Waltey

Prevod

Two great ships had been sent far north towards the North Pole, to discover where the lands met the sea and to test how far human beings could make their way there. For years they had sailed through fog and ice in those regions, enduring great hardships; now winter had begun, and the sun had sunk below the horizon. For many, many weeks there would be one long night; everything around them was a single sheet of ice, and each ship was moored fast to it. The snow lay deep, and from the snow itself houses shaped like beehives had been built, some as large as the ancient burial mounds at home, others no bigger than would hold two or four men. Yet it was not dark: the northern lights shone red and blue in an endless, magnificent display of fireworks, and the snow gleamed; the night here was one long, glowing twilight. At the brightest time, bands of the native people came, strange to behold in their shaggy fur clothes, on sledges fashioned from blocks of ice. They brought great heaps of skins, which furnished the snow houses with warm rugs; skins served as blankets and quilts as the sailors made their beds beneath the snowy domes, while outside the frost sparkled with a bitter cold unknown to us even in the depths of winter. At home it was still autumn, and they thought of that up there; they remembered the sunshine at home and the red and yellow leaves still hanging on the trees. The clock showed that it was evening and time for sleep, and in one of the snow houses two men had already stretched themselves out to rest. The younger had brought with him his best and dearest treasure from home, the gift his grandmother had given him before he sailed: the Bible. Every night it lay beneath his pillow; since childhood he had known what was written in it. Each day he read a passage, and as he lay in bed the sacred words often came to him with such comfort: “If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me!” And with those words of truth and faith he closed his eyes, and sleep came, and a dream came, a revelation of the spirit in God. His soul was awake while his body rested; he sensed it, like the melodies of dear, familiar songs of old. The air breathed so gently, so warm with summer, and from his bed he saw a radiance above him, as though light were streaming through the dome of snow from outside. He raised his head; that gleaming whiteness was neither walls nor ceiling, but the great wings springing from an angel’s shoulders, and he looked up into his gentle, shining face. From the pages of the Bible, as from the cup of a lily, the angel rose and spread his arms wide, and the walls of the snow hut fell away around them like a weightless veil of mist. The green fields of home and the hills with their russet woods lay all around in the quiet sunshine of a lovely autumn day. The stork’s nest stood empty, but apples still hung on the wild apple tree, though its leaves had fallen; the red rose hips shone, and the starling whistled in its little green cage above the window of the farmhouse, the heart of home. The starling whistled as it had been taught, and Grandmother hung chickweed about its cage, as her grandson had always done. And the blacksmith’s daughter, so young and so beautiful, stood at the well drawing water; she nodded to Grandmother, and Grandmother waved, holding up a letter from far away. It had arrived that morning from the frozen lands, from far up at the North Pole itself, where her grandson was—in God’s hands. And they laughed and wept, and he, beneath the ice and snow, who in the world of the spirit, under the angel’s wings, saw and heard it all, laughed and wept with them. And from the letter those very words of the Bible were read aloud: “In the uttermost parts of the sea, his right hand shall hold me!” They rang all around like a beautiful hymn, and the angel let his wings settle like a veil about the sleeper—the dream was over. It was dark in the snow house, but the Bible lay beneath his head, and faith and hope lay in his heart. God was with him, and home was with him—“in the uttermost parts of the sea!”

Izvirnik

Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen

Et par store fartøjer var sendt højt op mod Nordpolen for der at finde landenes grænser mod havet og prøve hvor vidt menneskene kunne der trænge igennem. Allerede år og dage havde de mellem tåge og is styret heroppe og prøvet stort besvær; nu var vinteren begyndt, solen nede; mange, mange uger ville blive her én lang nat; alt rundt om var ét eneste stykke is; fast til det var hvert skib fortøjet; sneen lå højt, og af sneen selv var bikubeformede huse rejst, nogle store, som vore kæmpehøje, andre ikke større, end at de kunne rumme to eller fire mænd; men mørkt var det ikke, nordlysene skinnede røde og blå, det var et evigt, storartet fyrværkeri og sneen lyste, natten her var én lang blussende dæmring; på den klareste tid kom skarer af de indfødte, underlige at se i deres hårede skindklæder, og på deres slæder, som var tømret af isstykker; de bragte skind i store bunker og snehusene fik derfra varme gulvtæpper; skind blev tæppe og dyne, som matroserne redte sig til seng under snekuplen, mens det udenfor gnistrende frøs, som vi ikke kender det ved vor strengeste vintertid. Hos os var det endnu efterårsdage, det tænkte de på deroppe; de huskede på solstrålerne i hjemmet og på det rødgule løv, som hang på træerne. Uret viste at det var aften og sovetid, og i et af snehusene strakte sig allerede to for at hvile; den yngste havde med sin bedste, rigeste skat hjemmefra, den, bedstemor før afrejsen gav ham med, det var biblen. Hver nat lå den under hans hovedgærde, han vidste fra barndomsårene af, hvad der stod i den; hver dag læste han et stykke, og på hans leje kom ham tit så trøstende i tanker de hellige ord: "Ville jeg tage morgenrødens vinger, ville jeg bo ved det yderste hav, du skulle dog føre mig og din højre hånd holde mig fast!" - og under sandhedens ord og tro lukkede han øjnene, søvnen kom og drømmen kom, åndens åbenbarelse i Gud; Sjælen var den levende under legemets hvile; han fornam det, det var som melodier af gamle kære, kendte sange; det åndede så mildt, så sommervarmt, og fra sit leje så han det skinne over sig, som om snekuplen blev gennemstrålet udefra; han løftede sit hoved, det strålende hvide var ikke vægge eller loft, det var de store vinger fra en engels skuldre, og han så op i hans milde, lysende ansigt. Ud fra biblens blade, som fra en liljes bæger, løftede englen sig, bredte sine arme vidt ud og snehyttens vægge sank rundt om, som et luftigt let tågeslør; hjemmets grønne marker og høje med de rødbrune skove lå rundt om i stille solskin en dejlig efterårsdag; storkens rede stod tom, men endnu hang æblerne på det vilde æbletræ, skønt bladene var faldet; de røde hyben skinnede og stæren fløjtede i det lille grønne bur over bondehusets vindue, hvor hjemmets hjem var; stæren fløjtede, som det var lært den og bedstemor hang fuglegræs om buret, som sønnesønnen altid havde gjort; og smedens datter, så ung og så smuk, stod ved brønden og drog vand op, nikkede til bedstemor, og bedstemor vinkede, viste et brev langvejs fra; denne morgen var det kommet fra de kolde lande, højt oppe fra nordpolen selv, hvor sønnesønnen var - i Guds hånd. - Og de lo og de græd, og han, under is og sne, der i åndens verden, under englens vinger så og hørte det alt, lo med dem og græd med dem. Og der blev læst højt af brevet selv de Biblens ord: - "Ved det yderste hav, hans højre hånd vil holde mig fast!" - Som dejlig salmesang klang det rundt om, og englen lod sine vinger, som et slør lægge sig om den sovende, - drømmen var endt - det var mørkt i snehuset, men biblen lå under hans hoved, troen og håbet lå i hans hjerte. Gud var med og hjemmet var med - "ved det yderste hav!"

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