"The footman?" asked the pastor. "He is but a poor fool, and not
doomed to be tortured eternally by fire!"
"Only a fool!" It sounded through the whole house of pride: they
were all fools there.
Then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser. Lean as a
skeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old man was clinging
with all his thoughts to his money. They saw him jump up feverishly
from his miserable couch and take a loose stone out of the wall; there
lay gold coins in an old stocking. They saw him anxiously feeling over
an old ragged coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammy
fingers trembled.
"He is ill! That is madness- a joyless madness- besieged by fear
and dreadful dreams!"
They quickly went away and came before the beds of the
criminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in long
rows. Like a ferocious animal, one of them rose out of his sleep and
uttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribs
with his pointed elbow, and this one turned round in his sleep:
"Be quiet, monster- sleep! This happens every night!"
"Every night!" repeated the other. "Yes, every night he comes
and tortures me! In my violence I have done this and that. I was
born with an evil mind, which has brought me hither for the second
time; but if I have done wrong I suffer punishment for it. One
thing, however, I have not yet confessed. When I came out a little
while ago, and passed by the yard of my former master, evil thoughts
rose within me when I remembered this and that. I struck a match a
little bit on the wall; probably it came a little too close to the
thatched roof. All burnt down- a great heat rose, such as sometimes
overcomes me. I myself helped to rescue cattle and things, nothing
alive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which flew into the fire, and
the yard dog, of which I had not thought; one could hear him howl
out of the fire, and this howling I still hear when I wish to sleep;
and when I have fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and places
himself upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. Now listen to
what I tell you! You can snore; you are snoring the whole night, and I
hardly a quarter of an hour!" And the blood rose to the head of the
excited criminal; he threw himself upon his comrade, and beat him with
his clenced fist in the face.
"Wicked Matz has become mad again!" they said amongst
themselves. The other criminals seized him, wrestled with him, and
bent him double, so that his head rested between his knees, and they
tied him, so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of all
his pores.
"You are killing the unfortunate man," said the pastor, and as
he stretched out his hand to protect him who already suffered too
much, the scene changed. They flew through rich halls and wretched
hovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly sins, passed before
them. An angel of justice read their crimes and their defence; the
latter was not a brilliant one, but it was read before God, Who
reads the heart, Who knows everything, the wickedness that comes
from within and from without, Who is mercy and love personified. The
pastor's hand trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did not
venture to pull a hair out of the sinner's head. And tears gushed from
his eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters of
which extinguished the eternal fire of hell.
Just then the cock crowed.
"Father of all mercy, grant Thou to her the peace that I was
unable to procure for her!"
"I have it now!" said the dead woman. "It was your hard words,
your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in God and His creation,
which drove me to you. Learn to know mankind! Even in the wicked one
lives a part of God- and this extinguishes and conquers the flame of
hell!"
The pastor felt a kiss on his lips; a gleam of light surrounded
him- God's bright sun shone into the room, and his wife, alive,
sweet and full of love, awoke him from a dream which God had sent him!
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS
by Hans Christian Andersen
THIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but it
does not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, in
Spain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey
in thought; then, to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there;
the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a cool
refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,
over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.
Children go through the streets in procession with candles and
waving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glittering
stars, rises above them. Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard,
and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while
even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a
juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. It all seems like a beautiful
dream.
Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves
up to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing they
could desire- health and happiness, riches and honour.
We are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couple
from the depths of their hearts. They had indeed only one step
higher to mount on the ladder of happiness- they hoped that God
would give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. The happy
little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for with
love and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury
that a rich and influential family can give. So the days went by
like a joyous festival.
"Life is a gracious gift from God, almost too great a gift for
us to appreciate!" said the young wife. "Yet they say that fulness
of joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. I
cannot realise it!"
"The thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said the
husband. "It seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for
ever, that we shall be as gods! Were not these the words of the
serpent, the father of lies?"
"Surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?"
exclaimed the young wife. It seemed as if one of the first shadows
passed over her sunny thoughts.
"Faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied her
husband; "but amid all my happiness I feel that it is arrogant to
demand a continuation of it- another life after this. Has not so
much been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,
contented with it?"
"Yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but this
life is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to many
thousands. How many have been cast into this world only to endure
poverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? If there were no future life,
everything here would be too unequally divided, and God would not be
the personification of justice."
"The beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own which
seem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find
in the magnificence of his palace. And then do you not think that
the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works
itself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? The
dumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the law
unjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation."
"Christ said: 'In my father's house are many mansions,'" she
answered. "Heaven is as boundless as the love of our Creator; the dumb
animal is also His creature, and I firmly believe that no life will be
lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which
will be sufficient for him."
"This world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwing
his arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. He sat by her side
on the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which was
loaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.
Sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the road
beneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection-
those of his wife- looked upon him with the expression of undying
love. "Such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, to
die, and to be annihilated!" He smiled- the young wife raised her hand
in gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, and
they were happy- quite happy.
Everything seemed to work together for their good. They advanced
in honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. A change came certainly,
but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.
The young man was sent by his Sovereign as ambassador to the
Russian Court. This was an office of high dignity, but his birth and
his acquirements entitled him to the honour. He possessed a large
fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she
was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. One of this
merchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year to
Stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, the
daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to St. Petersburg.
All the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury on
every side.
In an old war song, called "The King of England's Son," it says:
"Farewell, he said, and sailed away.
And many recollect that day.
The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,
And everywhere riches and wealth untold."
These words would aptly describe the vessel from Spain, for here
was the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:
"God grant that we once more may meet
In sweet unclouded peace and joy."
There was a favourable wind blowing as they left the Spanish
coast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reach
their destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide
ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the
stars shone brightly. Many festive evenings were spent on board. At
last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze;
but their wish was useless- not a breath of air stirred, or if it
did arise it was contrary. Weeks passed by in this way, two whole
months, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. The
ship sailed on the high seas between Scotland and Jutland; then the
wind increased, just as it did in the old song of "The King of
England's Son."
"'Mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,
Their efforts were of no avail.
The golden anchor forth they threw;
Towards Denmark the west wind blew."
This all happened a long time ago; King Christian VII, who sat
on the Danish throne, was still a young man. Much has happened since
then, much has altered or been changed. Sea and moorland have been
turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable
land, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees and
rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the
sharp west wind blows upon them. In West Jutland one may go back in
thought to old times, farther back than the days when Christian VII
ruled. The purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows
and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it
did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are
marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a
chain of Alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only
broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites
out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if
by the shock of an earthquake. Thus it is there today and thus it
was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.
It was a Sunday, towards the end of September; the sun was
shining, and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissum
was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. The churches
there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like a
piece of rock. The North Sea might foam over them and they would not
be disturbed. Nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bells
are hung outside between two beams. The service was over, and the
congregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree or
bush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had not
placed a single wreath upon any of the graves. It is just the same
now. Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank
grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard;
here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed
wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from
the forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and
the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the
waves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed by
loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out
of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on
the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her
husband joined her. They were both silent, but he took her hand, and
they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow
towards the sandhills. For a long time they went on without speaking.
"It was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last. "If we had
