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Continued from previous page...
O. T.
A Danish Romance
by Hans Christian Andersen
CHAPTER XI
"Dance and stamp
Till the shoe-soles drop!"
--Danish Popular Song.
On the following day should the much-talked-of mowing-festival take
place. It was the hay-harvest which occasioned all this merriment.
[Author's Note: It is true that serfdom is abolished, but the
peasant is still not quite free; neither can he be so. For his
house and land he must pay a tribute, and this consists in labor.
His own work must give way to that of his lord. His wagon, which he
has had prepared to bring home his own harvest, must, if such be
commanded, go to the nobleman's land, and there render service.
This is, therefore, a kind of tax which he pays, and for the
faithful payment of which he is rewarded by a harvest and mowing-feast;
at the latter he receives a certain quantity of brandy, and as much
ale as he can drink. The dance generally takes place in the middle
of the court-yard, and the dancers themselves must pay their musicians.]
During three afternoons in succession, in the inner court and under
free heaven, should a ball be held. Along the walls, rough planks,
laid upon logs of wood, formed a row of benches. At both ends of
the court lay two barrels of the newly brewed ale, which had
received more malt than usual, and which, besides, through the
silver skilling, and the magic dance of the maidens round the tub,
had acquired extraordinary strength. A large wooden tankard,
containing several measures of brandy, stood upon a table; the man
who watched the bleaching-ground was placed as a kind of butler to
preside at this sideboard. A bread-woman, with new white bread from
Nyborg upon her barrow, wheeled into the court, and there
established her stall for every one; for it was only liquors the
guests received gratis.
The guests now entered the court by pairs; the men, part in
jackets, part in long coats which hung down to their ankles. Out of
the waistcoat-pocket protruded a little nosegay of sweet-williams
and musk. The girls carried their "posies," as they called them, in
their neatly folded pocket-handkerchiefs. Two musicians--one quite
a young blade, in a laced coat with a stiff cravat, mid the other
the well-known Peter Cripple, "Musikanti" as he was called--led the
procession. They both played one and the same piece, but each
according to his own manner. It was both good and old.
They now began to draw lots, who should dance before the door of
the family and who before that of the steward; after which the two
parties drew lots for the musicians. The girls seated themselves in
a row upon the bench, from whence they were chosen. The gallantry
accorded with the ball-room,--the hard stone pavement. Not even had
the grass been pulled up, but that would be all right after dancing
there the first day. "Nay, why art thou sitting there?" spoken with
a kind of morose friendliness, was the invitation to dance; and
this served for seven dances. "Only don't be melancholy!" resounded
from the company, and now the greater portion moved phlegmatically
along, as if in sleep or in a forced dance: the girl with her eyes
staring at her own feet, her partner with his head bent toward one
side, and his eyes in a direct line with the girl's head-dress. A
few of the most active exhibited, it is true, a kind of animation,
by stamping so lustily upon the stone pavement that the dust
whirled up around them. That was a joy! a joy which had occupied
them many weeks, but as yet the joy had not reached its height;
"but that will soon come!" said Wilhelm, who, with his sister
and Otto, had taken his place at an open window.
The old people meanwhile kept to the ale-barrels, and the brandy.
The latter was offered to the girls, and they were obliged, at
least, to sip. Wilhelm soon discovered the prettiest, and threw
them roses. The girls immediately sprang to the spot to collect the
flowers: but the cavaliers also wished to have them, and they were
the stronger; they, therefore, boldly pushed the ladies aside, so
that some seated themselves on the stone pavement and got no roses:
that was a merry bit of fun! "Thou art a foolish thing! It fell
upon thy shoulder and thou couldst not catch it!" said the first
lover to his lady, and stuck the rose into his waistcoat-pocket.
All got partners--all the girls; even the children, they leaped
about to their own singing out upon the bridge. Only ONE stood
forlorn,--Sidsel, with the grown-together eyebrows; she smiled,
laughed aloud; no one would become her partner. Peter Cripple
handed his violin to one of the young men and asked him to play,
for he himself wished to stretch his legs a little. The girls drew
back and talked with each other; but Peter Cripple stepped quietly
forward toward Sidsel, flung his arms around her, and they danced a
whirling dance. Sophie laughed aloud at it, but Sidsel directed her
extraordinary glance maliciously and piercingly toward her. Otto
saw it, and the girl was doubly revolting and frightful in his
eyes. With the increasing darkness the assembly became more
animated; the two parties of dancers were resolved into one. At
length, when it was grown quite dark, the ale barrels become empty,
the tankard again filled and once more emptied, the company
withdrew in pairs, singing. Now commenced the first joy, the
powerful operation of the ale. They now wandered through the wood,
accompanying each other home, as they termed it; but this was a
wandering until the bright morning.
Otto and Wilhelm were gone out into the avenue, and the peasants
shouted to them a grateful "Good night!" for the merry afternoon.
"Now works the witchcraft!" said Wilhelm; "the magical power of
the ale! Now begins the bacchand! Give your hand to the prettiest
girl, and she will immediately give you her heart!"
"Pity," answered Otto, "that the Maenades of the north possess only
that which is brutal in common with those of the south!"
"See, there goes the smith's pretty daughter, to whom I threw the
best rose!" cried Wilhelm. "She has got two lovers, one under
either arm!"
"Yes, there she goes!" simpered a female voice close to them. It
was Sidsel, who sat upon the steps of a stile almost concealed in
the darkness, which the trees and the hedge increased still more.
"Has Sidsel no lover?" asked Wilhelm.
"Hi, hi, hi," simpered she; "the Herr Baron and the other gentleman
seek, doubtless, for a little bride. Am I beautiful enough? At
night all cats are gray!"
"Come!" whispered Otto, and drew Wilhelm away from her. "She sits
like some bird of ill omen there in the hedge."
"What a difference!" exclaimed Wilhelm, as he followed; "yes, what
a difference between this monster, nay, between the other girls and
Eva! She was, doubtless, born in the same poverty, in similar
circumstances, and yet they are like day and night. What a soul has
been given to Eva! what inborn nobility! It must be, really, more
than a mere freak of Nature!"
"Only do not let Nature play her freaks with you!" said Otto,
smiling, and raised his hand. "You speak often of Eva."
"Here it was association of ideas," answered Wilhelm. "The contrast
awoke remembrance."
Otto entered his chamber--he opened the window; it was a moonlight
night. From the near wood resounded laughter and song. They came
from the young men and girls, who, on their wandering, gave
themselves up to merriment. Otto stood silent and full of thought
in the open window. Perhaps it was the moon which lent her paleness
to his countenance. On what did he reflect? Upon his departure,
perhaps? Only one more day would he remain here, where he felt
himself so much at home; but then the journey was toward his own
house, to his grandfather, to Rosalie, and the old preacher, who
all thought so much of him. Otto stood listening and silent. The
wind bore the song more distinctly over from the wood.
"That is their joy, their happiness!" said he. "It might have been
my joy also, my happiness!" lay in the sigh which he heaved. His
lips did not move, his thoughts alone spoke their silent language.
"I might have stood on a level with these; my soul might have been
chained to the dust, and yet it would have been the same which I
now possess, with which I long to compass all worlds! the same,
endowed with this sentiment of pride, which drives me on to active
exertion. My fate wavered whether I should become one such as these
or whether I should rise into that circle which the world calls the
higher. The mist-form did not sink down into the mire, but rose
above into the high refreshing air. And am I become happy through
this?" His eye stared upon the bright disk of the moon. Two large
tears rolled over his pale cheeks. "Infinite Omnipotence! I
acknowledge Thy existence! Thou dost direct all; upon Thee will I
depend!"
A melancholy smile passed over his lips; he stepped back into the
chamber, folded his hands, prayed, and felt rest and peace.
CHAPTER XII
"The travellers roll through the world of men,
Like rose leaves in a stream.
The past will ne'er come back again,
But fade into a dream."--B. S. INGEMANN.
The following day, the last before Otto's departure, whilst he and
Wilhelm were walking in the garden, Sophie approached them with a
garland made of oak-leaves: this was intended for Otto; they were
now really to lose him.
"Sophie will scarcely be up so early to-morrow morning," said
Louise; "she is, therefore, obliged to present her garland to-day.
I am never missing at the breakfast-table, as you well know; and I
shall then bring my bouquet."
"I shall preserve both until we meet again," returned Otto; "they
are vignettes to my beautiful summer-dream. When I again sit in
Copenhagen, when the rain patters and the winter approaches with
cold and a joyless sky, I shall still see before me Funen with its
green woods, flowers, and sunshine; it will appear to me that it
must still be so there, and that the garland and bouquet are only
withered because they are with me in the winter cold."
"In Copenhagen we shall meet again!" said Sophie.
"And I shall see you again with the swallows!" said Louise, "when
my flowers spring up again, when we have again warm summer days!
As far as I am concerned, you belong to the summer, and not to the
cold, calm winter."
Early on the following morning was Sophie, after all, at the
breakfast table. That was to honor Otto. Mamma showed herself as
the carriage was at the door. Wilhelm would accompany him as far as
Odense. It was, therefore, a double leave taking, here and there.
"We will always remain friends, faithful friends!" said Wilhelm,
when they parted.
"Faithful friends!" repeated Otto, and they rolled away toward
Middelfart; thus far should mamma's own carriage convey the
excellent Otto. Wilhelm remained behind in Odense; his coachman
drove Otto, and they discoursed upon the way. They passed
Vissenberg: the high, wooded hills there have received the name of
the Funen Alps. The legend relates of robbers who had here deep
passages underneath the high-road, where they hung bells which rang
when any one passed above. The inhabitants are still looked upon
with suspicion. Vissenberg appears a kind of Itri, between
Copenhagen and Hamburg. [Author's Note: "Itri," Fra Diavolo's
birthplace, lies in the Neapolitan States, on the highway between
Rome and Naples. The inhabitants are not, without reason, suspected
of carrying on the robber's trade.] Near the church there formerly
lay a stone, on which Knud, the saint, is said to have rested
himself when flying from the rebellious Jutlanders. In the stone
remained the impression of where he had sat; the hard stone had
been softer than the hearts of the rebellious people.
This, and similar legends, the coachman knew how to relate; he was
born in this neighborhood, but not in Vissenberg itself, where they
make the false notes. [Author's Note: A number of years ago a band
of men were seized in Vissenberg who had forged bank-notes.] Every
legend gains in interest when one hears it in the place with which
it is connected. Funen is especially rich in such relations.
"That cairn elevates itself at Christmas upon four red posts, and
one can then see the dance and merriment of the goblins within.
Through that peasant's farm there drives every night a glowing
coach, drawn by four coal-black horses. Where we now see a pond
overgrown with reeds and roots there once stood a church, but it
sank as the godless desecrated it; at midnight we still hear their
sighs, and hymns of repentance."
It is true that the narrator mixed up together certain leg-ends
which related to other places in the country--that he took little
springs, and mingled his own thoughts with his relations; but Otto
listened to him with great interest. The discourse turned also upon
the family at the hall.
"Yes, they are very much liked!" said the coachman; "the gentleman
may believe we know how to value them."
"And now, which of the young ladies is the best?" asked Otto.
"Yes, every one is best served by Miss Louise," returned the
fellow.
"Miss Sophie is the prettiest," said Otto.
"Yes, she is also very good,--she belongs to the learned ones! She
knows German, that she does! she can act comedy very excellently! I
once got permission with the rest of the people to be up-stairs in
the sitting-room--we stood behind the family; she did not manage
her affairs at all badly."
However much the old legends interested Otto, it seemed as though
he listened with more pleasure to the simple reasonings of the
coachman upon the family who were become so dear to him. Words and
thoughts were busied about the objects there. Wilhelm, however, was
and still remained the dearest; he recollected with what mildness
Wilhelm had stretched forth his hand in reconciliation, when he
himself had thrust him from him. Already the happy summer days
which he had spent at the country-seat, the whole visit, appeared a
beautiful but short dream.
Otto felt an inward impulse to express his gratitude; his pride
even, which was a fundamental feature of his character, commanded
him to do this. Wilhelm's affection, his desire for a continued
friendship, Otto thought he must reward; and on this account he
added the following words to the few lines which he gave the
coachman before his passage over the Little Belt:--
"Wilhelm, in future we will say thou to each other; that is more
confidential!" "He is the first to whom I have given my thou," said
Otto, when the letter was dispatched. "This will rejoice him: now,
however, I myself have for once made an advance, but he deserves
it."
A few moments later it troubled him. "I am a fool like the rest!"
said he, and wished he could annihilate the paper. He was summoned
on board. The Little Belt is only a river between the two
countries; he soon found himself upon Jutland ground; the whip
cracked, the wheels turned round, like the wheels of fortune, up
and down, yet ever onward.
Late in the evening he arrived at an inn. From his solitary chamber
his thoughts flew in opposite directions; now toward the solitary
country-seat of his grandfather, among the sand-hills; now toward
the animated mansion in Funen, where the new friends resided. He
had opened his box and taken out what lay quite at the top, the
garland of oak-leaves and the beautiful bouquet of flowers of this
morning.
Most people maintain that one dreams at night of that which one has
thought much about. According to this, Otto must have thought a
deal about the North Sea, for of it he dreamed the whole night,--
not of the young ladies.
CHAPTER XIII
"The heat-lark warbles forth his sepulchral melodies."
S. S. BLICHER.
The peninsula of Jutland possesses nothing of the natural beauty
which Zealand and Funen present--splendid beeches and odoriferous
clover-fields in the neighborhood of the salt sea; it possesses at
once a wild and desolate nature, in the heath-covered expanses and
the far-stretching moors. East and west are different; like the
green, sappy leaf, and grayish white sea-weed on the sea shore.
From the Woods of Marselisborg to the woods south of Coldinger
Fjord, is the land rich and blooming; it is the Danish Nature in
her greatness. Here rises the Heaven Mountain, with its wilderness
of coppice and heather; from here you gaze over the rich landscape,
with its woods and lakes, as far down as the roaring Cattegat.
The western coast, on the contrary, lies without a tree, without
bushes, with nothing but white sand-hills stretching along the
roaring ocean, which scourges the melancholy coast with sand-storms
and sharp winds. Between these contrasts, which the east and west
coasts present, the Hesperides and Siberia, lies the vast heath
which stretches itself from the Lyneborg sand to the Skagen's reef.
No hedge shows here the limits of possession. Among the crossing
tracks of carriage wheels must thou seek thy way. Crippled oaks,
with whitish-green moss overgrown to the outermost branches, twist
themselves along the ground, as if fearing storms and the sea-mist.
Here, like a nomadic people, but without flocks, do the so-called
Tartar bands wander up and down, with their peculiar language and
peculiar ceremonies. Suddenly there shows itself in the interior of
the heathy wilderness a colony--another, a strange people, German
emigrants, who through industry compel the meagre country to
fruitfulness.
From Veile, Otto wished to take the road through Viborg, as the
most direct and the shortest to his grandfather's estate, which lay
between Nisumfjord and Lemvig.
The first heath-bushes accosted him as dear friends of his
childhood. The beautiful beech-woods lay behind him, the expanse of
heath began; but the heath was dear to him: it was this landscape
which formed the basis of many dear recollections.
The country became ever higher with brown heights, beyond which
nothing was visible; houses and farms became more rare, the cherry
orchards transformed themselves into cabbage-gardens. Only single
spots were free from heather, and here grew grass, but short, and
like moss or duckweed which grows upon ponds: here birds
congregated by hundreds, and fluttered twittering into the air as
the carriage drove past.
"You know where to find the green spot in the heath, and how to
become happy through it," sighed Otto. "Could I only follow your
example!"
At a greater distance rose bare hills, without ling or ploughed
land; the prickly heath looked brown and yellow on the sharp
declivities. A little boy and girl herded sheep by the way-side;
the boy played the Pandean pipe, the little girl sang a psalm,--it
was the best song which she knew how to sing to the traveller, in
order to win a little present from him.
The day was warm and beautiful, but the evening brought the cold
mist from the sea, which, however, in the interior of the country
loses something of its power.
"That is a kiss of welcome from my home," said Otto; "the death-kiss
of the mermaid! In Funen they call it the elf maiden."
Within the last few years a number of children have been sent from
the Orphan Asylum to the heath, in order that, instead of
Copenhagen rogues, they may become honest Jutland peasants. Otto
had a boy of this description for his coachman. The lad was very
contented, and yet Otto became low-spirited from his relation.
Recollections from his own life stirred within his breast. "Return
thanks to God," said he, and gave the lad a considerable present;
"on the heath thou hast shelter and a home; in Copenhagen, perhaps,
the sandy beach would have been thy nightly resting-place, hunger
and cold the gifts which the day would bring thee."
The nearer he approached the west, the more serious became his
frame of mind; it was as if the desolate scenery and cold sea-mist
entered his soul. The pictures of the gay country-seat at Funen
were supplanted by recollections of his home with his grandfather.
He became more and more low-spirited. It was only when a single
mile separated him from his home that the thought of surprising his
dear friends conquered his melancholy.
He caught sight of the red roof of the house, saw the willow
plantations, and heard the bark of the yard-dog. Upon the hillock
before the gate stood a group of children. Otto could no longer
endure the slow driving through the deep ruts. He sprang out of the
carriage, and ran more than he walked. The children on the hillock
became aware of him, and all looked toward the side from whence he
came.
The slow driving, and his being absorbed in melancholy fancies, had
relaxed his powerful frame; but now in one moment all his
elasticity returned: his cheeks glowed, and his heart beat loudly.
From the court resounded singing--it was the singing of a psalm. He
stepped through the gateway. A crowd of peasants stood with bared
heads: before the door stood a carriage, some peasants were just
raising a coffin into it. In the doorway stood the old preacher,
and spoke with a man clad in black.
"Lord Jesus! who is dead?" were Otto's first words, and his
countenance became pale like that of a corpse.
"Otto!" all exclaimed.
"Otto!" exclaimed also the old preacher, astonished; then seized
his hand, and said gravely, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"
"Let me see the face of the dead!" said Otto. Not a tear came to
his eye; surprise and sorrow were too great.
"Shall I take out the screws?" inquired the man who had just
screwed up the coffin.
"Let him sleep the eternal rest!" said the preacher.
Otto stared at the black coffin in which his grandfather lay. The
carriage drove away with it. Otto followed after with the preacher,
heard him throw earth upon it, heard words which he did not
comprehend, saw the last corner of the coffin, and it was then
removed from his sight. All was as a dream to him.
They returned back to the preacher's abode; a pale figure
approached him: it was Rosalie--old Rosalie.
"We have here no abiding-place, we all hasten toward futurity!"
said the old preacher. "Strengthen yourself now with meat and
drink! The body cannot suffer like the soul. We have accompanied
him to His sleeping chamber; his bed was well prepared! I have
prayed the evening prayer; he sleeps in God, and will awaken to
behold His glory. Amen!"
"Otto! thou dear Otto!" said Rosalie. "The bitterest day brings me
this joy! How have I thought of thee! Amongst strangers shouldst
thou receive the tidings of his death! with no one who could feel
for thy sorrow! where thou shouldst see no eye weep for what thou
hast lost! Now thou art here! now, when I believed thee so far
distant--it is a miracle! Thou couldst only have received the
letter to-day which carried the intelligence of thy grandfather's
death to thee!"
"I wished to surprise you," said Otto. "A melancholy surprise
awaited me!"
"Sit down, my child!" said the preacher, and drew him toward the
covered table. "When the tree falls which gave us shade and fruit,
from which we, in our own little garden, have planted shoots and
sown seeds, we may well look on with sadness and feel our loss: but
we must not forget our own garden, must not forget to cherish that
which we have won from the fallen tree: we must not cease to live
for the living! I miss, like you, the proud tree, which rejoiced my
soul and my heart, but I know that it is planted in a better
garden, where Christ is the gardener."
The preacher's invitation to remain with him, during his stay, in
his house, Otto declined. Already this first night he wished to
establish himself in his own little chamber in the house of
mourning. Rosalie also would return.
"We have a deal to say to each other," said the old preacher, and
laid his hand upon Otto's shoulder. "Next summer you will hardly
press my hand, it will be pressed by the turf."
"To-morrow I will come to you," said Otto, and drove back with the
old Rosalie to the house.
The domestics kissed the hand and coat of the young master--he
wished to prevent this; the old woman wept. Otto stepped into the
room; here had stood the corpse, on account of which the furniture
had been removed, and the void was all the more affecting. The long
white mourning curtains fluttered in tire wind before the open
window. Rosalie led him by the hand into the little sleeping-room
where the grandfather had died. Here everything yet stood as
formerly--the large book case, with the glass doors, behind which
the intellectual treasure was preserved: Wieland and Fielding,
Millot's "History of the World," and Von der Hagen's "Narrenbuch,"
occupied the principal place: these books had been those most read
by the old gentleman. Here was also Otto's earliest intellectual
food, Albertus Julius, the English "Spectator," and Evald's
writings. Upon the wall hung pikes and pistols, and a large old
sabre, which the grandfather had once worn. Upon the table beneath
the mirror stood an hour-glass; the sand had run out. Rosalie
pointed toward the bed. "There he died," said she, "between six
and seven o'clock in the evening. He was only ill three days; the
two last he passed in delirium: he raised himself in bed, and shook
the bed posts; I was obliged to let two strong men watch beside
him. 'To horse! to horse!' said he; 'the cannons forward!' His
brain dreamed of war and battles. He also spoke of your blessed
father severely and bitterly! Every word was like the stab of a
knife; he was as severe toward him as ever!"
"And did the people understand his words?" asked Otto with a
wrinkled brow.
"No, for the uninitiated they were dark words; and even had they
possessed any meaning, the men would have believed it was the
sickness which spoke out of him. 'There stands the mother with the
two children! The one shall fall upon the flank of the enemy and
bring me honor and joy. The mother and daughter I know not!' That
was all which I heard him say about you and your mother and sister.
By noon on the third day the fever had spent itself; the strong,
gloomy man was become as weak and gentle as a child; I sat beside
his bed. 'If I had only Otto here!' said he. 'I have been severely
attacked, Rosalie, but I am now much better: I will go to sleep;
that strengthens one.' Smilingly he closed his eyes and lay quite
still: I read my prayers, withdrew gently so as not to wake him; he
lay there unchanged when I returned. I sat a little while beside
his bed; his hands lay upon the coverlid; I touched them, they
were ice-cold. I was frightened, touched his brow, his face--he was
dead! he had died without a death-struggle!"
For a long time did they converse about the dead man; it was near
midnight when Otto ascended the narrow stairs which led to the
little chamber in the roof, where as child and boy he had slept.
All stood here as it had done the year before, only in nicer order.
Upon the wall hung the black painted target, near to the centre of
which he had once shot. His skates lay upon the chest of drawers,
near to the nodding plaster figure. The long journey, and the
overpowering surprise which awaited him on his return, had strongly
affected him: he opened the window; a large white sand-hill rose
like a wall straight up before it, and deprived him of all view.
How often, when a child, had the furrows made by rain in the sand,
and the detached pieces, presented to him pictures,--towns, towers,
and whole marching armies. Now it was only a white wall, which
reminded him of a winding-sheet. A small streak of the blue sky was
visible between the house and the steep slope of the hill. Never
before had Otto felt, never before reflected, what it was to stand
alone in the world, to be lovingly bound to no one with the band of
consanguinity.
"Solitary, as in this silent night do I stand in the world!
solitary in the mighty crowd of human beings! Only ONE being can I
call mine! only ONE being press as kindred to my heart! And I
shudder at the thought of meeting with this being--I should bless
the thought that she was dead! Father! thou didst ruin one being
and make three miserable. I have never loved thee; bitterness
germinated within my breast when I became acquainted with thee!
Mother! thy features have died out of my recollection; I revere
thee! Thou wast all love; to love didst thou offer up thy life--
more than life! Pray for me with thy God! Pray for me, ye dead! if
there is immortality; if the flesh is not alone born again in grass
and the worm; if the soul is not lost in floods of air! We shall be
unconscious of it: eternally shall we sleep! eternally!" Otto
supported his forehead upon the window-frame, his arm sank
languidly, "Mother! poor mother! thou didst gain by death, even if
it be merely an eternal sleep,--asleep without dreams! We have only
a short time to live, and yet we divide our days of life with
sleep! My body yearns after this short death! I will sleep--sleep
like all my beloved ones! They do not awaken!" He threw himself
upon the bed. The cold air from the sea blew through the open
window. The wearied body conquered; he sank into the death-like
sleep, whilst his doubting soul, ever active, presented him with
living dreams.
CHAPTER XIV
"Man seems to me a foolish being; he drives along over the waves of
time, endlessly thrown up and down, and descrying a little verdant
spot, formed of mud and stagnant moor and of putrid green
mouldiness, he cries out, Land! He rows thither, ascends--and sinks
and sinks--and is no more to be seen."--The Golden Fleece of GRILLPARZER.
Old Rosalie was pouring out coffee when Otto came down the next
morning. Peace and resignation to the will of God lay in her soft
countenance. Otto was pale, paler than usual, but handsomer than
Rosalie had seen him before: a year had rendered him older and more
manly; a handsome, crisp beard curled over his chin; manly gravity
lay in his eyes, in which, at his departure, she had only remarked
their inborn melancholy glance. With a kind of satisfaction she
looked upon this beautiful, melancholy countenance, and with
cordial affection she stretched forth her hand toward him.
"Here stands thy chair, Otto; and here thy cup. I will drink to thy
welcome. It seems to me long since I saw thee, and yet it is, now I
have thee again, only a short time. Were that place only not
empty!" and she pointed to the place at the table which the
grandfather had used to occupy.
"If I had only seen him!" said Otto.
"His countenance was so gentle in death," said Rosalie. "The
severity and gravity which had settled in his eyes were softened
away. I was myself present when he was dressed. He had his uniform
on, which he always wore upon occasions of ceremony, the sabre by
his side and the great hat upon his head. I knew that this was his
wish!" Quietly she made the sign of the cross.
"Are all my grandfather's papers sealed?" inquired Otto.
"The most important--those which have the greatest interest for
thee," said Rosalie, "are in the hands of the preacher. Last year,
the day after thy departure, he gave them to the preacher; thy
father's last letter I know is amongst them."
"My father!" said Otto, and glanced toward the ground. "Yes,"
continued he, "there is truth in the words of Scripture,--the sins
of the fathers are visited upon the children unto the third and
fourth generation!"
"Otto!" said Rosalie, with a beseeching and reproachful look, "thy
grandfather was a severe man. Thou last known him, hast seen his
darkest moments, and yet then age and cares had softened him: his
love to thee calmed every outbreak. Had he only loved thy father as
he loved thee, things would, perhaps, have ended better: but we may
not judge!"
"And what have I done?" said Otto. "Thou, Rosalie, knowest the
history of my life. Is it not as if a curse rested upon me? I was a
high-spirited boy, I often occasioned thee tears; yet didst thou
always place thyself between me and punishment. It was my evil
blood, the blood of my birth in which the curse lay, that drove me
on!"
"But thou didst become good and full of love, as thou art now!"
said Rosalie.
"Only when I became acquainted with myself and my destiny. In the
thoughtlessness of childhood, unacquainted with myself and the
world, did I myself have that sign of my misery, which now presses
down my soul, cut into my flesh. Yes, Rosalie! I remember this very
well, and have clearly preserved this, my earliest recollection
before my grandfather took me, and I came here a boy. I remember
the great building from whence I was brought, the number of people
who there worked, sang, and laughed, and who told me extraordinary
stories of how badly people were treated in the beautiful world.
This was my parents' home, thought I, when I began to ponder upon
parents and their connection with children. It was a large
manufactory which they possessed, thought I; I remembered the
number of work-people. All played and romped with me. I was wild
and full of boisterous spirits a boy of only six years old, but
with the perseverance and will of one of ten. Rosalie, thou sawest
many proofs of the evil which lay in my blood; it bordered upon
insolence. I remembered well the strong, merry Heinrich, who always
sang at his loom; he showed me and the others his tattooed breast,
upon which he had his whole mournful history imprinted. Upon his
arm were his own and his bride's names. That pleased me; I wished
to have my name also on my arm. 'It is painful!' said he; 'then
thou wilt pipe, my lad!' That was spur enough to make me desire it.
I allowed him to puncture my skin, to puncture an O and a T upon my
shoulder, and did not cry,--no, not once whilst the powder burnt
into it; but I was praised, and was proud to bear the initials--
proud of them until three years ago, when I met Heinrich here. I
recognized him, but he did not recognize me. I showed him my
shoulder, and besought him to read the name, this O and T: but he
did not say Otto Thostrup; he named a name which destroyed the
happiness of my childhood, and has made me miserable forever!"
"It was a fearful day!" said Rosalie. "Thou didst demand from me an
explanation, thy grandfather gave it thee, and thou wast no longer
the Otto thou hadst formerly been. Yet wherefore speak of it? Thou
art good and wise, noble and innocent. Do not fill thy heart with
sorrow from a time which is past, and which, for thy sake, shall be
forgotten."
"But Heinrich still lives!" said Otto; "I have met with him, have
spoken with him: it was as if all presence of mind forsook me."
"When and where?" asked Rosalie.
Otto related of his walk with Wilhelm in the park, and of the
juggler, in whom he had recognized Heinrich. "I tore myself from my
friends, I wandered the whole night alone in the wood. O Rosalie, I
thought of death! I thought of death as no Christian ought to do. A
beautiful morning followed, I wandered beside the sea which I love,
and in which I have so often dived. Since that explanation of the
initials on my shoulder was suggested, that explanation which
reminded me of my unhappy birth, I have never uncovered them before
any one. O, I have rubbed thorn with a stone, until they were
bloody! The letters are gone, but still I imagine I can read them
in the deep scar--that in it I see a Cain's mark! That morning the
desire to bathe came upon me. The fresh current infused life once
more into my soul. Just then Wilhelm and several acquaintance came
down; they called to me and carried off my clothes; my blood
boiled; all my unhappiness, which this night had stirred within my
soul, again overwhelmed me: it was as though the obliterated
initials on my shoulder would reveal themselves in the scar and
betray the secret of my grief. Disgust of life seized upon me. I no
longer knew what I shouted to them, but it seemed to me as if I
must swim out into the stream and never return. I swam until it
became night before my eyes. I sank, and Wilhelm rescued me! Never
since then have we spoken of this hour! O Rosalie! long is it since
I have been able to open my heart as before thee at this moment.
What use is it to have a friend if one cannot lay before him one's
whole thoughts? To no one have I been able to unfold them but to
thee, who already knowest them. I suffer, as a criminal and yet am
I innocent,--just as the misshapen, the deformed man, is innocent
of his ugliness!"
"I do not possess thy knowledge, Otto," said Rosalie, and pressed
his hand; "have never rejoiced in such a clear head as thine; but I
have that which thou canst not as yet possess--experience. In
trouble, as well as in joy, youth transforms the light cobweb into
the cable. Self-deception has changed the blood in thy veins, the
thoughts in thy soul; but do not forever cling to this one black
spot! Neither wilt thou! it will spur thee on to activity, will
enervate thy soul, not depress thee! The melancholy surprise of thy
grandfather's death, whom thou didst believe active and well, has
now made thee dejected, and thy thoughts so desponding. But there
will come better days! happy days! Thou art young, and youth brings
health for the soul and body!"
She led Otto into the garden, where the willow plantations
protected the other trees from the sharp west wind. The gooseberry-bushes
bore fruit, but it was not yet ripe: one bush Otto had planted when
a cutting; it was now large. Rosalie had tied the twigs to a palisade,
so that, as an espalier, it could thoroughly drink in the sun's rays.
Otto regarded the fetters more than the good intention.
"Let it grow free!" said he; "if that brittle palisade should
tumble down, the twigs would be broken." And he cut the bands.
"Thou art still the old Otto," said Rosalie.
They went into her little room, where the crucifix, and before it a
small vase of flowers, adorned the table. Above the cross hung a
garland of withered heather.
"Two years ago didst thou give me that, Otto!" said Rosalie. "There
were no more flowers, there was nothing green but the heath, and
thou twinedst a garland of it for me. Afterward I would not take it
down from the crucifix."
They were interrupted by a visit. It was from the old preacher.
CHAPTER XV
"His coal was coarse, its fashion old;
He asked no dress of greater worth
Than that which kept from storm and cold
The Baptist when he preached on earth."
C. J. BORE.
Not alone of Otto's affairs, but also of "the city yonder," as the
preacher called Copenhagen, would he speak. Only once a week came
the "Viborg Collector" to hint, and the Copenhagen papers were a
whole month going their round. "One would willingly advance with
the time," said he. Yesterday, at the interment, he had not found
it seemly to gratify his desire of hearing dear Otto talk about the
city, but to-day he thought it might well be done, and therefore he
would not await Otto's visit but come over to pay one himself.
"Thou hast certainly seen our good king?" was his first question.
"Lord help the anointed one! he is then as vigorous and active as
ever--my good King Frederik!" And now he must relate a trait which
had touched his heart, and which, in his opinion, deserved a place
in the annals of history. This event occurred the last time that
the king was in Jutland; he had visited the interior of the country
and the western coast also. When he was leaving a public-house the
old hostess ran after him, and besought that the Father would, as a
remembrance, write his name with chalk upon a beam. The grand
gentlemen wished to deter her, but she pulled at the king's coat;
and when he had learned her wish he nodded in a friendly manner,
and said, "Very willingly!" and then turned back and wrote his name
on the beam. Tears came into the old man's eyes; he wept, and
prayed for his king. He now inquired whether the old tree was still
standing in the Regent's Court, and then spoke of Nyerup and
Abrahamson, whom he had known in his student days.
In fact, after all, he was himself the narrator; each of his
questions related to this or that event in his own life, and he
always returned to this source--his student-days. There was then
another life, another activity, he maintained. His royal idea of
beauty had been Queen Matilda. [Translator's Note: The unhappy wife
of Christian VII. and daughter of our George III.] "I saw her often
on horseback," said he. "It was not then the custom in our country
for ladies to ride. In her country it was the fashion; here it gave
rise to scandal. God gave her beauty, a king's crown, and a heart
full of love; the world gave her--what it can give--a grave near to
the bare heath!"
Whilst he so perpetually returned to his own recollections, his
share of news was truly not new, but he was satisfied. Copenhagen
appeared to him a whole world--a royal city; but Sodom and Gomorrah
had more than one street there.
Otto smiled at the earnestness with which he said this.
"Yes, that I know better than thou, my young friend!" continued the
old preacher. "True, the devil does not go about like a roaring
lion, but there he has his greatest works! He is well-dressed, and
conceals his claws and his tail! Do not rely upon thy strength! He
goes about, like the cat in the fable, 'pede suspenso,' sneakingly
and cautiously! It is, after all, with the devil as it is with a
Jutland peasant. This fellow comes to the city, has nothing, runs
about, and cleans shoes and boots for the young gentlemen, and by
this means he wins a small sum of money. He knows how to spare. He
can now hire the cellar of the house in which thou livest, and
there commence some small trade. The trade is successful, very
successful. It goes on so well that he can hire the lower story;
then he gains more profit, and before thou canst look about thee
he buys the whole house. See, that is the way with the Jutland
peasant, and just the same with the devil. At first he gets the
cellar, then the lower story, and at last the whole house!"
CHAPTER XVI
"Sure 'tis fair in foreign land,
But not so fair as home;
Let me but see thy mountains grand
Glaciers and snowy dome!
Let me but hear the sound that tells
Of climbing cattle, dressed with bells."
The Switzer's Homesickness.
Not until after breakfast did the preacher pass over to Otto's
affairs. His grandfather's will made him the sole heir to the large
property; a man in Copenhagen, the merchant Berger, should be his
guardian, since the preacher did not wish to undertake the office.
Rosalie was not forgotten: her devotion and fidelity had won for
her a relative's right. Her last days should be free from care: she
had truly striven to remove all care from the dead whilst yet he
lived. An old age free from care awaited her; but Otto wished that
she should also have a happy old age. He imparted his plan to the
preacher; but the latter shook his head, thought it was not
practicable, and regarded it as a mere fancy--a whim. But such it
was not.
Some days passed by. One afternoon Rosalie sat upon a small wooden
bench under the cherry-trees, and was making mourning for the
winter.
"This is the last summer that we shall sit here," said she; "the
last summer that this is our home. Now I am become equally rooted
to this spot; it grieves me that I must leave it."
"Thou wast forced to leave thy dear Switzerland," said Otto; "that
was still harder!"
"I was then young," answered she. "The young tree may be easily
transplanted, but the old one has shot forth deeper roots. Denmark
is a good land--a beautiful land!"
"But not the west coast of Jutland!" exclaimed Otto. "For thy green
pasture hast thou here heath; for thy mountains, low sand-hills."
"Upon the Jura Mountains there is also heath," said Rosalie. "The
heath here often reminds me of my home on the Jura. There also is
it cold, and snow can fall already in August. The fir-trees then
stand as if powdered over."
"I love Switzerland, which I have never seen," pursued Otto. "Thy
relation has given me a conception of the picturesque magnificence
of this mountain-land. I have a plan, Rosalie. I know that in the
heart of a mountaineer homesickness never dies. I remember well how
thy eyes sparkled when thou toldest of the walk toward Le Locle and
Neufchâtel; even as a boy I felt at thy words the light mountain
air. I rode with thee upon the dizzy height, where the woods lay
below us like potato fields. What below arose, like the smoke from
a charcoal-burner's kiln, was a cloud in the air. I saw the Alpine
chain, like floating cloud mountains; below mist, above dark shapes
with glancing glaciers."
"Yes, Otto," said Rosalie, and her eyes sparkled with youthful
fire; "so looks the Alpine chain when one goes from Le Locle to
Neulfchâtel: so did I see it when I descended the Jura for the list
time. It was in August. The trees, with their autumnal foliage,
stood yellow and red between the dark firs; barberries and hips
grew among the tall fern. The Alps lay in such a beautiful light,
their feet blue as heaven, their peaks snow-white in the clear
sunshine. I was in a sorrowful mood; I was leaving my mountains!
Then I wrote in my book--O, I remember it so well!--The high Alps
appear to me the folded wings of the earth: how if she should raise
them! how if the immense wings should unfold, with their gay images
of dark woods, glaciers, and clouds! What a picture! At the Last
Judgment will the earth doubtless unfold these pinions, soar up to
God, and in the rays of His sunlight disappear! I also have been
young, Otto," pursued she, with a melancholy smile. "Thou wouldst
have felt still more deeply at the sight of this splendor of
nature. The lake at the foot of the mountains was smooth as a
mirror; a little boat with white sails swam, like a swan, upon its
expanse. On the road along which we drove were the peasants beating
down chestnuts; the grapes hung in large black bunches. How an
impression such as this can root itself in the memory! It is five
and thirty years since, and yet I still see that boat with the
white sail, the high Alps, and the black grapes."
"Thou shalt see thy Switzerland again, Rosalie," exclaimed Otto;
"again hear the bells of the cows upon the green pastures! Thou
shalt go once more to the chapel in Franche Compté, shalt visit
thy friends at Le Locle, see the subterranean mill, and the Doub
fall."
"The mill wheel yet goes round, the water dashes down as in my
youth; but the friends are gone, my relatives dispersed! I should
appear a stranger there; and when one has reached my age, nature
cannot satisfy--one must have people!"
"Thou knowest, Rosalie, my grandfather has settled a sum upon thee
so long as thou livest. Now I have thought thou couldst spend thy
latter days with thy beloved ones at home, in the glorious
Switzerland. In October I take my philosophicum; the following
summer I would then accompany thee. I must also see that splendid
mountain-land,--know something more of the world than I have yet
known. I know how thy thoughts always dwell upon Switzerland.
Thither will I reconduct thee; thou wilt feel thyself less lonely
there than here in Denmark."
"Thou art carried away by the thoughts of youth, as thou shouldst
and must be, thou dear, sweet soul!" said Rosalie, smiling. "At my
age it is not so easy."
"We will make short days' journeys," said Otto, "go with the
steamboat up the Rhine--that is not fatiguing; and from Basel one
is soon in Franche Compté on the Jura."
"No, upon the heath, near Vestervovov, as it is called here, will
old Rosalie die; here I have felt myself at home, here I have two
or three friends. The family at Lemvig have invited me, have for me
a place at table, a little room, and friendly faces. Switzerland
would be no longer that Switzerland which I quitted. Nature would
greet me as an old acquaintance; it would be to me music, once more
to hear the ringing of the cows' bells; it would affect me deeply,
once again to kneel in the little chapel on the mountain: but I
should soon feel myself a greater stranger there than here. Had it
been fifteen years ago, my sister would still have been living, the
dear, pious Adèle! She dwelt with my uncle close on the confines of
Neufchâtel, as thou knowest, scarcely a quarter of a mile from Le
Locle--_the town_, as we called it, because it was the largest
place in the neighborhood. Now there are only distant relations of
mine living, who have forgotten me. I am a stranger there. Denmark
gave me bread, it will also give me a grave!"
"I thought of giving thee a pleasure!" said Otto.
"That thou dost by thy love to me!" returned she.
"I thought thou wouldst have shown me thy mountains, thy home, of
which thou hast so often spoken!"
"That can I still do. I remember every spot, every tree--all
remains so clear in my recollection. Then we ascend together the
Jura higher and higher; here are no more vineyards to be found, no
maize, no chestnuts only dark pines, huge cliffs, here and there a
beech, as green and large as in Denmark. Now we have the wood
behind us, we are many feet above the sea; thou canst perceive this
by the freshness of the air. Everywhere are green meadows;
uninterruptedly reaches our ear the ringing of the cow-bells. Thou
as yet seest no town, and yet we are close upon Le Locle. Suddenly
the road turns; in the midst of the mountain-level we perceive a
small valley, and in this lies the town, with its red roofs, its
churches, and large gardens. Close beneath the windows rises the
mountain-side, with its grass and flowers; it looks as though the
cattle must be precipitated upon the houses. We go through the long
street, past the church; the inhabitants are Protestants--it is a
complete town of watchmakers. My uncle and Adèle also sat the whole
day, and worked at wheels and chains. That was for Monsieur
Houriet, in Le Locle. His daughters I know; one is called Rosalie,
like myself. Rosalie and Lydia, they will certainly have forgotten
me! But it is true that we are upon our own journey! Now, thou
seest, at the end of the town we do not follow the broad road--that
leads to Besançon; we remain in the lesser one, here in the valley
where the town lies. The beautiful valley! The green mountain-sides
we keep to our right; on it are scattered houses, with large stones
upon their steep wooden roofs, and with little gardens tilled with
plum-trees. Steep cliff-walls shut in the valley; there stands up a
crag; if thou climbest it thou canst look straight into France: one
sees a plain, flat like the Danish plains. In the valley where we
are, close under the rock, lies a little house; O, I see it
distinctly! white-washed and with blue painted window-frames: at
the gate a great chained dog. I hear him bark! We step into that
quiet, friendly little house! The children are playing about on the
ground. O, my little Henry-Numa-Robert! Ah, it is true that now he
is older and taller than thou! We descend the steps toward the
cellar. Here stand sacks and chests of flour; under the floor one
hears a strange roaring; still a few steps lower, and we must light
the lamp, for here it is dark. We find ourselves in a great water-mill,
a subterranean mill. Deep below in the earth rushes a river--
above no one dreams of it; the water dashes down several fathoms
over the rushing wheel, which threatens to seize our clothes and
whirl us away into the circle. The steps on which we stand are
slippery: the stone walls drip with water, and only a step beyond
the depth appears bottomless! O, thou wilt love this mill as I love
it! Again having reached the light of day, and under free heaven,
one only perceives the quiet, friendly little house. Dost thou
know, Otto, often as thou hast sat quiet and dreaming, silent as a
statue, have I thought of my mill, and the repose which it
presented? and yet how wildly the stream roared in its bosom, how
the wheels rushed round, and how gloomy it was in the depth!"
"We will leave the mill!" said Otto, and sought to lead her from
her reflections back to her own relation. "We find ourselves in the
wood, where the ringing of the evening-bell reaches our ear from
the little chapel in Franche Compté."
"There stands my father's house!" said Rosalie. "From the corner-window
one looks over the wood toward Aubernez, [Author's Note: A village
in the canton Neufchâtel, lying close upon the river Doub, where
it forms the boundary between Switzerland and France.] where the
ridge leads over the Doub. The sun shines upon the river, which,
far below, winds along, gleaming like the clearest silver."
"And the whole of France spreads itself out before us!" said Otto.
"How beautiful! O, how beautiful!" exclaimed Rosalie, and her eyes
sparkled as she gazed before her; but soon her glance became sad,
and she pressed Otto's hand. "No one will welcome me to my home! I
know neither their joys nor their sorrows--they are not my own
family! In Denmark--I am at home. When the cold sea-mist spreads
itself over the heath I often fancy I am living among my mountains,
where the heather grows. The mist seems to me then to be a snow-cloud
which rests over the mountains, and thus, when other people are
complaining of the bad weather, I am up among my mountains!"
"Thou wilt then remove to the family at Lemvig?" asked Otto.
"There I am welcome!" returned she.
CHAPTER XVII
"Look at the calming sea. The waves still tremble in the depths,
and stem to fear the gale.--Over my head is hovering the shadowy
mist.--My curls are wet with the filling dew."--OSSIAN.
Otto had not as yet visited the sand-hills on the strand, the
fishermen, or the peasants, among whom formerly he had spent all
his spare time.
The beautiful summer's day drove him forth, his heart yearned to
drink in the summer warmth.
Only the roads between the larger towns are here tolerable, or
rather as tolerable as the country will allow. The by-ways were
only to be discerned by the traces of cart-wheels, which ran on
beside each other; at certain places, to prevent the wheels sinking
into the deep sand, ling had been spread; where this is not the
case, and the tracks cross each other, a stranger would scarcely
find the way. Here the landmark places its unseen boundary between
neighboring possessions.
Every farm, every cottage, every hill, was an old acquaintance to
Otto. He directed his steps toward Harbooere, a parish which, one
may say, consists of sand and water, but which, nevertheless, is
not to be called unfruitful. A few of the inhabitants pursue
agriculture, but the majority consists of fishermen, who dwell in
small houses and have no land.
His first encounter upon his wandering was with one of those large
covered wagons with which the so-called eelmen, between the days of
St. John and St. Bartholomew, go with eels toward the small towns
lying to the south and east, and then, laden with apples and garden
produce, return home--articles which are rapidly consumed by the
common people. The eelman stopped when he saw and recognized
Otto.
"Welcome, Mr. Otto!" said he. "Yes, you are come over abut a sad
affair! That Major Thostrup should have gone off so! But there was
nothing else to be expected from him he was old enough."
"Death demands his right!" replied Otto, and pressed the man's
hand. "Things go, doubtless, well with you, Morten Chraenseu?"
"The whole cart full of eels, and some smoked carp! It is also good
to meet with you, Mr. Otto. Upon the land a preacher is very good,
but not upon the sea, as they say at home. Yes, you are certainly
now a preacher, or will become one?"
"No, I am not studying to become a preacher!" answered Otto.
"No! will you then become a lawyer? It strikes me you are clever
enough--you have no need to study any more! You will just go and
say a few words to them at home? The grandmother sits and spins
yarn for eel-nets. She has now the cataract on the other eye, but
her mouth is as well as ever; she does not let herself grow dumb,
although she does sit in the dark. Mother provides the baits; she
has also enough to do with the hooks."
"But Maria, the lively little Maria?" said Otto.
"The girl? She has gone this year with the other fishergirls to
Ringkjoebing, to be hired for the hay and corn harvest; we thought
we could do without her at home. But now, God willing! I must
travel on." Cordially he shook Otto's hand, and pursued his slow
journey.
The brothers of the eelman were active fishermen, as their father
had been before them; and although they were all married they lived
together. The swarm of children was not insignificant; young and
old formed one family, in which the old grandmother had the first
voice.
Otto approached the dwelling; before it lay a little plot of land,
planted with potatoes and carrots, and also beds of onions and
thyme. Two large bull-dogs, with sharp teeth and wicked eyes,
rushed toward Otto. "Tyv! Grumsling!" shrieked a voice, and the
dogs let fall their tails and drew back, with a low growl, toward
the house. Here at the threshold sat an old woman in a red woolen
jacket, with a handkerchief of the same material and same color
about her neck, and upon her head a man's black felt hat. She spun.
Otto immediately recognized the old blind grandmother.
"God's peace be in the house!" said he.
"That voice I have not heard for a year and a day!" replied the old
woman, and raised her head, as if she would see him with her dead
eyes. "Are not you Major Thostrup's Otto? You resemble him in the
voice. I thought, truly, that if you came here you would pay us a
visit. Ide shall leave the baits and put on the kettle, that you
may have a cup of coffee. Formerly you did not use to despise our
entertainment. You have not grown proud with your journey, have
you? The coffee-vetch [Author's Note: Astragalus baeticus is used
as a substitute for coffee, and is principally grown upon the
sand-hills west of Holmsland. It is first freed from the husk, and then
dried and roasted a little.] is good; it is from Holmsland, and
tastes better than the merchant's beans." The dogs still growled at
Otto. "Cannot you stupid beasts, who have still eyes in your heads
to see with, recognize that this is the Major's Otto?" cried she
wrathfully, and gave them several good blows with her hand.
Otto's arrival created a great stir in the little household that he
was welcome, you might see by every countenance.
"Yes," said the grandmother, "now you are grown much wiser in the
town, could, very likely, were it needful, write an almanac! You
will very likely have found for yourself a little bride there, or
will you fetch one out of Lemvig? for no doubt she must be from a
town! Yes, I have known him ever since he was a little fellow;
yonder, on the wall, he made, out of herrings' heads, the living
devil, just as he lives and breathes. He thrust our sucking-pig
into the eel-cart, between the casks. We sought a whole day after
the sucking-pig without finding him, and he was forced to make the
journey with them to Holstebro. Yes, he was a wild fellow! Later,
when he was obliged to learn so much, he became sad. Yes, yes,
within the last years his books have overdone him!"
"Yes, many a time has he put out to sea with my husband!" pursued
one of the daughters-in-law. "One night he remained out with him.
How anxious the French Mamsell at the hall was about him!"
"He was never haughtty," said the grandmother. "He nibbled his
dried fish with the fresh fish, and drank a little cup of water,
although he was used to better things at home. But to-day we have
white bread, fresh and good; it came yesterday from Lemvig."
The brandy-glass, with its wooden, red-painted foot, was placed
before Otto. Under the bed there was an anker of brandy,--"a little
stock," as all stranded goods are here called.
Otto inquired after the married sons. They were with their men on
the shore, ready to embark on their fishing expedition, The
grandmother would accompany him thither; they were not yet
departed: she should first take them provisions.
The old woman took her stick, the dog sprang forward, and now
commenced their wandering among the sand-hills, where their huts or
booths, built with rafters and smeared with earth, stood. Around
lay the refuse of fish,--heads and entrails, thrown about. The men
were just then busied in carrying the trough and fishing-tackle
[Author's Note: A "Bakke" consists of three lines, each of 200
Danish ells, or about 135 yards, and of 200 fishing-hooks; the
stretched "Bakke" is thus about 200 yards, with 600 hooks; these
are attached to the line with strings half an ell long and as thick
as fine twine. To each "Bakke" belongs a square trough, on which it
is carried on board. To a larger fishing-boat are reckoned six lots
of hooks; each lot has eight to nine "Bakkes."] on board.
The open sea lay before them, almost as bright as a mirror, for the
wind was easterly. Near to them paused a horseman; he was partly
dressed like a peasant, with riding-breeches on, which were
buttoned down at the sides.
"Have you heard the news?" he cried to Otto. "I come from
Ringkjoebing. At Merchant Cohen's I have read the German paper;
there is a revolution in France! Charles X. is fled with the whole
royal family. Yes, in Paris, there is fine work!"
"The French are a wild people!" said the grandmother. "A king and a
queen they have beheaded in my time; now they will do the same with
these. Will our dear Lord suffer that such things be done to His
anointed?"
"There will be war again!" said one of the fishermen.
"Then more horses will go out of the country," said the stranger,
pressed Otto's hand, and vanished behind the sandhills.
"Was not that the horse-dealer from Varde?" inquired Otto.
"Yes, he understands languages," said the fisherman; "and thus he
is acquainted with foreign affairs sooner than we. Then they are
now fighting in France! Blood flows in the streets; it will not be
so in Denmark before the Turk binds his horse to the bush in the
Viborg Lake. And then, according to the prophecy of the sibyl, it
will be near the end of the world."
Meanwhile, everything was prepared for their embarkation. If Mr.
Otto would take the further oar, and was inclined to pass the night
on the sea, there was a place for him in the boat. But he had
promised Rosalie to be back before evening. The grandmother now
prayed, kneeling with the others, and immediately after quick
strokes of the oars the flat boat rowed away from the shore. The
fate of France was forgotten; their calling occupied the fishermen.
The old woman seemed to listen to the strokes of the oars; her dead
eyes rested immovably on the sea. A sea-mew passed close to her in
its flight. "That was a bird!" said she. "Is there no one here
beside ourselves?"
"No; no one at all," answered Otto, carelessly.
"Is no one in the hut, no one behind the sand-hills?" again asked
the grandmother. "It was not on account of the dried meat that I
came here--it was not to wet my face on the shore; I speak with you
alone, which I could not do in the house. Give me your hand! Now
that the old man rests in the grave, you yourself will guide the
rudder; the estate will be sold, and you will not come again to the
west coast. Our Lord has made it dark before my eyes before He has
closed my ears and given me leave to go. I can no longer see you,
but I have you in my thought as you looked before you left our
land. That you are handsomer now I can easily imagine; but gayer
you are not! Talk you certainly can, and I have heard you laugh;
but that was little better than the two last years you were here.
Once it was different with you--no fairy could be wilder than you!"
"With years one becomes more quiet," said Otto, and gazed with
astonishment at the blind woman, who did not leave go his hand. "As
a boy I was far too merry--that could not continue; and that I
should now be grave, I have, as you will see, sufficient reason--I
have lost my last support."
"Yes, truly, truly!" repeated she slowly, and as if pondering; then
shook her head. "That is not the reason. Do you not believe in the
power of the devil? our Lord Christ forgive me! do not you believe
in the power of wicked men? There is no greater difference between
the human child and the changeling brat which the underground
spirits lay in his stead in the cradle, than there is between you
when you were a boy and you as you became during the last year of
your stay here. 'That comes from books, from so much learning,'
said I to other people. Could I only have said so to myself! But
you shall become gay; the trouble of your heart shall wither like a
poisonous weed. I know whence it sprung, and will, with God's help,
heal it. Will you solemnly promise, that no soul in the world shall
learn what we speak of in this hour?"
"What have you to say to me?" asked Otto, affected by the
extraordinary earnestness of the old woman.
"The German Heinrich, the player! You remember him well? He is to
blame for your grief! Yes, his name drives the blood more quickly
through your pulse. I feel it, even if I cannot see your face."
"The German Heinrich!" repeated Otto, and his hand really trembled.
Had Heinrich, then, when he was here three years ago, told her and
the fishermen that which no human being must know,--that which had
destroyed the gayety of his youth? "What have I to do with the
German Heinrich?"
"Nothing more than a pious Christian has to do with the devil!"
replied she, and made the sign of the cross. "But Heinrich has
whispered an evil word in your ear; he has banished your joyous
humor, as one banishes a serpent."
"Has he told you this?" exclaimed Otto, and breathed more quickly.
"Tell me all that he has said!"
"You will not make me suffer for it!" said she. "I am innocent, and
yet I have cooperated in it: it was only a word but a very unseemly
word, and for it one must account at the day of judgment!"
"I do not understand you!" said Otto, and his eyes glanced around
to see whether any one heard. They were quite alone. In the far
distance the boat with the fishermen showed itself like a dark
speck.
"Do you remember how wild you were as a boy? How you fastened
bladders to the cat's legs and tail, and flung her out of the
loft-window that she might fly? I do not say this in anger, for I
thought a deal of you; but when you became too insolent one might
wall say, 'Can no one, then, curb this lad?' See, these words I
said!--that is my whole fault, but since then have lain heavy on my
heart. Three years ago came the German Heinrich, and stayed two
nights in our house; God forgive it us! Tricks he could play, and
he understood more than the Lord's Prayer--more than is useful to a
man. With one trick you were to assist him, but when he gave you
the goblet you played your own tricks, and he could make nothing
succeed. You would also be clever. Then he cast an evil eye upon
you, although he was still so friendly and submissive, because you
were a gentleman's child. Do you remember--no, you will certainly
have forgotten--how you once took the baits of the hooks off and
hung my wooden shoes on instead? Then I said in anger, and the
anger of man is never good, 'Can no one, then, tame this boy for
me? He was making downright fun of you to your own face,' said I to
the player. 'Do you not know some art by which you can tame this
wild-cat?' Then he laughed maliciously, but I thought no more of
the matter. The following day, however, he said, 'Now I have curbed
the lad! You should only see how tame he is become; and should he
ever again turn unruly, only ask him what word the German Heinrich
whispered in his ear, and you shall. Then see how quiet he will
become. He shall not mock this trick!' My heart was filled with
horror, but I thought afterward it really meant nothing. Ei! ei!
from the hour he was here you are no longer the same as formerly;
that springs from the magical word he whispered in your ear. You
cannot pronounce the word, he told me; but by it you have been
enchanted: this, and not book-learning, has worked the change. But
you shall be delivered! If you have faith, and that you must have,
you shall again become gay, and I, spite of the evil words which I
spoke, be able to sleep peacefully in my grave. If you will only
lay this upon your heart, now that the moon is in its wane, the
trouble will vanish out of your heart as the disk of the moon
decreases!" And saying this she drew out of her pocket a little
leather purse, opened it and took out a piece of folded paper. "In
this is a bit of the wood out of which our Saviour's cross was
made. This will draw forth the sorrow from your heart, and bear it,
as it bore Him who took upon Himself the sorrow of the whole
world!" She kissed it with pious devotion, and then handed it to
Otto.
The whole became clear to him. He recollected how in his boyish
wantonness he had caused Heinrich's tricks to miscarry, which
occasioned much pleasure to the spectators, but in Heinrich
displeasure: they soon again became friends, and Otto recognized in
him the merry weaver of the manufactory, as he called his former
abode. They were alone, Otto asked whether he did not remember his
name: Heinrich shook his head. Then Otto uncovered his shoulder,
bade him read the branded letters, and heard the unhappy
interpretation which gave the death-blow to his gayety. Heinrich
must have seen what an impression his words made upon the boy: he
gained through them an opportunity of avenging himself, and at the
same time of bringing himself again into repute: as a sorcerer. He
had tamed him, whispered he to the old woman,--he had tamed the boy
with a single word. At any future wantonness of Otto's, gravity and
terror would immediately return should any one ask him, What word
did the German Heinrich whisper into thy ear? "Only ask him," had
Heinrich said.
In a perfectly natural manner there lay, truly, enchantment in
Heinrich's words, even although it were not that enchantment which
the superstition of the old woman would have signified. A
revelation of the connection of affairs would have removed her
doubts, but here an explanation was impossible to Otto. He pressed
her hand, besought her to be calm; no sorrow lay heavy on his
heart, except the loss of his dear grandfather.
"Every evening have I named your name it my prayers said the old
grandmother." Each time when the harbingers of bad weather showed
themselves, and my sons were on the sea, so that we hung out flags
or lighted beacons as signals, did I think of the words which had
escaped my lips, and which the wicked Heinrich had caught up; I
feared lest our Lord might cause my children to suffer for my
injustice."
"Be calm, my dear old woman!" said Otto. "Keep for yourself the
holy cross, on the virtue of which you rely; may it remove each
sorrow from your own heart!"
"No, I am guilty of my own sorrow! yours has a stranger laid upon
your heart! Only the sorrow of the guiltless will the cross bear."
The beautiful sentiment which, unconsciously to her, lay in these
words, affected Otto. He accepted the present, preserved it, sought
to calm the old woman, and once more at parting glanced toward the
splendid sea expanse which formed its own boundary.
It was almost evening before he reached the house where Rosalie
awaited him. His last scene with the blind fisher-woman had again
thrown him into his gloomy mood. "After all, she really knows
nothing!" said he to himself. "This Heinrich is my evil angel!
might he only die soon!" It was in Otto's soul as if he could shoot
a ball through Heinrich's heart. "Did he only lie buried under the
heather, and with him my secret! I will have blood! yes, there is
something devilish in man! Were Heinrich only dead! But others live
who know my birth,--my sister! my poor, neglected sister, she who
had the same right to intellectual development as myself! How I
fear this meeting! it will be bitter! I must away. I will hence--
here will my life-germ be stifled! I have indeed fortune--I will
travel! This animated France will drive away these whims, and--I am
away, far removed from my home. In the coming spring I shall be a
stranger among strangers!" And his thoughts melted into a quiet
melancholy. In this manner he reached the hall.
CHAPTER XVIII
"L'Angleterre jalouse et la Grèce homérique,
Toute l'Europe admire, et la jeune Amérique
Se lève et bat des mains du bord des océans.
Trois jours vous ont suffi pour briser vos entraves.
Vous êtes les aînés d'une race de braves,
Vous êtes les fits des géans!"
V. HUGO, Chants du Crépuscule.
"Politiken, mine Herrer!"
MORTONS' Lystspil: den Hjemkomne Nabob
"In France there is revolution!" was the first piece of information
which Otto related. "Charles X. has flown with his family. This,
they say, is in the German papers."
"Revolution?" repeated Rosalie, and folded her hands. "Unhappy
France! Blood has flowed there, and it again flows. There I lost my
father and my brother. I became a refugee--must seek for myself a
new father-land." She wiped away a tear from her cheek, and sunk
into deep meditation. She knew the horrors of a revolution, and
only saw in this new one a repetition of those scenes of terror
which she had experienced, and which had driven her out into the
world, up into the north, where she struggled on, until at length
she found a home with Otto's grandfather--a resting abode.
Everything great and beautiful powerfully affected Otto's soul;
only in one direction had he shown no interest--in the political
direction, and it was precisely politics which had most occupied
the grandfather in his seclusion. But Otto's soul was too
vivacious, too easily moved, too easily carried away by what lay
nearest him. "One must first thoroughly enter into life, before the
affairs of the world can seize upon us!" said he. "With the greater
number of those who in their early youth occupy themselves with
politics, it is merely affectation. It is with them like the boy
who forces himself to smoke tobacco so as to appear older than he
really is." Beyond his own country, France was the only land which
really interested Otto. Here Napoleon had ruled, and Napoleon's
name had reached his heart--he had grown up whilst this name passed
from mouth to mouth; the name and the deeds of the hero sounded to
him, yet a boy, like a great world adventure. How often had he
heard his grandfather, shaking his head, say, "Yes, now newspaper
writers have little to tell since Napoleon is quiet." And then he
had related to him of the hero at Arcole and among the Pyramids, of
the great campaign against Europe, of the conflagration at Moscow,
and the return from Elba.
Who has not written a play in his childhood? Otto's sole subject
was Napoleon; the whole history of the hero, from the snow-batteries
at Brienne to the rocky island in the ocean. True, this poem was
a wild shoot; but it had sprung from an enthusiastic heart. At
that time he preserved it as a treasure. A little incident which
is connected with it, and is characteristic of Otto's wild outbreaks
of temper when a boy, we will here introduce.
A child of one of the domestics, a little merry boy with whom Otto
associated a good deal, was playing with him in his garret. Otto
was then writing his play. The boy bantered him, pulling the paper
at the same time. Otto forbade him with the threat,--"If thou dost
that again I will throw thee out of the window!" The boy again
immediately pulled at the paper. In a moment Otto seized him by the
waist, swung him toward the open window, and would certainly have
thrown him out, had not Rosalie fortunately entered the room, and,
with an exclamation of horror, seized Otto's arm, who now stood
pale as death and trembling in every limb.
In this manner had Napoleon awoke Otto's interest for France.
Rosalie also spoke, next to her Switzerland, with most pleasure of
this country. The Revolution had livingly affected her, and
therefore her discourse regarding it was living. It even seemed to
the old preacher as though the Revolution were an event which he
had witnessed. The Revolution and Napoleon had often fed his
thoughts and his discourse toward this land. Otto had thus, without
troubling himself the least about politics, grown up with a kind of
interest about France. The mere intelligence of this struggle of
the July days was therefore not indifferent to him. He still only
knew what the horse-dealer had related; nothing of the congregation,
or of Polignac's ministry: but France was to him the mighty world-crater,
which glowed with its splendid eruptions, and which he admired
from a distance.
The old preacher shook his head when Otto imparted this political
intelligence to him. A king, so long as he lived, was in his eyes
holy, let him be whatever sort of a man he might. The actions of a
king, according to his opinion, resembled the words of the Bible,
which man ought not to weigh; they should be taken as they were.
"All authority is from God!" said he. "The anointed one is holy;
God gives to him wisdom; he is a light to whom we must all look
up!"
"He is a man like ourselves!" answered Otto. "He is the first
magistrate of the land, and as such we owe him the highest
reverence and obedience. Birth, and not worth, gives him the high
post which he fills. He ought only to will that which is good; to
exercise justice. His duties are equally great with those of his
subjects."
"But more difficult, my son!" said the old man. "It is nothing, as
a flower, to adorn the garland; more difficult is it to be the hand
which weaves the garland. The ribbon must be tight as well as
gently tied; it must not cut into the stems, and yet it must not be
too loose. Yes, you young men talk according to your wisdom! Yes,
you are wise! quite as wise as the woman who kept a roasted chicken
for supper. She placed it upon a pewter plate upon the glowing
coals, and went out to attend to her affairs. When she returned the
plate was melted, and the chicken lay among the ashes. 'What a wise
cat I have!' said she; 'she has eaten I the plate and left the
chicken!' See, you talk just so, and regard things from the same
foolish point of view. Do not speak like the rest of them in the
city! 'Fear God, and honor the king!' We have nothing to argue with
these two; they transact their business between them! The French
resemble young students; when these have made their examen artium
they imagine they are equal to the whole world: they grow restive,
and give student-feasts! The French must have a Napoleon, who can
give their something to do! If they be left to themselves they will
play mad pranks!"
"Let us first see what the papers really say," replied Otto.
The following day a large letter arrived; it was from Wilhelm:--
"My excellent Otto,--We have all drunk to Otto Thostrup's health. I
raised the glass, and drank the health. The friendship's dissonance
YOU has dissolved itself into a harmonious THOU, and thou thyself
hast given the accord. All at home speak of thee; even the
Kammerjunker's Mamsell chose lately thee, and not her work-box, as
a subject of conversation. The evening as thou drovest over the
Jutland heaths I seated myself at the piano, and played thy whole
journey to my sisters. The journey over the heath I gave them in a
monotonous piece, composed of three tones, quite dissimilar to that
composed by Rousseau. My sisters were near despair; but I told them
it was not more uninteresting than the heath. Sometimes I made a
little flight, a quaver; that was the heath-larks which flew up
into the air. The introduction to the gypsy-chorus in 'Preciosa'
signified the German gypsy-flock. Then came the thema out of
'Jeannot and Collin'--'O, joyous days of childhood!'--and then thou
wast at home. I thundered powerfully down in the bass; that was the
North Sea, the chorus in thy present grand' opéra. Thou canst well
imagine that it was quite original.
"For the rest, everything at home remains in its old state. I have
been in Svendborg, and have set to music that sweet poem, 'The
Wishes,' by Carl Bagger. His verses seem to me a little rough; but
something will certainly come out of the fellow! Thy own wishes are
they which he has expressed. Besides this, the astonishing tidings
out of France have given us, and all good people here, an
electrical shock. Yes, thou in thy solitude hast certainly heard
nothing of the brilliant July days. The Parisians have deposed
Charles X. If the former Revolution was a blood-fruit, this one is
a true passionflower, suddenly sprung up, exciting astonishment
through its beauty, and as soon as the work is ended rolling
together its leaves. My cousin Joachim, who as thou knowest is just
now at Paris, has lived through these extraordinary days. The day
before yesterday we received a long, interesting letter from him,
which gave us--of the particulars as well as of the whole--a more
complete idea than the papers can give us. People assemble in
groups round the post-houses to receive the papers as they arrive.
I have extracted from my cousin's letter what has struck me most,
and send thee these extracts in a supplement. Thou canst thus in
thy retirement still live in the world. A thousand greetings from
all here. Thou hast a place in mamma's heart, but not less so in mine.
"Thy friend and brother,
"WILHELM.
"P. S.--It is true! My sister Sophie begs thee to bring her a stone
from the North Sea. Perhaps thou wilt bring for me a bucket of
water; but it must not incommode thee!"
This hearty letter transported Otto into the midst of the friendly
circle in Funen. The corner of the paper where Wilhelm's name stood
he pressed to his lips. His heart was full of noble friendship.
The extract which Wilhelm had made from his cousin's letter was
short and descriptive. It might be compared with a beautiful poem
translated into good prose.
In the theatre we interest ourselves for struggling innocence; but
we are still more affected when the destiny of a whole nation is to
be decided. It is on this account that "Wilhelm Tell" possesses so
much interest. Not of the single individual is here the question,
but of all. Here is flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone.
Greater than the play created by the poet was the effect which this
description of the July days produced upon Otto. This was the
reality itself in which he lived. His heart was filled with
admiration for France, who fought for Liberty the holy fight, and
who, with the language of the sword, had pronounced the anathema of
the age on the enemies of enlightenment and improvement.
The old preacher folded his hands as he heard it; his eyes
sparkled: but soon he shook his head. "May men so judge the
anointed ones of God? 'He who taketh the sword shall perish by the
sword!'"
"The king is for the people," said Otto; "not the people for the
king!"
"Louis XVIth's unhappy daughter!" sighed Rosalie; "for the third
time is she driven from her father-land. Her parents and brothers
killed! her husband dishonored! She herself has a mind and heart.
'She is the only man among the Bourbons,'" said Napoleon.
The preacher, with his old-fashioned honesty, and a royalist from
his whole heart, regarded the affair with wavering opinion, and
with fear for the future. Rosalie thought most of those who were
made unhappy of the royal ladies and the poor children. Each
followed the impulse of their own nature, and the instinctive
feeling of their age; thus did Otto also, and therefore was his
soul filled with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm belongs to youth. His
thoughts were busied with dreams of Paris; thither flew his wishes.
"Yes, I will travel!" exclaimed he; "that will give my whole
character a more decided bias: I will and must," added he in
thought. "My sorrow will be extinguished, the recollections of my
childhood be forgotten. Abroad, no terrific figures, as here, will
present themselves to me. My father is dead, foreign earth lies
upon his coffin!"
"But the office--examination!" said the old preacher, "pass that
first. It is always good to have this in reserve, even if thou dost
make no use of it. Only make this year thy philosophicum."
"And in the spring I shall travel," said Otto.
"That depends upon thy guardian, my son!" said the preacher.
Several days passed, and Otto began to feel it solitary in his
home--all moved here in such a confined circle. His mind was
accustomed to a wider sphere of action. He began to grow weary, and
then the hours travel with the snail's pace.
"...minutterna ligesom räcka og strärka sig.
Man känner behof at göre sa med." [Note: Sketches of Every-day Life.]
He thought of his departure.
"Thou must take the road through Lemvig," said Rosalie. "I will
then visit the family there for a few days; it will make them quite
happy to see thee, and I shall then be so much longer with thee.
That thou wilt do, wilt thou not?"
The day was fixed when they should travel.
The evening previous, Otto paid his last visit to the preacher.
They spoke together a long time about the deceased grandfather. The
preacher gave up several papers to Otto; among them also his
father's last letter.
In honor of Otto, a bottle of wine was placed upon the table.
"To thy health, my son!" said the preacher, raising his glass. "We
shall hardly spend another evening together. Thou wilt have much to
learn before thou comest as far as I. The world has more thorn-bushes
than gold-mountains. The times look unsettled. France commences a new
description of campaign in Europe, and certainly will draw along with
it all young men: formerly it was the conquerer Napoleon who led to
the field; now it is the idea of liberty! May the Lord preserve our
good king, and then it will remain well with us! Thou, Otto, wilt fly
out into the wide world--hadst thou only first passed thy examination
for office! But when and where-ever thou mayest fly, remember on all
occasions the words of Scripture.
"We all desire to rule. Phaeton wished to drive the chariot of the
sun, but not understanding how to guide the reins, he set fire to
the countries, precipitated himself from the chariot, and broke his
neck. I have no one in the city of Copenhagen whom I can ask thee
to greet for me. All the friends of my youth are scattered to the
east and to the west. If any of them still be in the city, they
will certainly have forgotten me. But shouldst thou ever go to the
Regent's Court, and smoke with the others a pipe under the tree,
think of me. I have also sat there when I was young like thee; when
the French Revolution drove also the blood quicker through my
veins, and thoughts of freedom caused me to carry my head more
high. The dear old tree! [Author's Note: At the end of the last
century it was felled, and two younger ones, which are now in full
growth, planted in its stead.] Yes, but one does not perceive in
it, as in me, how many years have passed since then!"
He pressed a kiss on Otto's forehead, gave him his blessing, and
they parted.
Otto was in a melancholy mood; he felt that he had certainly seen
the old man for the last time. When he arrived at home he found
Rosalie busy hacking. The following morning, by earliest dawn, they
were to travel toward Lemvig. Otto had not been there within these
two last years. In old times the journey thither had always been to
him a festival, now it was almost indifferent to him.
He entered his little chamber; for the last time in his life he
should now sleep there. From the next morning commenced, so it
seemed to him, a new chapter in his life. Byron's "Farewell"
sounded in his ears like an old melody:--
"Fare thee well, and if forever,
Still for ever fare thee well."
At break of day the carriage rolled away with him and old Rosalie.
Both were silent; the carriage moved slowly along the deep ruts.
Otto looked back once more. A lark rose, singing above him.
"It will be a beautiful day!" said the coachman; his words and the
song of the lark Rosalie regarded as a good omen for Otto's whole
journey.
CHAPTER XIX
"Geske.--Have you put syrup in the coffee?
Henrich.--Yes, I have.
Geske.--Be so good, dear madams, be so kind as to be contented."
HOLBERG'S Political Pewterer.
Lemvig lies, as is well known, on an arm of the Limfjord. The
legend relates, that in the Swedish war a troop of the enemy's
cavalry compelled a peasant here to mount his horse and serve as a
guide. Darkness came on; they found themselves already upon the
high sand-banks. The peasant guided his horse toward a steep
precipice; in a farm-house on the other side of the fjord they
perceived a light. "That is Lemvig," said the peasant; "let us
hasten!" He set spurs to his horse, the Swedes followed his
example, and they were precipitated into the depth: the following
morning their corpses were found. The monument of this bold Lemvig
peasant consists of this legend and in the songs of the poets; and
these are the monuments which endure the longest. Through this
legend the bare precipice receives an intellectual beauty, which
may truly compare itself with the naturally beautiful view over the
city and the bay.
Rosalie and Otto drove into the town. It was two years since he had
been here; everything seemed to him, during this time, to have
shrunk together: wherever he looked everything was narrow and
small. In his recollection, Lemvig was very much larger.
They now drew up before the merchant's house. The entrance was
through the shop, which was decorated with wooden shoes, woolen
gloves, and iron ware. Close within the door stood two large casks
of tea. Over the counter hung an extraordinary stuffed fish, and a
whole bunch of felt hats, for the use of both sexes. It was a
business en gros and en détail, which the son of the house managed.
The father himself was number one in Lemvig; he had ships at sea,
and kept open house, as they call it, in the neighborhood.
The sitting-room door opened, and the wife herself, a stout, square
woman, with an honest, contented countenance, stepped out and
received the guests with kisses and embraces. Alas! her good
Jutland pronunciation cannot be given in writing.
"O, how glorious that the Mamsell comes and brings Mr. Thostrup
with her! How handsome he is become! and how grown! Yes, we have
his mark still on the door." She drew Otto along with her. "He has
shot up more than a quarter of a yard!"
He looked at the objects which surrounded him.
"Yes," said she, "that instrument we have had since you were last
here; it is a present to Maren from her brother. She will now sing;
you something. It is astonishing what a voice she has! Last
Whitsuntide she sang in the church with the musical people; she
sang louder than the organ!"
Otto approached the sofa, over which a large piece of needlework
hung, in a splendid gold frame. "That is Maren's name-sampler,"
said the mistress of the house. "It is very pretty. See! there
stand all our names! Can Mr. Thostrup guess who this is? Here are
all the figures worked in open stitch. That ship, there, is the
Mariane, which was called after me. There you see the Lemvig Arms--
a tower which stands on the waves; and here in the corner, in
regular and irregular stitches, is her name, 'Maren, October the
24th, 1828.' Yes, that is now two years since. She has now worked a
cushion for the sofa, with a Turk upon it. It went the round of the
city--every one wished to see it; it is astonishing how Maren can
use her hands!"
Rosalie inquired after the excellent girl.
"She is preparing the table," said the lady. "Some good friends are
coming to us this evening. The secretary will also come; he will
then play with Maren. You will doubtless, in Copenhagen, have heard
much more beautiful music; ours is quite simple, but they sing from
notes: and I think, most likely the secretary will bring his
musical-box with him. That is splendid! Only lately he sang a
little song to the box, that was much better than to the larger
instrument; for I must say he has not the strong chest which Maren
has."
The whole family assembled themselves for the first time at the
dinner-table. The two persons who took the lowest places at table
appeared the most original; these were the shopman and the aunt.
Both of them had only at dinner the honor of being with the family;
they were quite shut out from the evening parties.
The shopman, who in the shop was the first person, and who could
there speak a few words, sat here like a quiet, constrained
creature; his hair combed toward one side, and exhibiting two red,
swollen hands: no sound escaped his lips; kissing the hand of the
lady of the house, at coming and going, was all he did beside eat.
The aunt, who was not alone called so by the family, but by the
whole of Lemvig, was equally sparing of her words, but her face was
constantly laughing. A flowered, red cotton cap fitted close to the
thin face, giving something characteristic to the high cheek-bones
and hanging lip. "She assisted in the household, but could take no
part in genteel company," as the lady expressed herself. She could
never forget how, at the Reformation Festival, when only the
singers sang in the church, aunt began singing with them out of her
book, so that the churchwarden was forced to beg her to be silent;
but this she took very ill, and declared she had as notch right as
the others to praise God, and then sang in defiance. Had she not
been "aunt," and not belonged to the family to which she did, she
would certainly have been turned out.
She was now the last person who entered and took her place at
table. Half an hour had she been sought after before she was found.
She had stood at the end of the garden, before the wooden trellis.
Grass had been mown in the field behind the garden, and made into a
rick; to see this she had gone to the trellis, the odor had
agreeably affected her; she had pressed her face against the
trellis-work, and from contemplation of it had fallen into thought,
or rather out of thought. There she was found, and the dreamer was
shaken into motion. She was again right lively, and laughed each
time that Otto looked at her. He had his seat between Maren and the
lady of the house, at the upper end of the table. Maren was a very
pretty girl--little, somewhat round, white and red, and well-dressed.
A vast number of bows, and a great variety of colors, were her weak
side. She was reading at this time "Cabal and Love."
"Thou art reading it in German!" said the mother.
"Yes, it must be a beautiful piece. I speak German very well, but
when I wish to read it I get on too slowly with it: I like to get
to the end of a book!"
The husband had his place at the head of the table. A little black
cap sat smoothly on his gray hair, and a pair of clever eyes
sparkled in his countenance. With folded hands he prayed a silent
prayer, and then bowed his head, before he allowed the dinner to be
served. Rosalie sat beside him. Her neighbor on the right seemed
very talkative. He was an old soldier, who in his fortieth year had
gone as lieutenant with the land's troops, and had permission to
wear the uniform, and therefore sat there in a kind of military
coat, and with a stiff cravat. He was already deep in Polignac's
ministry and the triumph of the July days; but he had the
misfortune to confound Lafitte and Lafayette together. The son of
the house only spoke of bull-calves. The lady at the table was a
little mamsell from Holstebro, who sat beside him, dressed like a
girl for Confirmation, in a black silk dress and long red shawl.
She was in grand array, for she was on a visit. This young lady
understood dress-making, and could play upon the flute; which,
however, she never did without a certain bashfulness: besides this,
she spoke well, especially upon melancholy events. The bottle of
wine only circulated at the upper end of the table; the shopman and
aunt only drank ale, but it foamed gloriously: it had been made
upon raisin-stalks.
"He is an excellent man, the merchant, whom you have received as
guardian, Mr. Thostrup," said the master of the house. "I am in
connection with him."
"But it is strange," interrupted the lady, "that only one out of
his five daughters is engaged. If the young ladies in Copenhagen do
not go off better than that, what shall we say here?"
"Now Mr. Thostrup can take one of them," said the husband. "There
is money, and you have fortune also; if you get an office, you can
live in floribus!"
Maren colored, although there was no occasion for coloring; she
even cast down her eyes.
"What should Mr. Thostrup do with one of them?" pursued the wife.
"He shall have a Jutland maiden! There are pretty young ladies
enough here in the country-seats," added she, and laid the best
piece of meat upon his plate.
"Do the royal company give pretty operas?" asked Maren, and gave
another direction to the conversation.
Otto named several, among others Der Freischütz.
"That must be horrible!" said the lieutenant. "They say the wolf-glen
is so natural, with a waterfall, and an owl which flutters its wings.
Burgomaster Mimi has had a letter from a young lady in Aarhuus,
who has been in Copenhagen, and has seen this piece. It was so
horrible that she held her hand before her face, and almost
fainted. They have a splendid theatre!"
"Yes, but our little theatre was very pretty!" said the lady of the
house. "It was quite stupid that the dramatic company should have
been unlucky. The last piece we gave is still clear in my
recollection; it was the 'Sandseslöse.' I was then ill; but
because I wished so much to see it, the whole company was so
obliging as to act it once more, and that, too, in our sitting-room,
where I lay on the sofa and could look on. That was an extraordinary
mark of attention from them! Only think--the burgomaster himself
acted with them!"
In honor of the strangers, coffee was taken after dinner in the
garden, where, under the plum-trees, a swing was fixed. Somewhat
later a sailing party was arranged. A small yacht belonging to the
merchant lay, just unladen, near the bridge of boats.
Otto found Maren and the young lady from Holstebro sitting in the
arbor. Somewhat startled, they concealed something at his entrance.
"The ladies have secrets! May one not be initiated?"
"No, not at all!" replied Maren.
"You have manuscript poems in the little book!" said Otto, and
boldly approached. "Perhaps of your own composition?"
"O, it is only a memorandum-book," said Maren, blushing. "When I
read anything pretty I copy it, for we cannot keep the books."
"Then I may see it!" said Otto. His eye fell upon the written
sheet:--
"So fliessen nun zwei Wasser
Wohl zwischen mir und Dir
Das eine sind die Thränen,
Das andre ist der See!"
[Note: Des Knaben Wunderhorn.]
he read. "That is very pretty! 'Der verlorne Schwimmer,' the poem
is called, is it not?"
"Yes, I have copied it out of the secretary's memorandum-book; he
has so many pretty pieces."
"The secretary has many splendid things!" said Otto, smiling.
"Memorandum-book, musical snuff-box"--
"And a collection of seals!" added the young lady from Holstebro.
"I must read more!" said Otto; but the ladies fled with glowing
cheeks.
"Are you already at your tricks, Mr. Thostrup?" said the mother,
who now entered the garden. "Yes, you do not know how Maren has
thought of you--how much she has spoken of you. You never wrote to
us; we never heard anything of you, except when Miss Rosalie
related us something out of your letters. That was not nice of you!
You and Maren were always called bride and bridegroom. You were a
pair of pretty children, and your growth has not been disadvantageous
to either of you."
At four o'clock the evening party assembled--a whole swarm of young
ladies, a few old ones, and the secretary, who distinguished
himself by a collection of seals hanging to a long watch-chain, and
everlastingly knocking against his body; a white shirt-frill, stiff
collar, and a cock's comb, in which each hair seemed to take an
affected position. They all walked down to the bay. Otto had some
business and came somewhat later. Whilst he was crossing, alone,
the court-yard, he heard, proceeding from the back of the house, a
fearful, wild cry, which ended in violent sobbing. Terrified, he
went nearer, and perceived the aunt sitting in the middle of a
large heap of turf. The priestess at Delphi could not have looked
more agitated! Her close cap she had torn from her head; her long,
gray hair floated over her shoulders; and with her feet she stamped
upon the turf, like a willful child, until the pieces flew in
various directions. When she perceived Otto she became calm in a
moment, but soon she pressed her thin hands before her face and
sobbed aloud. To learn from her what was the matter was not to be
thought of.
"O, she is only quarrelsome!" said the girl, to whom Otto had
turned for an explanation. "Aunt is angry because she was not
invited to sail with the company. She always does so,--she can be
quite wicked! Just lately, when she should have helped me to wring
out the sheets, she always twisted them the same way that I did, so
that we could never get done, and my hands hurt me very much!"
Otto walked down to the bay. The sail was unfurled, the secretary
brought out his musical-box, and, accompanied by its tones, they
glided in the burning sunshine over the water.
On the other side tea was to be drunk, and then Maren was to sing.
Her mother asked her to sing the song with the strong tones, so
that Otto might hear what a voice she had.
She sang "Dannevang." Her voice had uncommon power, but no style,
no grace.
"Such a voice, I fancy, you have not heard in the theatre at
Copenhagen?" said the secretary, with dogmatical gravity.
"You might wish yourself such a chest!" said the lieutenant.
The secretary should now sing; but he had a little cold, which he
had always.
"You must sing to the musical-box!" said the lady, and her wish was
fulfilled. If Maren had only commenced, one might have believed it
a trial of skill between Boreas and Zephyr.
They now walked about, drank tea, and after this they were to
return to the house, there to partake of fish and roast meat, a
piece of boxed ham, and other good things.
Otto could by no means be permitted to think of leaving them the
following morning; he must remain a few days, and gather strength,
so that in Copenhagen he might apply himself well to work. But only
one day would he enjoy all the good things which they heaped upon
him. He yearned for other people, for a more intellectual circle.
Two years before he had agreed splendidly with them all, had found
them interesting and intellectual; now he felt that Lemvig was a
little town, and that the people were good, excellent people.
The following play again brought capital cookery, good foul, and
good wine--that was to honor Mr. Thostrup. His health was drunk,
Maren was more confidential, the aunt had forgotten her trouble,
and again sat with a laughing face beside the constrained shopman.
They must, it is true, make a little haste over their dinner, for
the fire-engine was to be tried; and this splendor, they
maintained, Otto must see, since he so fortunately chanced to lie
there.
"How can my mother think that this will give Mr. Thostrup
pleasure?" said Maren. "There is nothing to see in it."
"That has given him pleasure formerly!" answered the mother. "It
is, also, laughable when the boys run underneath the engine-rain,
and the stream comes just in their necks."
She spoke of the former Otto and of the present one--he was become
so Copenhagenish, so refined and nice, as well in the cut of his
clothes as in his manners; yet she still found an opportunity of
giving him a little hint to further refinement. Only think! he took
the sugar for his coffee with his fingers!
"But where are the sugar-tongs, the massive silver sugar-tongs?"
asked she. "Maren, dost thou allow him to take the sugar with his
fingers?"
"That is more convenient!" answered Otto. "I do that always."
"Yes, but if strangers had been here," said the hostess, in a
friendly but teaching tone, "we must, like that grand lady you know
of, have thrown the sugar out of the window."
"In the higher circles, where people have clean fingers, they make
use of them!" said Otto. "There would be no end of it if one were
to take it with the sugar-tongs."
"They are of massive silver!" said the lady, and weighed them in
her hand.
Toward evening Rosalie went into the garden under the plum trees.
"These, also, remind me of my mountains," said she; "this is the
only fruit which will properly flourish there. Lemvig lies, like La
Locle, in a valley," and she pointed, smiling, to the surrounding
sand-hills. "How entirely different it is here from what it is at
home on thy grandfather's estate! There I have been so accustomed
to solitude, that it is almost too lively for me here. One
diversion follows another."
It was precisely this which Otto did not like. These amusements of
the small towns wearied him, and he could not delight himself with
them, no longer mingle in this life.
He wished to set out early the following morning. It would be too
exhausting to drive along the dry road in the sun's heat, they all
declared; he must wait until the afternoon, then it would be
cooler; it was, also, far pleasanter to travel in the night.
Rosalie's prayers decided him. Thus, after dinner and coffee, the
horses should be put into the carriage.
It was the last day. Maren was somewhat in a grave mood. Otto must
write in her album. "He would never come to Lemvig again," said
she. As children they had played with each other. Since he went to
Copenhagen she had, many an evening, seated herself in the swing
near the summer-house and thought of him. Who knows whether she
must not have done so when she copied out of the secretary's
memorandum-book, the verses,--
"So fliessen nun zwei Wasser
Wohl zwischen mir and Dir?"
The sea certainly flows between Aarhuus and Copenhagen.
"Maren will perhaps go over for the winter," said the mother; "but
we dare not speak too much about it, for it is not yet quite
settled. It will really make her gayer! lately she has been very
much inclined to melancholy, although God knows that we have denied
her no pleasure!"
There now arrived a quantity of letters from different
acquaintance, and from their acquaintance: if Mr. Thostrup would
have the goodness to take care of this to Viborg, these to Aarhuus,
and the others as far as Copenhagen. It was a complete freight,
such as one gets in little towns, just as though no post went
through the country.
The carriage stopped before the door.
Rosalie melted into tears. "Write to me!" said she. "Thee I shall
never see again! Greet my Switzerland when thou comest there!"
The others were merry. The lady sang,--
"O could I, like a cloud, but fly!"
The young lady from Holstebro bowed herself before him with an
Album-leaf its her hand, upon which she must beg Mr. Thostrup to
write her something. Maren gave him her hand, blushed and drew
back: but as the carriage rolled away she waved her while
handkerchief through the open window: "Farewell! Farewell!"
CHAPTER XX
"Stop! cried Patroclus, with mighty, thundering voice."--WILSTER'S Iliad.
The parting with Rosalie, the hospitality of the family, and their
sincere sympathy, touched Otto; he thought upon the last days, upon
his whole sojourn in his home. The death of his grandfather made
this an important era in his life. The quiet evening and the
solitary road inclined him still more to meditation.
How cheering and interesting had been a visit to Lemvig in former
times! Then it furnished matter for conversation with Rosalie for
many weeks; it now lay before him a subject of indifference. The
people were certainly the same, therefore the change must have
taken place in himself. He thought of Copenhagen, which stood so
high, and of the people there.
"After all, the difference is not so great!" said he. "In
Copenhagen the social foci are more numerous, the interests more
varied; each day brings a fresh topic of conversation, and one can
choose one's society. The multitude, on the contrary, has something
citizenish; it obtrudes itself even from beneath the ball-dress
which shows itself at court; it is seen in the rich saloon of the
wholesale merchant, as well as in the house of the brandy
distiller, whose possessions give to him and his two brewers the
right of election. It is the same food which is presented to us; in
the small towns one has it on earthenware, in Copenhagen on china.
If one had only the courage, in the so-called higher classes, to
break through the gloss which life in a greater circle, which
participation in the customs of the world, has called forth, one
should soon find in many a lady of rank, in many a nobleman who
sits not alone in the theatre, on the first bench, merely that
empty common earthenware; and that, as with the merchant's wife in
Lemvig, a déjeuner or a soirée, like some public event, will
occupy the mind before and after its occurrence. A court-ball, at
which either the son or daughter has figured, resembles the most
brilliant success in an examination for office. We laugh at the
authorities of Lemvig, and yet with us the crowd runs after nothing
but authorities and newspapers. This is a certain state of
innocence. How many a poor officer or student must play the
subordinate part of the shopman at the table of the rich, and
gratefully kiss the hand of the lady of the house because she has
the right of demanding gratitude? And in the theatre, with the
multitude, what does not 'an astonishing chest' do? A strength of
voice which can penetrate right through the leather of the mind
gains stormy applause, whilst taste and execution can only be
appreciated by the few. The actor can be certain of applause if he
only thunder forth his parting reply. The comedian is sure of a
shout of bravo if he puts forth an insipidity, and rubs his legs
together as if replying with spirit and humor. The massive plate in
the house gives many a lady the boldness to teach that in which she
herself might perhaps have been instructed. Many a lady, like the
Mamsell from Holstebro, dresses always in silk and a long shawl,
and if one asks after her profession one finds it consists at most
in dress-making; perhaps she does not even possess the little
accompanying talent of playing the flute. How many people do not
copy, like Maren, out of other people's memorandum-books, and do
not excel musical-boxes! still one hears a deal of musical snuff-box
music, and is waited upon by voices which are equally as insignificant
as the secretary's."
These were pretty much Otto's reflections, and certainly it was a
good feeling which lay at the bottom of them. Let us remember in
our judgment that he was so young, and that he had only known
Copenhagen _one_ year; otherwise he would most certainly have
thought _quite differently_.
Night spread itself over the heath, the heavens were clear. Slowly
the carriage wound along through the deep sand. The monotonous
sound, the unchanging motion, all rendered Otto sleepy. A falling
star shot like a fire column across the sky--this woke him for a
moment; he soon again bowed his head and slept, fast and deep. It
was an hour past midnight, when he was awoke by a loud cry. He
started up--the fire burnt before them; and between it and the
horse stood two figures, who had taken hold of the leather reins.
Close beside them was a cart, under which was placed a sort of bed,
on which slept a woman and some children.
"Will you drive into the soup-kettle?" asked a rough voice, whilst
another scolded in a gibberish which was unintelligible to Otto.
It had happened to the coachman as to him, only that the coachman
had fallen asleep somewhat later; the horses had lost their track,
and uncertain, as they had long been, they were now traversing the
impassable heath. A troop of the so-called Scavengers, who wander
through these districts a nomadic race, had here taken up their
quarters for the night, had made a fire and hung the kettle over
it, to cook some pieces of a lamb they had stolen on their journey.
"They were about half a mile from the highway," said an elderly
woman who was laying some bushes of heath under the kettle.
"Half a mile?" replied a voice from the other side of the cart, and
Otto remarked a man who, wrapped in a large gray riding-cloak, had
stretched himself out among the heather. "It is not a quarter of a
mile to the highway if people know how to direct their course
properly!"
The pronunciation of the man was somewhat foreign, but pure, and
free from the gibberish which the others employed in their speech.
The voice seemed familiar to Otto, his ear weighed each syllable,
and his blood ran quicker through his veins: "It is the German
Heinrich, the evil angel of my life!" he felt, and wrapt himself
closer in his mantle, so that his countenance was concealed.
A half-grown lad came forward and offered himself as a guide.
"But the lad must have two marks!" said the woman.
Otto nodded assent, and glanced once more toward the man in whom he
believed he recognized the German Heinrich; the man had again
carelessly stretched himself among the heath, and did not seem
inclined to enter into farther discourse.
The woman desired the payment in advance, and received it. The boy
led the horses toward one side; at the moment the fire flare up
between the turf-sods, a great dog, with a loose cord about his
neck, sprang forward and ran barking after the carriage, which now
travelled on over the heath in the gloomy night.
CHAPTER XXI
"Poetry does not always express sorrow; the rainbow can also arch
across a cloudless blue firmament."--JEAN PAUL.
We again find ourselves in Copenhagen, where we meet with Otto, and
may every day expect Wilhelm, Miss Sophie, and the excellent mamma;
they would only stay a few weeks. To learn tidings of their
arrival, Otto determined to pay a visit where they were expected;
we know the house, we were present at the Christmas festival: it
was here that Otto received his noble pedigree.
We will now become somewhat better acquainted with the family. The
husband had a good head, as people sat, had an excellent wine-cellar,
and was, as one of the friends maintained, a good l'hombre player.
But the soul of the house, the animating genius, which drew into
this circle all that possessed life and youth, was the wife.
Beautiful one could by no means call her, but, enchanted by her
natural loveliness, her mind, and her unaffectedness, you forgot
this in a few moments. A rare facility in appreciating the comic of
every-day life, and a good-humored originality in its representation,
always afforded her rich material for conversation. It was as if Nature,
in a moment of thoughtlessness, had formed an insipid countenance, but
immediately afterward strove to make good her fault by breathing into
it a soul, which, even through pale blue eyes, pale cheeks, and ordinary
features, could make her beauty felt.
When Otto entered the room he heard music. He listened: it must be
either Weyse or Gerson.
"It is the Professor Weyse," said the servant, and Otto opened the
door softly, without knocking.
The astral-lamp burnt upon the table; upon the sofa sat two young
ladies. The mistress of the house nodded Otto a friendly welcome,
but then smiling laid her finger on her lips, as a sign of silence,
and pointed to a chair, on which he seated himself, and listened to
the soft tones, which, like spirits, floated from the piano at
which the musician sat. It was as if the slumbering thoughts and
feelings of the soul, which in every breast find a response, even
among the most opposite nations, had found a voice and language.
The fantasies died away in a soft, spiritual piano. Thus lightly
has Raphael breathed the Madonna di Foligno upon the clouds; she
rests there as a soap-bubble rests upon velvet. That dying away of
the tomes resembled the thoughts of the lover when his eye closes,
and the living dream of his heart imperceptibly merges and vanishes
in sleep. Reality is over.
Here also the tones ceased.
"Der Bettelvogt von Ninive
Zog hinab zum Genfersee,
Hm, hm!"
[Author's Note: An old popular German song.]
commenced the musician once more, with an originality and spirit
which influenced the whole company. Far too soon did he again break
off, after he had enchanted all ears by his own treasures, as well
as by the curiosities of the people's life in the world of sound.
Only when he was gone did admiration find words; the fantasies
still echoed in every heart.
"His name deserves to be known throughout Europe!" said the
gracious lady; "how few people in the world know Weyse and Kuhlau!"
"That is the misfortune of a musician being born in a small
country," said Otto. "His works become only manuscript for friends;
his auditory extends only from Skagen to Kiel: there the door is
closed."
"One must console one's self that everything great and good becomes
at length known," said the cousin of the family, who is known to us
by his verses for the Christmas-tree. "The nations will become
acquainted with everything splendid in the kingdom of mind, let it
bloom in a small or in a large country. Certainly during this time
the artist may have died, but then he must receive compensation in
another world."
"I truly believe," returned the gracious lady, "that he would wish
a little in advance here below, where it is so ordered that the
immortal must bow himself before the mortal."
"Certainly," replied Otto; "the great men of the age are like
mountains; they it is which cause the land to be seen from afar,
and give it importance, but in themselves they are bare and cold;
their heights are never properly known."
"Very beautiful," said the lady; "you speak like a Jean Paul."
At this moment the door opened, and all were surprised by the
entrance of Miss Sophie, Wilhelm, and the dear mamma. They were
not expected before the following evening. They had travelled the
whole day through Zealand.
"We should have been here to dinner," said Sophie, "but my brother
could not get his business finished in Roeskelde; then he had
forgotten to order horses, and other little misadventures occurred:
six whole hours we remained there. Mamma contracted quite a passion
there--she fell fairly in love with a young girl, the pretty Eva."
"Yes, she is a nice creature!" said the old lady. "Had I not
reason, Mr. Thostrup? You and my Wilhelm had already made her
interesting to me. She has something so noble, so refined, which
one so rarely meets with in the lower class; she deserves to come
among educated people."
"Otto, what shall our hearts say," exclaimed Wilhelm, "when my good
mother is thus affected?"
They assembled round the tea-table. Wilhelm addressed Otto with the
confidential "thou" which Otto himself had requested.
"We will drink together in tea and renew our brotherhood."
Otto smiled, but with such a strangely melancholy air, and spoke
not a word.
"He's thinking about the old grandfather," thought Wilhelm, and
laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "The Kammerjunker and his
ladies greet thee!" said he. "I believe the Mamsell would willingly
lay thee in her own work-box, were that to be done."
Otto remained quiet, but in his soul there was a strange commotion.
It would be a difficult thing to explain this motive, which
belonged to his peculiarity of mind; it entered among the mysteries
of the soul. The multitude call it in individuals singularity, the
psychologist finds a deeper meaning in it, which the understanding
is unable to fathom. We have examples of men, whose strength of
mind and body were well known, feeling faint at the scent of a
rose; others have been thrown into a convulsive state by touching
gray paper. This cannot be explained; it is one of the riddles of
Nature. A similar relaxing sensation Otto experienced when he, for
the first time, heard himself addressed as "thou" by Wilhelm. It
seemed to him as though the spiritual band which encircled them
loosened itself, and Wilhelm became a stranger. It was impossible
for Otto to return the "thou," yet, at the same time, he felt the
injustice of his behavior and the singularity, and wished to
struggle against it; he mastered himself, attained a kind of
eloquence, but no "thou" would pass his lips.
"To thy health, Otto," said Wilhelm, and pushed his cup against
Otto's.
"Health!" said Otto, with a smile.
"It is true," began the cousin, "I promised you the other day to
bring my advertisements with me; the first volume is closed." And
he drew from his pocket a book in which a collection of the most
original Address-Gazette advertisements, such as one sees daily,
was pasted.
"I have one for you," said the lady; "I found it a little time
since. 'A woman wishes for a little child to bottle.' Is not that
capital?"
"Here is also a good one," said Wilhelm, who had turned over the
leaves of the book: "'A boy of the Mosaic belief may be apprenticed
to a cabinet-maker, but he need not apply unless he will eat
everything that happens to be in the house.' That is truly a hard
condition for the poor lad."
"Almost every day," said the cousin, "one may read, 'For the play
of to-day or to-morrow is a good place to be had in the third story
in the Christenbernikov Street.' The place is a considerable
distance from the theatre."
"Theatre!" exclaimed the master of the house, who now entered to
take his place at the tea-table, "one can soon hear who has that
word in his mouth; now is he again at the theatre! The man can
speak of nothing else. There ought, ready, to be a fine imposed,
which he should pay each time he pronounces the word theatre. I
would only make it a fine of two skillings, and yet I dare promise
that before a month was over he would be found to pay in fines his
whole pocket-money, and his coat and boots besides. It is a real
mania with the man! I know no one among my young friends," added
he, with an ironical smile at Wilhelm,--"no, not one, who has such
a hobby-horse as our good cousin."
"Here thou art unjust to him!" interrupted his wife; "do not place
a fine upon him, else I will place thee in a vaudeville! Thy life
is in politics; our cousin's in theatrical life; Wilhelm's in
thorough-bass; and Mr. Thostrup's in learned subjects. Each of you
is thus a little nail in the different world-wheels; whoever
despises others shows that he considers his wheel the first, or
imagines that the world is a wheelbarrow, which goes upon one
wheel! No, it is a more complicated machine."
Later in the evening, when the company broke up, Otto and Wilhelm
went together.
"I do not think," said Wilhelm, "that thou hast yet said thou to
me. Is it not agreeable to thee?"
"It was my own wish, my own request," replied Otto. "I have not
remarked what expressions I have employed." He remained silent.
Wilhelm himself seemed occupied with unusual thoughts, when he
suddenly exclaimed: "Life is, after all, a gift of blessings! One
should never make one's self sorrows which do not really exist!
'Carpe diem,' said old Horace."
"That will we!" replied Otto; "but now we must first think of our
examination."
They pressed each other's hands and parted.
"But I have heard no thou!" said Wilhelm to himself "He is an
oddity, and yet I love him! In this consists, perhaps, my own
originality."
He entered his room, where the hostess had been cleaning,
and had arranged the books and papers in the nicest order. Wilhelm
truly called it disorder; the papers in confusion and the books in
a row. The lamp even had a new place; and this was called order!
Smiling, he seated himself at the piano; it was so long since they
had said "Good day" to each other! He ran over the keys several
times, then lost himself in fantasies. "That is lovely!" he
exclaimed. "But it is not my property! What does it belong to? It
melts into my own feelings!" He played it again. It was a thema out
of "Tancredi," therefore from Rossini, even the very composer whom
our musical friends most looked down upon; how could he then guess
who had created those tones which now spoke to his heart? His whole
being he felt penetrated by a happiness, a love of life, the cause
of which he knew not. He thought of Otto with a warmth which the
latter's strange behavior did not deserve. All beloved beings
floated so sweetly before his mind. This was one of those moments
which all good people know; one feels one's self a member of the
great chain of love which binds creation together.
So long as the rose-bud remains folded together it seems to be
without fragrance; yet only one morning is required, and the fine
breath streams from the crimson mouth. It is only one moment; it is
the commencement of a new existence, which already has lain long
concealed in the bud: but one does not see the magic wand which
works the change. This spiritual contrast, perhaps, took place in
the past hour; perhaps the last evening rays which fell upon the
leaves concealed this power! The roses of the garden must open;
those of the heart follow the same laws. Was this love? Love is, as
poets say, a pain; it resembles the disease of the mussel, through
which pearls are formed. But Wilhelm was not sick; he felt himself
particularly full of strength and enjoyment of life. The poet's
simile of the mussel and the pearl sounds well, but it is false.
Most poets are not very learned in natural history; and, therefore,
they are guilty of many errors with regard to it. The pearl is
formed on the mussel not through disease; when an enemy attacks her
she sends forth drops in her defense, and these change into pearls.
It is thus strength, and not weakness, which creates the beautiful.
It would be unjust to call love a pain, a sickness; it is an energy
of life which God has planted in the human breast; it fills our
whole being like the fragrance which fills each leaf of the rose,
and then reveals itself among the struggles of life as a pearl of
worth.
These were Wilhelm's thoughts; and yet it was not perfectly clear
to him that he loved with his whole soul, as one can only love
once.
The following forenoon he paid a visit to Professor Weyse.
"You are going to Roeskelde, are you not?" asked Wilhelm. "I have
heard you so often play the organ here in Our Lady's church, I
should very much like to hear you there, in the cathedral. If I
were to make the journey, would you then play a voluntary for me?"
"You will not come!" said the musician.
"I shall come!" answered Wilhelm, and kept his word. Two days after
this conversation he rolled through the streets of Roeskelde.
"I am come for a wager! I shall hear Weyse play the organ!" said he
to the host, although there was no need for an apology.
Bulwer in his romance, "The Pilgrims of the Rhine," has with
endless grace and tenderness called forth a fairy world. The little
spirits float there as the breath of air floats around the material
reality; one is forced to believe in their existence. With a genius
powerful as that which inspired Bulwer, glorious as that which
infused into Shakespeare the fragrance we find breathed over the
"Midsummer-night's Dream," did Weyse's tones fill Wilhelm; the deep
melodies of the organ in the old cathedral had indeed attracted him
to the quiet little town! The powerful tones of the heart summoned
him! Through them even every day things assumed a coloring, an
expression of beauty, such as Byron shows us in words, Thorwaldsen
in the hard stone, Correggio in colors.
We have by Goethe a glorious poem, "Love a Landscape-painter." The
poet sits upon a peak and gazes before him into the mist, which,
like canvas spread upon the easel, conceals all heights and
expanses; then comes the God of Love and teaches him how to paint a
picture on the mist. The little one now sketches with his rosy
fingers a picture such as only Nature and Goethe give us. Were the
poet here, we could offer him no rock on which he might seat
himself, but something, through legends and songs, equally
beautiful. He would then sing,--I seated myself upon the mossy
stone above the cairn; the mist resembled outstretched canvas. The
God of Love commenced on this his sketch. High up he painted a
glorious still, whose rays were dazzling! The edges of the clouds
he made as of gold, and let the rays penetrate through them; then
painted he the fine light boughs of fresh, fragrant trees; brought
forth one hill after the other. Behind these, half-concealed, lay a
little town, above which rose a mighty church; two tall towers with
high spires rose into the air; and below the church, far out, where
woods formed the horizon, drew he a bay so naturally! it seemed to
play with the sunbeams as if the waves splashed up against the
coast. Now appeared flowers; to the fields and meadows he gave the
coloring of velvet and precious stones; and on the other side of
the bay the dark woods melted away into a bluish mist. "I can
paint!" said the little one; "but the most difficult still remains
to do." And he drew with his delicate finger, just where the rays
of the sun fell most glowingly, a maiden so gentle, so sweet, with
dark blue eyes and cheeks as blooming as the rosy fingers which
formed the picture. And see! a breeze arose; the leaves of the
trees quivered; the expanse of water ruffled itself; the dress of
the maiden was gently stirred; the maiden herself approached: the
picture itself was a reality! And thus did the old royal city
present itself before Wilhelm's eyes, the towers of the cathedral,
she tay, the far woods, and--Eva!
The first love of a pure heart is holy! This holiness may be
indicated, but not described! We return to Otto.
CHAPTER XXII
"A man only gains importance by a poet's fancy, when his genius
vividly represents to our imagination a clearer, but not an
ennobled image of men and objects which have an existence; then
alone he understands how to idealize."--H. HERTZ.
We pass on several weeks. It was toward the end of September, the
examen philosophicum was near. Preparations for this had been
Otto's excuse for not yet having visited the family circle of his
guardian, the merchant Berger. This was, however, brought about by
Otto's finding one day, when he went to speak with his guardian,
the mistress of the house in the same room. We know that there are
five daughters in the house, and that only one is engaged, yet they
are all well-educated girls--domestic girls, as their mother
assured her friend upon more than one occasion.
"So, then, I have at length the honor of making your acquaintance,"
said Mrs. Berger. "this visit, truly, is not intended either for me
or the children, but still you must now drink a cup of coffee with
us. Within it certainly looks rather disorderly; the girls are
making cloaks for the winter. We will not put ourselves out of the
way for you: you shall be regarded as a member of the family: but
then you must come to us in a friendly way. Every Thursday our
son-in-law dines with us, will you then be contented with our dinner?
Now you shall become acquainted with my daughters."
"And I must to my office," said the husband; "therefore let us
consider Thursday as an appointment. We dine at three o'clock, and
after coffee Laide gives us music."
The lady now conducted Otto into the sitting-room, where he found
the four daughters in full activity with a workwoman. The fifth
daughter, Julle, was, as they had told him, gone to the shops for
patterns: yesterday she had run all over the town, but the patterns
she received were not good.
The lady told him the name of each daughter; their characteristics
he naturally learnt later.
All the five sisters had the idea that they were so extremely
different, and yet they resembled each other to a hair. Adelaide,
or Laide, as she was also called, was certainly the prettiest; that
she well knew also, therefore she would have a fur cape, and no
cloak; her figure should be seen. Christiane was what one might
call a practical girl; she knew how to make use of everything.
Alvilde had always a little attack of the tooth-ache; Julle went
shopping, and Miss Grethe was the bride. She was also musical, and
was considered witty. Thus she said one evening when the house-door
was closed, and groaned dreadfully on its hinges, "See now, we have
port wine after dinner." [Translator's Note: A pun which it is
impossible to translate. The Danish word Portviin according to
sound, may mean either port wine or the creaking of a door.] The
brother, the only son of the house, with whom we shall become
better acquainted, had written down this conceit; "but that was
only to be rude toward her," said Miss Grethe. "Such good ideas as
this I have every hour of the day!"
We ought really to accuse these excellent girls of nothing foolish;
they were very good and wise. The lover, Mr. Svane, was also a
zealous wit; he was so lively, they said. Every one with whom he
became a little familiar he called immediately Mr. Petersen, and
that was so droll!
"Now the father has invited Mr. Thostrup to come on Thursday!" said
the lady. "I also think, if we were to squeeze ourselves a little
together, he might find a place with us in the box; the room is,
truly, very confined."
Otto besought them not to incommode themselves.
"O, it is a large box!" said the lady, but she did not say how many
of them were already in it. Only eleven ladies went from the family
itself. They were obliged to go to the theatre in three parties, so
that people might not think; if they all went together, there was a
mob. One evening, when the box had been occupied by eighteen
persons, beside several twelve-year old children, who had sat in
people's laps, or stood before them, and the whole party had
returned home in one procession, and were standing before the house
door to go in, people streamed together, imagining there was some
alarm, or that some one had fallen into convulsions. "What is the
matter?" they asked, and Miss Grethe immediately replied, "It is a
select company!" [Translator's Note: A select or shut-out company.
We regret that this pun, like the foregoing one, is untransferable
into English.] Since that evening they returned home in separate
divisions.
"It is really a good box!" said Alvilde; "if we had only other
neighbors! The doors are opening and shutting eternally, and make a
draught which is not bearable for the teeth. And then they speak so
loud! the other night I did not hear a single word of the pretty
song about Denmark."
"But did you lose much through that?" asked Otto, smiling, and soon
they found themselves very much at variance, just as if they had
been old acquaintances. "I do not think much of these patriotic
scraps, where the poet, in his weakness, supports himself by this
beautiful sentiment of patriotism in the people. You will certainly
grant that here the multitude always applauds when it only hears
the word 'Father-land,' or the name of 'Christian IV.' The poet
must give something more; this is a left-handed kind of patriotism.
One would really believe that Denmark were the only country in the
world!"
"Fie, Mr. Thostrup!" said the lady: "do you not then love your
father-land?"
"I believe I love it properly!" returned he: "and because it really
possesses so much that is excellent do I desire that only what is
genuine should be esteemed, only what is genuine be prized."
"I agree in the main with Mr. Thostrup," said Miss Grethe, who was
busied in unpicking and turning her cloak, in order, as she herself
said, to spoil it on the other side. "I think he is right! If a
poem is well spoken on the stage, it has always a kind of effect.
It is just the same as with stuffs--they may be of a middling
quality and may have an unfavorable pattern, but if they are worn
by a pretty figure they look well after all!"
"I am often vexed with the public!" said Otto. "It applauds at
improper places, and sometimes exhibits an extraordinary
innocence."
"Those are 'the lords of the kingdom of mind,'" said Miss Grethe, smiling.
[Note: "We are the lords of the kingdom of mind!
We are the stem which can never decay!"
--Students' Song, by CHRISTIAN WINTHER.]
"No, the _neighbors_!" replied Otto quickly.
At this moment Miss Julle entered. She had been wandering from shop
to shop, she said, until she could bear it no longer! She had had
the stuffs down from all the shelves, and at length had succeeded
so far as to become possessed of eight small pieces--beautiful
patterns, she maintained. And now she knew very well where the
different stuffs were to be had, how wide they were, and how much
the yard. "And whom did I meet?" said she; "only think! down the
middle of East Street came the actor--you know well! Our little
passion! He is really charming off the stage."
"Did you meet him?" said Laide. "That girl is always lucky!"
"Mr. Thostrup," said the mother, presenting him, for the young lady
seemed to forget him entirely, so much was she occupied with this
encounter and her patterns.
Julle bowed, and said she had seen him before: he had heard
Mynster, and had stood near the chair where she sat; he was dressed
in an olive-green coat.
"Then you are acquainted with each other!" said the lady. "She is
the most pious of all the children. When the others rave about
Spindler and Johanne Schoppenhauer, she raves about the clergyman
who confirmed her. You know my son? He became a student a year
before you. He sees you in the club sometimes."
"There you will have seen him more amiable than you will find him
at home," said Adelaide. "Heaven knows he is not gallant toward his
sisters!"
"Sweet Laide, how can you say so!" cried the mother. "You are
always so unjust toward Hans Peter! When you become better
acquainted with him, Mr. Thostrup, you will like him; he is a
really serious young man, of uncorrupted manners. Do you remember,
Laide, how he hissed that evening in the theatre when they gave
that immoral piece? And how angry he is with that 'Red Riding
Hood?' O, the good youth! Besides, in our family, you will soon
meet with an old acquaintance--in a fortnight a lady out of Jutland
will come here. She remains the winter here. Do you not guess who
it is? A little lady from Lemvig!"
"Maren!" exclaimed Otto.
"Yes, truly!" said the lady. "She is said to have such a beautiful
voice!"
"Yes, in Lemvig," remarked Adelaide. "And what a horrible name she
has! We must christen her again, when she comes. She must be called
Mara, or Massa."
"We could call her Massa Carara!" said Grethe.
"No; she shall be called Maja, as in the 'Every-day Tales,'" said
Christiane.
"I am of Jane's opinion!" said the mother. "We will christen her
again, and call her Maja."
Continued ---
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