A Story from the Sand Dunes
He read about Prince Hamlet of Denmark and of how he landed from England and fought a great battle near Bovbjerg; his grave was at Ramme, only a few miles from the eel seller's home, where the heath was like an immense cemetery, studded with hundreds of viking grave mounds. Merchant Brönne had visited Hamlet's grave. There was more talk of the olden days and of their English and Scottish neighbors, and then Jörgen sang the old ballad about "The King of England's Son," about the stately ship, and how it was decked out:
The blessed words of our dear Lord
Were written in gold on panels aboard.
On the prow, in colors rare,
The King's son clasped his maiden fair.
Jörgen sang this verse with especial sincerity, while his eyes, luminous and black from his birth, sparkled with more fire than ever.
Thus the evenings passed pleasantly, with song and reading; all were happy in that house, even the very animals. The tin shelves gleamed with clean plates; hams and sausages hung under the ceiling, and they had winter supplies in abundance. Many rich farmhouses like this are still to be found in West Jutland, abundant as this one in good comfort, good cheer, good sense, and good humor, and like the tent of an Arab for hospitality.
Jörgen had never spent so happy a time, at least since the four days of the funeral, when he was a child. And still Miss Clara was absent; but she was never absent from their thoughts or conversation. In April a vessel was to be sent out to Norway to bring her home, and Jörgen was to go with it.
He had become so joyous and hearty, Mother Brönne said that it was a pleasure to look at him.
"And so it is to look at you!" said the old merchant. "Jörgen has put new life in our winter evenings, and in Mother too. Why, you have grown younger this year! You were once the prettiest girl in Viborg, and that's saying a lot, for I've always considered the girls of Viborg to be the prettiest."
Jörgen said nothing in reply, but he couldn't help thinking of one Skagen girl, the one he was to bring home.
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The Fire-Bird, the Horse of Power, and the Princess Vasilissa
Category: Russia folktales
Read times: 18