a story from the sand-hills-第8部分

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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　silken

sails　and　rigging：



　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃The　ropes　were　of　silk；　the　anchor　of　gold；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　everywhere　riches　and　pomp　untold；〃



as　the　old　song　says。

　　　　The　young　couple　went　on　board；　accompanied　by　the　whole

congregation；　for　there　was　room　and　enjoyment　for　them　all。　Then

the　walls　and　arches　of　the　church　were　covered　with　flowering

junipers　and　lime　trees　breathing　forth　fragrance；　the　branches　waved；

creating　a　pleasant　coolness；　they　bent　and　parted；　and　the　ship

sailed　between　them　through　the　air　and　over　the　sea。　Every　candle

in　the　church　became　a　star；　and　the　wind　sang　a　hymn　in　which　they

all　joined。　〃Through　love　to　glory；　no　life　is　lost；　the　future　is

full　of　blessings　and　happiness。　Hallelujah！〃　These　were　the　last

words　Jurgen　uttered　in　this　world；　for　the　thread　that　bound　his

immortal　soul　was　severed；　and　nothing　but　the　dead　body　lay　in　the

dark　church；　while　the　storm　raged　outside；　covering　it　with　loose

sand。

　　　　The　next　day　was　Sunday；　and　the　congregation　and　their　pastor

went　to　the　church。　The　road　had　always　been　heavy；　but　now　it　was

almost　unfit　for　use；　and　when　they　at　last　arrived　at　the　church；　a

great　heap　of　sand　lay　piled　up　in　front　of　them。　The　whole　church　was

completely　buried　in　sand。　The　clergyman　offered　a　short　prayer；　and

said　that　God　had　closed　the　door　of　His　house　here；　and　that　the

congregation　must　go　and　build　a　new　one　for　Him　somewhere　else。　So

they　sung　a　hymn　in　the　open　air；　and　went　home　again。

　　　　Jurgen　could　not　be　found　anywhere　in　the　town　of　Skjagen；　nor

on　the　dunes；　though　they　searched　for　him　everywhere。　They　came　to

the　conclusion　that　one　of　the　great　waves；　which　had　rolled　far　up

on　the　beach；　had　carried　him　away；　but　his　body　lay　buried　in　a

great　sepulchre…　the　church　itself。　The　Lord　had　thrown　down　a

covering　for　his　grave　during　the　storm；　and　the　heavy　mound　of　sand

lies　upon　it　to　this　day。　The　drifting　sand　had　covered　the　vaulted

roof　of　the　church；　the　arched　cloisters；　and　the　stone　aisles。　The

white　thorn　and　the　dog　rose　now　blossom　above　the　place　where　the

church　lies　buried；　but　the　spire；　like　an　enormous　monument　over　a

grave；　can　be　seen　for　miles　round。　No　king　has　a　more　splendid

memorial。　Nothing　disturbs　the　peaceful　sleep　of　the　dead。　I　was　the

first　to　hear　this　story；　for　the　storm　sung　it　to　me　among　the

sand…hills。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　END

。