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Updated: May 21, 2025
He sank into thought again, as was usual with him when he thought of Little Jorgen, who refused to come into the world and assume his name and likeness, and carry on after him.... There lay his belief; there was nothing to be done about it. And the others began to speak in hushed voices, in order not to disturb his memories.
Jeppe came to the window to see and to silence him; one could hear Brother Jorgen's falsetto voice right down the street. "Has he been courting? However did you get him to venture such a leap?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, it was while we were sitting at table. I had a tussle with my melancholy madman because I couldn't help thinking of the little Jorgen.
The storms of spring were now raging; the roaring of the German Ocean was heard far inland; but just when the tempest had lulled, it sounded as if hundreds of heavy wagons were driving over a hard tunnelled road. Jörgen heard it even in his dungeon, and it was a change in the monotony of his existence.
The sand had covered the lofty arches, sand-thorns and wild roses grow over the church, where the wayfarer now struggles on towards its spire, which towers above the sand, an imposing tombstone over the grave, seen from miles around no king had ever a grander one! None disturb the repose of the dead none knew where Jörgen lay, until now the storm sang the secret for me among the sand-hills!
I know a little about it, on account of Garibaldi." "But what do they want, then, if they don't want to overthrow the whole world?" "What do they want? Well, what do they want? That everybody should have exactly the same?" Master Andres was uncertain. "Then the ship's boy would have as much as the captain! No, it would be the devil and all!" Baker Jorgen smacked his thigh and laughed.
He sank into thought again, as was usual with him when he thought of Little Jorgen, who refused to come into the world and assume his name and likeness, and carry on after him.... There lay his belief; there was nothing to be done about it. And the others began to speak in hushed voices, in order not to disturb his memories.
"If he'd been a son of mine he would have got the stick," said Jorgen. "Aren't they the sort of people who are making ready for the millennium? We've got a few of their sort here," said Bjerregrav diffidently. "D'you mean the poor devils who believe in the watchmaker and his 'new time'? Yes, that may well be," said Jeppe contemptuously. "I have heard they are quite wicked enough for that.
In the boat was a brother of the bailiff there, and he promised to obtain permission to put Jörgen for the present into the cell where Lange Margrethe had been confined before her execution. Jörgen's defence of himself was not listened to; for a few drops of blood on his clothes spoke volumes against him.
He always brought a keg of brandy with him; every one got a dram of it, or a coffee-cup full if glasses were scarce; even Jörgen, though he was but a little fellow, was treated to a good thimbleful.
Let me be your Æsepige, for you are to me like a brother; but Morten, who has hired me at present he and I are sweethearts. Do not mention this, however, to any one." And Jörgen felt as if a sand-hill had opened under him.
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