A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS [1]
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