, handsome as aprince should be--approached the gorgeous palace where the storks'nests stood empty. Those who dwelt in these nests were away in the farNorth, but they were soon to return; and they arrived on the very daythat was most marked by joy and festivities. It was a wedding feast;and the beautiful Helga, clad in silk and jewels, was the bride. Thebridegroom was the young prince from Arabia. They sat at the upper endof the table, between her mother and grandfather. 

But she looked not at the bridegroom's bronzed and manly cheek, wherethe dark beard curled. She looked not at his black eyes, so full offire, that were fastened upon her. She gazed outwards upon the brighttwinkling stars that glittered in the heavens. 

Then a loud rustling of strong wings was heard in the air. The storkshad come back; and the old pair, fatigued as they were after theirjourney, and much in need of rest, flew immediately down to the railsof the verandah, for they knew what festival was going on. They hadheard already at the frontiers that Helga had had them painted uponthe wall, introducing them into her own history. 

"It was a kind thought of hers, " said the stork-father. 

"It is very little, " said the stork-mother. "She could hardly havedone less. "

And when Helga saw them she rose, and went out into the verandah tostroke their backs. The old couple bowed their necks, and the youngestlittle ones felt themselves much honoured by being so well received. 

And Helga looked up towards the shining stars, that glittered more andmore brilliantly; and between them and her she beheld in the air atransparent form. It floated nearer to her. It was the dead Christianpriest, who had also come to her bridal solemnity--come from thekingdom of heaven. 

"The glory and the beauty up yonder far exceed all that is known onearth, " he said. 

And Helga pleaded softly, earnestly, that but for one moment she mightbe allowed to ascend up thither, and to cast one single glance onthose heavenly scenes. 

Then he raised her amidst splendour and magnificence, and a stream ofdelicious music. It was not around her only that all seemed to bebrightness and music, but the light seemed to stream in her soul, andthe sweet tones to be echoed there. Words cannot describe what shefelt. 

"We must now return, " he said; "thou wilt be missed. "

"Only one more glance!" she entreated. "Only one short minute!"

"We must return to earth--the guests are all departing. "

"But one more glance--the last!"

And Helga stood again in the verandah, but all the torches outsidewere extinguished; all the light in the bridal saloon was gone; thestorks were gone; no guests were to be seen--no bridegroom. All hadvanished in these three short minutes. 

Then Helga felt anxious. She wandered through the vast emptyhalls--there slept foreign soldiers. She opened the side door whichled to her own chambers, and, as she fancied she was entering them, she found herself in the garden: it had not stood there. Red streakscrossed the skies; it was the dawn of day. 

Only three minutes in heaven, and a whole night on earth had passedaway. 

Then she perceived the storks. She called to them, spoke theirlanguage, and the old stork turned his head towards her, listened, anddrew near. 

"Thou dost speak our language, " said he. "What wouldst thou? Whencecomest thou, thou foreign maiden?"

"It is I--it is Helga! Dost thou not know me? Three minutes ago wewere talking together in the verandah. "

"That is a mistake, " said the stork. "Thou must have dreamt this. "

"No, no, " she said, and reminded him of the Viking's castle, "the wildmorass, " the journey thence. 

Then the old stork winked with his eyes. 

"That is a very old story; I have heard it from my great, great-grandmother's time. Yes, truly there was once in Egypt aprincess from the Danish land; but she disappeared on the evening ofher wedding, many hundred years ago, and was never seen again. Thoucanst read that thyself upon the monument in the garden, upon whichare sculptured both swans and storks, and above it stands one likethyself in the white marble. "

And so it was. Helga saw, comprehended it all, and sank on her knees. 

The sun burst forth in all its morning splendour, and as, in formerdays, with its first rays fell the frog disguise, and the lovely formbecame visible; so now, in the baptism of light, arose a form ofcelestial beauty, purer than the air, as if in a veil of radiance tothe Father above. The body sank into dust, and where she had stood laya faded lotus flower!

 * * * * *

"Well, this is a new finale to the story, " said the stork-father, "which I by no means expected; but I am quite satisfied with it. "

"I wonder what the young ones will say to it?" replied thestork-mother. 

"Ah! that, indeed, is of the most consequence, " said thestork-father. 

_The Quickest Runners. _

There was a large reward offered--indeed, there were two rewardsoffered, a larger and a lesser one--for the greatest speed, not in onerace alone, but to such as had got on fastest throughout the year. 

"I got the highest prize, " said the hare. "One had a right to expectjustice when one's own family and best friends were in the council;but that the snail should have got the second prize I consider asalmost an insult to me. "

"No, " observed the wooden fence, which had been a witness to thedistribution of the prizes; "you must take diligence and good willinto consideration. That remark was made by several very estimablepersons, and that was also my opinion. To be sure the snail took halfa year to cross the threshold; but he broke his thigh-bone in thetremendous exertion which that was for him. He devoted himselfentirely to this race; and, moreover, he ran with his house on hisback. All these weighed in his favour, and so he obtained the secondprize. "

"I think my claims might also have been taken into consideration, "said the swallow. "More speedy than I, in flight and motion, I believeno one has shown himself. And where have I not been? Far, far away!"

"And that is just your misfortune, " said the wooden fence. "You gadabout too much. You are always on the wing, ready to start out of thecountry when it begins to freeze. You have no love for yourfatherland. You cannot claim any consideration in it. "

"But if I were to sleep all the winter through on the moor, " inquiredthe swallow--"sleep my whole time away--should I be thus entitled tobe taken into consideration?"

"Obtain an affidavit from the old woman of the moor that you did sleephalf the year in your fatherland, then your claims will be taken intoconsideration. "

"I deserved the first prize instead of the second, " said the snail. "Iknow very well that the hare only ran from cowardice, whenever hethought there was danger near. I, on the contrary, made the trial thebusiness of my life, and I have become a cripple in consequence of myexertions. If any one had a right to the first prize it was I; but Imake no fuss; I scorn to do so. "

"I can declare upon my honour that each prize, at least as far as myvoice in the matter went, was accorded with strict justice, " said theold sign-post in the wood, who had been one of the arbitrators. "Ialways act with due reflection, and according to order. Seven timesbefore have I had the honour to be engaged in the distribution of theprizes, but never until to-day have I had my own way carried out. Myplan has always hitherto been thwarted--that was, to give the firstprize to one of the first letters in the alphabet, and the secondprize to one of the last letters. If you will be so good as to grantme your attention, I will explain it to you. The eighth letter in thealphabet from _A_ is _H_--that stands for _Hare_, and therefore Iawarded the greatest prize to the Hare; and the eighth letter from theend is _S_, therefore the _Snail_ obtained the second prize. Next timethe _I_ will carry off the first prize, and _R_ the second. A dueattention to order and rotation should prevail in all rewards andappointments. Everything should go according to rule. _Rule_ mustprecede merit. "

"I should certainly have voted for myself, had I not been among thejudges, " said the mule. "People must take into account not only howquickly one goes, but what other circumstances are in question; as, for instance, how much one carries. But I would not this time havethought about that, neither about the hare's wisdom in his flight--histact in springing suddenly to one side, to put his pursuers on thewrong scent, away from his place of concealment. No; there is onething many people think much of, and which ought never to bedisregarded. It is called THE BEAUTIFUL. I saw that in the hare'scharming well-grown ears; it is quite a pleasure to see how long theyare. I fancied that I beheld myself when I was little, and so I votedfor him. "

"Hush!" said the fly. "As for me, I will not speak; I will only sayone word. I know right well that I have outrun more than one hare. Theother day I broke the hind legs of one of the young ones. I wassitting on the locomotive before the train: I often do that. One seesso well there one's own speed. A young hare ran for a long time infront of the engine: he had no idea that I was there. At length he wasjust going to turn off the line, when the locomotive went over hishind legs and broke them, for I was sitting on it. The hare remainedlying there, but I drove on. That was surely getting before him; but Ido not care for the prize. "

"It appears to me, " thought the wild rose, but she did not say it--itis not her nature to express her ideas openly, though it might havebeen well had she done so--"it appears to me that the sunbeam shouldhave had the first prize of honour, and the second also. It passes ina moment the immeasurable space from the sun down to us, and comeswith such power that all nature is awakened by it. It has such beauty, that all we roses redden and become fragrant under it. The highpresiding authorities do not seem to have noticed _it_ at all. Were Ithe sunbeam, I would give each of them a sunstroke, that I would; butit would only make them crazy, and they will very likely be thatwithout it. I shall say nothing, " thought the wild rose. "There ispeace in the wood; it is delightful to blossom, to shed refreshingperfume around, to live amidst the songs of birds and the rustling oftrees; but the sun's rays will outlive us all. "

"What is the first prize?" asked the earth-worm, who had overslepthimself, and only now joined them. 

"It gives free entrance to the kitchen garden, " said the mule. "Iproposed the prize, as a clear-sighted and judicious member of themeeting, with a view to the hare's advantage. I was resolved he shouldhave it, and he is now provided for. The snail has permission to siton the stone fence, and to enjoy the moss and the sunshine; and, moreover, he is appointed to be one of the chief judges of the nextrace. It is well to have one who is practically acquainted with thebusiness in hand--on a committee, as human beings call it. I must sayI expect great things from the future--we have made so good abeginning. "

_The Bell's Hollow. _

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded from the buried bell in Odensee river. What sort of a river is that? Every child in the town of Odensee knowsit. It flows round the foot of the gardens, from the locks to thewater-mill, away under the wooden bridges. In the river grow yellowwater-lilies, brown feather-like reeds, and the soft velvet-likebulrushes, so high and so large. Old, split willow trees, bent andtwisted, hang far over the water by the side of the monks' meadows andthe bleaching greens; but a little above is garden after garden--theone very different from the other; some with beautiful flowers andarbours, clean and in prim array, like dolls' villages; some onlyfilled with cabbages; while in others there are no attempts at agarden to be seen at all, only great elder trees stretching themselvesout, and hanging over the running water, which here and there isdeeper than an oar can fathom. 

Opposite to the nunnery is the deepest part. It is called "The Bell'sHollow, " and there dwells the merman. He sleeps by day when the sunshines through the water, but comes forth on the clear starry nights, and by moonlight. He is very old. Grandmothers have heard of him fromtheir grandmothers. They said he lived a lonely life, and had scarcelyany one to speak to except the large old church bell. Once upon a timeit hung up in the steeple of the church; but now there is no traceeither of the steeple or the church, which was then called SaintAlbani. 

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" rang the bell while it stood in the steeple;and one evening when the sun was setting, and the bell was in fullmotion, it broke loose, and flew through the air, its shining metalglowing in the red sunbeams. "Ding-dong! ding-dong! now I am going torest, " sang the bell; and it flew out to Odensee river, where it wasdeepest, and therefore that spot is now called "The Bell's Hollow. "But it found neither sleep nor rest there. Down at the merman's itstill rings; so that at times it is heard above, through the water, and many people say that its tones foretell a death; but there is notruth in that, for it rings to amuse the merman, who is now no longeralone. 

And what does the bell relate? It was so very old, it was there beforeour grandmothers' grandmothers were born, and yet it was a childcompared with the merman, who is an old, quiet, strange-lookingperson, with eel-skin leggings, a scaly tunic adorned with yellowwater-lilies, a wreath of sedges in his hair, and weeds in his beard. It must be confessed he was not very handsome to look at. 

It would take a year and a day to repeat all that the bell said, forit told the same old stories over and over again very minutely, makingthem sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, according to its mood. Ittold of the olden days--the rigorous, dark times. 

To the tower upon St. Albani Church, where the bell hung, ascended amonk. He was both young and handsome, but had an air of deepmelancholy. He looked through an aperture out over the Odensee river. Its bed then was broad, and the monks' meadows were a lake. He gazedover them, and over the green mound called "The Nuns Hill, " beyondwhich the cloister lay, where the light shone from a nun's cell. Hehad known her well, and he remembered the past, and his heart beatwildly at the recollection. 

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" This was one of the bell's stories:--

"There came up to the tower one day an idiot servant of the bishop;and when I, the bell, who am cast in hard and heavy metal, swung aboutand pealed, I could have broken his head, for he seated himselfimmediately under me, and began to play with two sticks, exactly as ifit had been a stringed instrument, and he sang to it thus: 'Now I mayventure to sing aloud what elsewhere I dare not whisper--sing of allthat is kept hidden behind locks and bolts. Yonder it is cold anddamp. The rats eat the living bodies. No one knows of it; no one hearsof it--not even now, when the bell is pouring forth its loudestpeal--ding-dong! ding-dong!'

"There was a king: he was called Knud. He humbled himself both beforebishops and monks; but as he unjustly oppressed the people, and laidheavy taxes on them, they armed themselves with all sorts of weapons, and chased him away as if he had been a wild beast. He sought shelterin the church, and had the doors and windows closed. The furiousmultitude surrounded the sacred edifice, as I heard related; thecrows and the ravens, and the jackdaws to boot, became scared by thenoise and the tumult; they flew up into the tower, and out again; theylooked on the multitude below, they looked also in at the churchwindows, and shrieked out what they saw. 

"King Knud knelt before the altar and prayed; his brothers Erik andBenedict stood guarding him with their drawn swords; but the king'sservitor, the false Blake, betrayed his lord. They knew outside wherehe could be reached. A stone was cast in through the window at him, and the king lay dead. There were shouts and cries among the angrycrowd, and cries among the flocks of frightened birds; and I joinedthem too. I pealed forth, 'Ding-dong! ding-dong!'

"The church bell hangs high, sees far around, receives visits frombirds, and understands their language. To it whispers the wind throughthe wickets and apertures, and through every little chink; and thewind knows everything. He hears it from the air, for it encompassesall living things; it even enters into the lungs of human beings--ithears every word and every sigh. The air knows all, the wind repeatsall, and the bell understands their speech, and rings it forth to thewhole world--'Ding dong! ding dong!'

"But all this was too much for me to hear and to know. I had notstrength enough to ring it all out. I became so wearied, so heavy, that the beam from which I hung broke, and I flew through the luminousair down to where the river is deepest, where the merman dwells alonein solitude; and here I am, year after year, relating to him what Ihave seen and what I have heard. 'Ding-dong! ding-dong!'"

Thus rang the chimes from "The Bell's Hollow" in the Odensee river, asmy grandmother declares. 

But our schoolmaster says there is no bell ringing down there, for itcould not be; and there is no merman down there, for there are nomermen; and, when all the church bells are ringing loudly, he saysthat it is not the bells, but the air that makes the sound. Mygrandmother told me that the bell also said this; so, since theschoolmaster and the bell agree in this, no doubt it is true. 

The air knows everything. It is round us, it is in us; it speaks ofour thoughts and our actions; and it proclaims them farther than didthe bell now down in the Hollow in Odensee river, where the mermandwells--it proclaims all out into the great vault of heaven, far, faraway, even into eternity, up to where the glorious bells of paradisepeal in tones unknown to mortal ears. 

_Soup made of a Sausage-stick. _

I. 

"We had a capital dinner yesterday, " said an aged female mouse to onewho had not been at the feast. "I sat only twenty-one from the oldKing of the Mice: that was not being badly placed. Shall I tell youwhat we had for dinner? It was all very well arranged. We had mouldybread, the skin of bacon, tallow candles, and sausages. Twice wereturned to the charge: it was as good as if we had had two dinners. There was nothing but good-humour and pleasant chit-chat, as in anagreeable family circle. Not a mite was left except the sausage-stick. The conversation happened to fall upon the possibility of making soupof a sausage-stick. All said they had heard of it, but no one had evertasted that soup, or knew how to prepare it. A health was proposed tothe inventor, who, it was remarked, deserved to be superintendent ofthe poor. Was not that witty? And the old King of the Mice arose anddeclared that the one among the young mice who could prepare the soupin question most palatably should be his queen, and he would grantthem a year and a day for the trial. "

"Well, that was not a bad idea, " said the other mouse. "But how is thesoup made?"

"Ay, how is it made? That was what they were all asking, the young andthe old. Every one was willing enough to become the queen, but theywere all loath to take the trouble of going out into the world toacquire the prescribed qualification; yet it was absolutely necessaryto do so. But it does not suit every one to leave her family and hersnug old mouse-hole. One cannot be going out every day after cheeseparings, and sniffing the rind of bacon. No: such pursuits, too oftenindulged in, would perchance put them in the way of being eaten aliveby a cat. "

These apprehensions were quite terrible enough to scare most of themice from going forth upon the search of knowledge. Only fourpresented themselves for the undertaking. They were young and active, but very poor. They would have gone to the four corners of the earth, if only good fortune might attend their enterprise. Each of them tookwith her a sausage-stick to remind her what she was travelling for. Itwas to be her walking staff. 

On the 1st of May they set out, and on the 1st of May, a year after, they returned; but only three of them. The fourth did not reportherself, and sent no tidings of herself; and yet it was the day fixedfor the royal decision. 

"There shall be no sadness or no drawback to our pleasure, " said theKing of the Mice, as he gave orders that every mouse within severalmiles round should be invited. They were to assemble in the kitchen. The three travelled mice were drawn up in a row alone. In the placeof the fourth, who was absent, was deposited a sausage-stick coveredwith black crepe. No one ventured to utter a word until the three hadmade their statements, and the king had determined what more was to besaid. 

We have now to hear all this. 

II. 

WHAT THE FIRST LITTLE MOUSE HAD SEEN AND LEARNT ON HER JOURNEY. 

"When I first went forth into the wide world, " said the little mouse, "I thought, as so many of my age do, that I had swallowed all thewisdom of the earth; but that was not the case--it required a year anda day for that to come to pass. I went at once to sea, on board a shipwhich was bound for the north. I had heard that cooks at sea werepretty well acquainted with their business; but there is little to dowhen one has plenty of sides of bacon, barrels of salt meat, and mustymeal at hand. One lives delicately on these nice things; but onelearns nothing like making soup of a sausage-stick. We sailed for manydays and nights, and a stormy and wet time we had of it. When wereached our destination I left the vessel: this was far away up in thenorth. 

"One has a strange feeling on leaving one's own mouse-hole at home, being carried away in a ship, which becomes a home for the time, andsuddenly finding one's self, at the distance of more than a hundredmiles, standing alone in a foreign land. I saw myself amidst a largetangled wood full of pine and birch trees. Their scent was so strong!It is not at all my taste; but the perfume from the wild plants was sospicy that I was quite charmed, and thought of the sausage and theseasoning for the soup. There were lakes amidst the forest, the waterwas beautifully clear close at hand, but looking in the distance asblack as ink. There were white swans upon the lake. I mistook them atfirst for foam, they lay so still; but when I saw them fly Irecognised them. They, however, belong to the race of geese. No onecan deny his kindred. I like mine, and I hastened to seek the fieldmice, who, truth to tell, know very little except what concerns theirfood; and it was just that on account of which I had travelled to aforeign country. That any one should think of making soup out of asausage-stick seemed to them so extraordinary an idea, that it wasspeedily circulated through the whole wood; but that the problemshould be solved they considered an impossibility. Little did I thinkthen that the very same night I should be initiated into the process. 

"It was midsummer; therefore it was that the woods scented sostrongly, they said; therefore were the plants so aromatic in theirperfume, the lake so clear, and yet so dark with the white swans uponthem. On the borders of the forest, amidst three or four houses, waserected a pole as high as a mainmast, and around it hung wreaths andribbons. This was the Maypole. Girls and young men danced round it, and sang to the accompaniment of the fiddler's violin. All went onmerrily till after the sun had set, and the moon had risen, but I tookno part in the festivity; for what had a little mouse to do with aforest ball? I sat down amidst the soft moss, and held fast mysausage-stick. The moon shone brightly on a place where there was asolitary tree surrounded by moss so fine--yes, I venture to say asfine as the Mice-King's skin--but it had a green tint, and its colourwas very soothing to the eye. All at once I saw approaching a set ofthe most beautiful little people, so little that they would only havereached to my knee; they looked like men and women, but they werebetter proportioned. They called themselves Elves, and their garmentswere composed of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the wings ofgnats and flies--not at all ugly. They seemed as if they weresearching for something--what I did not know; but when they came alittle nearer to me their leader tapped my sausage-stick, and said, 'This is what we want; it is all ready, all prepared;' and he becamemore and more joyful as he gazed upon my walking-stick. 

"'You may borrow it, but not keep it, ' said I. 

"'Not keep it!' they all exclaimed together, as they seized mysausage-stick, and, dancing away to the green mossy spot, placed thesausage-stick there in the centre of it. They determined also onhaving a Maypole; and the stick they had just captured seeming quitesuited to their purpose, it was soon ornamented. 

"Small spiders spun gold threads around it--hung up waving veils andflags so finely worked, shining so snow-white under the moonbeams, that my eyes were quite dazzled. They took the colours from the wingsof the butterflies, and sprinkled them on the white webs, till theyseemed to be laden with flowers and diamonds. I did not know my ownsausage-stick--it had become such a magnificent Maypole, thatcertainly had not its equal in the world. And now came trippingforwards the great mass of the elves, most of them very slightlyclad; but what they did wear was of the finest materials. I lookedon, of course, but in the background, for I was too big for them. 

"Then what a game commenced! It was as if a thousand glass bells wereringing, the sound was so clear and full. I fancied the swans weresinging, and I also thought I heard cuckoos and thrushes. At length itseemed as if the whole wood was filled with music. There were thesweet voices of children, the ringing of bells, and the songs ofbirds; and all these melodious sounds seemed to proceed from theelves' Maypole--an orchestra in itself--and that was my sausage-stick. I never would have believed that so much could have come from it; butmuch, of course, depended on what hands it fell into. I became verymuch agitated, and I wept, as a little mouse can weep, from sheerpleasure. 

"The night was all too short; but, at this time of the year, thenights are not long up yonder. At the dawn of day there arose a freshbreeze; the surface of the lake became ruffled; all the delicatelyfine veils and flags disappeared in the air; the swinging kiosks ofcobwebs, the suspension bridges and balustrades, or whatever they arecalled, which were constructed from leaf to leaf, vanished intonothing; six elves brought me my sausage-stick, and at the same timeasked if I had any wish they could fulfil; whereupon I begged them totell me how soup could be made from a sausage-stick. 

"'What we can do, ' said the foremost, laughing, 'you have just seen. You could scarcely have recognised your sausage-stick. '

"'You mean as you transformed it, ' said I; and then I told them thecause of my journey, and what was expected at home from it. 'Of whatuse, ' I asked, 'will it be to the King of the Mice and all our largecommunity that I have seen this beautiful sight? I cannot shake thesausage-stick and say, You see here the stick--now comes the soup!That would be like a hoax. '

"Then the elf dipped its little finger into a blue violet, and said tome, --

"'Look! I spread a charm over your walking-stick, and when you returnto the palace of the King of the Mice make it touch the king's warmbreast, and violets will spring from every part of the staff, even inthe coldest winter weather. See! you have now something worth takinghome, and perhaps a little more. '"

But before the little mouse had finished repeating what the elf hadsaid she laid her staff against the king's breast, and sure enoughthere sprang forth from it the loveliest flowers. They yielded sostrong a perfume that the king commanded that the mice who stoodnearest the chimney should stick their tails in the fire, in orderthat the smell of the singed hair should overpower the odour from theflowers, which was very offensive. 

"But what was 'the little more' you spoke of?" asked the King of theMice. 

"Oh!" said the little mouse, "it is what is called an _effect_;" andso she turned her sausage-stick. And behold, there were no moreflowers visible! She held only the naked stick, and she moved it likea stick for beating time. 

"The violets are for sight, smell, and touch, the elf told me; butthere are still wanting hearing and taste. "

She beat time, and there was music--not such, however, as sounded inthe wood at the elfin fête; no, such as is heard at times in thekitchen. It came suddenly, like the wind whistling down the chimney. The pots and the pans boiled over, and the shovel thundered againstthe large brass kettle. It stopped as suddenly as it had commenced;and then was only to be heard the smothered song of the tea-kettle, which was so strange with its tones rising and falling, and the littlepot and the large pot boiling, the one not troubling itself about theother, as if neither could think. Then the little mouse moved hertime-stick faster and faster; the pots bubbled up and boiled over; thewind roared in the chimney; the commotion was so great that the littlemouse herself got frightened, and dropped the stick. 

"It was hard work to make that soup, " cried the old king; "but whereis the result--the dish?"

"That is all, " said the little mouse, courtesying. 

"All! Then let us hear what the next has to tell, " said the king. 

III. 

WHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO RELATE. 

"I was born in the palace library, " said the second mouse. "I, andseveral members of my family there, have never had the good fortune toenter the dining-room, let alone the pantry. It was only when I firstbegan my travels, and now again to-day, that I have even beheld akitchen. We had often to endure hunger in the library, but we acquiredmuch knowledge. The report of the reward offered by royalty for thediscovery of the process by which soup could be made of asausage-stick reached us even up there, and my grandmother thereuponlooked for a manuscript which, though she could not read herself, shehad heard read, wherein it was said, --

"'A poet can make soup out of a sausage-stick. '

"She asked me if I were a poet. I confessed I was not, to which shereplied that I must go and try to become one. I begged to know whatwas to be done to acquire this art, for it appeared to me about asdifficult to attain as to make the soup itself. But my grandmother hadheard a good deal of reading, and she told me that the three thingsprincipally necessary were--good sense, imagination, and feeling. 'Ifthou canst go and furnish thyself with _these_, thou wilt be a poet;and there will be every chance of thy success in the matter of thesausage-stick. '

"So I set off to the westward, out into the wide world, to become apoet. 

"_Good sense_ I knew was the most important of all things, the twoother qualities not being so highly esteemed. So I went first aftergood sense. Well, where did it dwell? 'Go to the ant; consider herways, and be wise, ' a great king of the Hebrews has said. I knew thisfrom the library, and I never stopped until I reached a largeant-hill; and there I settled myself to watch them. 

"They are a very respectable tribe, the ants, and full of good sense;everything among them is as correctly done as a well-calculated sum inarithmetic. 'To labour and to lay eggs, ' say they, 'is to live in thepresent, and to provide for the future;' and that they assuredly do. They divide themselves into the clean ants and the dirty ones. Rank isdistinguished by a number. The queen ant is number one, and her willis their only law. She has swallowed all the wisdom, and it was ofconsequence to me to listen to her; but she said so much and was soprofoundly wise, that I could scarcely comprehend her. 

"She said that their hill was the highest in the world; but close tothe hill stood a tree that was higher, certainly much higher. Shecould not deny this, so she did not allude to it. One evening an anthad lost his way, and finding himself on the tree, he crept up thetrunk, not as far as the top, but much higher than any ant had evergone before; and when he descended, and found his way home at last, heimprudently told in the ant-hill of something much higher at a littledistance from it. This was taken by one and all as an affront to thewhole community, and the offending ant was condemned to have his mouthmuzzled, as well as to perpetual solitude. But shortly after anotherant got as far as the tree, and made a similar journey and a similardiscovery. He spoke of it, however, discreetly and mysteriously, andas he happened to be an ant of consideration--one of the clean--theybelieved him; and when he died they placed an egg-shell over him as amonument in honour of his extensive knowledge. 

"I observed, " said the little mouse, "that the ants continually movewith their eggs on their backs. One of them dropped hers. She triedvery hard to get it up again, but could not succeed; then two otherscame and helped her with all their might, until they had nearly losttheir own eggs, whereupon they let the attempt alone, for one isnearest to one's self; and the queen ant remarked that both heart andgood sense had been shown. 'These two qualities place us ants amongreasonable beings, ' she said. 'Sense ought to be, and is, of the mostconsequence; and I have the most of that;' and she raised herself, inher self-satisfaction, on her hind leg. I could not mistake her, andI swallowed her. 'Go to the ant; consider her ways, and be wise. ' Ihad now the queen. 

"I then went nearer to the above-mentioned large tree: it was an oak. It had high branches, a majestic crown of leaves, and was very old. Iperceived that a living creature resided in it--a female. She wascalled a Dryad. She had been born with the tree, and would die withit. I had heard of this in the library; and now I beheld one of thereal trees, and a real oak-nymph. She uttered a frightful shriek whenshe saw me near her; for she was like all women, very much afraid ofmice. She, however, had more reason to be afraid of me than others ofher sex have, for I could have gnawed the tree in two, and on it hungher life. I spoke to her kindly and cordially. This gave her courage, and she took me in her slender hand; and when she understood what hadbrought me out into the wide world, she promised that I should, perhaps that very night, become possessed of one of the two treasuresof which I was in search. She told me that Imagination was her veryparticular friend; that he was as charming as the God of Love; andthat he often, for many an hour, sought repose under the spreadingfoliage of the tree, which then sighed more musically over the two. Hecalled her _his_ dryad, she said, and the tree _his_ tree. The mighty, gnarled, majestic oak was just to his taste, with its broad roots sunkdeep into the earth, its trunk and its coronal rising so high in thefree air, meeting the drifting snow, the cutting winds, and the brightsunshine, before they had reached the ground. All this she said, andshe continued: 'The birds sing up yonder, and tell of foreign lands, and upon the only decayed branch the stork has built a nest; and itis a pleasure to hear of the country where the pyramids stand. Allthis Fancy can well depict, and very much more. I myself can describelife in the woods from the time that I was quite little, and this treewas so tiny that a nettle could have covered it, until now, when it isso strong and mighty. Sit down yonder under the woodruffs, and be onthe look-out. When Fancy comes I shall find an opportunity of pinchinghis wing, and stealing a little feather from it. You shall take that, and no poet will ever have been better provided. Will that do?'

"And Imagination came; a feather was plucked from him, and I got it, "said the little mouse. "I held it in the water till it became soft. Itwas still hard of digestion, but I managed to gnaw it all up. It isnot at all easy to stuff one's self so as to be a poet--there is somuch to be put in one. I had now got two of the ingredients--goodsense and imagination; and I knew by their help that the thirdingredient was to be found in the library; for a great man has saidand written that there are romances which are useful in easing peopleof a superfluity of tears, and which also act as a sort of swamp tocast feelings into. I remembered some of these books; they had alwayslooked very enticing to me. They were so thumbed, so greasy, they musthave been very popular. 

"I returned home to the library, ate almost as much as a wholeromance--that is to say, the soft part of it, the pith--but the crust, the binding, I let alone. When I had digested this, and another toboot, I perceived how my inside was stirred up; so I ate part of athird, and then I considered myself a poet, and every one about mesaid I was. I had headaches, of course, and all sorts of aches. Ithought over what story I could work up about a sausage-stick, andthere was no end of sticks and pegs crowding my mind. The queen anthad had an uncommon intellect. I remembered the man who took a whitepeg into his mouth, and both he and it became invisible. All mythoughts ran upon sticks. A poet can write even upon these; and I am apoet I trust, for I have fagged hard to be one. I shall be able everyday in the week to amuse you with the story of a stick. This is mysoup. "

"Let us hear the third, " said the King of the Mice. 

"Pip, pip!" said a little mouse at the kitchen door. It was the fourthof them, the one they thought dead. She tripped in, and jumped uponthe upper end of the sausage-stick with the black crape. She had beenjourneying day and night, travelling on the railroad by the goodstrain, in which she took great pleasure, and yet she had almostarrived too late; but she hurried forward, puffing and panting, andlooking very much jaded. She had lost her sausage-stick, but not hervoice; for she began talking with the utmost velocity, as if every onewas dying to hear her, and no one could say anything to the purposebut herself. How she did chatter! But she had arrived so unexpectedlythat no one had time to find fault with her or her talking, so shewent on. Now let us listen. 

IV. 

WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE--WHO SPOKE BEFORE THE THIRD ONE HAD SPOKEN--HADTO RELATE. 

"I went straight to the greatest city, " she said. "I do not rememberits name. I do not recollect names well. I came from the railway withconfiscated goods to the town council-hall, and there I ran to thejailer. He spoke of his prisoners, especially of one of them, who haduttered some very imprudent words; and when these had been repeated, and written down and read, 'The whole, ' said he, 'was only--soup of asausage-stick; but that soup may cost him dear. ' I felt interested inthe prisoner, " continued the little mouse, "and I watched for anopportunity to go in where he was. There is always a mouse-hole behindlocked doors. He looked very pale, had a dark beard, and large shiningeyes. The lamp smoked; but the walls were accustomed to this. They didnot turn any blacker. The prisoner was scratching on them bothpictures and verses; but I did not read the latter. I fancy he wastired of being alone, for I was a welcome guest. He enticed me withcrumbs of bread, with his flute, and kind words. He was so happy withme! I put confidence in him, and we became friends. He shared with mebread and water, and gave me cheese and sausages. I lived luxuriously;but it was not alone the good cheer that detained me. He allowed me torun upon his hand and arm all the way up to his shoulder; he allowedme to creep into his beard, and called me his little friend. I becamevery dear to him, and our regard was mutual. I forgot my errand out inthe wide world; I forgot my sausage-stick in a crevice in the floor;and there it still lies. I wished to remain where I was; for, if Ileft him, the poor prisoner would have nothing to care for in thisworld. I remained; but he, alas! did not. He spoke to me so sadly forthe last time, gave me a double allowance of bread and cheese parings, kissed his finger to me, and then he was gone--gone, never to return. I do not know his history. 'Soup of a sausage-stick!' said the jailer, and I went to him; but I was wrong to trust in him. He took me up, indeed, in his hand; but he put me in a cage, a treadmill. That washard work--jumping and jumping without getting on a bit, and only tobe laughed at. 

"The jailer's grandchild was a pretty little fellow, with waving hairas yellow as gold, sparkling, joyous eyes, and a laughing mouth. 

"'Poor little mouse!' he exclaimed, peeping in at my horrid cage, andat the same time drawing up the iron pin that closed it. 

"I seized the opportunity, and sprang first to the window-ledge, andthence to the conduit-pipe. Free, free! that was all I could think of, and not the object of my journey. 

"It became dark--it was almost night. I took up my lodgings in atower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I could not trust either ofthem, and the owl least of the two. It resembles a cat, and has onegreat fault--that it eats mice. But one can be on one's guard, andthat I assuredly would be. She was a respectable, extremelywell-educated old owl. She knew more than the watchman, and almost asmuch as I myself did. The young owls made a great fuss abouteverything. 

"'Don't make soup of a sausage-stick, ' said she. 

"This was the severest thing she could say to them, she was so veryfond of her family. I felt so much inclined to place some reliance inher that I cried "Pip!" from the crevice in which I was concealed. Myconfidence in her seemed to please her, and she assured me that Ishould be safe under her protection; that no animal would be permittedto injure me until winter, when she might herself fall upon me, asfood would be scarce. 

"She was very wise in all things. She proved to me that the watchmancould not blow a blast without his horn, which hung loosely about him. 

"He piques himself exceedingly upon his performances, and fancies heis the owl of the tower. The sound ought to be very loud, but it isextremely weak. 'Soup of a sausage-stick!'

"I begged her to give me the recipe for the soup, and she explained itto me thus:--

"'Soup of a sausage-stick is but a cant phrase among men, and isdifferently interpreted. Every one fancies his own interpretation thebest, but in sober reality there is nothing in it whatsoever. '

"'Nothing!' cried I. That was a poser. 'Truth is not always pleasant, but truth is always the best. ' So also said the old owl. I consideredthe matter, and came to the conclusion that when I brought _the best_I brought more than 'soup of a sausage-stick;' and thereupon Ihastened homewards, so that I might arrive in good time to bring whatis most valuable--THE TRUTH. The mice are an enlightened community, and their king is the cleverest of them all. He can make me his queenfor the sake of Truth. "

"Thy truth is a falsehood, " said the mouse who had not yet had anopportunity of speaking. "I can make the soup, and I will do it. "

V. 

HOW THE SOUP WAS MADE. 

"I have not travelled at all, " said the last mouse. "I remained in ourown country. It is not necessary to go to foreign lands--one canlearn as well at home. I remained there. I have not acquired anyinformation of unnatural beings. I have not eaten information, orconversed with owls. I confined myself to original thoughts. Will someone now be so good as to fill the kettle with water, and put it on?Let there be plenty of fire under it. Let the water boil--boilbriskly; then throw the sausage-stick in. Will his majesty the King ofthe Mice be so condescending as to put his tail into the boiling pot, and stir it about? The longer he stirs it, the richer the soup willbecome. It costs nothing, and requires no other ingredients--it onlyneeds to be stirred. "

"Cannot another do this?" asked the king. 

"No, " said the mouse. "The effect can only be produced by the royaltail. "

The water was boiled, and the King of the Mice prepared himself forthe operation, though it was rather dangerous. He stuck his tail out, as mice are in the habit of doing in the dairy, when they skim thecream off the dish with their tails; but he had no sooner popped histail into the warm steam than he drew it out and sprang down. 

"Of course you are my queen, " said he; "but we shall wait for the souptill our golden wedding, and the poor in my kingdom will havesomething to rejoice over in the future. "

So the nuptials were celebrated; but many of the mice, when they wenthome, said, "It could not well be called soup of a sausage-stick, butrather soup of a mouse's tail. "

They allowed that each of the narratives was very well told, but thewhole might have been better. "I, for instance, would have related myadventures in such and such words. . . . "

These were the critics, and they are always so wise--afterwards. 

 * * * * *

And this history went round the world. Opinions were divided about it, but the historian himself remained unmoved. And this is best in greatthings and in small. 

_The Neck of a Bottle. _

Yonder, in the confined, crooked streets, amidst several poor-lookinghouses, stood a narrow high tenement, run up of framework that wasmuch misshapen, with corners and ends awry. It was inhabited by poorpeople, the poorest of whom looked out from the garret, where, outsidethe little window, hung in the sunshine an old, dented bird-cage, which had not even a common cage-glass, but only the neck of a bottleinverted, with a cork below, and filled with water. An old maid stoodnear the open window; she had just been putting some chickweed intothe cage, wherein a little linnet was hopping from perch to perch, andsinging until her warbling became almost overpowering. 

"Yes, you may well sing, " said the neck of the bottle; but it did notsay this as we should say it, for the neck of a bottle cannot speak, but it thought so within itself, just as we human beings speakinwardly. 

"Yes, you may well sing, you who have your limbs entire. You shouldhave experienced, like me, what it is to have lost your lower part, tohave only a neck and a mouth, and the latter stopped up with a cork, as I have; then you would not sing. But it is well that somebody iscontented. I have no cause to sing, and I cannot. I could once though, when I was a whole bottle. How I was praised at the furrier's in thewood, when his daughter was betrothed! Yes, I remember that day as ifit were yesterday. I have gone through a great deal when I look back. I have been in fire and in water, down in the dark earth, and higherup than many; and now I am suspended outside of a bird-cage in the airand sunshine. It might be worth while to listen to my story; but I donot speak it aloud, because I cannot. "

So it went on thinking over its own history, which was curious enough;and the little bird poured forth its strains, and in the street belowpeople walked and drove, every one thinking of himself, some scarcelythinking at all; but the neck of the bottle _was_ thinking. 

It remembered the blazing smelt-furnace at the manufactory where itwas blown into life. It remembered even now that it had been extremelywarm; that it had looked into the roaring oven, its original home, andhad felt strongly inclined to spring back into it; but that bydegrees, as it felt cooler, it found itself comfortable enough whereit was, placed in a row with a whole regiment of brothers and sistersfrom the same furnace, some of which, however, were blown intochampagne bottles, others into ale bottles; and that made adifference, since out in the world an ale bottle may contain thecostly LACRYMÆ CHRISTI, and a champagne bottle may be filled withblacking; but what they were born to every one can see by their shape, so that noble remains noble even with blacking in it. 

All the bottles were packed up, and our bottle with them. It thenlittle thought that it would end in being only the neck of a bottleserving as a bird's glass--an honourable state of existence truly, butstill something. It did not see daylight again until it was unpackedalong with its comrades in the wine merchant's cellar, and was washedfor the first time. That was a funny sensation. After that it layempty and uncorked, and felt so very listless; it wanted something, but did not know what it wanted. At length it was filled with anexcellent, superior wine, and, when corked and sealed, a label wasstuck on it outside with the words, "Best quality. " It was as if ithad taken its first academic degree. But the wine was good, and thebottle was good. The young are fond of music, and much singing went onin it, the songs being on themes about which it scarcely knewanything--the green sunlit hills where the wine grapes grew, wherebeautiful girls and handsome swains met, and danced, and sang, andloved. Ah! there it is delightful to dwell. And all this was made intosongs in the bottle, as it is made into songs by young poets, who alsofrequently know nothing at all about the subjects they choose. 

One morning it was bought. The furrier's boy was ordered to purchase abottle of the best wine, and this one was carried away in a basket, with ham, cheese, and sausage; there were also the nicest butter andthe finest bread. The furrier's daughter herself packed the basket. She was so young, so pretty! Her brown eyes laughed, and the smile onher sweet mouth was almost as expressive as her eyes. She hadbeautiful soft hands--they were so white; yet her throat and neck werestill whiter. It could be seen at once that she was one of theprettiest girls in the neighbourhood, and, strange to say, not yetengaged. 

The basket of provisions was placed in her lap when the family droveout to the wood. The neck of the bottle stuck out above the parts ofthe white napkins that were visible. There was red wax on its cork, and it looked straight into the eyes of the pretty girl, and also intothose of the young sailor--the mate of a ship--who sat beside her. Hewas the son of a portrait painter, and had just passed a first-rateexamination for mate, and was to go on board his vessel the next dayto sail for far-distant countries. Much was said about his voyageduring the drive; and when _it_ was spoken of, there was not exactlyan expression of joy in the eyes and about the mouth of the furrier'sdaughter. 

The two young people wandered away into the green wood. They were inearnest conversation. Of what were they speaking? The bottle did nothear that, for it was still standing in the basket of provisions. Itseemed a long time before it was taken out, but then it saw pleasantfaces round. Everybody was smiling, and the furrier's daughter alsosmiled; but she spoke less, and her cheeks were blushing like two redroses. 

The father took the full bottle and the corkscrew. Oh! it isastonishing to a bottle the first time a cork is drawn from it. Theneck of the bottle could never afterwards forget that important momentwhen, with a low sound, the cork flew, and the wine streamed out intothe awaiting glasses. 

"To the health of the betrothed pair!" cried the father, and everyglass was drained; and the young mate kissed his lovely bride. "Mayhappiness and every blessing attend you both!" said the old people;and the young man begged them to fill their glasses again for histoast. 

"To my return home and my wedding, within a year and a day!" hecried; and when the glasses were empty he took the bottle, and liftedit high above his head. "Thou hast been present during the happiestday of my life; thou shalt never serve another!"

And he cast the bottle high up in the air. Ah! little did thefurrier's daughter think then that she should often look on that whichwas flung up; but she was destined to do so. It fell among the thickmass of reeds that bordered a pond in the woods. The neck of thebottle remembered distinctly what it thought as it lay there, and itwas this: "I gave them wine, and they give me bog-water; but it waswell meant. " It could no more see the betrothed young couple, or thehappy old people; but it heard in the distance the sounds of music andof mirth. Then came two little peasant children peering among thereeds. They saw the bottle, and carried it off with them: so it wasprovided for. 

At home, in the cottage among the woods where they lived, their eldestbrother, who was a sailor, had, the day before, come to say farewell;for he was about to start on a long voyage. The mother was busypacking various little matters, which the father was to take with himto the town in the evening, when he went to see his son once morebefore his departure, and give him again his mother's blessing. Aphial with spiced brandy was placed in the package; but at that momentthe children came in with the larger, stronger bottle which they hadfound. A larger quantity could go into it than into the phial. It wasnot the red wine, as before, that the bottle received, but some bitterstuff. However, it also was excellent as a stomachic. Our bottle wasthus again to set forth on its travels. It was carried on board toPeter Jensen, who happened to be in the same ship as was the youngmate; but he did not see the bottle, and, if he had seen it, he wouldnot have known it to have been the same from which were drunk thetoasts in honour of his betrothal, and to his safe return. 

Although there was no longer wine in it, there was something quite asgood; and whenever Peter Jensen brought it forth, his comrades calledit "the apothecary. " The nice medicine was so much in vogue that verysoon there was not a drop of it left. The bottle had a pleasant timeof it, upon the whole, while its contents were in such high favour. Itacquired the name of the great "Loerke"--"Peter Jensen'sLoerke. "[4]

[Footnote 4: "Loerke, " which generally means "lark, " is the namegiven among the lower classes in Denmark to a spirit bottle of apeculiar shape. There is no word that corresponds with it inEnglish. --_Trans. _]

But this time was passed, and it had lain long neglected in a corner. It did not know whether it was on the voyage out or homewards; for ithad never been on shore anywhere. One day a great storm arose; theblack, heavy waves rolled mountains high, and heaved the ship up andcast it down by turns; the mast came down with a crash; the sea stovein a plank; the pumps were no longer of any avail. It was a pitch-darknight. The ship sank; but at the last minute the young mate wrote on aslip of paper, "_In the name of Jesus--we are lost!_" He wrote downthe name of his bride, his own name, and that of his ship; then hethrust the note into an empty bottle that was within reach, pressed inthe cork tightly, and cast the bottle out into the raging sea. Littledid he know that it was the identical bottle which had contained thewine in which had been drunk the toasts of joy and hope for him andher, that was now tossing on the billows with these lastremembrances, and the message of death. 

The ship sank--the crew sank--but the bottle skimmed the waves like asea-fowl. It had a heart then--the letter of love within it. And thesun rose, and the sun set. This sight recalled to the bottle the sceneof its earliest life--the red glowing furnace, to which it had oncelonged to return. It encountered calms and storms; but it was notdashed to pieces against any rocks. It was not swallowed by any shark. For more than a year and a day it drifted on--now towards the north, now towards the south--as the currents carried it. In other respectsit was its own master; but one can become tired even of that. 

The written paper--the last farewell from the bridegroom to hisbride--would only bring deep sorrow if it ever reached the properhands. But where were these hands, that had looked so white when theyspread the tablecloth on the fresh grass in the green wood on thebetrothal-day? Where was the furrier's daughter? Nay, where was hercountry? and to what country was it nearest? The bottle knew not. Itdrifted and drifted, and it was so tired of always drifting on; but itcould not help itself. Still, still it had to drift, until at last itreached the land; but it was a foreign country. It did not understanda word that was said, for the language was not such as it had beenformerly accustomed to hear; and one feels quite lost if one does notunderstand the language spoken around. 

The bottle was taken up and examined; the slip of paper in it wasobserved, taken out, and opened; but nobody could make out what waswritten on it, though every one knew that the bottle must have beencast overboard, and that some information was contained in the paper;but what _that_ was remained a mystery, and it was put back into thebottle, and the latter laid by in a large press, in a large room, in alarge house. 

Whenever any stranger came the slip of paper was taken out, opened, and examined, so that the writing, which was only in pencil, becamemore and more illegible from the frequent folding and unfolding of thepaper, till at length the letters could no longer be discerned. Afterthe bottle had remained about a year in the press it was removed tothe loft, and was soon covered with dust and cobwebs. Ah! then itthought of its better days, when red wine was poured from it in theshady wood, and when it swayed about upon the waves, and had a secretto carry--a letter, a farewell sigh. 

It now remained in the loft for twenty mortal years, and it might haveremained longer, had not the house been going to be rebuilt. The roofwas taken off, the bottle discovered and talked about; but it did notunderstand what was said. One does not learn languages, living upalone in a loft, even in twenty years. "Had I but been down in theparlour, " it thought, and with truth, "I would, of course, havelearned it. "

It was now washed and rinsed. It certainly wanted cleaning sadly, andvery clear and transparent it felt itself after it--indeed, quiteyoung again in its old age; but the slip of paper committed to itscharge, that was lost in the washing. The bottle was now filled withseeds. Such contents were new to it. Well stopped up and wrapped up itwas, and it could see neither a lantern nor a candle, not to mentionthe sun or the moon. "One ought to see something when one goes on ajourney, " thought the bottle; but it did not, however, until itreached the place it was going to, and was there unpacked. 

"What trouble these people abroad have taken about it!" was remarked;"yet no doubt it is cracked. " But it was not cracked. The bottleunderstood every word that was said, for they were spoken in thelanguage it had heard at the furnace, at the wine merchant's, in thewood, and on board ship--the only right good old language, one whichcould be understood. The bottle had returned to its own country, andin its joy had nearly jumped out of the hands that were holding it. Itscarcely observed that the cork had been removed, its contents shakenout, and itself put away in the cellar to be kept and forgotten. Buthome is dearest, even in a cellar. It had enough to think over, andtime enough to think, for it lay there for years; but at last one dayfolks came down there to look for some bottles, and took this one withthem. 

Outside, in the garden, there were great doings; coloured lamps hungin festoons; paper lanterns, formed like large tulips, gave forththeir subdued light. It was also a charming evening; the air was calmand clear; the stars began, one after the other, to shine in the deepblue heavens above; while the round moon looked like a palebluish-grey ball, with a golden border encircling it. 

There were also some illuminations in the side walks, at least enoughto let people see their way; bottles with lights in them were placedhere and there among the hedges; and amidst these stood the bottle weknow, the one that was destined to end as the mere neck of a bottleand the glass of a bird-cage. At the period just named, however, itfound everything so exquisitely charming. It was again among flowersand verdure, again surrounded by joy and festivity; it again heardsinging and musical instruments, and the hum and buzz of a crowd ofpeople, especially from that part of the gardens which were mostbrilliantly illuminated. It had a good situation itself, and stoodthere useful and happy, bearing its appointed light. During such apleasant time it forgot the twenty years up in the loft, and it isgood to be able to forget. 

Close by it passed a couple arm-in-arm, like the happy pair in thewood, the mate and the furrier's daughter. It seemed to the bottle asif it were living that time over again. Guests and visitors ofdifferent ages wandered up and down, gazing upon the illuminations;and among these was an old maid, without relations, but not withoutfriends. Probably her thoughts were occupied, as were those of thebottle; for she was thinking of the green woods, and of a young couplejust betrothed. These _souvenirs_ affected her much, for she had beena party in them--a prominent party. This was in her happier hours; andone never forgets these, even when one becomes a very old maid. Butshe did not recognise the bottle, and it did not recognise her. So itis we wear out of each other's knowledge in this world, until peoplemeet again as these two did. 

The bottle passed from the public gardens to the wine merchant's; itwas there again filled with wine, and sold to an aëronaut, who was togo up in a balloon the following Sunday. There was a multitude ofpeople to witness the ascent, there was a regimental band, and therewere many preparations going on. The bottle saw all this from abasket, in which it lay with a living rabbit, who was very muchfrightened when it saw it was to go up in the parachute. The bottledid not know where it was to go; it beheld the balloon extendingwider and wider, and becoming so large that it could not be larger;then lifting itself up higher and higher, and rolling restlessly untilthe ropes that held it were cut, when it arose majestically into theair, with the aëronaut, the basket, the bottle, and the rabbit; thenthe music played loudly, and the assembled crowd shouted, "Hurra!hurra!"

"It is droll to go aloft, " thought the bottle; "it is a novel sort ofa voyage. Up yonder one cannot run away. "

Many thousand human beings gazed up at the balloon, and the old maidgazed among the rest. She stood by her open garret window, where acage hung with a little linnet, which at that time had no water-glass, but had to content itself with a cup. Just within the window stood amyrtle tree, that was moved a little aside, that it might not come inthe way while the old maid was leaning out to look at the balloon. Andshe could perceive the aëronaut in it; she saw him let the rabbit downin the parachute, and then, having drunk the health of the crowdbelow, throw the bottle high up in the air. Little did she think thatit was just the same bottle she had seen thrown up high in honour ofherself and her lover, on a well-remembered happy day amidst the greenwood, when she was young. 

The bottle had no time to think, it was so unexpectedly exalted to thehighest position it had ever attained in its life. The roofs and thespires lay far below, and the people looked as small as pigmies. 

It now descended, and that at a different rate of speed from therabbit. The bottle cast somersaults in the air--it felt itself soyoung, so buoyant. It was half full of wine, but not long. What a tripthat was! The sun shone upon the bottle, and all the crowd looked upat it. The balloon was soon far away, and the bottle was soon alsoout of sight, for it fell upon a roof and broke in two; but thefragments rebounded again, and leaped and rolled till they reached theyard below, where they lay in smaller pieces; for only the neck of thebottle escaped destruction, and it looked as if it had been cut roundby a diamond. 

"It may still serve as a glass for a bird's cage, " said the man in thecellar. 

But he himself had neither a bird nor a cage, and it would have costtoo much to buy these because he had found the neck of a bottle thatwould answer for a glass. The old maid, however, up in the garret, might make use of it; and so the neck of the bottle was sent up toher. A cork was fitted to it, and, as first mentioned, after its manychanges, it was filled with fresh water, and was hung in front of thecage of the little bird, that sang until its warbling became almostoverpowering. 

"Yes, you may well sing, " was what the neck of the bottle had said. 

It was somewhat of a wonder, as it had been up in a balloon; but withmore of its history no one was acquainted. Now it hung as a bird'sglass, it could hear the people driving and walking in the streetbelow, and it could hear the old maid talking in her room to a femalefriend of her youthful days. They were chatting together, but speakingof the myrtle plant in the window, not of the neck of the bottle. 

"You must not throw away two rix dollars for a wedding bouquet foryour daughter, " said the old maid. "You shall have one from me full offlowers. Look how pretty that plant is! Ah! it is a slip of the myrtletree you gave me the day after my betrothal, that I myself, when theyear was past, might take my wedding bouquet from it. But that daynever came. The eyes were for ever closed that were to have illuminedfor me the path of happiness in this life. Away, down in the ocean'sdepths, he sleeps calmly--that angel soul! The tree became an oldtree, but I have become still older; and when it died, I took its lastgreen branch and planted it in the earth. That slip has now grown intoa high plant, and will at last appear amidst bridal array, and form awedding bouquet for my friend's daughter. "

And tears started to the old maid's eyes. She spoke of the lover ofher youth--of the betrothal in the wood; she thought of the toaststhat were there drunk; she thought of the first kiss, but she did notspeak of that, for she was now but an old maid. She thought ofmuch--much; but little did she think that outside of her window waseven then a _souvenir_ from that regretted time--the neck of the verybottle that had been drawn when the unforgotten toasts were drunk! Nordid the bottle-neck know her; for it had not heard all she had said, because it had been thinking only of itself. 

_The Old Bachelor's Nightcap. _

There is a street in Copenhagen which bears the extraordinary name of"Hyskenstroede. " And why is it so called? and what is the meaning ofthat name? It is German; but the German has been corrupted. "Häuschen"it ought to be called, and that signifies "small houses. " Those whichstood there formerly--and, indeed, for several years--were not muchlarger than the wooden booths that we see now-a-days erected at fairs. Yes, only a little larger, and with windows; but the panes were ofhorn or stretched bladder, for in these days it was too expensive tohave glass windows in all houses; but the time in question was so farback that our grandfathers' grandfathers, when they mentioned it, alsospoke of it as "in ancient days, " for it was several hundred yearsago. 

Many rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck carried on business inCopenhagen. They did not, however, go there themselves--they senttheir clerks; and these persons generally resided in the wooden housesin the "Small Houses' Street, " and held sales of ale and spices. TheGerman ale was so excellent, and there were so many kinds--"Bremer, Prysing, Emser ale, " even "Brunswick Mumme;" also, all sorts ofspices, such as saffron, anise, ginger, and especially pepper, thatwas the most valued; and from this the German commercial travellersacquired the name in Denmark of "Pepper Swains, or Bachelors. " Theyentered into an agreement before they left home not to marry; and manyof them lived there to old age. They had to do entirely forthemselves, attend to all little domestic matters, even make their ownfires if they had any. Several of them became lonely old men, withpeculiar thoughts and peculiar habits. Every unmarried man who hasarrived at a certain age is now here called after them in derision, "Pebersvend"--old bachelor. It was necessary to relate all this, inorder that our story might be understood. 

People made great fun of these old bachelors; laughed at theirnightcaps, at their drawing them down over their eyes, and so retiringto their couches. 

 "Saw the firewood, saw it through! Old bachelors, there's work for you. To bed with you your nightcaps go; Put out your lights, and cry, 'O woe!'"

Yes, such songs were made on them. People ridiculed the old bachelorand his nightcap, just because they knew so little about him, or it. Alas! let no one desire such a nightcap. And why not? Listen!

Over in the "Small Houses' Street, " in ancient days, there was nopavement; people stepped from hole to hole as in a narrow, cut-updefile; and narrow enough this was, too. The dwellings on the oppositeside of the street stood so close together, that in summer a sail wasspread across the street from one booth to another, and the wholeplace was redolent of pepper, saffron, ginger, and various spices. Behind the desks stood few young men; no, they were almost all oldfellows; and they were by no means, as we would represent them, crowned with a peruke or a nightcap, and equipped in shaggypantaloons, a vest and coat buttoned tightly up. This was the costumein which our forefathers were painted, it is true; but this communityof old bachelors could not afford to have their pictures taken. Yet itwould have been worth while now to have preserved a portrait of one ofthem, as they stood behind their desks, or on festival days, when theywended their way to church. The hat they wore was broad-brimmed, andwith a high crown; and sometimes one of the younger men would stick afeather in his. The woollen shirt was concealed by a deep linencollar; the tight-fitting jacket was closely buttoned, a loose cloakover it; and the pantaloons descended almost into the square-toedshoes, for stockings they wore none. In the belt were stuck the eatingknife and the spoon; and, moreover, a large knife as a weapon ofdefence, for such was often needed in these days. 

Thus was equipped, on grand occasions, old Anthon, one of the oldestbachelors of the "small houses;" only he did not wear the high-crownedhat, but a fur cap, and under that a knitted cap, a veritablenightcap, to which he had so accustomed himself that it was never offhis head: he actually possessed two of the same description. He wouldhave made an excellent subject for a painter; he was so skinny, sowrinkled about the mouth and the eyes; had long fingers, with suchlarge joints; and his grey eyebrows were so thick. A bunch of greyhair from one of these hung over his left eye: it certainly was notpretty, but it made him very remarkable. It was known that he camefrom Bremen, at least that his master lived there; but he himself wasfrom Thüringen, from the town of Eisenach, close to Wartburg. OldAnthon spoke little of his native place, but he thought of it themore. 

The old lodgers in the street did not associate much with each other. Each remained in his own booth, which, was locked early in theevening, and then looked very dismal; for only a glimmering lightcould be seen through the horn panes of the window in the roof, beneath which sat, most frequently on his bed, the old man with hisGerman psalm-book, and chanted the evening hymn, or else he went outand strolled about at night by way of amusement; but amusement itcould hardly be called. To be a stranger in a foreign country is avery sad situation. No notice is taken of him unless he stands inanyone's way. 

Often when it was a pitch-dark night, with pouring rain, all aroundlooked woefully gloomy and desolate. No lanterns were to be seen, except the little one that hung at one end of the street, before theimage of the Virgin Mary that adorned the wall there. The water washeard dashing and splashing against the wooden work near, out bySlotsholm, on which the other end of the street opened. Such eveningsare always long and lonely if there be nothing to interest one. It isnot necessary every day to pack and unpack, to make up parcels, and topolish scales; but one must have something to do, and accordingly oldAnthon industriously mended his clothes and cleaned his shoes. When atlength he retired to rest, it was his custom to keep on his nightcap. At first he would draw it well down, but he would soon push it upagain to look if the light were totally extinguished; nor would he besatisfied without getting up and feeling it. He would then lie downagain, and turn on the other side, and again draw down the nightcap;but soon the idea would cross his mind that possibly the coals mightnot have become cold in the little fire-pot beneath--the fire mightnot be totally out--that a spark might be kindled, fly forth, and domischief; and he would get out of his bed and creep down the ladder, for it could not be called the stairs; and when, on reaching thefire-pot, he perceived that not a spark was visible, and he mightretire to rest in peace, he would stop half way up, being seized withthe fear that the iron bolt might not be properly drawn across thedoor, or the shutters properly secured; and down he would go again, wearying his poor thin legs. By the time he crept back to his humblecouch he would be half frozen, and his teeth would be chattering inhis head with the cold. Then he would draw the covering higher uparound him, and his nightcap lower down over his eyes, and histhoughts would wander from the business and burdens of the day; butah! not to soothing scenes. His reveries were never fraught withpleasure, for then came old reminiscences, and hung their curtains up;and sometimes they were full of pins, that pricked so severely as tobring tears into his eyes. Such wounds old Anthon often received, andhis warm tears fell on the coverlet or the floor, sounding as if oneof sorrow's deepest strings had burst; they did not dry up, butkindled into a flame, which cast its light for him on the panorama ofa life--a picture which never vanished from his mind. Then he woulddry his eyes with his nightcap, and chase away the tears, andendeavour to chase away the picture with them; but it would not go, for it was imbedded in his heart. The panorama did not follow theexact order of events; also the saddest parts were generally mostprominent. And what were these?

"Beautiful are the beech groves in Denmark, " it is said; but stillmore beautiful did the beech trees in the meadows near Wartburg seemto Anthon. Mightier and more majestic seemed to him the old oak up atthe proud baronial castle, where the swinging lantern hung over thedark masses of rock; sweeter was the perfume of the apple blossomsthere than in the Danish land; he seemed to feel the charming scenteven now. A tear trickled down his cheeks, and he saw two littlechildren, a boy and a girl, playing together. The boy had rosy cheeks, yellow waving hair, and honest blue eyes--he was the rich merchant'sson, little Anthon himself. The little girl had dark hair and eyes, and she looked bold and clever--she was the burgomaster's daughterMolly. The childish couple were playing with an apple. At length theydivided it in two, and each took a half. They also divided the seedsbetween them, and ate them all to one; and the little girl proposed toplant that in the ground. 

"You will see what will come of this--something will come which youcan hardly fancy. An apple tree will come up, but not all at once. "

And they planted the seed in a flower-pot: both of them were veryeager about it. The boy dug a hole in the mould with his finger; thelittle girl placed the seed in it, and both of them filled up the holewith earth. 

"You must not pull it up to-morrow to see if it has taken root, " shesaid; "that should not be done. I did that with my flower: twice Itook it up to see if it was growing. I had very little sense then, andthe flower died. "

The flower-pot was left in Anthon's care, and every morning, thewhole winter through, he looked at it; but nothing was to be seenexcept the black earth. Then came spring; the sun shone so warmly, andtwo tiny green leaves at last made their appearance in the flower-pot. 

"These are Molly and me, " said Anthon. "They are charming--they arelovely. "

Soon there came a third leaf. Who did that represent? And leaf afterleaf came up; while day by day, and week by week, the plant becamelarger and stronger, until it grew into quite a tree. And another tearfell again from its fountain--from old Anthon's heart. 

There stretched out, near Eisenach, a range of stony hills, one ofwhich, round in shape, was very conspicuous: neither tree, nor bush, nor grass grew on it. It was named Mount Venus. Therein dwelt Venus, agoddess from the heathen ages. She was here called Fru Holle, and sheknew and could see every child in Eisenach. She had decoyed into herpower the noble knight Tannhäuser, the minnesinger, from the musicalcircle of Wartburg. 

Little Molly and Anthon often went to this hill, and she one day saidto him, --

"Would you dare to knock on the side of the hill and cry, 'Fru Holle!Fru Holle! open the gate; here is Tannhäuser?' But Anthon dared not doit. Molly dared, however; yet only these words--"Fru Holle! FruHolle!"--did she say very loudly and distinctly--the rest seemed todie away on the wind; and she certainly did pronounce the rest of thesentence so indistinctly, that Anthon was sure she had not reallyadded the other words. Yet she looked very confident--as bold as when, in the summer evening, she and several other little girls came to playin the garden with him, and when they all wanted to kiss him, justbecause he would not be kissed, and defended himself from them, shealone ventured to achieve the feat. 

"_I_ dare to kiss him!" she used to say, with a proud toss of herlittle head. Then she would take him round his neck to prove herpower, and Anthon would put up with it, and think it all right fromher. How pretty and how clever she was! Fru Holle within the hill wasalso very charming, but her charms, it had been said, sprung from theseducing beauty bestowed on her by the evil one; but still greaterbeauty was to be found in the holy Elizabeth, the patron saint of thecountry, the pious Thüringian princess, whose good works, knownthrough traditions and legends, were celebrated in so many places. Apicture of her hung in the chapel with a silver lamp before it, butMolly did not resemble her. 

The apple tree the two children had planted grew year after year; itbecame so large that it had to be transferred to the garden, out inthe open air, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly; it becamestrong enough to withstand the severity of winter, and after winter'shard trials it seemed as if rejoicing in the return of spring: it thenput forth blossoms. In August it had two apples, one for Molly and onefor Anthon: it would not have been well if it had had less. 

The tree had grown rapidly, and Molly had grown as fast as the tree;she was as fresh as an apple blossom, but she was no longer to seethat flower. Everything changes in this world. Molly's father left hisold home, and Molly went with him--far, far away. In our time it mightbe only a few hours' journey by railway, but in those days it tookmore than a day and a night to arrive so far east from Eisenach. Itwas to the other extremity of Thüringia they had to go, to a townwhich is now called Weimar. 

And Molly wept, and Anthon wept. All these were now concentrated inone single tear, and it had the happy rosy tinge of joy. Molly hadassured him that she cared much more for him than for all the grandeurof Weimar. 

One year passed on, two passed, and a third followed, and in all thattime there came only two letters. One was brought by the carrier, theother by a traveller, who had taken a circuitous course, besidesvisiting several cities and other places. 

How often had not Anthon and Molly heard together the story ofTristand and Isolde, and how often did not Anthon think of himself andMolly as them! Although the name "Tristand" signified that he was bornto sorrow, and that did not apply to Anthon, he never thought asTristand did, "She has forgotten me!" But Isolde had not forgotten herheart's dear friend; and when they were both dead and buried, one oneach side of the church, two linden trees grew out of their graves, and, stretching over the roof of the church, met there in full bloom. This was very delightful, thought Anthon, and yet so sad! But therecould be no sadness where he and Molly were concerned. And then hewhistled an air of the Minnesinger's "Walther von der Vogelweide, "--

 "Under the lime tree by the hedge;"

and especially that favourite verse, --

 "Beyond the wood, in the quiet dale, Tandaradai, Sang the melodious nightingale. "

This song was always on his lips. He hummed it, and he whistled it onthe clear moonlight night, when, passing on horseback through thedeep ravine, he rode in haste to Weimar to visit Molly. He wished toarrive unexpectedly, and he _did_ arrive unexpectedly. 

He was well received. Wine sparkled in the goblets; there was gaysociety, distinguished society. He had a comfortable room and anexcellent bed; and yet he found nothing as he had dreamt and thoughtto find it. He did not understand himself; he did not understand thoseabout him; but we can understand all. One can be in a house, canmingle with a family, and yet be a total stranger. One may converse, but it is like conversing in a stage coach; may know each other aspeople know each other in a stage coach; be a restraint upon eachother; wish that one were away, or that one's good neighbour wereaway; and it was thus that Anthon felt. 

"I will be sincere with you, " said Molly to him. "Things have changedmuch since we were together as children--changed within and without. Habit and will have no power over our hearts. Anthon, I do not wish tohave an enemy in you when I am far away from this, as I soon shall be. Believe me, I have a great regard for you; but to love you--as I nowknow how one can love another human being--that I have never done. Youmust put up with this. Farewell, Anthon!"

And Anthon also said farewell. No tears sprang to his eyes, but heperceived that he was no longer Molly's friend. If we were to kiss aburning bar of iron, or a frozen bar of iron, we should experience thesame sensation when the skin came off our lips. 

Within twenty-four hours Anthon had reached Eisenach again, but thehorse he rode was ruined. 

"What of that?" cried he. "I am ruined, and I will ruin all that canremind me of her. Fru Holle! Fru Holle! Thou heathenish woman! I willtear down and smash the apple tree, and pull it up by the roots. Itshall never blossom or bear fruit more. "

But the tree was not destroyed; he himself was knocked down, and laylong in a violent fever. What was to raise him from his sick bed? Themedicine that did it was the bitterest that could be--one that shookthe languid body and the shrinking soul. Anthon's father was no longerthe rich merchant. Days of adversity, days of trial, were close athand. Misfortune rushed in like overwhelming billows--it surged intothat once wealthy house. His father became a poor man, and sorrow andcalamity paralysed him. Then Anthon found that he had something elseto think of than disappointed love, or being angry with Molly. He hadnow to be both father and mother in his desolate home. He had toarrange everything, look after everything, and to go forth into theworld to work for his own and his parents' bread. 

He went to Bremen. There he suffered many privations, and passed manymelancholy days; and all that he went through sometimes soured histemper, sometimes saddened him, till strength and mind seemed failing. How different were the world and mankind from what he had fancied themin his childhood! What were now to him Minnesingers' poems and songs?They were gall and wormwood. Yes, this was what he often felt; butthere were other times when the songs vibrated to his soul, and hismind became calm and peaceful. 

"What God wills is always the best, " said he then. "It was well thatour Lord did not permit Molly's heart to hang on me. What could ithave led to, now that prosperity has left me and mine? She gave me upbefore she knew or dreamed of this reverse from more fortunate dayswhich was hanging over us. It was the mercy of our Lord towards me. Everything is ordained for the best. Yes, all happens wisely. Shecould not, therefore, have acted otherwise, and yet how bitter havenot my feelings been towards her!"

Years passed on. Anthon's father was dead, and strangers dwelt in hispaternal home. Anthon, however, was to see it once more; for hiswealthy master sent him on an errand of business, which obliged him topass through his native town, Eisenach. The old WARTBURG stoodunchanged, high up on the hill above, with "the monk and the nun" inunhewn stone. The mighty oak trees seemed as imposing as in hischildish days. The Venus mount looked like a grey mass frowning overthe valley. He would willingly have cried, --

"Fru Holle! Fru Holle! open the hill, and let me stay there, upon thesoil of my native home!"

It was a sinful thought, and he crossed himself. Then a little birdsang among the bushes, and the old Minnesong came back to histhoughts:--

 "Beyond the wood, in the quiet dale, Tandaradai! Sang the melodious nightingale. "

How remembrances rushed upon him as he approached the town where hischildhood had been spent, which he now saw through tears! His father'shouse remained where it used to be, but the garden was altered; afield footpath was made across a portion of the old garden; and theapple tree that he had not uprooted stood there, but no longer withinthe garden: it was on the opposite side of the road, though the sunshone on it as cheerfully as of old, and the dew fell on it there. Itbore such a quantity of fruit that the branches were weighed down tothe ground. 

"It thrives!" he exclaimed. "Yes, _it_ can do so. "

One of its well-laden boughs was broken. Wanton hands had done this, for the tree was now on the side of the public road. 

"Its blossoms are carried off without thanks; its fruit is stolen, itsbranches are broken. It may be said of a tree as of a man, 'It was notsung at the tree's cradle that things should turn out thus. ' This onebegan its life so charmingly; and what has now become of it? Forsakenand forgotten--a garden tree standing in a common field, close to apublic road, and bending over a miserable ditch! There it stood now, unsheltered, ill-used, and disfigured! It was not, indeed, withered byall this; but as years advanced its blossoms would become fewer--itsfruit, if it bore any, late; and so it is all over with it. "

Thus thought Anthon under the tree, and thus he thought many a nightin the little lonely chamber of the wooden house in the "Small Houses'Street, " in Copenhagen, whither his rich master had sent him, havingstipulated that he was not to marry. 

"_He_ marry!" He laughed a strange and hollow laugh. 

The winter had commenced early. There was a sharp frost, and withoutthere was a heavy snow storm, so that all who could do so kept withindoors. Therefore it was that Anthon's neighbours did not observe thathis booth had not been opened for two whole days, and that he had notshown himself during that time. But who would go out in such weatherwhen he could stay at home?

These were dark, dismal days; and in the booth, where the window wasnot of glass, it looked like twilight, if not sombre night. Old Anthonhad scarcely left his bed for two days. He had not strength to get up. The intensely cold weather had brought on a severe fit of rheumatismin his limbs, and the old bachelor lay forsaken and helpless, almosttoo feeble to stretch out his hand to the pitcher of water which hehad placed near his bed; and if he could have done so, it would havebeen of no avail, for the last drop had been drained from it. It wasnot the fever, not illness alone that had thus prostrated him; it wasalso old age that had crept upon him. It seemed to be constant nightup yonder where he lay. A little spider, which he could not see, spuncontentedly its gossamer web over his face. It was soon to stretchlike a crepe veil across the features, when the old man closed hiseyes. 

He dozed a good deal; yet time seemed long and weary. He shed notears, and had but little suffering. Molly was scarcely ever in histhoughts. He had a conviction that this world and its bustle were nomore for him. At one time he seemed to feel hunger and thirst. He didfeel them; but no one came to give him nourishment or drink--no onewould come. He thought of those who might be fainting or dying ofwant. He remembered how the pious Elizabeth, while living on thisearth--she who had been the favourite heroine of his childish days athome, the magnanimous Duchess of Thüringia--had herself entered themost miserable abodes, and brought to the sick and wretchedrefreshments and hope. His thoughts dwelt with pleasure on her gooddeeds. He remembered how she went to feed the hungry, to speak wordsof comfort to those who were suffering, and to bind up their wounds, although her austere husband was angry at these works of mercy. Herecalled to memory the legend about her, that, as she was going on oneof her charitable errands, with a basket well filled with food andwine, her husband, who had watched her steps, rushed out on her, anddemanded in high wrath what she was carrying; that, in her fear ofhim, she replied, "Roses which I have plucked in the garden;"whereupon he dragged the cover off of her basket, and lo! a miraclewas worked in favour of the charitable lady, for the wine and bread, and everything in the basket, lay turned into roses. 

Thus old Anthon's thoughts wandered to the heroine in history whom hehad always so much admired, until her image seemed to stand before hisdimming sight, close to his humble pallet in the poor wooden hut in aforeign land. He uncovered his head, looked in fancy into her mildeyes, and all around him seemed a mingling of lustre and of rosesredolent with sweet perfume. Then he felt the charming scent of theapple blossom, and he beheld an apple tree spreading its bloomingbranches above him. Yes, it was the very tree, the seeds of which heand Molly had planted together. 

And the tree swept its fragrant leaves over his hot brow, and cooledit; they touched his parched lips, and they were like refreshing wineand bread; they fell upon his breast, and he felt himself softlysinking into a calm slumber. 

"I shall sleep now, " he whispered feebly to himself. "Sleep restoresstrength--to-morrow I shall be well and up again. Beautiful, beautiful! The apple tree planted in love I see again in glory. "

And he slept. 

The following day--it was the third day the booth had been shutup--the snow drifted no longer, and the neighbours went to see aboutAnthon, who had not yet shown himself. They found him lying stiff anddead, with his old nightcap pressed between his hands. They did notput it upon him in his coffin--he had also another which was clean andwhite. 

Where now were the tears he had wept? Where were these pearls? Theyremained in the nightcap. Such precious things do not pass away in thewashing. They were preserved and forgotten with the nightcap. The oldthoughts, the old dreams--yes, they remained still in _the oldbachelor's nightcap_. Wish not for that. It will make your brow toohot, make your pulses beat too violently, bring dreams that seemreality. This was proved by the first person who put it on--and thatwas not till fifty years after--by the burgomaster himself, who wasblessed with a wife and eleven children. He dreamt of unhappy love, bankruptcy, and short commons. 

"How warm this nightcap is!" he exclaimed, as he dragged it off. Thenpearl after pearl began to fall from it, and they jingled andglittered. "I must have got the rheumatism in my head, " said theburgomaster. "Sparks seem falling from my eyes. "

They were tears wept half a century before--wept by old Anthon fromEisenach. 

Whoever has since worn that nightcap has sure enough had visions anddreams; his own history has been turned into Anthon's; his dream hasbecome quite a tale, and there were many of them. Let others relatethe rest. We have now told the first, and with it our last wordsare--Never covet AN OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 

_Something. _

"I will be something, " said the oldest of five brothers. "I will be ofuse in the world, let the position be ever so insignificant which Imay fill. If it be only respectable, it will be something. I will makebricks--people can't do without these--and then I shall have donesomething. "

"But something too trifling, " said the second brother. "What youpropose to do is much the same as doing nothing; it is no better thana hodman's work, and can be done by machinery. You had much betterbecome a mason. _That_ is something, and that is what I will be. Yes, that is a good trade. A mason can get into a trade's corporation, become a burgher, have his own colours and his own club. Indeed, if Iprosper, I may have workmen under me, and be called 'Master, ' and mywife 'Mistress;' and that would be something. "

"That is next to nothing, " said the third. "There are many classes ina town, and that is about the lowest. It is nothing to be called'Master. ' You might be very superior yourself; but as a master masonyou would be only what is called 'a common man. ' I know of somethingbetter. I will be an architect; enter upon the confines of science;work myself up to a high place in the kingdom of mind. I know I mustbegin at the foot of the ladder. I can hardly bear to say it--I mustbegin as a carpenter's apprentice, and wear a cap, though I have beenaccustomed to go about in a silk hat. I must run to fetch beer andspirits for the common workmen, and let them be 'hail fellow well met'with me. This will be disagreeable; but I will fancy that it is all amasquerade and the freedom of maskers. To-morrow--that is to say, whenI am a journeyman--I will go my own way. The others will not join me. I shall go to the academy, and learn to draw and design; then I shallbe called an architect. That is something! That is much! I may become'honourable, ' or even 'noble'--perhaps both. I shall build and build, as others have done before me. _There_ is something to look forwardto--something worth being!"

"But that something I should not care about, " said the fourth. "I willnot march in the wake of anybody. I will not be a copyist; I will be agenius--will be cleverer than you all put together. I shall create anew style, furnish ideas for a building adapted to the climate andmaterials of the country--something which shall be a nationality, adevelopment of the resources of our age, and, at the same time, anexhibition of my own genius. "

"But if by chance the climate and the materials did not suit eachother, " said the fifth, "that would be unfortunate for the result. Nationalities may be so amplified as to become affectation. Thediscoveries of the age, like youth, may leave you far behind. Iperceive right well that none of you will, in reality, becomeanything, whatever may be your expectations. But do all of you whatyou please; I shall not follow your examples. I shall keep myselfdisengaged, and shall reason upon what you perform. There is somethingwrong in everything. I will pick that out, and reason upon it. Thatwill be something. "

And so he did; and people said of the fifth, "He has not settled toanything. He has a good head, but he does nothing. "

Even this, however, made him something. 

This is but a short history; yet it is one which will not end as longas the world stands. 

But is there nothing more about the five brothers? What has been toldis absolutely nothing. Hear further; it is quite a romance. 

The eldest brother, who made bricks, perceived that from every stone, when it was finished, rolled a small coin; and though these littlecoins were but of copper, many of them heaped together became a silverdollar; and when one knocks with such at the baker's, the butcher's, and other shops, the doors fly open, and one gets what one wants. Thebricks produced all this. The damaged and broken bricks were also madegood use of. 

Yonder, above the embankment, Mother Margrethe, a poor old woman, wanted to build a small house for herself. She got all the brokenbricks, and some whole ones to boot; for the eldest brother had a goodheart. The poor woman built her house herself. It was very small; theonly window was put in awry, the door was very low, and the thatchedroof might have been laid better; but it was at least a shelter and acover for her. There was a fine view from it of the sea, which brokein its might against the embankment. The salt spray often dashed overthe whole tiny house, which still stood there when he was dead andgone who had given the bricks:--

The second brother could build in another way. He was also clever inhis business. When his apprenticeship was over he strapped on hisknapsack, and sang the mechanic's song:--

 "While young, far-distant lands I'll tread. Away from home to build, My handiwork shall win my bread, My heart with hope be filled. And when my fatherland I see, And meet my bride--hurra! An active workman I shall be: Then who so happy and gay?"

And he _was_ that. When he returned to his native town, and became amaster, he built house after house--a whole street. It was a veryhandsome one, and a great ornament to the town. These houses built forhim a small house, which was to be his own. But how could the housesbuild? Ay, ask them that, and they will not answer you; but peoplewill answer for them, and tell you, "It certainly was that streetwhich built him a house. " It was only a small one, to be sure, andwith a clay floor; but when he and his bride danced on it the floorbecame polished and bright, and from every stone in the wall sprang aflower which was quite as good as any costly tapestry. It was apleasant house, and they were a happy couple. The colours of themasons' company floated outside, and the journeymen and apprenticesshouted "Hurra!" Yes, that was something; and so he died--and that wasalso something. 

Then came the architect, the third brother, who had been first acarpenter's apprentice, wearing a cap and going on errands; but, onleaving the academy, rose to be an architect, and he became a man ofconsequence. Yes, if the houses in the street built by his brother, the master mason, had provided him with a house, a street was calledafter the architect, and the handsomest house in it was his own. Thatwas something; and he was somebody, with a long, high-sounding titlebesides. His children were called people of quality, and when he diedhis widow was a widow of rank--that was something. And his name stoodas a fixture at the corner of the street, and was often in folks'mouths, being the name of a street--and that was certainly something. 

Next came the genius--the fourth brother--who was to devote himself tonew inventions. In one of his ambitious attempts he fell, and brokehis neck; but he had a splendid funeral, with a procession, and flags, and music. He was noticed in the newspapers, and three funeralorations were pronounced over him, the one longer than the others; andmuch delighted he would have been with them if he had heard them, forhe was fond of being talked about. A monument was erected over hisgrave. It was not very grand, but a monument is always something. 

He now was dead, as well as the three other brothers; but thefifth--he who was fond of reasoning or arguing--out-lived them all;and that was quite right, for he had thus the last word. And hethought it a matter of great importance to have the last word. It washe who, folks said, "had a good head. " At length his last hour alsostruck. He died, and he arrived at the gate of the kingdom of heaven. Spirits always come there two and two, and along with him stood thereanother soul, which wanted also to get in, and this was no other thanthe old Mother Margrethe, from the house on the embankment. 

"It must surely be for the sake of contrast that I and yon paltry soulshould come here at the same moment, " said the reasoner. "Why, who areyou, old one? Do you also expect to enter here?" he asked. 

And the old woman courtesied as well as she could. She thought it wasSt. Peter himself who spoke. 

"I am a miserable old creature without any family. My name isMargrethe. "

"Well, now, what have you done and effected down yonder?"

"I have effected scarcely anything in yonder world--nothing that cantell in my favour here. It will be a pure act of mercy if I ampermitted to enter this gate. "

"How did you leave yon world?" he asked, merely for something to say. He was tired of standing waiting there. 

"Oh! how I left it I really do not know. I had been very poorly, oftenquite ill, for some years past, and I was not able latterly to leavemy bed, and go out into the cold and frost. It was a very severewinter; but I was getting through it. For a couple of days there was adead calm; but it was bitterly cold, as your honour may remember. Theice had remained so long on the ground, that the sea was frozen overas far as the eye could reach. The townspeople flocked in crowds tothe ice. I could hear it all as I lay in my poor room. The same scenecontinued till late in the evening--till the moon rose. From my bed Icould see through the window far out beyond the seashore; and therelay on the horizon, just where the sea and sky seemed to meet, asingular-looking white cloud. I lay and looked at it; looked at theblack spot in the middle of it, which became larger and larger; and Iknew what that betokened, for I was old and experienced, though I hadnot often seen that sign. I saw it and shuddered. Twice before in mylife had I seen that strange appearance in the sky, and I knew thatthere would be a terrible storm at the springtide, which would burstover the poor people out upon the ice, who were now drinking andrushing about, and amusing themselves. Young and old--the whole townin fact--were assembled yonder. Who was to warn them of coming danger, if none of them observed or knew what I now perceived? I became soalarmed, so anxious, that I got out of my bed, and crawled to thewindow. I was incapable of going further; but I put up the window, and, on looking out, I could see the people skating and sliding andrunning on the ice. I could see the gay flags, and could hear the boysshouting hurra, and the girls and the young men singing in chorus. Allwas jollity and merriment there. But higher and higher arose the whitecloud with the black spot in it. I cried out as loud as I could, butnobody heard me. I was too far away from them. The wind would soonbreak loose, the ice give away, and all upon it sink, without anychance of rescue. Hear me they could not, and for me to go to them wasimpossible. Was there nothing that I could do to bring them back toland? Then our Lord inspired me with the idea of setting fire to mybed; it would be better that my house were to be burned down than thatthe many should meet with such a miserable death. Then I kindled thefire. I saw the red flames, and I gained the outside of the house; butI remained lying there. I could do no more, for my strength wasexhausted. The blaze pursued me--it burst from the window, and outupon the roof. The crowds on the ice perceived it, and they camerunning as fast as they could to help me, a poor wretch, whom theythought would be burned in my bed. It was not one or two only whocame--they all came. I heard them coming; but I also heard all at oncethe shrill whistle, the loud roar of the wind. I heard it thunder likethe report of a cannon. The springtide lifted the ice, and suddenly itbroke asunder; but the crowd had reached the embankment, where thesparks were flying over me. I had been the means of saving them all;but I was not able to survive the cold and fright, and so I have comeup here to the gate of the kingdom of heaven; but I am told it islocked against such poor creatures as I. And now I have no longer ahome down yonder on the embankment, though that does not insure me anyadmittance here. "

At that moment the gate of heaven was opened, and an angel took theold woman in. She dropped a straw; it was one of the pieces of strawwhich had stuffed the bed to which she had set fire to save the livesof many, and it had turned to pure gold, but gold that was flexible, and twisted itself into pretty shapes. 

"See! the poor old woman brought this, " said the angel. "What dostthou bring? Ah! I know well; thou hast done nothing--not even so muchas making a brick. If thou couldst go back again, and bring only somuch as that, if done with good intentions, it would be something: asthou wouldst do it, however, it would be of no avail. But thou canstnot go back, and I can do nothing for thee. "

Then the poor soul, the old woman from the house on the embankment, begged for him. 

"His brother kindly gave me all the stones with which I built myhumble dwelling. They were a great gift to a poor creature like me. May not all these stones and fragments be permitted to value as onebrick for him? It was a deed of mercy. He is now in want, and this isMercy's home. "

"Thy brother whom thou didst think the most inferior to thyself--himwhose honest business thou didst despise--shares with thee hisheavenly portion. Thou shalt not be ordered away; thou shalt haveleave to remain outside here to think over and to repent thy life downyonder; but within this gate thou shalt not enter until in good worksthou hast performed _something_. "

"I could have expressed that sentence better, " thought the conceitedlogician; but he did not say this aloud, and that was surelyalready--SOMETHING. 

_The Old Oak Tree's Last Dream. _

A CHRISTMAS TALE. 

There stood in a wood, high up on the side of a sloping hill near theopen shore, a very old oak tree. It was about three hundred andsixty-five years old, but those long years were not more than as manysingle rotations of the earth for us men. We are awake during the day, and sleep during the night, and have then our dreams: with the tree itis otherwise. A tree is awake for three quarters of a year. It onlysleeps in winter--that is _its_ night--after the long day which iscalled spring, summer, and autumn. 

Many a warm summer day had the ephemeron insect frolicked round theoak tree's head--lived, moved about, and found itself happy; and whenthe little creature reposed for a moment in calm enjoyment on one ofthe great fresh oak leaves, the tree always said, --

"Poor little thing! one day alone is the span of thy whole life. Ah, how short! It is very sad. "

"Sad!" the ephemeron always replied. "What dost thou mean by that?Everything is so charming, so warm and delightful, that I am quitehappy. "

"But for only one day; then all is over. "

"All is over!" exclaimed the insect. "What is the meaning of 'all isover?' Is all over with thee also?"

"No; I may live, perhaps, thousands of thy days, and my lifetime isfor centuries. It is so long a period that thou couldst not calculateit. "

"No, for I do not understand thee. Thou hast thousands of my days, butI have thousands of moments to be happy in. Is all the beauty in theworld at an end when thou diest?"

"Oh! by no means, " replied the tree. "It will last longer--much, muchlonger than I can conceive. "

"Well, I think we are much on a par, only that we reckon differently. "

And the ephemeron danced and floated about in the sunshine, andenjoyed itself with its pretty little delicate wings, like the mostminute flower--enjoyed itself in the warm air, which was so fragrantwith the sweet perfumes of the clover-fields, of the wild roses in thehedges, and of the elder-flower, not to speak of the woodbine, theprimrose, and the wild mint. The scent was so strong that theephemeron was almost intoxicated by it. The day was long and pleasant, full of gladness and sweet perceptions; and when the sun set, thelittle insect felt a sort of pleasing languor creeping over it afterall its enjoyments. Its wings would no longer carry it, and verygently it glided down upon the soft blade of grass that was slightlywaving in the evening breeze; there it drooped its tiny head, and fellinto a calm sleep--the sleep of death. 

"Poor little insect!" exclaimed the oak tree, "thy life was far tooshort. "

And every summer's day were repeated a similar dance, a similarconversation, and a similar death. This went on with the wholegeneration of ephemera, and all were equally happy, equally gay. Theoak tree remained awake during its spring morning, its summer day, andits autumn evening; now it was near its sleeping time, its night--thewinter was close at hand. 

Already the tempests were singing, "Good night, good night! Thy leavesare falling--we pluck them, we pluck them! Try if thou canst slumber;we shall sing thee to sleep, we shall rock thee to sleep; and thy oldboughs like this--they are creaking in their joy! Softly, softlysleep! It is thy three hundred and sixty-fifth night. Sleep calmly!The snow is falling from the heavy clouds; it will soon be a widesheet, a warm coverlet for thy feet. Sleep calmly and dreampleasantly!"

And the oak tree stood disrobed of all its leaves to go to rest forthe whole long winter, and during that time to dream many dreams, often something stirring and exciting, like the dreams of humanbeings. 

It, too, had once been little. Yes, an acorn had been its cradle. According to man's reckoning of time it was now living in its fourthcentury. It was the strongest and loftiest tree in the wood, with itsvenerable head reared high above all the other trees; and it was seenfar away at sea, and looked upon as a beacon by the navigators of thepassing ships. It little thought how many eyes looked out for it. Highup amidst its green coronal the wood-pigeons built their nests, andthe cuckoo's note was heard from thence; and in the autumn, when theleaves looked like hammered plates of copper, came birds of passage, and rested there before they flew far over the sea. But now it waswinter, and the tree stood leafless, and the bended and gnarledbranches were naked. Crows and jackdaws came and sat themselves therealternately, and talked of the rigorous weather which was commencing, and how difficult it was to find food in winter. 

It was just at the holy Christmas time that the tree dreamt its mostcharming dream. Let us listen to it. 

The tree had a distinct idea that it was a period of some solemnfestival; it thought it heard all the church bells round ringing, andit seemed to be a mild summer day. Its lofty head, it fancied, lookedfresh and green, while the bright rays of the sun played among itsthick foliage. The air was laden with the perfume of wild flowers;various butterflies chased each other in sport around its boughs, andthe ephemera danced and amused themselves. All that during years thetree had known and seen around it now passed before it as in a festiveprocession. It beheld, as in the olden time, knights and ladies onhorseback, with feathers in their hats and falcons on their hands, riding through the greenwood; it heard the horns of the huntsmen, andthe baying of the hounds; it saw the enemies' troops, with theirvarious uniforms, their polished armour, their lances and halberds, pitch their tents and take them down again; the watch-fires blazed, and the soldiers sang and slept under the sheltering branches of thetree. It beheld lovers meet in the soft moonlight, and cut theirnames--that first letter--upon its olive-green bark. Guitars andÆolian harps were again--but there were very many years betweenthem--hung up on the boughs of the tree by gay travelling swains, andagain their sweet sounds broke on the stillness around. Thewood-pigeons cooed, as if they were describing the feelings of thetree, and the cuckoo told how many summer days it should yet live. 

Then it was as if a new current of life rushed from its lowest rootsup to its highest branches, even to the farthest leaves; the tree feltthat it extended itself therewith, yet it perceived that its rootsdown in the ground were also full of life and warmth; it felt itsstrength increasing, and that it was growing taller and taller. Thetrunk shot up--there was no pause--more and more it grew--its headbecame fuller, broader--and as the tree grew it became happier, andits desire increased to rise up still higher, even until it couldreach the warm, blazing sun. 

Already had it mounted above the clouds, which, like multitudes ofdark migratory birds, or flocks of white swans, were floating underit; and every leaf of the tree that had eyes could see. The starsbecame visible during the day, and looked so large and bright: each ofthem shone like a pair of mild, clear eyes. They might have recalledto memory dear, well-known eyes--the eyes of children--the eyes oflovers when they met beneath the tree. 

It was a moment of exquisite delight. Yet in the midst of its pleasureit felt a desire, a longing that all the other trees in the woodbeneath--all the bushes, plants, and flowers--might be able to liftthemselves like it, and to participate in its joyful and triumphantfeelings. The mighty oak tree, in the midst of its glorious dream, could not be entirely happy unless it had all its old friends with it, great and small; and this feeling pervaded every branch and leaf ofthe tree as strongly as if it had lived in the breast of a humanbeing. 

The summit of the tree moved about as if it missed and soughtsomething left behind. Then it perceived the scent of the woodbine, and soon the still stronger scent of the violets and wild thyme; andit fancied it could hear the cuckoo repeat its note. 

At length amidst the clouds peeped forth the tops of the green treesof the wood; they also grew higher and higher, as the oak had done;the bushes and the flowers shot up high in the air; and some of these, dragging their slender roots after them, flew up more rapidly. Thebirch was the swiftest among the trees: like a white flash oflightning it darted its slender stem upwards, its branches waving likegreen wreaths and flags. The wood and all its leafy contents, even thebrown-feathered rushes, grew, and the birds followed them singing; andin the fluttering blades of silken grass the grasshopper sat andplayed with his wings against his long thin legs, and the wild beeshummed, and all was song and gladness as up in heaven. 

"But the blue-bell and the little wild tansy, " said the oak tree; "Ishould like them with me too. "

"We are with you, " they sang in their low, sweet tones. 

"But the pretty water-lily of last year, and the wild apple tree thatstood down yonder, and looked so fresh, and all the forest flowers ofyears past, had they lived and bloomed till now, they might have beenwith me. "

"We are with you--we are with you, " sang their voices far above, as ifthey had gone up before. 

"Well, this is quite enchanting, " cried the old tree. "I have themall, small and great--not one is forgotten. How is all this happinesspossible and conceivable?"

"In the celestial paradise all this is possible and conceivable, "voices chanted around. 

And the tree, which continued to rise, observed that its roots wereloosening from their hold in the earth. 

"This is well, " said the tree. "Nothing now retains me. I am free tomount to the highest heaven--to splendour and light; and all that aredear to me are with me--small and great--all with me. "

"All!"

This was the oak tree's dream; and whilst it dreamt a fearful stormhad burst over sea and land that holy Christmas eve. The ocean rolledheavy billows on the beach--the tree rocked violently, and was torn upby the roots at the moment it was dreaming that its roots wereloosening. It fell. Its three hundred and sixty-five years were now asbut the day of the ephemeron. 

On Christmas morning, when the sun arose, the storm was passed. Allthe church bells were ringing joyously; and from every chimney, eventhe lowest in the peasant's cot, curled from the altars of theDruidical feast the blue smoke of the thanksgiving oblation. The seabecame more and more calm, and on a large vessel in the offing, whichhad weathered the tempest during the night, were hoisted all its flagsin honour of the day. 

"The tree is gone--that old oak tree which was always our landmark!"cried the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm last night. Whoshall replace it? Alas! no one can. "

This was the tree's funeral oration--short, but well meant--as it laystretched at full length amidst the snow upon the shore, and over itfloated the melody of the psalm tunes from the ship--hymns ofChristmas joy, and thanksgivings for the salvation of the souls ofmankind by Jesus Christ, and the blessed promise of everlasting life. 

 "Let sacred songs arise on high, Loud hallelujahs reach the sky; Let joy and peace each mortal share, While hymns of praise shall fill the air. "

Thus ran the old psalm, and every one out yonder, on the deck of theship, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving and prayer, just as the oldoak tree was lifted up in its last and most delightful dream on thatChristmas eve. 

_The Wind relates the Story of Waldemar Daae and his Daughters. _

When the wind sweeps over the grass it ripples like water; when itsweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. All that isthe wind's dance. But listen to what the wind tells. It sings italoud, and it is repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carriedthrough the loopholes and the chinks in the wall. Look how the windchases the skies up yonder, as if they were a flock of sheep! Listenhow the wind howls below through the half-open gate, as if it were thewarder blowing his horn! Strangely does it sound down the chimney andin the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and the flames, insteadof ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is warm andcomfortable to sit and listen to it. Let the wind speak. It knows moretales and adventures than all of us put together. Hearken now to whatit is about to relate. 

It blew a tremendous blast: that was a prelude to its story. 

 * * * * *

"There lay close to the Great Belt an old castle with thick redwalls, " said the wind. "I knew every stone in it. I had seen thembefore, when they were in Marshal Stig's castle at the Næs. It wasdemolished. The stones were used again, and became new walls--a newbuilding--at another place, and that was Borreby Castle as it nowstands. I have seen and known the high-born ladies and gentlemen, thevarious generations that have dwelt in it; and now I shall tell aboutWALDEMAR DAAE AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 

"He held his head so high: he was of royal extraction. He could domore than hunt a stag and drain a goblet: that would be proved someday, he said to himself. 

"His proud lady, apparelled in gold brocade, walked erect over herpolished inlaid floor. The tapestry was magnificent, the furniturecostly, and beautifully carved; vessels of gold and silver she had inprofusion; there were stores of German ale in the cellars; handsomespirited horses neighed in the stables; all was superb within BorrebyCastle when wealth was there. 

"And children were there; three fine girls--Idé, Johanné, and AnnaDorthea. I remember their names well even now. 

"They were rich people, they were people of distinction--born ingrandeur, and brought up in it. Wheugh--wheugh!" whistled the wind;then it continued the tale. 

"I never saw there, as in other old mansions, the high-born ladysitting in her boudoir with her maidens and spinning-wheels. Sheplayed on the lute, and sang to it, though never the old Danishballads, but songs in foreign languages. Here were banqueting andmirth, titled guests came from far and near, music's tones were heard, goblets rang. I could not drown the noise, " said the wind. "Here werearrogance, ostentation, and display; here was power, but not OURLORD. "

"It was one May-day evening, " said the wind. "I came from thewestward. I had seen ships crushed into wrecks on the west coast ofJutland. I had hurried over the dreary heaths and green woody coast, had crossed the island of Funen, and swept over the Great Belt, and Iwas hoarse with blowing. Then I laid myself down to rest on the coastof Zealand, near Borreby, where there stood the forest and thecharming meadows. The young men from the neighbourhood assembledthere, and collected brushwood and branches of trees, the largest anddriest they could find. They carried them to the village, laid them ina heap, and set fire to it; then they and the village girls sang anddanced round it. 

"I lay still, " said the wind; "but I softly stirred one branch--onewhich had been placed on the bonfire by the handsomest youth. Hispiece of wood blazed up, blazed highest. He was chosen the leader ofthe rustic game, became 'the wild boar, ' and had the first choiceamong the girls for his 'pet lamb. ' There were more happiness andmerriment amongst them than up at the grand house at Borreby. 

"And then from the great house at Borreby came, driving in a gildedcoach with six horses, the noble lady and her three daughters, sofine, so young--three lovely blossoms--rose, lily, and the palehyacinth. The mother herself was like a flaunting tulip; she did notdeign to notice one of the crowd of villagers, though they stoppedtheir game, and courtesied and bowed with profound respect. 

"Rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth--yes, I saw them all three. Whose'pet lambs' should they one day become? I thought. The 'wild boar' foreach of them would assuredly be a proud knight--perhaps a prince. Wheugh--wheugh!

"Well, their equipage drove on with them, and the young peasants wenton with their dancing. And the summer advanced in the village nearBorreby, in Tjæreby, and all the surrounding towns. 

"But one night when I arose, " continued the wind, "the great lady waslying ill, never to move again. That something had come over her whichcomes over all mankind sooner or later: it is nothing new. WaldemarDaae stood in deep and melancholy thought for a short time. 'Theproudest tree may bend, but not break, ' said he to himself. Thedaughters wept; but at last they all dried their eyes at the greathouse, and the noble lady was carried away; and I also went away, "said the wind. 

 * * * * *

"I returned--I returned soon, over Funen and the Belt, and set myselfdown by Borreby beach, near the large oak wood. There water-wagtails, wood-pigeons, blue ravens, and even black storks built their nests. Itwas late in the year: some had eggs, and some had young birds. Howthey were flying about, and how they were shrieking! The strokes ofthe axe were heard--stroke after stroke. The trees were to be felled. Waldemar Daae was going to build a costly ship, a man-of-war withthree decks, which the king would be glad to purchase: and thereforethe wood--the seamen's landmark, the birds' home--was to besacrificed. The great red-backed shrike flew in alarm--his nest wasdestroyed; the ravens and all the other birds had lost their homes, and flew wildly about with cries of distress and anger. I understoodthem well. The crows and the jackdaws screamed high in derision, 'Fromthe nest--from the nest! Away--away!'

"And in the midst of the wood, looking on at the crowd of labourers, stood Waldemar Daae and his three daughters, and they all laughedtogether at the wild cries of the birds; but his youngest daughter, Anna Dorthea, was sorry for them in her heart; and when the men wereabout to cut down a partially decayed tree, amidst whose nakedbranches the black storks had built their nests, and from which thetiny little ones peeped out their heads, she begged it might bespared. She begged--begged with tears in her eyes; and the tree waspermitted to remain with the nest of black storks. It was not a greatboon after all. 

"The fine trees were cut down, the wood was sawn, and a large shipwith three decks was built. The master shipbuilder himself was of lowbirth, but of noble appearance. His eyes and his forehead evinced howclever he was, and Waldemar Daae liked to listen to his conversation;so also did little Idé, his eldest daughter, who was fifteen years ofage. And while he was building the ship for the father, he was alsobuilding castles in the air for himself, wherein he and Idé sat as manand wife; and that might have happened had the castles been of stonewalls, with ramparts and moats, woods and gardens. But, with all histalents, the master shipbuilder was but a humble bird. What should asparrow do in an eagle's nest?

"Wheugh--wheugh! I flew away, and he flew away, for he dared notremain longer; and little Idé got over his departure, for she wasobliged to get over it. 

"Splendid dark chargers neighed in the stables, worth being looked at;and they were looked at and admired. An admiral was sent by the kinghimself to examine the new man-of-war, and to make arrangements forits purchase. He praised the spirited horses loudly. I heard himmyself, " said the wind. "I followed the gentlemen through the opendoor, and strewed straw before their feet. Waldemar Daae wanted gold, the admiral wanted the horses--he admired them so much; but thebargain was not concluded, nor was the ship bought--the ship that waslying near the strand, with its white planks--a Noah's ark that wasnever to be launched upon the deep. 

"Wheugh! It was a sad pity. 

"In the winter time, when the fields were covered with snow, drift-icefilled the Belt, and I screwed it up to the shore, " said the wind. "Then came ravens and crows, all as black as they could be, in largeflocks. They perched themselves upon the deserted, dead, lonely ship, that lay high up on the beach; and they cried and lamented, with theirhoarse voices, about the wood that was gone, the many precious birds'nests that were laid waste, the old ones rendered homeless, the littleones rendered homeless; and all for the sake of a great lumberingthing, a gigantic vessel, that never was to float upon the deep. 

"I whirled the snow in the snow storms, and raised the snow-drifts. The snow lay like a sea high around the vessel. I let it hear myvoice, and know what a tempest can say. I knew if I exerted myself itwould get some of the knowledge other ships have. 

"And winter passed--winter and summer; they come and go as I come andgo; the snow melts, the apple blossom blooms, the leaves fall--all ischange, change, and with mankind among the rest. 

"But the daughters were still young--little Idé a rose, beautiful tolook at, as the shipbuilder had seen her. Often did I play with herlong brown hair, when, under the apple tree in the garden, she wasstanding lost in thought, and did not observe that I was showeringdown the blossoms upon her head. Then she would start, and gaze at thered sun, and the golden clouds around it, through the space among thedark foliage of the trees. 

"Her sister Johanné resembled a lily--fair, slender, and erect; and, like her mother, she was stately and haughty. It was a great pleasureto her to wander up and down the grand saloon where hung the portraitsof her ancestors. The high-born dames were painted in silks andvelvets, with little hats looped up with pearls on their braidedlocks--they were beautiful ladies. Their lords were depicted in steelarmour, or in costly mantles trimmed with squirrels' fur, and wearingblue ruffs; the sword was buckled round the thigh, and not round theloins. Johanné's own portrait would hang at some future day on thatwall, and what would her noble husband be like? Yes, she thought ofthis, and she said this in low accents to herself. I heard her when Irushed through the long corridor into the saloon, and out again. 

"Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth, who was only fourteen years of age, was quiet and thoughtful. Her large swimming blue eyes looked somewhatpensive, but a childish smile played around her mouth, and I couldnot blow it off; nor did I wish to do so. 

"I met her in the garden, in the ravine, in the fields. She wasgathering plants and flowers, those which she knew her father made useof for the drinks and drops he was fond of distilling. Waldemar Daaewas arrogant and conceited, but also he had a great deal of knowledge. Everybody knew that, and everybody talked in whispers about it. Evenin summer a fire burned in his private cabinet; its doors were alwayslocked. He passed days and nights there, but he spoke little about hispursuits. The mysteries of nature are studied in silence. He expectedsoon to discover its greatest secret--the transmutation of othersubstances into gold. 

"It was for this that smoke was ever issuing from the chimney of hislaboratory; for this that sparks and flames were always there. And Iwas there too, " said the wind. "'Hollo, hollo!' I sang through thechimney. There were steam, smoke, embers, ashes. 'You will burnyourself up--take care, take care!' But Waldemar Daae did _not_ takecare. 

"The splendid horses in the stables, what became of them?--the silverand the gold plate, the cows in the fields, the furniture, the houseitself? Yes, they could be smelted--smelted in the crucibles; and yetno gold was obtained. 

"All was empty in the barns and in the pantry, in the cellars and inthe loft. The fewer people, the more mice. One pane of glass wascracked, another was broken. I did not require to go in by the door, "said the wind. "When the kitchen chimney is smoking, dinner ispreparing; but there the smoke rolled from the chimney for that whichdevoured all repasts--for the yellow gold. 

"I blew through the castle gate like a warder blowing his horn; butthere was no warder, " said the wind. "I turned the weathercock abovethe tower--it sounded like a watchman snoring inside the tower; but nowatchman was there--it was only kept by rats and mice. Povertypresided at the table--poverty sat in the clothes' chests and in thestore-rooms. The doors fell off their hinges--there came cracks andcrevices everywhere. I went in, and I went out, " said the wind;"therefore I knew what was going on. 

"Amidst smoke and ashes--amidst anxiety and sleepless nights--WaldemarDaae's hair had turned grey; so had his beard and the thin locks onhis forehead; his skin had become wrinkled and yellow, his eyes everstraining after gold--the expected gold. 

"I whisked smoke and ashes into his face and beard: debts came insteadof gold. I sang through the broken windows and cracked walls--camemoaning in to the daughter's cheerless room, where the old bed-gearwas faded and threadbare, but had still to hold out. Such a song wasnot sung at the children's cradles. High life had become wretchedlife. I was the only one then who sang loudly in the castle, " said thewind. "I snowed them in, and they said they were comfortable. They hadno wood to burn--the trees had been felled from which they would havegot it. It was a sharp frost. I rushed through loopholes andcorridors, over roofs and walls, to keep up my activity. In their poorchamber lay the three aristocratic daughters in their bed to keepthemselves warm. To be as poor as church mice--that was high life!Wheugh! Would they give it up? But Herr Daae could not. 

"'After winter comes spring, ' said he. 'After want come good times;but they make one wait. The castle is now mortgaged--we have arrivedat the worst--we shall have gold now at Easter!'

"I heard him murmuring near a spider's web:--

"'Thou active little weaver! thou teachest me to persevere. Even ifthy web be swept away thou dost commence again, and dost complete it. Again let it be torn asunder, and, unwearied, thou dost againrecommence thy work over and over again. I shall follow thy example. Iwill go on, and I shall be rewarded. '

"It was Easter morning--the church bells were ringing. The sun wascareering in the heavens. Under a burning fever the alchemist hadwatched all night: he had boiled and cooled--mixed and distilled. Iheard him sigh like a despairing creature; I heard him pray; Iperceived that he held his breath in his anxiety. The lamp had goneout--he did not seem to notice it. I blew on the red-hot cinders; theybrightened up, and shone on his chalky-white face, and tinged it witha momentary brightness. The eyes had almost closed in their deepsockets; now they opened wider--wider--as if they were about to springforth. 

"Look at the alchemical glass! There is something sparkling in it! Itis glowing, pure, heavy! He lifted it with a trembling hand. He criedwith trembling lips, 'Gold--gold!' He staggered, and seemed quitegiddy at the sight. I could have blown him away, " said the wind; "butI only blew in the ruddy fire, and followed him through the door in towhere his daughters were freezing. His dress was covered with ashes;they were to be seen in his beard, and in his matted hair. He raisedhis head proudly, stretched forth his rich treasure in the fragileglass, and 'Won--won! gold!' he cried, as he held high in the air theglass that glittered in the dazzling sunshine. But his hand shook, andthe alchemical glass fell to the ground, and broke into a thousandpieces. The last bubble of his prosperity had burst. Wheugh--wheugh!And I darted away from the alchemist's castle. 

"Later in the year, during the short days, when fogs come with theirdamp drapery, and wring out wet drops on the red berries and theleafless trees, I came in a hearty humour, sent breezes aloft to clearthe air, and began to sweep down the rotten branches. That was no hardwork, but it was a useful one. There was sweeping of another sortwithin Borreby Castle, where Waldemar Daae dwelt. His enemy, OvéRamel, from Basnæs, was there, with the mortgage bonds upon theproperty and the dwelling-house, which he had purchased. I thunderedagainst the cracked window-panes, slammed the rickety doors, whistledthrough the cracks and crevices, 'Wheu-gh!' Herr Ové should have nopleasure in the prospect of living there. Idé and Anna Dorthea weptbitterly. Johanné stood erect and composed; but she looked very pale, and bit her lips till they bled. Much good would that do! Ové Ramelvouchsafed his permission to Herr Daae to remain at the castle duringthe rest of his days; but he got no thanks for the offer. I overheardall that passed. I saw the homeless man draw himself up haughtily, andtoss his head; and I sent a blast against the castle and the oldlinden trees, so that the thickest branch among them broke, though itwas not rotten. It lay before the gate like a broom, in case somethinghad to be swept out; and to be sure there _was_ a clean sweep. 

"It was a sad day, a cruel hour, a heavy trial to sustain; but theheart was hard--the neck was stiff. 

"They possessed nothing but the clothes they had on. Yes, they had anewly-bought alchemist's glass, which was filled with what had beenwasted on the floor: it had been scraped up, the treasure promised, but not yielded. Waldemar Daae concealed this near his breast, tookhis stick in his hand, and the once wealthy man went, with his threedaughters, away from Borreby Castle. I blew coldly on his wan cheeks, and ruffled his grey beard and his long white hair. I sang aroundthem, 'Wheu-gh--wheu-gh!'

"There was an end to all their grandeur!

"Idé and Anna Dorthea walked on each side of their father; Johannéturned round at the gate. Why did she do so? Fortune would not turn. She gazed at the red stones of the wall, the stones from MarshalStig's castle, and she thought of his daughters:--

 'The eldest took the younger's hand, And out in the wide world they went. '

She thought upon that song. Here there were three, and their fatherwas with them. They passed as beggars over the same road where theyhad so often driven in their splendid carriage to SMIDSTRUP MARK, to ahouse with mud floors that was let for ten marks a year--their newmanor-house, with bare walls and empty closets. The crows and thejackdaws flew after them, and cried, as if in derision, 'From thenest--from the nest! away--away!' as the birds had screeched atBorreby Wood when the trees were cut down. 

"And thus they entered the humble house at Smidstrup Mark, and Iwandered away over moors and meadows, through naked hedges andleafless woods, to the open sea--to other lands. Wheugh--wheugh!On--on--on!"

What became of Waldemar Daae? What became of his daughters? The windwill tell. 

"The last of them I saw was Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth. She hadbecome old and decrepit: that was about fifty years after she had leftthe castle. She lived the longest--she saw them all out. "

 * * * * *

"Yonder, on the heath, near the town of Viborg, stood the dean'shandsome house, built of red granite. The smoke rolled plentifullyfrom its chimneys. The gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat onthe balcony, and looked over their pretty garden on the brown heath. At what were they gazing? They were looking at the storks' nests, on acastle that was almost in ruins. The roof, where there was any roof, was covered with moss and houseleeks; but the best part of itsustained the storks' nests--that was the only portion which was intolerable repair. 

"It was a place to look at, not to dwell in. I had to be cautious withit, " said the wind. "For the sake of the storks the house was allowedto stand, else it was really a disgrace to the heath. The dean wouldnot have the storks driven away; so the dilapidated building waspermitted to remain, and a poor woman was permitted to live in it. Shehad to thank the Egyptian birds for that--or was it a reward forhaving formerly begged that the nests of their wild black kindredmight be spared in Borreby Wood? _Then_ the wretched pauper was ayoung girl--a lovely pale hyacinth in the noble flower parterre. Sheremembered it well--poor Anna Dorthea!

"'Oh! oh! Yes, mankind can sigh as the wind does amidst the sedgesand the rushes--Oh! No church bell tolled at _thy_ death, WaldemarDaae! No charity-school children sang over his grave when the formerlord of Borreby was laid in the cold earth! Oh, all shall come to anend, even misery! Sister Idé became a peasant's wife. That was thehardest trial to her poor father. His daughter's husband a lowly serf, who could be obliged by his master to perform the meanest tasks! He, too, is now under the sod, and thou art there with him, unhappy Idé! Oyes--O yes! it was not all over, even then; for I am left a poor, old, helpless creature. Blessed Christ! take me hence!'

"Such was Anna Dorthea's prayer in the ruined castle, where she waspermitted to live--thanks to the storks. 

"The boldest of the sisters I disposed of, " said the wind. "Shedressed herself in men's clothes, went on board a ship as a poor boy, and hired herself as a sailor. She spoke very little, and looked verycross, but was willing to work. She was a bad hand at climbing, however; so I blew her overboard before any one had found out that shewas a female; and I think that was very well done on my part, " saidthe wind. 

 * * * * *

"It was one Easter morning, the anniversary of the very day on whichWaldemar Daae had fancied that he had found out the secret of makinggold, that I heard under the storks' nests, from amidst the crumblingwalls, a psalm tune--it was Anna Dorthea's last song. 

"There was no window. There was only a hole in the wall. The sun camelike a mass of gold, and placed itself there. It shone in brightly. Her eyes closed--her heart broke! They would have done so all thesame, had the sun not that morning blazed in upon her. 

"The storks had provided a roof over her head until her death. 

"I sang over her grave, " said the wind; "I had also sung over herfather's grave, for I knew where it was, and none else did. 

"New times came--new generations. The old highway had disappeared ininclosed fields. Even the tombs, that were fenced around, have beenconverted into a new road; and the railway's steaming engine, with itslines of carriages, dashes over the graves, which are as muchforgotten as the names of those who moulder into dust in them!Wheugh--wheugh!

"This is the history of Waldemar Daae and his daughters. Let any onerelate it better who can, " said the wind, turning round. 

And he was gone!

_The Girl who Trod upon Bread. _

You have doubtless heard of the girl who trod upon bread, not to soilher pretty shoes, and what evil this brought upon her. The tale isboth written and printed. 

She was a poor child, but proud and vain. She had a bad disposition, people said. When she was little more than an infant it was a pleasureto her to catch flies, to pull off their wings, and maim thementirely. She used, when somewhat older, to take lady-birds andbeetles, stick them all upon a pin, then put a large leaf or a pieceof paper close to their feet, so that the poor things held fast to it, and turned and twisted in their endeavours to get off the pin. 

"Now the lady-birds shall read, " said little Inger. "See how they turnthe paper!"

As she grew older she became worse instead of better; but she was verybeautiful, and that was her misfortune. She would have been punishedotherwise, and in the long run she was. 

"You will bring evil on your own head, " said her mother. 

"As a little child you used often to tear my aprons; I fear that whenyou are older you will break my heart. "

And she did so sure enough. 

At length she went into the country to wait on people of distinction. They were as kind to her as if she had been one of their own family;and she was so well dressed that she looked very pretty, and becameextremely arrogant. 

When she had been a year in service her employers said to her, --

"You should go and visit your relations, little Inger. "

She went, resolved to let them see how fine she had become. When, however, she reached the village, and saw the lads and lassesgossiping together near the pond, and her mother sitting close by on astone, resting her head against a bundle of firewood which she hadpicked up in the forest, Inger turned back. She felt ashamed that shewho was dressed so smartly should have for her mother such a raggedcreature, one who gathered sticks for her fire. It gave her no concernthat she was expected--she was so vexed. 

A half year more had passed. 

"You must go home some day and see your old parents, little Inger, "said the mistress of the house. "Here is a large loaf of whitebread--you can carry this to them; they will be rejoiced to see you. "

And Inger put on her best clothes and her nice new shoes, and shelifted her dress high, and walked so carefully, that she might notsoil her garments or her feet. There was no harm at all in that. Butwhen she came to where the path went over some damp marshy ground, andthere were water and mud in the way, she threw the bread into themud, in order to step upon it and get over with dry shoes; but justas she had placed one foot on the bread, and had lifted the other up, the bread sank in with her deeper and deeper, till she went entirelydown, and nothing was to be seen but a black bubbling pool. 

That is the story. 

What became of the girl? She went below to the _Old Woman of theBogs_, who brews down there. The Old Woman of the Bogs is an aunt ofthe fairies. _They_ are very well known. Many poems have been writtenabout them, and they have been printed; but nobody knows anything moreof the Old Woman of the Bogs than that, when the meadows and theground begin to reek in summer, it is the old woman below who isbrewing. Into her brewery it was that Inger sank, and no one couldhold out very long there. A cesspool is a charming apartment comparedwith the old Bog-woman's brewery. Every vessel is redolent of horriblesmells, which would make any human being faint, and they are packedclosely together and over each other; but even if there were a smallspace among them which one might creep through, it would beimpossible, on account of all the slimy toads and snakes that arealways crawling and forcing themselves through. Into this place littleInger sank. All this nauseous mess was so ice-cold that she shiveredin every limb. Yes, she became stiffer and stiffer. The bread stuckfast to her, and it drew her as an amber bead draws a slender thread. 

The Old Woman of the Bogs was at home. The brewery was that dayvisited by the devil and his dam, and she was a venomous old creaturewho was never idle. She never went out without having some needleworkwith her. She had brought some there. She was sewing running leatherto put into the shoes of human beings, so that they should never be atrest. She embroidered lies, and worked up into mischief and discordthoughtless words, that would otherwise have fallen to the ground. Yes, she knew how to sew and embroider, and transfer with a vengeance, that old grandam!

She beheld Inger, put on her spectacles, and looked at her. 

"That is a girl with talents, " said she. "I shall ask for her as a_souvenir_ of my visit here; she may do very well as a statue toornament my great-grandchildren's antechamber;" and she took her. 

It was thus little Inger went to the infernal regions. People do notgenerally go straight through the air to them: they can go by aroundabout path when they know the way. 

It was an antechamber in an infinity. One became giddy there atlooking forwards, and giddy at looking backwards, and there stood acrowd of anxious, pining beings, who were waiting and hoping for thetime when the gates of grace should be opened. They would have long towait. Hideous, large, waddling spiders wove thousands of webs overtheir feet; and these webs were like gins or foot-screws, and heldthem as fast as chains of iron, and were a cause of disquiet to everysoul--a painful annoyance. Misers stood there, and lamented that theyhad forgotten the keys of their money chests. It would be too tiresometo repeat all the complaints and troubles that were poured forththere. Inger thought it shocking to stand there like a statue: shewas, as it were, fastened to the ground by the bread. 

"This comes of wishing to have clean shoes, " said she to herself. "Seehow they all stare at me!"

Yes, they did all stare at her; their evil passions glared from theireyes, and spoke, without sound, from the corner of their mouths: theywere frightful. 

"It must be a pleasure to them to see me, " thought little Inger. "Ihave a pretty face, and am well dressed;" and she dried her eyes. Shehad not lost her conceit. She had not then perceived how her fineclothes had been soiled in the brewhouse of the Old Woman of the Bogs. Her dress was covered with dabs of nasty matter; a snake had wounditself among her hair, and it dangled over her neck; and from everyfold in her garment peeped out a toad, that puffed like an asthmaticlap-dog. It was very disagreeable. "But all the rest down here lookhorrid too, " was the reflection with which she consoled herself. 

But the worst of all was the dreadful hunger she felt. Could she notstoop down and break off a piece of the bread on which she wasstanding? No; her back was stiffened; her hands and her arms werestiffened; her whole body was like a statue of stone; she could onlymove her eyes, and these she could turn entirely round, and that wasan ugly sight. And flies came and crept over her eyes backwards andforwards. She winked her eyes; but the intruders did not fly away, forthey could not--their wings had been pulled off. That was anothermisery added to the hunger--the gnawing hunger that was so terrible tobear!

"If this goes on I cannot hold out much longer, " she said. 

But she had to hold out, and her sufferings became greater. 

Then a warm tear fell upon her head. It trickled over her face and herneck, all the way down to the bread. Another tear fell, then manyfollowed. Who was weeping over little Inger? Had she not a mother upyonder on the earth? The tears of anguish which a mother sheds overher erring child always reach it; but they do not comfort thechild--they burn, they increase the suffering. And oh! thisintolerable hunger; yet not to be able to snatch one mouthful of thebread she was treading under foot! She became as thin, as slender as areed. Another trial was that she heard distinctly all that was said ofher above on the earth, and it was nothing but blame and evil. Thoughher mother wept, and was in much affliction, she still said, --

"Pride goes before a fall. That was your great fault, Inger. Oh, howmiserable you have made your mother!"

Her mother and all who were acquainted with her were well aware of thesin she had committed in treading upon bread. They knew that she hadsunk into the bog, and was lost; the cowherd had told that, for he hadseen it himself from the brow of the hill. 

"What affliction you have brought on your mother, Inger!" exclaimedher mother. "Ah, well! I expected no better from you. "

"Would that I had never been born!" thought Inger; "that would havebeen much better for me. My mother's whimpering can do no good now. "

She heard how the family, the people of distinction who had been sokind to her, spoke. "She was a wicked child, " they said; "she valuednot the gifts of our Lord, but trod them under her feet. It will bedifficult for her to get the gates of grace open to admit her. "

"They ought to have brought me up better, " thought Inger. "They shouldhave taken the whims out of me, if I had any. "

She heard that there was a common ballad made about her, "the bad girlwho trod upon bread, to keep her shoes nicely clean, " and this balladwas sung from one end of the country to the other. 

"That any one should have to suffer so much for such as that--bepunished so severely for such a trifle!" thought Inger. "All theseothers are punished justly, for no doubt there was a great deal topunish; but ah, how I suffer!"

And her heart became still harder than the substance into which shehad been turned. 

"No one can be better in such society. I will not grow better here. See how they glare at me!"

And her heart became still harder, and she felt a hatred towards allmankind. 

"They have a nice story to tell up there now. Oh, how I suffer!"

She listened, and heard them telling her history as a warning tochildren, and the little ones called her "ungodly Inger. " "She was sonaughty, " they said, "so very wicked, that she deserved to suffer. "

The children always spoke harshly of her. One day, however, thathunger and misery were gnawing her most dreadfully, and she heard hername mentioned, and her story told to an innocent child--a littlegirl--she observed that the child burst into tears in her distress forthe proud, finely-dressed Inger. 

"But will she never come up again?" asked the child. 

The answer was, --

"She will never come up again. "

"But if she will beg pardon, and promise never to be naughty again?"

"But she will _not_ beg pardon, " they said. 

"Oh, how I wish she would do it!" sobbed the little girl in greatdistress. "I will give my doll, and my doll's house too, if she maycome up! It is so shocking for poor little Inger to be down there!"

These words touched Inger's heart; they seemed almost to make hergood. It was the first time any one had said "poor Inger, " and had notdwelt upon her faults. An innocent child cried and prayed for her. Shewas so much affected by this that she felt inclined to weep herself;but she could not, and this was an additional pain. 

Years passed on in the earth above; but down where she was there wasno change, except that she heard more and more rarely sounds fromabove, and that she herself was more seldom mentioned. At last one dayshe heard a sigh, and "Inger, Inger, how miserable you have made me! Iforetold that you would!" These were her mother's last words on herdeathbed. 

And again she heard herself named by her former employers, and hermistress said, --

"Perhaps I may meet you once more, Inger. None know whither they areto go. "

But Inger knew full well that her excellent mistress would never cometo the place where _she_ was. 

Time passed on, and on, slowly and wretchedly. Then once more Ingerheard her name mentioned, and she beheld as it were, directly aboveher, two clear stars shining. These were two mild eyes that wereclosing upon earth. So many years had elapsed since a little girl hadcried in childish sorrow over "poor Inger, " that that child had becomean old woman, whom our Lord was now about to call to himself. At thathour, when the thoughts and the actions of a whole life stand inreview before the parting soul, she remembered how, as a little child, she had wept bitterly on hearing the history of Inger. That time, andthose feelings, stood so prominently before the old woman's mind inthe hour of death, that she cried with intense emotion, --

"Lord, my God! have not I often, like Inger, trod under foot Thyblessed gifts, and placed no value on them? Have I not often beenguilty of pride and vanity in my secret heart? But Thou, in Thy mercy, didst not let me sink; Thou didst hold me up. Oh, forsake me not in mylast hour!"

And the aged woman's eyes closed, and her spirit's eyes opened to whathad been formerly invisible; and as Inger had been present in herlatest thoughts, she beheld her, and perceived how deep she had beendragged downwards. At that sight the gentle being burst into tears;and in the kingdom of heaven she stood like a child, and wept for thefate of the unfortunate Inger. Her tears and her prayers sounded likean echo down in the hollow form that confined the imprisoned, miserable soul. That soul was overwhelmed by the unexpected love fromthose realms afar. One of God's angels wept for her! Why was thisvouchsafed to her? The tortured spirit gathered, as it were, into onethought, all the actions of its life--all that it had done; and itshook with the violence of its remorse--remorse such as Inger hadnever felt. Grief became her predominating feeling. She thought thatfor her the gates of mercy would never open, and as in deep contritionand self-abasement she thought thus, a ray of brightness penetratedinto the dismal abyss--a ray more vivid and glorious than the sunbeamswhich thaw the snow figures that the children make in their gardens. And this ray, more quickly than the snow-flake that falls upon achild's warm mouth can be melted into a drop of water, caused Inger'spetrified figure to evaporate, and a little bird arose, following thezigzag course of the ray, up towards the world that mankind inhabit. But it seemed afraid and shy of everything around it; it felt ashamedof itself; and apparently wishing to avoid all living creatures, itsought, in haste, concealment in a dark recess in a crumbling wall. Here it sat, and it crept into the farthest corner, trembling allover. It could not sing, for it had no voice. For a long time it satquietly there before it ventured to look out and behold all the beautyaround. Yes, it was beauty! The air was so fresh, yet so soft; themoon shone so clearly; the trees and the flowers scented so sweetly;and it was so comfortable where she sat--her feather garb so clean andnice! How all creation told of love and glory! The grateful thoughtsthat awoke in the bird's breast she would willingly have poured forthin song, but the power was denied to her. Yes, gladly would she havesung as do the cuckoo and the nightingale in spring. Our graciousLord, who hears the mute worm's hymn of praise, understood thethanksgiving that lifted itself up in the tones of thought, as thepsalm floated in David's mind before it resolved itself into words andmelody. 

As weeks passed on these unexpressed feelings of gratitude increased. They would surely find a voice some day, with the first stroke of thewing, to perform some good act. Might not this happen?

Now came the holy Christmas festival. The peasants raised a pole closeby the old wall, and bound an unthrashed bundle of oats on it, thatthe birds of the air might also enjoy the Christmas, and have plentyto eat at that time which was held in commemoration of the redemptionbrought to mankind. 

And the sun rose brightly that Christmas morning, and shone upon theoat-sheaf, and upon all the chirping birds that flew around the pole;and from the wall issued a faint twittering. The swelling thoughts hadat last found vent, and the low sound was a hymn of joy, as the birdflew forth from its hiding-place. 

The winter was an unusually severe one. The waters were frozen thicklyover; the birds and the wild animals in the woods had great difficultyin obtaining food. The little bird, that had so recently left its darksolitude, flew about the country roads, and when it found by chance alittle corn dropped in the ruts, it would eat only a single grainitself, while it called all the starving sparrows to partake of it. Itwould also fly to the villages and towns, and look well about; andwhere kind hands had strewed crumbs of bread outside the windows forthe birds, it would eat only one morsel itself, and give all the restto the others. 

At the end of the winter the bird had found and given away so manycrumbs of bread, that the number put together would have weighed asmuch as the loaf upon which little Inger had trodden in order to saveher fine shoes from being soiled; and when she had found and givenaway the very last crumb, the grey wings of the bird became white, andexpanded wonderfully. 

"It is flying over the sea!" exclaimed the children who saw the whitebird. Now it seemed to dip into the ocean, now it arose into the clearsunshine; it glittered in the air; it disappeared high, high above;and the children said that it had flown up to the sun. 

_Olé, the Watchman of the Tower. _

"In the world it is always going up and down, and down and up again;but I can't go higher than I am, " said Olé, the watchman of the churchtower. "Ups and downs most people have to experience; in point offact, we each become at last a kind of tower-watchman--we look at lifeand things from above. "

Thus spoke Olé up in the lofty tower--my friend the watchman, acheerful, chatty old fellow, who seemed to blurt everything out atrandom, though there were, in reality, deep and earnest feelingsconcealed in his heart. He had come of a good stock; some people evensaid that he was the son of a _Conferentsraad_, [5] or might have beenthat. He had studied, had been a teacher's assistant, assistant clerkin the church; but these situations had not done much for him. At onetime he lived at the chief clerk's, and was to have bed and boardfree. He was then young, and somewhat particular about his dress, as Ihave heard. He insisted on having his boots polished and brushed withblacking, but the head clerk would only allow grease; and this was acause of dissension between them. The one talked of stinginess, theother talked of foolish vanity. The blacking became the darkfoundation of enmity, and so they parted; but what he had demandedfrom the clerk he also demanded from the world--real blacking; and healways got its substitute, grease; so he turned his back upon allmankind, and became a hermit. But a hermitage coupled with alivelihood is not to be had in the midst of a large city except up inthe steeple of a church. Thither he betook himself, and smoked hispipe in solitude. He looked up, and he looked down; reflectedaccording to his fashion upon all he saw, and all he did not see--onwhat he read in books, and what he read in himself. 

[Footnote 5: A Danish title. ]

I often lent him books, good books; and people can converse aboutthese, as everybody knows. He did not care for fashionable Englishnovels, he said, nor for French ones either--they were all toofrivolous. No, he liked biographies, and books that relate to thewonders of nature. I visited him at least once a year, generallyimmediately after the New Year. He had then always something to saythat the peculiar period suggested to his thoughts. 

I shall relate what passed during two of my visits, and give his ownwords as nearly as I can. 

THE FIRST VISIT. 

Among the books I had last lent Olé was one about pebbles, and itpleased him extremely. 

"Yes, sure enough they are veterans from old days, these pebbles, "said he; "and yet we pass them carelessly by. I have myself often doneso in the fields and on the beach, where they lie in crowds. We treadthem under foot in some of our pathways, these fragments from theremains of antiquity. I have myself done that; but now I hold allthese pebble-formed pavements in high respect. Thanks for that book;it has driven old ideas and habits of thinking aside, and has replacedthem by other ideas, and made me eager to read something more of thesame kind. The romance of the earth is the most astonishing of allromances. What a pity that one cannot read the first portion ofit--that it is composed in a language we have not learned! One mustread it in the layers of the ground, in the strata of the rocks, inall the periods of the earth. It was not until the sixth part that theliving and acting persons, Mr. Adam and Mrs. Eve, were introduced, though some will have it they came immediately. That, however, is allone to me. It is a most eventful tale, and we are all in it. We go ondigging and groping, but always find ourselves where we were; yet theglobe is ever whirling round, and without the waters of the worldoverwhelming us. The crust we tread on holds together--we do not fallthrough it; and this is a history of a million of years, with constantadvancement. Thanks for the book about the pebbles. They could tellmany a strange tale if they were able. 

"Is it not pleasant once and away to become like a Nix, when one isperched so high as I am, and then to remember that we all are butminute ants upon the earth's ant-hill, although some of us aredistinguished ants, some are laborious, and some are indolent ants?One seems to be so excessively young by the side of these millionyears old, reverend pebbles. I was reading the book on New Year'seve, and was so wrapped up in it that I forgot my accustomed amusementon that night, looking at 'the wild host to Amager, ' of which you mayhave heard. 

"The witches' journey on broomsticks is well known--that takes placeon St. John's night, and to Bloksberg. But we have also the wild host, here at home and in our own time, which goes to Amager every NewYear's eve. All the bad poets and poetesses, newspaper writers, musicians, and artists of all sorts, who come before the public, butmake no sensation--those, in short, who are very mediocre, ride--onNew Year's eve, out to Amager: they sit astride on their pencils orquill pens. Steel pens don't answer, they are too stiff. I see thistroop, as I have said, every New Year's eve. I could name most ofthem, but it is not worth while to get into a scrape with them; theydo not like people to know of their Amager flight upon quill pens. Ihave a kind of a cousin, who is a fisherman's wife, and furnishesabusive articles to three popular periodicals: she says she has beenout there as an invited guest. She has described the whole affair. Half that she says, of course, are lies, but part might be true. Whenshe was there they commenced with a song; each of the visitors hadwritten his own song, and each sang his own composition: they allperformed together, so it was a kind of 'cats' chorus'. Small groupsmarched about, consisting of those who labour at improving that giftwhich is called 'the gift of the gab:' they had their own shrillsongs. Then came the little drummers, and those who write withoutgiving their names--that is to say, whose grease is imposed on peoplefor blacking; then there were the executioners, and the puffers of badwares. In the midst of all the merriment, as it must have been, thatwas going on, shot up from a pit a stem, a tree, a monstrous flower, alarge toadstool, and a cupola. These were the Utopian productions ofthe honoured assembly, the entire amount of their offerings to theworld during the past year. Sparks flew from these various objects;they were the thoughts and ideas which had been borrowed or stolen, which now took wings to themselves, and flew away as if by magic. Mycousin told me a good deal more, which, though laughable, was toomalicious for me to repeat. 

"I always watch this wild host fly past every New Year's eve; but onthe last one, as I told you, I neglected to look at them, for I wasrolling away in thought upon the round pebbles--rolling throughthousands and thousands of years. I saw them detached from rocks faraway in the distant north; saw them driven along in masses of icebefore Noah's ark was put together; saw them sink to the bottom, andrise again in a sand-bank, which grew higher and higher above thewater; and I said, 'That will be Zealand!' It became the resort ofbirds of various species unknown to us--the home of savage chiefs aslittle known to us, until the axe cut the Runic characters which thenbrought them into our chronology. As I was thus musing three or fourfalling stars attracted my eye. My thoughts took another turn. Do youknow what falling stars are? The scientific themselves do not knowwhat they are. I have my own ideas about them. How often in secret arenot thanks and blessings poured out on those who have done anythinggreat or good! Sometimes these thanks are voiceless, but they do notfall to the ground. I fancy that they are caught by the sunshine, andthat the sunbeam brings the silent, secret praise down over the headof the benefactor. If it be an entire people that through time bestowtheir thanks, then the thanks come as a banquet--fall like a fallingstar over the grave of the benefactor. It is one of my pleasures, especially when on a New Year's eve I observe a falling star, toimagine to whose grave the starry messenger of gratitude is speeding. One of the last falling stars I saw took its blazing course towardsthe south-west. For whom was it dispatched? It fell, I thought, on theslope by Flensborg Fiord, where the Danish flag waves overSchleppegrell's, Læssöe's, and their comrades' graves. One fell in thecentre of the country near Sorö. It was a banquet for Holberg'sgrave--a thank offering of years from many--a thank offering for hissplendid comedies! It is a glorious and gratifying fancy that afalling star could illumine our graves. That will not be the case withmine; not even a single sunbeam will bring me thanks, for I have donenothing to deserve them. I have not even attained to blacking, " saidOlé; "my lot in life has been only to get grease. "

THE SECOND VISIT. 

It was on a New Year's day that I again ascended to the church tower. Olé began to speak of toasts. We drank one to the transition from theold drop in eternity to the new drop in eternity, as he called theyear. Then he gave me his story about the glasses, and there was somesense in it. 

"When the clocks strike twelve on New Year's night every one risesfrom table with a brimful glass, and drinks to the New Year. Tocommence the year with a glass in one's hand is a good beginning for adrunkard. To begin the year by going to bed is a good beginning for asluggard. Sleep will, in the course of his year, play a prominentpart; so will the glass. 

"Do you know what dwells in glasses?" he asked. "There dwell in themhealth, glee, and folly. Within them dwell, also, vexations and bittercalamity. When I count up the glasses I can tell the gradations in theglass for different people. The first glass, you see, is the glass ofhealth; in it grow health-giving plants. Stick to that one glass, andat the end of the year you can sit peacefully in the leafy bowers ofhealth. 

"If you take the second glass a little bird will fly out of it, chirping in innocent gladness, and men will laugh and sing with it, 'Life is pleasant. Away with care, away with fear!'

"From the third glass springs forth a little winged creature--a littleangel he cannot well be called, for he has Nix blood and a Nix mind. He does not come to tease, but to amuse. He places himself behind yourear, and whispers some humorous idea; he lays himself close to yourheart and warms it, so that you become very merry, and fancy yourselfthe cleverest among a set of great wits. 

"In the fourth glass is neither plant, bird, nor little figure: it isthe boundary line of sense, and beyond that line let no one go. 

"If you take the fifth glass you will weep over yourself--you will befoolishly happy, or become stupidly noisy. From this glass will springPrince Carnival, flippant and crack-brained. He will entice you toaccompany him; you will forget your respectability, if you have any;you will forget more than you ought or dare forget. All is pleasure, gaiety, excitement; the maskers carry you off with them; thedaughters of the Evil One, in silks and flowers, come with flowinghair and voluptuous charms. Escape them if you can. 

"The sixth glass! In that sits Satan himself--a well-dressed, conversable, lively, fascinating little man--who never contradictsyou, allows that you are always in the right--in fact, seems quite toadopt all your opinions. He comes with a lantern to convey you home tohis own habitation. There is an old legend about a saint who was tochoose one of the seven mortal sins, and he chose, as he thought, theleast--drunkenness; but in that state he perpetrated all the other sixsins. The human nature and the devilish nature mingle. This is thesixth glass; and after that all the germs of evil thrive in us, everyone of them spreading with a rapidity and vigour that cause them to belike the mustard-seed in the Bible, 'which, indeed, is the least ofall seeds; but when it is grown it is the greatest among herbs, andbecometh a tree. ' Most of them have nothing before them but to be castinto the furnace, and be smelted there. 

"This is the story of the glasses, " said Olé, the watchman of thechurch tower; "and it applies both to those who use blacking, and tothose who use only grease. "

Such was the result of the second visit to Olé. More may beforthcoming at some future time. 

_Anne Lisbeth; or, The Apparition of the Beach. _

Anne Lisbeth was like milk and blood, young and happy, lovely to lookat; her teeth were so dazzlingly white, her eyes were so clear; herfoot was light in the dance, and her head was still lighter. What didall this lead to? To no good. "The vile creature!" "She was notpretty!"

She was placed with the grave-digger's wife, and from thence she wentto the count's splendid country-seat, where she lived in handsomerooms, and was dressed in silks and fineries; not a breath of wind wasto blow on her; no one dared to say a rough word to her, nothing wasto be done to annoy her; for she nursed the count's son and heir, whowas as carefully tended as a prince, and as beautiful as an angel. Howshe loved that child! Her own child was away from her--he was in thegrave-digger's house, where there was more hunger than plenty, andwhere often there was no one at home. The poor deserted child cried, but what nobody hears nobody cares about. He cried himself to sleep, and in sleep one feels neither hungry nor thirsty: sleep is, therefore, a great blessing. In the course of time Anne Lisbeth'schild shot up. Ill weeds grow apace, it is said: and this poor weedgrew, and seemed a member of the family, who were paid for keepinghim. Anne Lisbeth was quite free of him. She was a village fine lady, had everything of the best, and wore a smart bonnet whenever she wentout. But she never went to the grave-digger's; it was so far fromwhere she lived, and she had nothing to do there. The child was undertheir charge; _he_ who paid its board could well afford it, and thechild would be taken very good care of. 

The watch-dog at the lord of the manor's bleach-field sits proudly inthe sunshine outside of his kennel, and growls at every one that goespast. In rainy weather he creeps inside, and lies down dry andsheltered. Anne Lisbeth's boy sat on the side of a ditch in thesunshine, amusing himself by cutting a bit of stick. In spring he sawthree strawberry bushes in bloom: they would surely bear fruit. Thiswas his pleasantest thought; but there was no fruit. He sat out in thedrizzling rain, and in the heavy rain--was wet to the skin--and thesharp wind dried his clothes upon him. If he went to the farm-housesnear, he was thumped and shoved about. He was "grim-looking and ugly, "the girls and the boys said. What became of Anne Lisbeth's boy? What_could_ become of him? It was his fate to be "_never loved_. "

At length he was transferred from his joyless village life to thestill worse life of a sailor boy. He went on board a wretched littlevessel, to stand by the rudder while the skipper drank. Filthy anddisgusting the poor boy looked; starving and benumbed with cold hewas. One would have thought, from his appearance, that he never hadbeen well fed; and, indeed, that was the fact. 

It was late in the year; it was raw, wet, stormy weather; the coldwind penetrated even through thick clothing, especially at sea; andonly two men on board were too few to work the sails; indeed, it mightbe said only one man and a half--the master and his boy. It had beenblack and gloomy all day; now it became still more dark, and it wasbitterly cold. The skipper took a dram to warm himself. The flask wasold, and so was the glass; its foot was broken off, but it wasinserted into a piece of wood painted blue, which served as a standfor it. If one dram was good, two would be better, thought the master. The boy stood by the helm, and held on to it with his hard, tar-covered hands. He looked frightened. His hair was rough, and hewas wrinkled, and stunted in his growth. The young sailor was thegrave-digger's boy; in the church register he was called AnneLisbeth's son. 

The wind blew as it list; the sail flapped, then filled; the vesselflew on. It was wet, chill, dark as pitch; but worse was yet to come. Hark! What was that? With what had the boat come in contact? What hadburst? What seemed to have caught it? It shifted round. Was it asudden squall? The boy at the helm cried aloud, "In the name ofJesus!" The little bark had struck on a large sunken rock, and sank asan old shoe would sink in a small pool--sank with men and mice onboard, as the saying is; and there certainly were mice, but only oneman and a half--the skipper and the grave-digger's boy. None witnessedthe catastrophe except the screaming sea-gulls and the fishes below;and even they did not see much of it, for they rushed aside in alarmwhen the water gushed thundering into the little vessel as it sank. Scarcely a fathom beneath the surface it stood; yet the two humanbeings who had been on board were lost--lost--forgotten! Only theglass with the blue-painted wooden foot did not sink; the wooden footfloated it. But the glass was broken when it was washed far up on thebeach. How and when? That is of no consequence. It had served itstime, and it had been liked; that Anne Lisbeth's child had never been. But in the kingdom of heaven no soul can say again, "Never loved!"

 * * * * *

Anne Lisbeth resided in the large market town, and had done so forsome years. She was called "Madam, " and held her head very high, especially when she spoke of old reminiscences of the time she hadpassed at the count's lordly mansion, when she used to drive out in acarriage, and used to converse with countesses and baronesses. Hersweet nursling, the little count, was a lovely angel, a darlingcreature. She was so fond of him, and he had been so fond of her. Howshe used to pet him, and how he used to kiss her! He was herdelight--was as dear to her as herself. He was now quite a big boy; hewas fourteen years of age, and had plenty of learning andaccomplishments. She had not seen him since she carried him in herarms. It was many years since she had been at the count's castle, forit was such a long way off. 

"But I must go over and see them again, " said Anne Lisbeth. "I must goto my noble friends, to my darling child, the young count--yes, yes, for he is surely longing to see me. He thinks of me, he loves me as hedid when he used to throw his little cherub arms round my neck andlisp, 'An Lis!' Oh, it was like a violin! Yes, I must go over and seehim again. "

She went part of the way in the carrier's wagon, part of the way onfoot. She arrived at the castle. It looked as grand and imposing asever. The gardens were not at all changed; but the servants were allstrangers. Not one of them knew anything about Anne Lisbeth. They didnot know what an important person she had been in the house formerly;but surely the countess would tell them who she was, so would her ownboy. How she longed to see them both!

Well, Anne Lisbeth was there; but she had to wait a long time, andwaiting is always so tedious. Before the family and their guests wentto dinner she was called in to the countess, and very kindly spokento. She was told she should see her dear boy after dinner, and afterdinner she was sent for again. 

How much he had grown! How tall and thin! But he had the same charmingeyes, and the same angelic mouth. He looked at her, but he did not saya word. It was evident that he did not remember her. He turned away, and was going, but she caught his hand and carried it to her lips. "Ah! well, that will do!" he said, and hastily left the room--he, thedarling of her soul--he on whom her thoughts had centred for so manyyears--he whom she had loved the best--her greatest earthly pride!

Anne Lisbeth left the castle, and turned into the open high road. Shewas very sad--he had been so cold and distant to her. He had not aword, not a thought for her who, by day and by night, had so cherished_him_ in her heart. 

At that moment a large black raven flew across the road before her, screeching harshly. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what do you want, bird of ill omen that youare?"

She passed by the grave-digger's house; his wife was standing in thedoorway, and they spoke to each other. 

"You are looking very well, " said the grave-digger's wife. "You arestout and hearty. The world goes well with you apparently. "

"Pretty well, " replied Anne Lisbeth. 

"The little vessel has been lost, " said the grave-digger's wife. "Larsthe skipper, and the boy, are both drowned; so there is an end of thatmatter. I had hoped, though, that the boy might by and by have helpedme with a shilling now and then. He never cost you anything, AnneLisbeth. "

"Drowned are they?" exclaimed Anne Lisbeth; and she did not sayanother word on the subject--she was so distressed that her nursling, the young count, did not care to speak to her--she who loved him somuch, and had taken such a long journey to see him--a journey that hadcost her some money too. The pleasure she had received was not great, but she was not going to admit this. She would not say one word to thegrave-digger's wife to lead her to think that she was no longer aperson of consequence at the count's. The raven screeched again justover her head. 

"That horrid noise!" said Anne Lisbeth; "it has quite startled meto-day. "

She had brought some coffee-beans and chicory with her; it would be akindness to the grave-digger's wife to make her a present of these;and, when she did so, it was agreed that they should take a cup ofcoffee together. The mistress of the house went to prepare it, andAnne Lisbeth sat down to wait for it. While waiting she fell asleep, and she dreamed of one of whom she had never before dreamt: that wasvery strange. She dreamed of her own child, who in that very househad starved and squalled, and never tasted anything better than coldwater, and who now lay in the deep sea, our Lord only knew where. Shedreamed that she was sitting just where she really was seated, andthat the grave-digger's wife had gone to make some coffee, but hadfirst to grind the coffee-beans, and that a beautiful boy stood in thedoorway--a boy as charming as the little count had been; and the childsaid, --

"The world is now passing away. Hold fast to me, for thou art mymother. Thy child is an angel in the kingdom of heaven. Hold fast tome!"

And he seized her. But there was a frightful uproar around, as ifworlds were breaking asunder; and the angel raised her up, and heldher fast by the sleeves of her dress--so fast, it seemed to her, thatshe was lifted from the ground; but something hung so heavily abouther feet, something lay so heavily on her back: it was as if hundredsof women were clinging fast to her, and crying, "If thou canst besaved, so may we. We will hold on--hold on!" and they all appeared tobe holding on by her. Then the sleeves of her garments gave way, andshe fell, overcome with terror. 

The sensation of fear awoke her, and she found herself on the point offalling off her chair. Her head was so confused that at first shecould not remember what she had dreamt, though she knew it had beensomething disagreeable. The coffee was drunk, and Anne Lisbeth tookher departure to the nearest village, where she might meet thecarrier, and get him to convey her that evening to the town where shelived. But the carrier said he was not going until the followingevening; and, on calculating what it would cost her to remain tillthen, she determined to walk home. She would not go by the high road, but by the beach: that was at least eight or nine miles shorter. Theweather was fine, and it was full moon. She would be at home the nextmorning. 

The sun had set; the evening bells that had been chiming were hushed. All was still; not a bird was to be heard twittering among theleaves--they had all gone to rest: the owls were away. All was silencein the wood; and on the beach, where she was walking, she could hearher own foot fall on the sand. The very sea seemed slumbering; thewaves rolled lazily and noiselessly on the shore, and away on the opendeep there seemed to be a dead calm: not a line of foam, not a ripplewas visible on the water. All were quiet beneath, the living and thedead. 

Anne Lisbeth walked on, and her thoughts were not engrossed byanything in particular. She was not at all lost in thought, butthoughts were not lost to her. They are never lost to us; they lieonly in a state of torpor, as it were, both the lately active thoughtsthat have lulled themselves to rest, and those which have not yetawoke. But thoughts come often undesired; they can touch the heart, they can distract the head, they can at times overpower us. 

"Good actions have their reward, " it is written. 

"The wages of sin is death, " it is also written. Much is written--muchis said. But many give no heed to the words of truth--they rememberthem not; and so it was with Anne Lisbeth; but they can forcethemselves upon the mind. 

All sins and all virtues lie in our hearts--in thine, in mine. Theylie like small invisible seeds. From without fall upon them a sunbeam, or the contact of an evil hand--they take their bent in their hiddennook, to the right or to the left. Yes, there it is decided, and thelittle grain of seed quivers, swells, springs up, and pours its juiceinto your blood, and there you are, fairly launched. These arethoughts fraught with anxiety; they do not haunt one when one is in astate of mental slumber, but they are fermenting. Anne Lisbeth wasslumbering--hidden thoughts were fermenting. From Candlemas toCandlemas the heart has much on its tablets--it has the year'saccount. Much is forgotten--sins in word and deed against God, againstour neighbour, and against our own consciences. We reflect little uponall this; neither did Anne Lisbeth. She had not broken the laws of hercountry, she kept up good appearances, she did not run in debt, shewronged no one; and so, well satisfied with herself, she walked on bythe seashore. What was that lying in her path? She stopped. What wasthat washed up from the sea? A man's old hat lay there. It might havefallen overboard. She approached closer to it, stood still, and lookedat it. Heavens! what was lying there? She was almost frightened; butthere was nothing to be frightened at; it was only a mass of seaweedthat lay twined over a large, oblong, flat rock, that was shapedsomething like a human being--it was nothing but seaweed. Still shefelt frightened, and hastened on; and as she hurried on, many thingsshe had heard in her childhood recurred to her thoughts, especiallyall the superstitious tales about "_the apparition of the beach_"--thespectre of the unburied that lay washed up on the lonely, desertedshore. The body thrown up from the deep, the dead body itself, shethought nothing of; but its ghost followed the solitary wanderer, attached itself closely to him or her, and demanded to be carried tothe churchyard, to receive Christian burial. 

"Hold on--hold on!" it was wont to say; and, as Anne Lisbeth repeatedthese words inwardly to herself, she suddenly remembered her strangedream, in which the women had clung to her, shrieking, "Hold on--holdon!" how the world had sunk; how her sleeves had given way, and shehad fallen from the grasp of her child, who wished, in the hour ofdoom, to save her. Her child--her own flesh and blood--the little oneshe had never loved, never spared a thought to--that child was now atthe bottom of the sea, and it might come like "the apparition of thebeach, " and cry, "Hold on--hold on! Give me Christian burial!" And asthese thoughts crowded on her mind, terror gave wings to her feet, andshe hurried faster and faster on; but fear came like a cold, clammyhand, and laid itself on her beating heart, so that she felt quitefaint; and as she glanced towards the sea, she saw it looked dark andthreatening; a thick mist arose, and soon spread around, lying heavilyover the very trees and bushes, which assumed strange appearancesthrough it. 

She turned round to look for the moon, which was behind her: it waslike a pale disc, without any rays. Something seemed to hang heavilyabout her limbs as she attempted to hurry on. She thought of theapparition; and, turning again, she beheld the white moon as if closeto her, while the mist seemed to hang like a mantle over hershoulders. "Hold on--hold on! Give me Christian burial!" she expectedevery moment to hear; and she did hear a hollow, terrific sound, whichseemed to cry hoarsely, "Bury me--bury me!" Yes, it must be thespectre of her child--her child who was lying at the bottom of thesea, and who would not rest quietly until the corpse was carried tothe churchyard, and placed like a Christian in consecrated ground. Shewould go there--she would dig his grave herself; and she went in thedirection in which the church lay, and as she proceeded she felt herinvisible burden become lighter--it left her; and again she returnedto the shore to reach her home as speedily as possible. But no soonerdid her foot tread the sands than the wild sound seemed to moan aroundher, and it seemed ever to repeat, "Bury me--bury me!"

The fog was cold and damp; her hands and her face were cold and damp. She shivered in her fright. Without, space seemed to close up aroundher; within her there seemed to be endless room for thoughts that hadnever before entered her mind. 

During one spring night here in the north the beech groves can sprout, and the next day's early sun can shine on them in all their freshyoung beauty. In one single second within us can the germ of sin budforth, swelling by degrees into thoughts, words, and deeds, though allremorse for them lies dormant. _It_ is quickened and unfolds itself inone single second, when conscience awakens; and our Lord awakens_that_ when we least expect it. Then there is nothing to be excused;deeds stand forth and bear witness, thoughts find words, and wordsring out over the world. We are shocked at what we have permitted todwell within us, and not stifled; shocked at what, in ourthoughtlessness or our presumption, we have scattered abroad. Theheart is the depository of all virtues, but also of all vices; andthese can thrive in the most barren ground. 

Anne Lisbeth reviewed in thought what we have expressed in words. Shewas overwhelmed with it all. She sank to the ground, and crawled alittle way over it. "Bury me--bury me!" she still seemed to hear. Shewould rather have buried herself, if the grave could be an eternalforgetfulness of everything. It was the awakening hour of seriousthought, of terrible thoughts, that made her shudder. Superstitioncame, too, by turns heating and chilling her blood; and things shewould scarcely have ventured to mention rushed on her mind. Noiselessas the clouds that crossed the sky in the clear moonlight floated pasther a vision she had heard of. Immediately before her sped fourfoaming horses, flames flashing from their eyes and from theirdistended nostrils; they drew a fiery chariot, in which sat the evillord of the manor, who, more than a hundred years before, had dwelt inthat neighbourhood. Every night, it is said, he drives to his formerhome, and then instantly turns back again. He was not white, as thedead are said to be: no, he was as black as a coal--a burnt-out coal. He nodded to Anne Lisbeth, and beckoned to her: "Hold on--hold on! Somayst thou again drive in a nobleman's carriage, and forget thine ownchild!"

In still greater terror, and with still greater precipitation thanbefore, she fled in the direction of the church. She reached thechurchyard; but the dark crosses above the graves, and the darkravens, seemed to mingle together before her eyes. The ravensscreeched as they had screeched in the daytime; but she now understoodwhat they said, and each cried, "I am a raven-mother; I am araven-mother!" And Anne Lisbeth thought that they were taunting her. She fancied that she might, perhaps, be changed into such a dark bird, and might have to screech like them, if she could not get the gravedemanded of her dug. 

And she threw herself down upon the ground, and she dug a grave withher hands in the hard earth, so that blood sprang from her fingers. 

"Bury me--bury me!" resounded still about her. She dreaded the crowingof the cock, and the first red streak in the east, because, if theycame before her labours were ended, she would be lost. And the cockcrowed, and in the east it began to be light. The grave was but halfdug. An ice-cold hand glided over her head and her face, down to whereher heart was. "Only half a grave!" sighed a voice near her; andsomething seemed to vanish away--vanish into the deep sea. It was "theapparition of the beach. " Anne Lisbeth sank, terror-stricken andbenumbed, on the ground. She had lost feeling and consciousness. 

It was broad daylight when she came to herself. Two young men liftedher up. She was lying, not in the churchyard, but down on the shore;and she had dug there a deep hole in the sand, and cut her fingerstill they bled with a broken glass, the stem of which was stuck into apiece of wood painted blue. Anne Lisbeth was ill. Conscience hadmingled in Superstition's game, and had imbued her with the idea thatshe had only half a soul--that her child had taken the other half awaywith him down to the bottom of the sea. Never could she ascend upwardstowards the mercy-seat, until she had again the half soul that wasimprisoned in the depths of the ocean. Anne Lisbeth was taken to herhome, but she never was the same as she had formerly been. Herthoughts were disordered like tangled yarn; one thread alone wasstraight--that was to let "the apparition of the beach" see that agrave was dug for him in the churchyard, and thus to win back herentire soul. 

Many a night she was missed from her home, and she was always found onthe seashore, where she waited for the spectre of the dead. Thuspassed a whole year. Then she disappeared one night, and was not to befound. The whole of the next day they searched for her in vain. 

Towards the evening, when the bell-ringer entered the church to ringthe evening chimes, he saw Anne Lisbeth lying before the altar. Shehad been there from a very early hour in the morning; her strength wasalmost exhausted, but her eyes sparkled, her face glowed with a sortof rosy tint. The departing rays of the sun shone in on her, andstreamed over the altar-piece, and on the silver clasps of the Bible, that lay open at the words of the prophet Joel: "Rend your heart, andnot your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God. " "It was a strangeoccurrence, " people said--as if everything were chance. 

On Anne Lisbeth's countenance, when lighted up by the sun, were to beread peace and comfort. "She felt so well, " she said. "She had wonback her soul. " During the night "the apparition of the beach"--herown child--had been with her, and it had said, --

"Thou hast only dug half a grave for me; but now for a year and a daythou hast entombed me in thy heart, and there a mother best inters herchild. " And he had restored to her her lost half soul, and had led herinto the church. 

"Now I am in God's house, " said she, "and in it one is blessed. "

When the sun had sunk entirely Anne Lisbeth's spirit had soared faraway up yonder, where there is no more fear when one's sins areblotted out; and hers, it might be hoped, had been blotted out by theSaviour of the world. 

_Children's Prattle_. 

At the merchant's house there was a large party of children--richpeople's children and great people's children. The merchant was a manof good standing in society, and a learned man. He had taken, in hisyouth, a college examination. He had been kept to his studies by hisworthy father, who had not gone very deep into learning himself, butwas honest and active. He had made money, and the merchant hadincreased the fortune left to him. He had intellect, and heart too;but less was said of these good qualities than of his money. 

There visited at his house several distinguished persons, both peopleof birth, as it is called, and people of talents, as it iscalled--people who came under both of these heads, and people who cameunder neither of these heads. The meeting now in question was achildren's party, where there was childish talk; and childrengenerally speak like parrots. 

There was one little girl so excessively proud. She had been flatteredinto her foolish pride by the servants, not by her parents--they weretoo sensible to have done that. Her father was _Kammerjunker_[6] andshe thought this was monstrously grand. 

[Footnote 6: A title at court. ]

"I am a court child, " she said. 

She might as well have been a cellar child, as far as she was herselfconcerned; and she informed the other children that she was "born"(_well born_, she meant); that when people were not "born, " they couldnever be anybody; and that, however much they might read, howeverclever and industrious they might be, if they were not "born" theycould never become great. 

"And those whose names end in '_sen_, '" she continued, "are all lowpeople, and can never be of any consequence in the world. Ladies andgentlemen would put their hands on their sides, and keep them at adistance, these 'sen--sens!'" And she threw herself into the attitudeshe had described, and stuck her pretty little arms akimbo, to showhow people of her grade would carry themselves in the presence of suchcommon creatures. She really looked very pretty. 

But the merchant's little daughter became extremely angry. Her fatherwas called "Madsen, " and that name, she knew, ended in "sen;" so shesaid, as proudly as she could, --

"But my father can buy hundreds of rix dollars' worth of sugar-plums, and think nothing of it. Can your father do that?"

"That's all very well, " said the little daughter of a popularjournalist; "but my father can put both of your fathers and all'fathers' into the newspaper. Every one is afraid of him, my mothersays; for it is my father who rules everything through thenewspaper. " And the little girl tossed her head and strutted about asif she thought herself a princess. 

But on the outside of the half-open door stood a poor little boypeeping in. It was, of course, out of the question that so poor achild should enter the drawing-room; but he had been turning the spitfor the cook, and he had obtained permission to look in behind thedoor at the splendidly dressed children who were amusing themselves, and that was a treat to him. 

He would have liked to have been one of them, he thought; but at thatmoment he heard what had been said, and it was enough to make him verysad. Not one shilling had his parents at home to spare. They were notable to set up a newspaper, to say nothing of writing for one. And theworse was yet to come; for his father's name, and of course also hisown name, certainly ended in "sen. " He, therefore, could never becomeanybody in this world. This was very disheartening. Though he feltassured that he was _born_, it was impossible to think otherwise. 

This was what passed that evening. 

 * * * * *

Several years had elapsed, and during their course the children hadgrown up to be men and women. 

There stood in the town a handsome house, which was filled withmagnificent objects of art. Every one went to see it. Even people wholived at a distance came to town to see it. Which prodigy, among thechildren we have spoken of, could call that edifice his or hers? It iseasy to tell that. No; it is not so easy, after all. That housebelonged to the poor little boy, who became somebody, although hisname _did_ end in "sen. "--THORWALDSEN!

And the three other children--the children of high birth, money, andliterary arrogance? Well; there is nothing to be said about them. Theyare all alike. They grew up to be all very respectable, comfortable, and commonplace. They were well-meaning people. What they had formerlysaid and thought was only--CHILDREN'S PRATTLE. 

_A Row of Pearls. _

I. 

The railroad in Denmark extends no farther as yet than from Copenhagento Korsör. It is a row of pearls. Europe has a wealth of these. Itsmost costly pearls are named Paris, London, Vienna, Naples; thoughmany a one does not point out these great cities as his most beautifulpearl, but, on the contrary, names some small, by no means remarkabletown, for it is _his_ home--the home where those he loves reside. Nay, sometimes it is but a country-seat--a small cottage hidden among greenhedges--a mere spot that he hastens towards, while the railway trainrushes on. 

How many pearls are there upon the line from Copenhagen to Korsör? Wewill say six. Most people must remark these. Old remembrances andpoetry itself bestow a radiance on these pearls, so that they shine inon our thoughts. 

Near the rising ground where the palace of Frederick VI. Stands--thehome of Ochlenschläger's childhood--shines, under the lee ofSondermarken's woody ground, one of these pearls. It is called the"Cottage of Philemon and Baucis;" that is to say, the home of twoloving old people. Here dwelt Rahbek and his wife Camma; here, undertheir hospitable roof, were collected from the busy Copenhagen all thesuperior intellects of their day; here was the home of genius; and nowsay not, "Ah, how changed!" No; it is still the spirits' home--ahothouse for sickly plants. Buds that are not strong enough to expandinto flowers, preserve, though hidden, all the germs of a luxurianttree. Here the sun of mind shines in on a home of stagnant spirits, reviving and cheering it. The world around beams through the eyes intothe soul's unfathomable depths. _The Idiot's Home_, surrounded by thelove and kindness of human beings, is a holy place--a hothouse forthose sickly plants that shall in future be transplanted to bloom inthe garden of paradise. The weakest in the world are now gatheredhere, where once the greatest and the wisest met, exchanged thoughts, and were lifted upwards. Their memories will ever be associated withthe "Cottage of Philemon and Baucis. "

The burial-place of kings by Hroar's spring--the ancientRoeskilde--lies before us. The cathedral's slender spires tower overthe low town, and are reflected on the surface of the fiord. One gravealone shall we seek here; that shall not be the tomb of the mightyMargrethe--the union queen. No; within the churchyard, near whosewhite walls we have so closely flown, is the grave: a humble stone islaid over it. Here reposes the great organist--the reviver of the oldDanish romances. With the melodies we can recall the words, --

 "The clear waves rolled, "

and

 "There dwelt a king in Leiré. "[7]

Roeskilde! thou burial-place of kings, in thy pearl we shall see thelonely grave on whose stone is chiselled a lyre and the name--WEYSE. 

[Footnote 7: Leiré, the original residence of the Danish kings, said tohave been founded by Skiold, a son of Odin, was, during the heathen ages, aplace of note. It contained a large and celebrated temple for offerings, towhich people thronged every ninth year, at the period of the great Yulefeast, which was held annually in mid-winter, commencing on the 4th ofJanuary. In Norway this ancient festival was held in honour of Thor; inDenmark, in honour of Odin. Every ninth year the sacrifices were on alarger scale than usual, consisting then of ninety-nine horses, dogs, andcocks--human beings were also sometimes offered. When Christianity wasestablished in Denmark the seat of royalty was transferred to Roeskilde, and Leiré fell into total insignificance. It is now merely a village inZealand. --_Trans. _]

Now come we to Sigersted, near Ringsted. The river is shallow--theyellow corn waves where Hagbarth's boat was moored, not far fromSigné's maiden bower. Who does not know the tradition aboutHagbarth[8] and Signelil, and their passionate love--that Hagbarth washanged in the galley, while Signelil's tower stood in flames?

[Footnote 8: Hagbarth, a son of the Norwegian king, Amund, and histhree brothers, Hake, Helvin, and Hamund, scoured the seas with ahundred ships, and fell in with the king of Zealand's three sons, Sivald, Alf, and Alger. They attacked each other, and continued theirbloody strife until a late hour at night. Next day they all foundtheir ships so disabled that they could not renew the conflict. Thereupon they made friends, and the Norwegian princes or piratesaccompanied the Zealanders to the court of their father, King Sigar. Here Hagbarth won the heart of the king's daughter Signé, and theybecame secretly engaged. Hildigeslev, a handsome German prince, was atthat time her suitor; but she refused him, and in revenge he soweddiscord between her lover and his brothers and her brothers. Alf andAlger murdered Hagbarth's brothers, Helvin and Hamund, but were killedin their turn by Hagbarth and Hake. After this deed Hagbarth dared notremain at Sigar's court; but he longed so much to be with Signé, thathe dressed himself as a woman, and in this disguise he obtainedadmission to the palace, and contrived to be named one of herattendants. The damsels of her suite were much surprised at thehardness of the new waiting-maid's hands, and at other unfemininepeculiarities which they remarked; but Signé appointed him herespecial attendant, and thus partially removed him from theirtroublesome curiosity. Fancying themselves safe, they relaxed theirprecautions. Hagbarth was discovered, secured, and carried before the_Thing_, or judicial assembly. Before he left her he received apromise from Signé that she would not survive him. He was condemned todeath; to be hanged on board a galley, in view of Signé's dwelling. Toprove her love and faith, he entreated that his mantle might be hungup first, in order, he said, that the sight of it might prepare himfor his own death. It was done; and when Signé saw it she fancied herlover was dead, and instantly set fire to her abode. Hagbarth beheldthe flames; and no longer doubting the constancy of the princess, hedied rejoicing in following her to the other world. --_Trans. _]

"Beautiful Sorö, encircled by woods!" thy tranquil, cloistered townpeeps forth from among thy moss-covered trees; the keen bright eyes ofyouth gaze from the academy, over the lake, to the busy highway, wherethe locomotive's dragon snorts, while it is flying through the wood. Sorö, thou poet's pearl, that hast in thy custody the honoured dust ofHolberg! like a majestic white swan by the deep lake stands thyfar-famed seat of learning. We fix our eyes on it, and then theywander in search of the simple star-flower in the wooded ground--asmall house. Pious hymns are chanted there, that echo over the lengthand breadth of the land; words are uttered there to which the veryrustics listen, and hear of Denmark's bygone ages. As the greenwoodand the birds' songs belong to each other, so are associated the namesof Sorö and INGEMANN. 

To Slagelsé! What is the pearl that dazzles us here? The monastery ofAntoorskov has vanished, even the last solitary remaining wing, thoughone old relic still exists--renovated and renovated again--a woodencross upon the heights above, where, in legendary lore, it is saidthat HOLY ANDERS, the warrior priest, woke up, borne thither in onenight from Jerusalem!

Korsör--there wert thou[9] born, who gave us

 "Mirth with melancholy mingled, In stories of 'Knud Sjællandsfar. '"

[Footnote 9: Jeus Baggesen. --_Trans. _]

Thou master of language and of wit! the old decaying ramparts of thedeserted fortification are now the last visible mementos of thychildhood's home. When the sun is sinking, their shadows fall upon thespot where stood the house in which thine eyes first opened on thelight. From these ramparts, looking towards Sprogös hills, thousawest, when thou "wert little, "

 "The moon behind the island sink;"

and sang it in undying verse, as afterwards thou didst sing themountains of Switzerland; thou, who didst wander through the vastlabyrinth of the world, and found that

 "Nowhere do the roses seem so red-- Ah! nowhere else the thorn so small appears, And nowhere makes the down so soft a bed, As that where innocence reposed in bygone years!"

Capricious, charming warbler! We will weave a wreath of woodbine. Wewill cast it into the waves, and they will bear it to Kielerfiord, upon whose coast thine ashes repose. It will bring a greeting from ayounger race, a greeting from thy native town, Korsör, where ends therow of pearls. 

II. 

"It is, truly enough, a row of pearls from Copenhagen to Korsör, " saidmy grandmother, who had heard read aloud what we have just beenreading. "It is a row of pearls for me, and it was that more thanforty years ago, " she added. "We had no steam engines then. It took usdays to make a journey which you can make now in a few hours. Forinstance, in 1815, I was then one-and-twenty years old. That is apleasant age. Even up in the thirties it is also a pleasant age. In myyoung days it was much rarer than now to go to Copenhagen, the city ofall cities, as we thought it. After twenty years' absence from it, myparents determined to visit it once more, and I was to accompany them. The journey had been projected and talked of for years. At length itwas positively to be accomplished. I fancied that I was beginningquite a new life, and certainly, in one way, a new life did begin forme. 

"After a great deal of packing and preparations we were ready tostart. Then what numbers of our neighbours came to bid us good-by! Itwas a very long journey we had before us. Shortly before mid-day wedrove out of Odense in my father's Holstern wagon--a roomy carriage. Our acquaintances bowed to us from the windows of almost every houseuntil we were outside of St. Jörgen's Port. The weather wasdelightful, the birds were singing, all was pleasure. We forgot thatit was a long way and a rough road to Nyborg. We reached that placetowards evening. The post did not arrive till midnight, and until itcame the packet could not sail. At length we went on board. Before uslay the wide waters, as far as the eye could see, and it was a deadcalm. We lay down in our clothes and slept. When I awoke in themorning, and went on deck, nothing could be seen on either side of us, there was such a thick fog. I heard the cocks crowing, and I knew thesun must have risen. Bells were ringing: where could they be? The mistcleared away, and we found we were lying a little way from Nyborg. Asthe day advanced we had a little wind: it stiffened, and we got onfaster. At last we were so fortunate, at a little after eleven o'clockat night, as to reach Korsör. We had taken twenty-two hours to gosixteen miles. 

"Glad we were to land; but it was extremely dark, and the lanternsgave very little light. However, all was wonderful to me, who hadnever been in any other town but Odense. 

"'Here Baggesen was born, ' said my father, 'and here Birckner lived. '

"It seemed to me that the old town, with its small houses, became atonce larger and more important. We were also rejoiced to have the firmearth under us once more; but I could not sleep that night, I was soexcited thinking over all I had seen and encountered since I had lefthome two days before. 

"Next morning we rose early. We had before us a bad road, withfrightful hills and many valleys, till we reached Slagelsé; and beyondit, on the other side, it was but little better; therefore we wereanxious to get to Krebsehuset, that we might early next day go on toSorö, and visit Möllers Emil, as we called him. He was yourgrandfather, my worthy husband, the dean. He was then a student atSorö, and very busy about his second examination. 

"Well, we arrived about noon at Krebsehuset. It was a gay little townthen, and had the best inn on the road, and the prettiest countryround it: you must all admit that it is pretty still. She was a veryactive landlady, Madame Plambek, and everything in her house was asclean as a new pin. There hung up on her wall a letter from Baggesento her. It was framed, and had a glass over it; it was a veryinteresting object to look at, and to me it was quite a curiosity. Wethen went into Sorö, and found Emil there. You may believe he was veryglad to see us, and we were very glad to see him--he was so good andso attentive. We went with him to see the church, with Absolon's graveand Holberg's coffin. We saw the old monkish inscriptions, and wesailed over the lake to Parnasset--the sweetest evening I remember. Irecollect well that I thought, if one could write poetry anywhere inthe world, it would be at Sorö, amidst those charming, peacefulscenes, where nature reigns in all her beauty. Afterwards we visitedby moonlight the 'Philosopher's Walk, ' as it was called--thebeautiful, lonely path by the lake and the moor that leads towards thehighway to Krebsehuset. Emil remained to supper with us, and my fatherand mother thought he had become very clever and very good-looking. Hepromised us that he would be in Copenhagen within a few days, andwould join us there: it was then Whitsuntide. We were going to staywith his family. These hours at Sorö and Krebsehuset, may they not bedeemed the most beautiful pearls of my life?

"The next morning we commenced our journey at a very early hour, forwe had a long way to go to reach Roeskilde, and we were anxious to getthere in time to see the church. In the evening my father wished tovisit an old friend, so we stopped at Roeskilde that night, and thenext day we arrived at Copenhagen. It took us three days to go fromKorsör to Copenhagen; now the journey is made in three hours. Thepearls have not become more valuable--that they could not be--but theyare strung together in a new and wonderful manner. I remained threeweeks with my parents in Copenhagen, and Emil was with us there for afortnight. When we returned to Fyen, he accompanied us as far asKorsör. There, before parting, we were betrothed; so you can wellbelieve that _I_ call from Copenhagen to Korsör a row of pearls. 

"Afterwards, when Emil and I were married, we often spoke of thejourney to Copenhagen, and of undertaking it once more. But then camefirst your mother, then she had brothers and sisters, and there was agreat deal to do; so the journey was put off. And when yourgrandfather got preferment, and was made dean, all was thankfulnessand joy; but we never got to Copenhagen. No, never have I set foot init again, as often as we thought of it and projected going. Now I amtoo old, and I could not stand travelling by a railroad; but I am veryglad that there are railroads--they are a blessing to many. You cancome more speedily to me; and Odense is now not farther fromCopenhagen than in my young days it was from Nyborg. You could now goin almost the same space of time to Italy as it took us to travel toCopenhagen. Yes, that is something!

"Nevertheless, I shall stay in one place, and let others travel andcome to me if they please. But you should not laugh at me for keepingso quiet; I have a greater journey before me than any by the railroad. When it shall please our Lord, I have to travel up to yourgrandfather; and when you have finished your appointed time on earth, and enjoyed the blessings bestowed here by the Almighty, then I trustthat you will ascend to us; and if we then revert to our earthly days, believe me, children, I shall say then as now, 'From Copenhagen toKorsör is indeed A ROW OF PEARLS. '"

_The Pen and the Inkstand. _

The following remark was made in a poet's room, as the speaker lookedat the inkstand that stood upon his table:--

"It is astonishing all that can come out of that inkstand! What willit produce next? Yes, it is wonderful!"

"So it is!" exclaimed the inkstand. "It is incomprehensible! That iswhat I always say. " It was thus the inkstand addressed itself to thepen, and to everything else that could hear it on the table. "It isreally astonishing all that can come from me! It is almost incredible!I positively do not know myself what the next production may be, whena person begins to dip into me. One drop of me serves for half a sideof paper; and what may not then appear upon it? I am certainlysomething extraordinary. From me proceed all the works of the poets. These animated beings, whom people think they recognise--these deepfeelings, that gay humour, these charming descriptions of nature--I donot understand them myself, for I know nothing about nature; but stillit is all in me. From me have gone forth, and still go forth, thesewarrior hosts, these lovely maidens, these bold knights on snortingsteeds, those droll characters in humbler life. The fact is, however, that I do not know anything about them myself. I assure you they arenot my ideas. "

"You are right there, " replied the pen. "You have few ideas, and donot trouble yourself much with thinking. If you _did_ exert yourselfto think, you would perceive that you ought to give something that wasnot dry. You supply me with the means of committing to paper what Ihave in me; I write with that. It is the pen that writes. Mankind donot doubt that; and most men have about as much genius for poetry asan old inkstand. "

"You have but little experience, " said the inkstand. "You havescarcely been a week in use, and you are already half worn out. Do youfancy that you are a poet? You are only a servant; and I have had manyof your kind before you came--many of the goose family, and of Englishmanufacture. I know both quill pens and steel pens. I have had a greatmany in my service, and I shall have many more still, when he, the manwho stirs me up, comes and puts down what he takes from me. I shouldlike very much to know what will be the next thing he will take fromme. "

Late in the evening the poet returned home. He had been at a concert, had heard a celebrated violin player, and was quite enchanted with hiswonderful performance. It had been a complete gush of melody that hehad drawn from the instrument. Sometimes it seemed like the gentlemurmur of a rippling stream, sometimes like the singing of birds, sometimes like the tempest sweeping through the mighty pine forests. He fancied he heard his own heart weep, but in the sweet tones thatcan be heard in a woman's charming voice. It seemed as if not only thestrings of the violin made music, but its bridge, its pegs, and itssounding-board. It was astonishing! The piece had been a mostdifficult one; but it seemed like play--as if the bow were butwandering capriciously over the strings. Such was the appearance offacility, that every one might have supposed he could do it. Theviolin seemed to sound of itself, the bow to play of itself. These twoseemed to do it all. One forgot the master who guided them, who gavethem life and soul. Yes, they forgot the master; but the poet thoughtof him. He named him, and wrote down his thoughts as follows:

"How foolish it would be of the violin and the bow, were they to bevain of their performance! And yet this is what so often we of thehuman species are. Poets, artists, those who make discoveries inscience, military and naval commanders--we are all proud of ourselves;and yet we are all only the instruments in our Lord's hands. To Himalone be the glory! We have nothing to arrogate to ourselves. "

This was what the poet wrote; and he headed it with, "The Master andthe Instruments. " When the inkstand and the pen were again alone, thelatter said, --

"Well, madam, you heard him read aloud what I had written. "

"Yes, what I gave you to write, " said the inkstand. "It was a hit atyou for your conceit. Strange that you cannot see that people make afool of you! I gave you that hit pretty cleverly. I confess, though, it was rather malicious. "

"Ink-holder!" cried the pen. 

"Writing-stick!" cried the inkstand. 

They both felt assured that they had answered well; and it is apleasant reflection that one has made a smart reply--one sleepscomfortably after it. And they both went to sleep; but the poet couldnot sleep. His thoughts welled forth like the tones from the violin, murmuring like a pearly rivulet, rushing like a storm through theforest. He recognised the feelings of his own heart--he perceived thegleam from the everlasting Master. 

To Him alone be the glory!

_The Child in the Grave. _

There was sorrow in the house, there was sorrow in the heart; for theyoungest child, a little boy of four years of age, the only son, hisparents' present joy and future hope, was dead. Two daughters theyhad, indeed, older than their boy--the eldest was almost old enough tobe confirmed--amiable, sweet girls they both were; but the lost childis always the dearest, and he was the youngest, and a son. It was aheavy trial. The sisters sorrowed as young hearts sorrow, and weremuch afflicted by their parents' grief; the father was weighed down bythe affliction; but the mother was quite overwhelmed by the terribleblow. By night and by day had she devoted herself to her sick child, watched by him, lifted him, carried him about, done everything for himherself. She had felt as if he were a part of herself: she could notbring herself to believe that he was dead--that he should be laid in acoffin, and concealed in the grave. God would not take that child fromher--O no! And when he was taken, and she could no longer refuse tobelieve the truth, she exclaimed in her wild grief, --

"God has not ordained this! He has heartless agents here on earth. They do what they list--they hearken not to a mother's prayers!"

She dared in her woe to arraign the Most High; and then came darkthoughts, the thoughts of death--everlasting death--that human beingsreturned as earth to earth, and then all was over. Amidst thoughtsmorbid and impious as these were there could be nothing to consoleher, and she sank into the darkest depth of despair. 

In these hours of deepest distress she could not weep. She thought notof the young daughters who were left to her; her husband's tears fellon her brow, but she did not look up at him; her thoughts were withher dead child; her whole heart and soul were wrapped up in recallingevery reminiscence of the lost one--every syllable of his infantineprattle. 

The day of the funeral came. She had not slept the night before, buttowards morning she was overcome by fatigue, and sank for a short timeinto repose. During that time the coffin was removed into anotherapartment, and the cover was screwed down with as little noise aspossible. 

When she awoke she rose, and wished to see her child; then herhusband, with tears in his eyes, told her, "We have closed thecoffin--it had to be done!"

"When the Almighty is so hard on me, " she exclaimed, "why should humanbeings be kinder?" and she burst into tears. 

The coffin was carried to the grave. The inconsolable mother sat withher young daughters; she looked at them, but she did not see them;her thoughts had nothing more to do with home; she gave herself up towretchedness, and it tossed her about as the sea tosses the ship whichhas lost its helmsman and its rudder. Thus passed the day of thefuneral, and several days followed amidst the same uniform, heavygrief. With tearful eyes and melancholy looks her afflicted familygazed at her. She did not care for what comforted them. What couldthey say to change the current of her mournful thoughts?

It seemed as if sleep had fled from her for ever; it alone would beher best friend, strengthen her frame, and recall peace to her mind. Her family persuaded her to keep her bed, and she lay there as stillas if buried in sleep. One night her husband had listened to herbreathing, and believing from it that she had at length found reposeand relief, he clasped his hands, prayed for her and for them all, then sank himself into peaceful slumber. While sleeping soundly he didnot perceive that she rose, dressed herself, and softly left the roomand the house, to go--whither her thoughts wandered by day and bynight--to the grave that hid her child. She passed quietly through thegarden, out to the fields, beyond which the road led outside of thetown to the churchyard. No one saw her, and she saw no one. 

It was a fine night; the stars were shining brightly, and the air wasmild, although it was the 1st of September. She entered thechurchyard, and went to the little grave; it looked like one greatbouquet of sweet-scented flowers. She threw herself down, and bowedher head over the grave, as if she could through the solid earthbehold her little boy, whose smile she remembered so vividly. Theaffectionate expression of his eyes, even upon his sick bed, wasnever, never to be forgotten. How speaking had not his glance beenwhen she had bent over him, and taken the little hand he was himselftoo weak to raise! As she had sat by his couch, so now she sat by hisgrave; but here her tears might flow freely over the sod that coveredhim. 

"Wouldst thou descend to thy child?" said a voice close by. It soundedso clear, so deep--its tones went to her heart. She looked up, andnear her stood a man wrapped in a large mourning cloak, with a hooddrawn over the head; but she could see the countenance under this. Itwas severe, and yet encouraging, his eyes were bright as those ofyouth. 

"Descend to my child!" she repeated; and there was the agony ofdespair in her voice. 

"Darest thou follow me?" asked the figure. "I am Death!"

She bowed her assent. Then it seemed all at once as if every star inthe heavens above shone with the light of the moon. She saw themany-coloured flowers on the surface of the grave move like afluttering garment. She sank, and the figure threw his dark cloakround her. It became night--the night of death. She sank deeper thanthe sexton's spade could reach. The churchyard lay like a roof aboveher head. 

The cloak that had enveloped her glided to one side. She stood in animmense hall, whose extremities were lost in the distance. It was duskaround her; but before her stood, and in one moment was clasped to herheart, her child, who smiled on her in beauty far surpassing what hehad possessed before. She uttered a cry, though it was scarcelyaudible, for close by, and then far away, and afterwards near again, came delightful music. Never before had such glorious, such blessedsounds reached her ear. They rang from the other side of the thickcurtain--black as night--that separated the hall from the boundlessspace of eternity. 

"My sweet mother! my own mother!" she heard her child exclaim. It washis well-known, most beloved voice. And kiss followed kiss inrapturous joy. At length the child pointed to the sable curtain. 

"There is nothing so charming up yonder on earth, mother. Look, mother!--look at them all! That is felicity!"

The mother saw nothing--nothing in the direction to which the childpointed, except darkness like that of night. _She_ saw with earthlyeyes. She did not see as did the child whom God had called to himself. She heard, indeed, sounds--music; but she did not understand the wordsthat were conveyed in these exquisite tones. 

"I can fly now, mother, " said the child. "I can fly with all the otherhappy children, away, even into the presence of God. I wish so much togo; but if you cry on as you are crying now I cannot leave you, andyet I should be so glad to go. May I not? You will come back soon, will you not, dear mother?"

"Oh, stay! Oh, stay!" she cried, "only one moment more. Let me gaze onyou one moment longer; let me kiss you, and hold you a moment longerin my arms. "

And she kissed him, and held him fast. Then her name was called fromabove--the tones were those of piercing grief. What could they be?

"Hark!" said the child; "it is my father calling on you. "

And again, in a few seconds, deep sobs were heard, as of childrenweeping. 

"These are my sisters' voices, " said the child. "Mother, you havesurely not forgotten them?"

Then she remembered those who were left behind. A deep feeling ofanxiety pervaded her mind; she gazed intently before her, and spectresseemed to hover around her; she fancied that she knew some of them;they floated through the Hall of Death, on towards the dark curtain, and there they vanished. Would her husband, her daughters, appearthere? No; their lamentations were still to be heard from above. Shehad nearly forgotten them for the dead. 

"Mother, the bells of heaven are ringing, " said the child. "Now thesun is about to rise. "

And an overwhelming, blinding light streamed around her. The child wasgone, and she felt herself lifted up. She raised her head, and sawthat she was lying in the churchyard, upon the grave of her child. Butin her dream God had become a prop for her feet, and a light to hermind. She threw herself on her knees and prayed:--

"Forgive me, O Lord my God, that I wished to detain an everlastingsoul from its flight into eternity, and that I forgot my duties to theliving Thou hast graciously spared to me!"

And as she uttered this prayer it appeared as if her heart feltlightened of the burden that had crushed it. Then the sun broke forthin all its splendour, a little bird sang over her head, and all thechurch bells around began to ring the matin chimes. All seemed holyaround her; her heart seemed to have drunk in faith and holiness; sheacknowledged the might and the mercy of God; she remembered herduties, and felt a longing to regain her home. She hurried thither, and leaning over her still sleeping husband, she awoke him with thetouch of her warm lips on his cheek. Her words were those of love andconsolation, and in a tone of mild resignation she exclaimed, --

"God's will is always the best!"

Her husband and her daughters were astonished at the change in her, and her husband asked her, --

"Where did you so suddenly acquire this strength--this piousresignation?"

And she smiled on him and her daughters as she replied, --

"I derived it from God, by the grave of my child. "

_Charming. _

The sculptor Alfred--surely you know him? We all know him. He used toengrave gold medallions; went to Italy, and returned again. He wasyoung then; indeed, he is young now, though about half a score ofyears older than he was at that time. 

He returned home, and went on a visit to one of the small towns inZealand. The whole community knew of the arrival of the stranger, andwho he was. There was a party given on his account by one of therichest families in the place; every one who was anybody, or hadanything, was invited; it was quite an event, and the whole town heardof it without beat of drum. A good many apprentice boys and poorpeople's children, with a few of their parents, ranged themselvesoutside, and looked at the windows with their drawn blinds, throughwhich a blaze of light was streaming. The watchman might have fanciedhe had a party himself, so many people occupied his quarters in thestreet. They all seemed merry on the outside; and in the inside of thehouse everything was pleasant, for Herr Alfred, the sculptor, wasthere. 

He talked, and he told anecdotes, and every one present listened tohim with pleasure and deep attention, but no one with more eagernessthan an elderly widow of good standing in society; and she was, inreference to all that Herr Alfred said, like a blank sheet ofwhity-brown paper, that quickly sucks the sweet things in, and isready for more. She was very susceptible, and totally ignorant--quitea female Caspar Hauser. 

"I should like to see Rome, " said she. "That must be a charming town, with the numerous strangers that go there. Describe Rome to us now. How does it look as you enter the gate?"

"It is not easy to describe Rome, " said the young sculptor. "It is avery large place; in the centre of it stands an obelisk, which is fourthousand years old. "

"An organist!" exclaimed the astonished lady, who had never beforeheard the word _obelisk_. 

Many of the party could scarcely refrain from laughing, and among therest the sculptor. But the satirical smile that was gathering roundhis mouth glided into one of pleasure; for he saw, close to the lady, a pair of large eyes, blue as the sea. They appertained to thedaughter of the talkative dame, and when one had such a daughter onecould not be altogether ridiculous. The mother was like a bubblingfountain of questions, constantly pouring forth; the daughter like thefountain's beautiful naiad, listening to its murmurs. How lovely shewas! She was something worth a sculptor's while to gaze at; but not toconverse with; and she said nothing, at least very little. 

"Has the Pope a great family?" asked the widow. 

And the young man answered as if the question might have been betterworded, --

"No, he is not of a high family. "

"I don't mean that, " said the lady; "I mean has he a wife andchildren?"

"The Pope dare not marry, " he replied. 

"I don't approve of that, " said the lady. 

She could scarcely have spoken more foolishly, or asked sillierquestions; but what did all that signify when her daughter looked overher shoulder with that most winning smile?

Herr Alfred talked of the brilliant skies of Italy, and itscloud-capped hills; the blue Mediterranean; the soft South; the beautywhich could only be rivalled by the blue eyes of the females of theNorth. And this was said pointedly; but she who ought to haveunderstood it did not allow it to be seen that she had detected anycompliment in his words, and this was also charming. 

"Italy!" sighed some. "Travelling!" sighed others. "Charming, charming!"

"Well, when I win the fifty-thousand-dollar prize in the lottery, "said the widow, "we shall set off on our travels too--my daughter andI; and you, Herr Alfred, shall be our escort. We shall all three go, and a few other friends will go with us, I hope;" and she bowedinvitingly to them all round, so that each individual might havethought, "It is I she wishes to accompany her. " "Yes, we will go toItaly, but not where the robbers are; we will stay in Rome, or only goby the great high roads, where people are safe, of course. "

And the daughter heaved a gentle sigh. How much can there not lie ina slight sigh, or be supposed to lie in it! The young man put a worldof feeling into it; the two blue eyes that had beamed on him thatevening concealed the treasure--the treasure of heart and of mind, richer far than all the glories of Rome; and when he left the party hewas over head and ears in love with the widow's pretty daughter. 

The widow's house became the house of all others most visited by HerrAlfred, the sculptor. People knew that it could not be for themother's sake he sought it so often, although he and she were alwaysthe speakers; it must be for the daughter's sake he went. She wascalled Kala, though christened Karen Malene: the two names had beenmutilated, and thrown together into the one appellation, _Kala_. Shewas very beautiful, but rather silly, some people hinted, and ratherindolent. She was certainly a very late riser in the morning. 

"She has been accustomed to that from her childhood, " said her mother. "She has always been such a little Venus that she was scarcely everfound fault with. She is not a very early riser, but to this she owesher fine clear eyes. "

What power there was in these clear eyes--these swimming blue eyes!The young man felt it. He told anecdote upon anecdote, and answeredquestion after question; and mamma always asked the same lively, sensible, pertinent questions as she had asked at first. 

It was a pleasure to hear Herr Alfred speak. He described Naples, theascent of Mount Vesuvius, and several of its eruptions; and the widowlady, who had never heard of them before, was lost in surprise. 

"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed; "then it is a volcano? Does it ever doany harm to anybody?"

"It has destroyed entire towns, " he replied: "Pompeii andHerculaneum. "

"But the poor inhabitants! Did you see it yourself?"

"No, not either of these eruptions, but I have a sketch taken bymyself of an eruption which I did witness. "

Then he selected from his portfolio a sketch done with a black-leadpencil; but mamma, who delighted in highly-coloured pictures, lookedat the pale sketch, and exclaimed in amazement, --

"You saw it gush out white?"

Mamma got into Herr Alfred's black books for a few minutes, and hefelt profound contempt for her; but the light from Kala's eyes soondispelled his gloom. He bethought him that her mother had no knowledgeof drawing, that was all; but she had what was far better--she had thesweet, beautiful Kala. 

As might have been expected, Alfred and Kala became engaged, and theirbetrothal was announced in the newspaper of the town. Mamma boughtthirty copies of it, that she might cut the paragraphs out, andinclose them to various friends. The betrothed pair were very happy, and so was the mamma: she felt almost as proud as if her family weregoing to be connected with Thorwaldsen. 

"You are his successor at any rate, " she said; and Alfred thought thatshe had said something very clever. Kala said nothing, but her eyesbrightened, and a lovely smile played around her well-formed mouth. Every movement of hers was graceful: she was very beautiful--thatcannot be said too often. 

Alfred was making busts of Kala and her mother: they sat for him, andsaw how with his finger he smoothed and moulded the soft clay. 

"It is a compliment to us, " said his mother-in-law elect, "that youcondescend to do that simple work yourself, instead of letting yourmen dab all that for you. "

"No; it is absolutely necessary that I should do this myself in theclay, " he replied. 

"Oh! you are always so exceedingly gallant!" said mamma; and Kalagently pressed his hand, to which pieces of clay were sticking. 

He discoursed to them about the magnificence of Nature in itscreations, the superiority of the living over the dead, plants overminerals, animals over plants, human beings over mere animals; howmind and beauty manifested themselves through form, and that thesculptor sought to bestow on his forms of clay the greatest possiblebeauty and expression. 

Kala remained silent, revolving his words. Her mother said, "It is difficult to follow you; but though my thoughts go slowly, Ihold fast what I hear. "

And the power of beauty held him fast; it had subdued him--entrancedand enslaved him. Kala's beauty certainly was extraordinary; it wasenthroned in every feature of her face, in her whole figure, even tothe points of her fingers. The sculptor was bewildered by it; hethought only of her--spoke only of her; and his fancy endowed her withall perfection. 

Then came the wedding-day, with the bridal gifts and thebride's-maids; and the marriage ceremony was duly performed. Hismother-in-law had placed in the room where the bridal party assembledthe bust of Thorwaldsen, enveloped in a dressing-gown. "He ought to bea guest, according to her idea, " she said. Songs were sung, andhealths were drunk. It was a handsome wedding, and they were ahandsome couple. "Pygmalion got his Galathea" was a line in one of thesongs. 

"That was something from mythology, " remarked the widow. 

The following day the young couple started for Copenhagen, where theyintended to reside; and the mamma accompanied them, to give them ahelping hand, she said, which meant to take charge of the house. Kalawas to be a mere doll. Everything was new, bright, and charming. Therethey settled themselves all three; and Alfred, what can be said ofhim, only that he was like a bishop among a flock of geese?

The magic of beauty had infatuated him. He had gazed upon the case, and not thought of what was in it; and this is unfortunate, veryunfortunate, in the marriage state. When the case decays, and thegilding rubs off, one then begins to repent of one's bargain. It wasvery mortifying to Alfred that in society neither his wife nor hismother-in-law was capable of entering into general conversation--thatthey said very silly things, which, with all his wittiest efforts, hecould not cover. 

How often the young couple sat hand in hand, and he spoke, and shedropped a word now and then, always in the same tone, like a clockstriking one, two, three! It was quite a relief when Sophie, a femalefriend, came. 

Sophie was not very pretty; she was slightly awry, Kala said; but thiswas not perceptible except to her female friends. Kala allowed thatshe was clever. It never occurred to her that her talents might makeher dangerous. She came like fresh air into a close, confined puppetshow; and fresh air is always pleasant. After a time the young coupleand the mother-in-law went to breathe the soft air of Italy. Theirwishes were fulfilled. 

 * * * * *

"Thank Heaven, we are at home again!" exclaimed both the mother andthe daughter, when, the following year, they and Alfred returned toDenmark. 

"There is no pleasure in travelling, " said the mamma; "on thecontrary, it is very fatiguing--excuse my saying so. I was excessivelytired, notwithstanding that I had my children with me. And travellingis extremely expensive. What hosts of galleries you have to see! Whatquantities of things to be rushing after! And you are so teased withquestions when you come home, as if it were possible to knoweverything. And then to hear that you have just forgotten to see whatwas most charming! I am sure I was quite tired of these everlastingMadonnas; one was almost turned into a Madonna one's self. "

"And the living was so bad, " said Kala. 

"Not a single spoonful of honest meat soup, " rejoined the mamma. "Theydress the victuals so absurdly. "

Kala was much fatigued after her journey. She continued very languid, and did not seem to rally--that was the worst of it. Sophie came tostay with them, and she was extremely useful. 

The mother-in-law allowed that Sophie understood household affairswell, and had many accomplishments, which she, with her fortune, hadno need to trouble herself about; and she confessed, also, that Sophiewas very estimable and kind. She could not help seeing this when Kalawas lying ill, without making the slightest exertion in any way. 

If there be nothing but the case or framework, when it gives way it isall over with the case. And the case had given way. Kala died. 

"She was charming!" said her mother. "She was very different from allthese antiquities that are half mutilated. Kala was a perfect beauty!"

Alfred wept, and his mother-in-law wept, and they both went intomourning. The mamma went into the deepest mourning, and she wore hermourning longest. She also retained her sorrow the longest; in fact, she remained weighed down with grief until Alfred married again. Hetook Sophie, who had nothing to boast of in respect to outward charms. 

"He has gone to the other extremity, " said his mother-in-law; "passedfrom the most beautiful to the ugliest. He has found it possible toforget his first wife. There is no constancy in man. My husband, indeed, was different; but he died before me. "

"Pygmalion got his Galathea, " said Alfred. "These words were in thebridal song. I certainly did fall in love with the beautiful statuethat became imbued with life in my arms. But the kindred soul, whichHeaven sends us, one of those angels who can feel with us, think withus, raise us when we are sinking, I have now found and won. You havecome, Sophie, not as a beautiful form, fascinating the eye, butprettier, more pleasing than was necessary. You excel in the mainpoint. You have come and taught the sculptor that his work is butclay--dust; only a copy of the outer shell of the kernel we ought toseek. Poor Kala! her earthly life was but like a short journey. Yonderabove, where those who sympathise shall be gathered together, she andI will probably be almost strangers. "

"That is not a kind speech, " said Sophie; "it is not a Christian one. Up yonder, where 'they neither marry nor are given in marriage, ' but, as you say, where spirits shall meet in sympathy--there, where allthat is beautiful shall unfold and improve, her soul may perhapsappear so glorious in its excellence that it may far outshine mine andyours. You may then again exclaim, as you did in the first excitementof your earthly admiration, 'Charming--charming!'"

THE END. 

 * * * * *