The Sand-Hills of Jutland Part 15

"But the blue-bell and the little wild tansy," said the oak tree; "I should 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 that stood down yonder, and looked so fresh, and all the forest flowers of years past, had they lived and bloomed till now, they might have been with me."

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

"Well, this is quite enchanting," cried the old tree. "I have them all, small and great--not one is forgotten. How is all this happiness possible 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 were loosening from their hold in the earth.

"This is well," said the tree. "Nothing now retains me. I am free to mount to the highest heaven--to splendour and light; and all that are dear 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 storm had burst over sea and land that holy Christmas eve. The ocean rolled heavy billows on the beach--the tree rocked violently, and was torn up by the roots at the moment it was dreaming that its roots were loosening. It fell. Its three hundred and sixty-five years were now as but the day of the ephemeron.

On Christmas morning, when the sun arose, the storm was pa.s.sed. All the church bells were ringing joyously; and from every chimney, even the lowest in the peasant's cot, curled from the altars of the Druidical feast the blue smoke of the thanksgiving oblation. The sea became more and more calm, and on a large vessel in the offing, which had weathered the tempest during the night, were hoisted all its flags in 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. Who shall replace it? Alas! no one can."

This was the tree's funeral oration--short, but well meant--as it lay stretched at full length amidst the snow upon the sh.o.r.e, and over it floated the melody of the psalm tunes from the ship--hymns of Christmas joy, and thanksgivings for the salvation of the souls of mankind 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 the ship, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving and prayer, just as the old oak tree was lifted up in its last and most delightful dream on that Christmas eve.

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

When the wind sweeps over the gra.s.s it ripples like water; when it sweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. All that is the wind's dance. But listen to what the wind tells. It sings it aloud, and it is repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carried through the loopholes and the c.h.i.n.ks in the wall. Look how the wind chases the skies up yonder, as if they were a flock of sheep! Listen how the wind howls below through the half-open gate, as if it were the warder blowing his horn! Strangely does it sound down the chimney and in the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and the flames, instead of ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is warm and comfortable to sit and listen to it. Let the wind speak. It knows more tales and adventures than all of us put together. Hearken now to what it 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 red walls," said the wind. "I knew every stone in it. I had seen them before, when they were in Marshal Stig's castle at the Naes. It was demolished. The stones were used again, and became new walls--a new building--at another place, and that was Borreby Castle as it now stands. I have seen and known the high-born ladies and gentlemen, the various generations that have dwelt in it; and now I shall tell about WALDEMAR DAAE AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

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

"His proud lady, apparelled in gold brocade, walked erect over her polished inlaid floor. The tapestry was magnificent, the furniture costly, and beautifully carved; vessels of gold and silver she had in profusion; there were stores of German ale in the cellars; handsome spirited horses neighed in the stables; all was superb within Borreby Castle when wealth was there.

"And children were there; three fine girls--Ide, Johanne, and Anna Dorthea. I remember their names well even now.

"They were rich people, they were people of distinction--born in grandeur, 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 lady sitting in her boudoir with her maidens and spinning-wheels. She played on the lute, and sang to it, though never the old Danish ballads, but songs in foreign languages. Here were banqueting and mirth, t.i.tled guests came from far and near, music's tones were heard, goblets rang. I could not drown the noise," said the wind. "Here were arrogance, ostentation, and display; here was power, but not OUR LORD."

"It was one May-day evening," said the wind. "I came from the westward. I had seen ships crushed into wrecks on the west coast of Jutland. I had hurried over the dreary heaths and green woody coast, had crossed the island of Funen, and swept over the Great Belt, and I was hoa.r.s.e with blowing. Then I laid myself down to rest on the coast of Zealand, near Borreby, where there stood the forest and the charming meadows. The young men from the neighbourhood a.s.sembled there, and collected brushwood and branches of trees, the largest and driest they could find. They carried them to the village, laid them in a heap, and set fire to it; then they and the village girls sang and danced round it.

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

"And then from the great house at Borreby came, driving in a gilded coach with six horses, the n.o.ble lady and her three daughters, so fine, so young--three lovely blossoms--rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth. The mother herself was like a flaunting tulip; she did not deign to notice one of the crowd of villagers, though they stopped their 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' for each of them would a.s.suredly be a proud knight--perhaps a prince.

Wheugh--wheugh!

"Well, their equipage drove on with them, and the young peasants went on with their dancing. And the summer advanced in the village near Borreby, in Tjaereby, and all the surrounding towns.

"But one night when I arose," continued the wind, "the great lady was lying ill, never to move again. That something had come over her which comes over all mankind sooner or later: it is nothing new. Waldemar Daae stood in deep and melancholy thought for a short time. 'The proudest tree may bend, but not break,' said he to himself. The daughters wept; but at last they all dried their eyes at the great house, and the n.o.ble lady was carried away; and I also went away,"

said the wind.

"I returned--I returned soon, over Funen and the Belt, and set myself down by Borreby beach, near the large oak wood. There water-wagtails, wood-pigeons, blue ravens, and even black storks built their nests. It was late in the year: some had eggs, and some had young birds. How they were flying about, and how they were shrieking! The strokes of the 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 with three decks, which the king would be glad to purchase: and therefore the wood--the seamen's landmark, the birds' home--was to be sacrificed. The great red-backed shrike flew in alarm--his nest was destroyed; the ravens and all the other birds had lost their homes, and flew wildly about with cries of distress and anger. I understood them well. The crows and the jackdaws screamed high in derision, 'From the 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 laughed together at the wild cries of the birds; but his youngest daughter, Anna Dorthea, was sorry for them in her heart; and when the men were about to cut down a partially decayed tree, amidst whose naked branches the black storks had built their nests, and from which the tiny little ones peeped out their heads, she begged it might be spared. She begged--begged with tears in her eyes; and the tree was permitted to remain with the nest of black storks. It was not a great boon after all.

"The fine trees were cut down, the wood was sawn, and a large ship with three decks was built. The master shipbuilder himself was of low birth, but of n.o.ble appearance. His eyes and his forehead evinced how clever he was, and Waldemar Daae liked to listen to his conversation; so also did little Ide, his eldest daughter, who was fifteen years of age. And while he was building the ship for the father, he was also building castles in the air for himself, wherein he and Ide sat as man and wife; and that might have happened had the castles been of stone walls, with ramparts and moats, woods and gardens. But, with all his talents, the master shipbuilder was but a humble bird. What should a sparrow do in an eagle's nest?

"Wheugh--wheugh! I flew away, and he flew away, for he dared not remain longer; and little Ide got over his departure, for she was obliged 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 king himself to examine the new man-of-war, and to make arrangements for its purchase. He praised the spirited horses loudly. I heard him myself," said the wind. "I followed the gentlemen through the open door, and strewed straw before their feet. Waldemar Daae wanted gold, the admiral wanted the horses--he admired them so much; but the bargain was not concluded, nor was the ship bought--the ship that was lying near the strand, with its white planks--a Noah's ark that was never to be launched upon the deep.

"Wheugh! It was a sad pity.

"In the winter time, when the fields were covered with snow, drift-ice filled the Belt, and I screwed it up to the sh.o.r.e," said the wind.

"Then came ravens and crows, all as black as they could be, in large flocks. They perched themselves upon the deserted, dead, lonely ship, that lay high up on the beach; and they cried and lamented, with their hoa.r.s.e voices, about the wood that was gone, the many precious birds'

nests that were laid waste, the old ones rendered homeless, the little ones rendered homeless; and all for the sake of a great lumbering thing, 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 my voice, and know what a tempest can say. I knew if I exerted myself it would get some of the knowledge other ships have.

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

"But the daughters were still young--little Ide a rose, beautiful to look at, as the shipbuilder had seen her. Often did I play with her long brown hair, when, under the apple tree in the garden, she was standing lost in thought, and did not observe that I was showering down the blossoms upon her head. Then she would start, and gaze at the red sun, and the golden clouds around it, through the s.p.a.ce among the dark foliage of the trees.

"Her sister Johanne resembled a lily--fair, slender, and erect; and, like her mother, she was stately and haughty. It was a great pleasure to her to wander up and down the grand saloon where hung the portraits of her ancestors. The high-born dames were painted in silks and velvets, with little hats looped up with pearls on their braided locks--they were beautiful ladies. Their lords were depicted in steel armour, or in costly mantles trimmed with squirrels' fur, and wearing blue ruffs; the sword was buckled round the thigh, and not round the loins. Johanne's own portrait would hang at some future day on that wall, and what would her n.o.ble husband be like? Yes, she thought of this, and she said this in low accents to herself. I heard her when I rushed 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 somewhat pensive, but a childish smile played around her mouth, and I could not blow it off; nor did I wish to do so.