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Updated: June 8, 2025
She sat there and wept very softly; from time to time when wiping the dew from the pane, she looked stealthily over towards Mogens. He sat bowed forward, his traveling-cloak was open, his hat lay and rocked on the front seat; his hands he held in front of his face. All the things he had to think of! It had almost robbed him of his courage.
Mogens forced his way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner; the sparks were slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there were showers of sparks, the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the factory was burning, the councilor's house was burning and the house next door also.
And when they reached him, they were quite out of control; they jumped up on him and rushed off in every direction and back again. "You lose," he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round and went on. They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the manor-house in the evening.
Some of the graves had wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; a few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others wooden crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax wreaths, the greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about hunting for a sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all sides of the church.
The waist of her pink morning-gown was gathered high up below, the bosom by a shining black leather-belt; on the floor behind her lay a snow-white dressing-jacket; her abundant, very blond hair was hanging in a bright-red net. "You look rather pale after the celebration last night," was the first thing Mogens said.
"'You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father, said the peasant, 'otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of heaven." "Well, he would gladly be god-fearing." "'Then you must say grace after meals, said the peasant...." "No, I won't go on with the story," said Mogens impatiently. "Very well, then don't," said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise.
"Well, and what happened then?" she called impatiently to Mogens, who had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an apple which hung high up. "Then," he continued, "the peasant began to run three times round himself and to sing: 'To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring through my head. Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his black rooster flew away.
Excluding his early scientific works, these two books together with a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other Tales, published in 1882, and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute Jacobsen's literary testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the story with which he made his literary debut, and other characteristic stories.
No, no, it shall not be thus no, she is to go on living her clear, bright girl's life in spite of him. And the carriage rattled and rattled. Darkness had set in, and here and there he saw through the thickly covered panes, lights in the houses and yards past which they drove. Thora slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new home, an estate that Mogens had bought.
Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage.
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