a story from the sand-hills-第8节

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　　　　How　glad　he　felt　that　he　was　a　good　swimmer！　He　worked　his　way

onward　with　his　feet　and　one　arm；　while　he　held　the　young　girl　up

firmly　with　the　other。　He　rested　on　the　waves；　he　trod　the　water…　in

fact；　did　everything　he　could　think　of；　in　order　not　to　fatigue

himself；　and　to　reserve　strength　enough　to　reach　land。　He　heard

Clara　sigh；　and　felt　her　shudder　convulsively；　and　he　pressed　her　more

closely　to　him。　Now　and　then　a　wave　rolled　over　them；　the　current

lifted　them；　the　water；　although　deep；　was　so　clear　that　for　a

moment　he　imagined　he　saw　the　shoals　of　mackerel　glittering；　or

Leviathan　himself　ready　to　swallow　them。　Now　the　clouds　cast　a

shadow　over　the　water；　then　again　came　the　playing　sunbeams；　flocks　of

loudly　screaming　birds　passed　over　him；　and　the　plump　and　lazy　wild

ducks　which　allow　themselves　to　be　drifted　by　the　waves　rose　up

terrified　at　the　sight　of　the　swimmer。　He　began　to　feel　his　strength

decreasing；　but　he　was　only　a　few　cable　lengths'　distance　from　the

shore；　and　help　was　coming；　for　a　boat　was　approaching　him。　At　this

moment　he　distinctly　saw　a　white　staring　figure　under　the　water…　a

wave　lifted　him　up；　and　he　came　nearer　to　the　figure…　he　felt　a

violent　shock；　and　everything　became　dark　around　him。

　　　　On　the　sand　reef　lay　the　wreck　of　a　ship；　which　was　covered　with

water　at　high　tide；　the　white　figure　head　rested　against　the　anchor；

the　sharp　iron　edge　of　which　rose　just　above　the　surface。　Jurgen　had

come　in　contact　with　this；　the　tide　had　driven　him　against　it　with

great　force。　He　sank　down　stunned　with　the　blow；　but　the　next　wave

lifted　him　and　the　young　girl　up　again。　Some　fishermen；　coming　with

a　boat；　seized　them　and　dragged　them　into　it。　The　blood　streamed

down　over　Jurgen's　face；　he　seemed　dead；　but　still　held　the　young　girl

so　tightly　that　they　were　obliged　to　take　her　from　him　by　force。　She

was　pale　and　lifeless；　they　laid　her　in　the　boat；　and　rowed　as　quickly

as　possible　to　the　shore。　They　tried　every　means　to　restore　Clara　to

life；　but　it　was　all　of　no　avail。　Jurgen　had　been　swimming　for　some

distance　with　a　corpse　in　his　arms；　and　had　exhausted　his　strength　for

one　who　was　dead。

　　　　Jurgen　still　breathed；　so　the　fishermen　carried　him　to　the　nearest

house　upon　the　sand…hills；　where　a　smith　and　general　dealer　lived

who　knew　something　of　surgery；　and　bound　up　Jurgen's　wounds　in　a

temporary　way　until　a　surgeon　could　be　obtained　from　the　nearest

town　the　next　day。　The　injured　man's　brain　was　affected；　and　in　his

delirium　he　uttered　wild　cries；　but　on　the　third　day　he　lay　quiet

and　weak　upon　his　bed；　his　life　seemed　to　hang　by　a　thread；　and　the

physician　said　it　would　be　better　for　him　if　this　thread　broke。　〃Let

us　pray　that　God　may　take　him；〃　he　said；　〃for　he　will　never　be　the

same　man　again。〃

　　　　But　life　did　not　depart　from　him…　the　thread　would　not　break；

but　the　thread　of　memory　was　severed；　the　thread　of　his　mind　had

been　cut　through；　and　what　was　still　more　grievous；　a　body　remained…　a

living　healthy　body　that　wandered　about　like　a　troubled　spirit。

　　　　Jurgen　remained　in　merchant　Bronne's　house。　〃He　was　hurt　while

endeavouring　to　save　our　child；〃　said　the　old　man；　〃and　now　he　is

our　son。〃　People　called　Jurgen　insane；　but　that　was　not　exactly　the

correct　term。　He　was　like　an　instrument　in　which　the　strings　are　loose

and　will　give　no　sound；　only　occasionally　they　regained　their　power

for　a　few　minutes；　and　then　they　sounded　as　they　used　to　do。　He

would　sing　snatches　of　songs　or　old　melodies；　pictures　of　the　past

would　rise　before　him；　and　then　disappear　in　the　mist；　as　it　were；　but

as　a　general　rule　he　sat　staring　into　vacancy；　without　a　thought。　We

may　conjecture　that　he　did　not　suffer；　but　his　dark　eyes　lost　their

brightness；　and　looked　like　clouded　glass。

　　　　〃Poor　mad　Jurgen；〃　said　the　people。　And　this　was　the　end　of　a　life

whose　infancy　was　to　have　been　surrounded　with　wealth　and　splendour

had　his　parents　lived！　All　his　great　mental　abilities　had　been　lost；

nothing　but　hardship；　sorrow；　and　disappointment　had　been　his　fate。　He

was　like　a　rare　plant；　torn　from　its　native　soil；　and　tossed　upon

the　beach　to　wither　there。　And　was　this　one　of　God's　creatures；

fashioned　in　His　own　likeness；　to　have　no　better　fate？　Was　he　to　be

only　the　plaything　of　fortune？　No！　the　all…loving　Creator　would

certainly　repay　him　in　the　life　to　come　for　what　he　had　suffered　and

lost　here。　〃The　Lord　is　good　to　all；　and　His　mercy　is　over　all　His

works。〃　The　pious　old　wife　of　the　merchant　repeated　these　words　from

the　Psalms　of　David　in　patience　and　hope；　and　the　prayer　of　her

heart　was　that　Jurgen　might　soon　be　called　away　to　enter　into

eternal　life。

　　　　In　the　churchyard　where　the　walls　were　surrounded　with　sand

Clara　lay　buried。　Jurgen　did　not　seem　to　know　this；　it　did　not　enter

his　mind；　which　could　only　retain　fragments　of　the　past。　Every

Sunday　he　went　to　church　with　the　old　people；　and　sat　there

silently；　staring　vacantly　before　him。　One　day；　when　the　Psalms　were

being　sung；　he　sighed　deeply；　and　his　eyes　became　bright；　they　were

fixed　upon　a　place　near　the　altar　where　he　had　knelt　with　his　friend

who　was　dead。　He　murmured　her　name；　and　became　deadly　pale；　and

tears　rolled　down　his　cheeks。　They　led　him　out　of　church；　he　told

those　standing　round　him　that　he　was　well；　and　had　never　been　ill；　he；

who　had　been　so　grievously　afflicted；　the　outcast；　thrown　upon　the

world；　could　not　remember　his　sufferings。　The　Lord　our　Creator　is　wise

and　full　of　loving　kindness…　who　can　doubt　it？

　　　　In　Spain；　where　balmy　breezes　blow　over　the　Moorish　cupolas　and

gently　stir　the　orange　and　myrtle　groves；　where　singing　and　the

sound　of　the　castanets　are　always　heard；　the　richest　merchant　in　the

place；　a　childless　old　man；　sat　in　a　luxurious　house；　while　children

marched　in　procession　through　the　streets　with　waving　flags　and

lighted　tapers。　If　he　had　been　able　to　press　his　children　to　his

heart；　his　daughter；　or　her　child；　that　had；　perhaps　never　seen　the

light　of　day；　far　less　the　kingdom　of　heaven；　how　much　of　his　wealth

would　he　not　have　given！　〃Poor　child！〃　Yes；　poor　child…　a　child　still；

yet　more　than　thirty　years　old；　for　Jurgen　had　arrived　at　this　age

in　Old　Skjagen。

　　　　The　shifting　sands　had　covered　the　graves　in　the　courtyard；

quite　up　to　the　church　walls；　but　still；　the　dead　must　be　buried　among

their　relatives　and　the　dear　ones　who　had　gone　before　them。　Merchant

Bronne　and　his　wife　now　rested　with　their　children　under　the　white

sand。

　　　　It　was　in　the　spring…　the　season　of　storms。　The　sand　from　the

dunes　was　whirled　up　in　clouds；　the　sea　was　rough；　and　flocks　of　birds

flew　like　clouds　in　the　storm；　screaming　across　the　sand…hills。

Shipwreck　followed　upon　shipwreck　on　the　reefs　between　Old　Skagen

and　the　Hunsby　dunes。

　　　　One　evening　Jurgen　sat　in　his　room　alone：　all　at　once　his　mind

seemed　to　become　clearer；　and　a　restless　feeling　came　over　him；　such

as　had　often；　in　his　younger　days；　driven　him　out　to　wander　over　the

sand…hills　or　on　the　heath。　〃Home；　home！〃　he　cried。　No　one　heard

him。　He　went　out　and　walked　towards　the　dunes。　Sand　and　stones　blew

into　his　face；　and　whirled　round　him；　he　went　in　the　direction　of

the　church。　The　sand　was　banked　up　the　walls；　half　covering　the

windows；　but　it　had　been　cleared　away　in　front　of　the　door；　and　the

entrance　was　free　and　easy　to　open；　so　Jurgen　went　into　the　church。

　　　　The　storm　raged　over　the　town　of　Skjagen；　there　had　not　been

such　a　terrible　tempest　within　the　memory　of　the　inhabitants；　nor　such

a　rough　sea。　But　Jurgen　was　in　the　temple　of　God；　and　while　the

darkness　of　night　reigned　outside；　a　light　arose　in　his　soul　that

was　never　to　depart　from　it；　the　heavy　weight　that　pressed　on　his

brain　burst　asunder。　He　fancied　he　heard　the　organ；　but　it　was　only

the　storm　and　the　moaning　of　the　sea。　He　sat　down　on　one　of　the　seats；

and　lo！　the　candies　were　lighted　one　by　one；　and　there　was

brightness　and　grandeur　such　as　he　had　only　seen　in　the　Spanish

cathedral。　The　portraits　of　the　old　citizens　became　alive；　stepped

down　from　the　walls　against　which　they　had　hung　for　centuries；　and

took　seats　near　the　church　door。　The　gates　flew　open；　and　all　the　dead

people　from　the　churchyard　came　in；　and　filled　the　church；　while

beautiful　music　sounded。　Then　the　melody　of　the　psalm　burst　forth；

like　the　sound　of　the　waters；　and　Jurgen　saw　that　his　foster　parents

from　the　Hunsby　dunes　were　there；　also　old　merchant　Bronne　with　his

wife　and　their　daughter　Clara；　who　gave　him　her　hand。　They　both　went

up　to　the　altar　where　they　had　knelt　before；　and　the　priest　joined

their　hands　and　united　them　for　life。　Then　music　was　heard　again；　it

was　wonderfully　sweet；　like　a　child's　voice；　full　of　joy　and

expectation；　swelling　to　the　powerful　tones　of　a　full　organ；　sometimes

soft　and　sweet；　then　like　the　sounds　of　a　tempest；　delightful　and

elevating　to　hear；　yet　strong　enough　to　burst　the　stone　tombs　of　the

dead。　Then　the　little　ship　that　hung　from　the　roof　of　the　choir　was

let　down　and　looked　wonderfully　large　and　beautiful　with　its　si