5
" At noontime in midsummer, when the sun is at its highest and everything is in a state of embroiled repose, flashes may be seen in the southern sky. Into the radiance of daylight come bursts of light even more radiant. Exactly half a year later, when the fjord is frozen over and the land buried in snow, the very same spirit taunts creation. At night cracks in the ice race from one end of the fjord to the other, resounding like gunshots or like the roaring of a mad demon.
The peasants dig tunnels from their door through the drifts over to the cow shed. Where are the trolls and the elves now, and where are the sounds of nature? Even the Beast may well be dead and forgotten. Life itself hangs in suspension - existence has shrunk to nothingness. Now it is only a question of survival. The fox thrashes around in a blizzard in the oak thicket and fights his way out, mortally terrified.
It is a time of stillness. Hoarfrost lies in a timeless shroud over the fjord. All day long a strange, sighing sound is heard from out on the ice. It is a fisherman, standing alone at his hole and spearing eel.
One night it snows again. The air is sheer snow and the wind a frigid blast. No living creature is stirring. Then a rider comes to the crossing at Hvalpsund. There is no difficulty in getting over - he does not even slacken his speed, but rides at a brisk trot from the shore out onto the ice.
The hoofbeats thunder beneath him and the ice roars for miles around. He reaches the other side and rides up onto the land. The horse — a mighty steed not afraid to shake its shanks - cleaves the storm with neck outstretched.
The blizzard blows the rider's ashen cape back and he sits naked, with his bare bones sticking out and the snow whistling about his ribs. It is Death that is out riding. His crown sits on three hairs and his scythe points triumphantly backward.
Death has his whims. He takes it into his head to dismount when he sees a light in the winter night. He gives his horse a slap on the haunch and it leaps into the air and is gone. For the rest of the way Death walks like a carefree man, sauntering absentmindedly along.
In the snow-streaked night a crow is sitting on a wayside branch. Its head is much too large for its body. Its beady eyes sparkle when it sees the wanderer's familiar face, and its cawing turns into silent laughter as it throws its beak wide open, with its spear-like tongue sticking far out. It seems almost ready to fall off the branch with its laughter, but it keeps on looking at Death with consuming merriment.
Death moves on. Suddenly he finds himself beside a man. He raps the man on the back with his fingers and leaves him lying there.
There is a light. Death keeps his eye on the light and walks toward it. He moves into the shaft of light and labors his way over a frozen field. But when he comes close enough to make out the house a strange fervor grips him. He has finally come home - yes, this has been his true home from the beginning. Thank goodness he has now found it again after so much difficulty. He goes in, and a solitary old couple make him welcome. They cannot know that he is anything more than a traveling tradesman, spent and sick. He lies down quickly on the bed without a word. They can see that he is really far gone. He lies on his back while they move about the room with the candle and chat. He forgets them.
For a long time he lies there, quiet but awake. Finally there are a few low moans, faltering and tentative. He begins to cry, and then quickly stops.
But now the moans continue, becoming louder, and then going over to tearless sobs. His body arches up, resting only on head and heels. He stares in anguish at the ceiling and screams, screams like a woman in labor. Finally he collapses, and his cries begin to subside. Little by little he falls silent and lies quiet. "
― Johannes V. Jensen , Kongens fald
12
" […] Vanskelighederne der tvang dem til at bryde op og flytte er jo nu glemt, og Fremtiden ser de kun i Solen. Men naar disse unge strunkne Kvinder en Gang skal til at skære Halsen over paa hinanden indbyrdes og paa deres Børn, efter at Mændene, de uovervindelige, har tabt et Slag, saa er det en anden Sang; Ingen der har hørt det glemmer let saadan en hylende Lejr hvor et folk gaar under […]. Eller lad dem have Held, de unge Krigere, hvem Blodsudgydelse og Rov staar ud af Øjnene, de skal blive Fyrster, Føreren Konge og Ætterne Landenes Adel hvor de kommer hen, men betale skal de ogsaa hvad det koster, Brodermord, Svig og Vold i Aarhundreder, Magten er dyr, og den opæder Sjælen, som den opæder Slægten, det gør Magten, men hvem har nogensinde sagt Nej til at modtage den? Hvornaar har man hørt Bønder blive ved Jorden? "
― Johannes V. Jensen , Den lange Rejse: Andet Bind
16
" Den første Gang man gav dem stærke Drikke! Den levende Ild selv de fik i Aarene! De brølte i lange Tag ud af Halsen af Fryd, vilde have mere! De rasede som Sole, stormede gennem Himmelrummet, deres Øjne fødte en ny Jord og nye Stjerner, de tøede op, som hin Rimthurse i Tidernes Morgen der oversvømmede Alverden, deres Hjerne blev Skyer, deres Knogler Bjerge, der voksede dem Træer på Hovedet, og det ene Ben avlede ikke en men flere Sønner med det andet, de syntes de havde altfor mange; de fablede om deres uhyggelige Kræfter; rejste sig for at rage Himlen ned og troede det var besørget naar de selv faldt omkuld. Det lønnede sig at give dem berusende Sager! "
― Johannes V. Jensen , Den lange Rejse: Andet Bind
18
" Men inde i Skoven er der lukket, med alt Løvet trukket for, en hvilende Luft som i et Sovekammer, tung af Duft. Lys begynder at trænge ind gennem Løvtaget, gyldengrønt, og nu vaagner Fuglene. En efter en knirker de, skjult under Løvet, fra tusind Reder, et rugevarmt søvndrukkent Kny, som snart bliver mangestemmigt og stiger, indtil der staar et samlet, mægtigt Fuglekor over Skoven.
Og solen staar op, som en dyb Glød i Grunden af Skoven, Ildbundter op mellem Træerne, en blændende verden af Lys som smelter Træerne og hele Himmelhjørnet ind i en Ring af Ild, hvori Solen gaar, den stiger og er snart fri af skoven; som et Ildskib lægger den fra Jorden og ud i det aabne Blaa. Lys og Dug og Morgenstilhed over Alverden! "
― Johannes V. Jensen , Den lange Rejse: Andet Bind
