“With a smile as if an angelHad just then kissed her mouth.” [Note: Christian Winther.]
Louise pressed her countenance on the soft pillow, and wept.
“A swarm of colors, noise and screaming,Music and sights, past any dreaming,The rattle of wheels going late and early,—All draw the looker-on into the hurly-burly.”TH. OVERSKOU.
A few days passed on. Otto heard nothing of German Heinrich or of his sister. Peter Cripple seemed not to be in their confidence. All that he knew was, that the letter which he had conveyed to Otto was to be unknown to any one beside. As regarded German Heinrich, he believed that he was now in another part of tire country; but that at St. Knud’s fair, in Odense, he would certainly find him.
In Otto’s soul there was an extraordinary combating. Louise’s words, that he had been deceived, gave birth to hopes, which, insignificant as the grain of mustard-seed, shot forth green leaves.
“May not,” thought he, “German Heinrich, to further his own plans, have made use of my fear? I must speak with him; he shall swear to me the truth.”
He compared in thought the unpleasing, coarse features of Sidsel, with the image which his memory faintly retained of his little sister. She seemed to him as a delicate creature with large eyes. He had not forgotten that the people about them had spoken of her as of “a kitten that they could hardly keep alive.” How then could she now be this square-built, singularly plain being, with the eyebrows growing together? “I must speak with Heinrich,” resolved he; “she cannot be my sister! so heavily as that God will not try me.”
By such thoughts as these his mind became much calmer. There were moments when the star of love mirrored itself in his life’s sea.
His love for Sophie was no longer a caged bird within his breast; its wings were at liberty; Louise saw its release; it was about to fly to its goal.
St. Knud’s fair was at hand, and on that account the family was about to set out for Odense. Eva was the only one who was to remain at home. It was her wish to do so.
“Odense is not worth the trouble of thy going to see,” said Sophie; “but in this way thou wilt never increase thy geographical knowledge. In the mean time, however, I shall bring thee a fairing—a husband of honey cake, ornamented with almonds.”
Wilhelm thought that she should enjoy the passing pleasure, and go with them; but Eva prayed to stay, and she had her will.
“There is a deal of pleasure in the world,” said Wilhelm, “if people will only enjoy it. If one day in Paris is a brilliant flower, a day at Odense fair is also a flower. It is a merry, charming world that we live in! I am almost ready to say with King Valdemar, that if I might keep—yes, I will say, the earth, then our Lord might willingly for me keep heaven: there it is much better than we deserve; and God knows whether we may not, in the other world, have longings after the old world down here!”
“After Odense fair?” asked Sophie ironically.
Otto stood wrapped in his own thoughts. This day, he felt, would be one of the most remarkable in his life. German Heinrich must give him an explanation. Sophie must do so likewise Could he indeed meet with success from them both? Would not sorrow and pain be his fairings?
The carriage rolled away.
From the various cross-roads came driving up the carriages of the gentry and the peasants; the one drove past the other; and as the French and English Channel collects ships from the Atlantic Ocean, so did the King’s Road those who drove in carriages, those who rode on horseback, and those who went on foot.
Behind most of the peasant-vehicles were tied a few horses, that went trotting on with them. Mamsells from the farms sat with large gloves on their red arms and hands. They held their umbrellas before their faces on account of the dust and the sun.
“The Kammerjunker’s people must have set off earlier than we,” said Sophie, “otherwise they would have called for us.”
Otto looked inquiringly at her. She thought on the Kammerjunker!
“We shall draw up by Faugde church,” said Sophie. “Mr. Thostrup can see Kingo’s [Author’s Note: The Bishop of Funen, who died in 1703.] grave—can see where the sacred poet lies. Some true trumpeting angels, in whom one can rightly see how heavy the marble is, fly with the Bishop’s staff and hat within the chapel.”
Otto smiled, and she thought also about giving him pleasure.
The church was seen, the grave visited, and they rapidly rolled along the King’s Road toward Odense, the lofty tower of whose cathedral had hailed them at some miles’ distance.
We do not require alone from the portrait-painter that he should represent the person, but that he should represent him in his happiest moment. To the plain as well as to the inexpressive countenance must the painter give every beauty which it possesses. Every human being has moments in which something intellectual or characteristic presents itself. Nature, too, when we are presented only with the most barren landscape, has the same moments; light and shadow produce these effects. The poet must be like the painter; he must seize upon these moments in human life as the other in nature.
If the reader were a child who lived in Odense, it would require nothing more from him than that he should say the words, “St. Knud’s fair;” and this, illumined by the beams of the imagination of childhood, would stand before him in the most brilliant colors. Our description will be only a shadow; it will be that, perhaps, which the many will find it to be.
Already in the suburbs the crowd of people, and the outspread earthenware of the potters, which entirely covered the trottoir, announced that the fair was in full operation.
The carriage drove down from the bridge across the Odense River.
“See, how beautiful it is here!” exclaimed Wilhelm.
Between the gardens of the city and a space occupied as a bleaching ground lay the river. The magnificent church of St. Knud, with its lofty tower, terminated the view.
“What red house was that?” inquired Otto, when they had lost sight of it.
“That is the nunnery!” replied Louise, knowing what thought it was which had arisen in his mind.
“There stood in the ancient times the old bishop’s palace, where Beldenak lived!” said Sophie. “Just opposite to the river is the bell-well, where a bell flew out of St. Albani’s tower. The well is unfathomable. Whenever rich people in Odense die, it rings down below the water!”
“It is not a pleasant thought,” said Otto, “that it rings in the well when they must die.”
“One must not take it in that way now!” said Sophie, laughing, and turned the subject. “Odense has many lions,” continued she, “from a king’s garden with swans in it to a great theatre, which has this in common with La Scala and many Italian ones, that it is built upon the ruins of a convent. [Note: That of the Black Brothers.]
“In Odense, aristocracy and democracy held out the longest,” said Wilhelm, smiling; “yet I remember, in my childhood, that when the nobles and the citizens met on the king’s birthday at the town-house ball, that we danced by ourselves.”
“Were not, then, the citizens strong enough to throw the giddy nobles out of the window?” inquired Otto.
“You forget, Mr. Thostrup, that you yourself are noble!” said Sophie. “I was really the goddess of fate who gave to you your genealogical tree.”
“You still remember that evening?” said Otto, with a gentle voice, and the thoughts floated as gayly in his mind as the crowd of people floated up and down in the streets through which they drove.
Somewhere about the middle of the city five streets met; and this point, which widens itself out into a little square, is called the Cross Street: here lay the hotel to which the family drove.
“Two hours and a quarter too late!” said the Kammerjunker, who came out to meet them on the steps. “Good weather for the fair, and good horses! I have already been out at the West-gate, and have bought two magnificent mares. One of them kicked out behind, and had nearly given me a blow on the breast, so that I might have said I had had my fairing! Jakoba is paying visits, drinking chocolate, and eating biscuits. Mamsell is out taking a view of things. Now you know our story.”
The ladies went to their chamber, the gentlemen remained in the saloon.
“Yes, here you shall see a city and a fair, Mr. Thostrup!” said the Kammerjunker, and slapped Otto on the shoulder.
“Odense was at one time my principal chief-city,” said Wilhelm; “and still St. Knud’s Church is the most magnificent I know. God knows whether St. Peter’s in Rome would make upon me, now that I am older, the impression which this made upon me as a child!”
“In St. Knud’s Church lies the Mamsell with the cats,” said the Kammerjunker.
“The bishop’s lady, you should say,” returned Wilhelm. “The legend relates, that there was a lady of a Bishop Mus who loved her cats to that degree that she left orders that they should be laid with her in the grave. [Author’s Note: The remains of the body, as well as the skeletons of the cats, are still to be seen in a chapel on the western aisle of the church.] We will afterward go and see them.”
“Yes, both the bishop’s lady and the cats,” said the Kammerjunker, “look like dried fish! Then you must also see the nunnery and the military library.”
“The Hospital and the House of Correction!” added Wilhelm.
The beating of a drum in the street drew them to the window. The city crier, in striped linsey-woolsey jacket and breeches, and with a yellow band across his shoulders, stood there, beat upon his drum, and proclaimed aloud from a written paper many wonderful things which were to be seen in the city.
“He beats a good drum,” said the Kammerjunker.
“It would certainly delight Rossini and Spontini to hear the fellow!” said Wilhelm. “In fact Odense would be, at New Year’s time, a city for these two composers. You must know that at that season drums and fifes are in their glory. They drum the New Year in. Seven or eight little drummers and fifers go from door to door, attended by children and old women; at that time they beat both the tattoo and the reveille. For this they get a few pence. When the New Year is drummed-in in the city they wander out into the country, and drum there for bacon and groats. The New Year’s drumming in lasts until about Easter.”
“And then we have new pastimes,” said the Kammerjunker.
“Then come the fishers from Stige, [Author’s Note: A fishing village in Odense Fjord.] with a complete band, and carrying a boat upon their shoulders ornamented with a variety of flags. After that they lay a board between two boats, and upon this two of the youngest and the strongest have a wrestling-match, until one of them falls into the water. The last years they both have allowed themselves to tumble in. And this has been done in consequence of one young man who fell in being so stung by the jeers which his fall had occasioned that he left, that same day, the fishing village, after which no one saw him. But all the fun is gone now! In my boyhood the merriment was quite another thing. It was a fine sight when the corporation paraded with their ensign and harlequin on the top! And at Easter, when the butchers led about a bullock ornamented with ribbons and Easter-twigs, on the back of which was seated a little winged boy in a shirt. They had Turkish music, and carried flagons with them! See! all that have I outlived, and yet I am not so old. Baron Wilhelm must have seen the ornamented ox. Now all that is past and gone; people are got so refined! Neither is St. Knud’s fair that which it used to be.”
“For all that, I rejoice that it is not so!” said Wilhelm. “But we will go into the market and visit the Jutlanders, who are sitting there among the heath with their earthenware. You will stand a chance there, Mr. Thostrup, of meeting with an old acquaintance; only you must not have home-sickness when you smell the heather and hear the ringing of the clattering pots!”
The ladies now entered. Before paying any visits they determined upon making the round of the market. The Kammerjunker offered his arm to the mother. Otto saw this with secret gladness, and approached Sophie. She accepted him willingly as an attendant; they must indeed get into the throng.
As in the Middle Ages the various professions had their distinct streets and quarters, so had they also here. The street which led to the market place, and which in every-day life was called the “Shoemaker Street,” answered perfectly to its name. The shoemakers had ranged their tables side by side. These, and the rails which had been erected for the purpose, were hung over with all kinds of articles for the feet; the tables themselves were laden with heavy shoes and thick-soled boots. Behind these stood the skillful workman in his long Sunday coat, and with his well-brushed felt-hat upon his head.
Where the shoemakers’ quarter ended that of the hatters’ began, and with this one was in the middle of the great market-place, where tents and booths formed many parallel streets. The booth of galanterie wares, the goldsmith’s, and the confectioner’s, most of them constructed of canvas, some few of them of wood, were points of great attraction. Round about fluttered ribbons and handkerchiefs; round about were noise and bustle. Peasant-girls out of the same village went always in a row, seven or eight inseparables, with their hands fast locked in each other; it was impossible to break the chain; and if people tried to press through them, the whole flock rolled together in a heap.
Behind the booths there lay a great space filled with wooden shoes, coarse earthenware, turners’ and saddlers’ work. Upon tables were spread out toys, generally rudely made and coarsely painted. All around the children assayed their little trumpets, and turned about their playthings. The peasant-girls twirled and twisted both the work-boxes and themselves many a time before the bargain was completed. The air was heavy with all kinds of odors, and was spiced with the fragrance of honey-cake.
Here acquaintances met each other-some peasant-maidens, perhaps, who had been born in the same village, but since then had been separated.
“Good day!” exclaimed they, took each other by the hand, gave their arms a swing, and laughed.
“Farewell!”
That was the whole conversation: such a one went on in many places.
“That is the heather!” exclaimed Otto, as he approached the quarter where the Jutland potters had their station; “how refreshing is the odor!” said he, and stooping down seized a twig fresh and green, as if it had been plucked only yesterday.
“Aye, my Jesus though! is not that Mr. Otto!” exclaimed a female voice just beside him, and a young Jutland peasantwoman skipped across the pottery toward him. Otto knew her. It was the little Maria, the eelman’s daughter, who, as we may remember at Otto’s visit to the fisher’s, had removed to Ringkjoebing, and had hired herself for the hay and cornharvest—the brisk Maria, “the girl,” as her father called her. She had been betrothed in Ringkjoebing, and married to the rich earthenware dealer, and now had come across the salt-water to Odense fair, where she should meet with Mr. Otto.
“Her parents lived on my grandfather’s estate,” said Otto to Sophie, who observed with a smile the young wife’s delight in meeting with an acquaintance of her childhood. The husband was busily employed in selling his wares; he heard nothing of it.
“Nay, but how elegant and handsome you are become!” said the young wife: “but see, I knew you again for all that! Grandmother, you may believe me, thinks a deal about you! The old body, she is so brisk and lively; it does not trouble her a bit that she cannot see! You are the second acquaintance that I have met with in the fair. It’s wonderful how people come here from all parts of the world! The players are here too! You still remember the German Heinrich? Over there in the gray house, at the corner of the market, he is acting his comedy in the gateway.”
“I am glad that I have seen you!” said Otto, and nodded kindly. “Greet them at home, and the grandmother, for me!”
“Greet them also from me!” said Sophie smiling. “You, Mr. Thostrup, must for old acquaintance sake buy something. You ought also to give me a fairing: I wish for that great jug there!”
“Where are you staying!” cried Wilhelm, and came back, whilst the rest went forward.
“We would buy some earthenware,” said Sophie. “Souvenir de Jutland. The one there has a splendid picture on it!”
“You shall have it!” said Otto. “But if I requested a fairing from you, I beseech of you, might I say”—
“That it possibly might obtain its worth from my hand,” said Sophie, smiling. “I understand you very well—a sprig of heather? I shall steal!” said she to the young wife, as she took a little sprig of heath and stuck it into his buttonhole. “Greet the grandmother for me!”
Otto and Sophie went.
“That’s a very laughing body!” said the woman half aloud, as she looked after them; her glance followed Otto, she folded her hands—she was thinking, perhaps, on the days of her childhood.
At St. Knud’s church-yard Otto and Sophie overtook the others. They were going into the church. On the fair days this and all the tombs within it were open to the public.
From whichever side this church is contemplated from without, the magnificent old building has, especially from its lofty tower and spire, something imposing about it; the interior produces the same, nay, perhaps a greater effect. But as the principal entrance is through the armory, and the lesser one is from the side of the church, its full impression is not felt on entering it; nor is it until you arrive at the end of the great aisle that you are aware rightly of its grandeur. All there is great, beautiful, and light. The whole interior is white with gilding. Aloft on the high-vaulted roof there shine, and that from the old time, many golden stars. On both sides, high up, higher than the side-aisles of the church, are large Gothic windows, from which the light streams down. The side-aisles are adorned with old paintings, which represent whole families, women and children, all clad in canonicals, in long robes and large ruffs. In an ordinary way, the figures are all ranged according to age, the oldest first, and then down to the very least child, and stand with folded hands, and look piously with downcast eyes and faces all in one direction, until by length of time the colors have all faded away.
Just opposite to the entrance of the church may be seen, built into the wall, a stone, on which is a bas-relief, and before it a grave. This attracted Otto’s attention.
“It is the grave of King John and of Queen Christina, of Prince Francesco and of Christian the Second,” said Wilhelm; “they lie together in a small vault!” [Author’s Note: On the removal of the church of the Grey Brothers, the remains of these royal parents and two of their children were collected in a coffin and placed here in St. Knud’s Church. The memorial stone, of which we have spoken, was erected afterwards.]
“Christian the Second!” exclaimed Otto. “Denmark’s wisest and dearest king!”
“Christian the Bad!” said the Kammerjunker, amazed at the tone of enthusiasm in which Otto had spoken.
“Christian the Bad!” repeated Otto; “yes, it is now the mode to speak of him thus, but we should not do so. We ought to remember how the Swedish and Danish nobles behaved themselves, what cruelties they perpetrated, and that we have the history of Christian the Second from one of the offended party. Writers flatter the reigning powers. A prince must have committed crimes, or have lost his power, if his errors are to be rightly presented to future generations. People forget that which was good in Christian, and have painted the dark side of his character, to the formation of which the age lent its part.”
The Kammerjunker could not forget the Swedish bloodbath, the execution of Torben Oxe, and all that can be said against the unfortunate king.
Otto drove him completely out of the field, in part from his enthusiasm for Christian the Second, but still more because it was the Kammerjunker with whom he was contending. Sophie took Otto’s side, her eye sparkled applause, and the victory could not be other than his.
“What is it that the poet said of the fate of a king?” said Sophie.
“Woe’s me for himWho to the world shows more of ill than good!The good each man ascribes unto himself,Whilst on him only rest the crimes o’ th’ age.”
“Had Christian been so fortunate as to have subdued the rebellious nobles,” continued Otto, “could he have carried out his bold plans, then they would have called him Christian the Great: it is not the active mind, but the failure in any design, which the world condemns.”
Louise nevertheless took the side of the Kammerjunker, and therefore these two went together up the aisle toward the tomb of the Glorup family. Wilhelm and his mother were already gone out of the church.
“I envy you your eloquence!” said Sophie, and looked with an expression of love into Otto’s face; she bent herself over the railing around the tomb, and looked thoughtfully upon the stone. Thoughts of love were animated in Otto’s soul.
“Intellect and heart!” exclaimed he, “must admire that which is great: you possess both these!” He seized her hand.
A faint crimson passed over Sophie’s cheeks. “The others are gone out!” she said; “come, let us go up to the chancel.”
“Up to the altar!” said Otto; “that is a bold course for one’s whole life!”
Sophie looked jestingly at him. “Do you see the monument there within the pillars?” asked she after a short pause; “the lady with the crossed arms and the colored countenance? In one night she danced twelve knights to death, the thirteenth, whom she had invited for her partner, cut her girdle in two in the dance and she fell dead to the earth!” [Author’s Note: In Thiele’s Danish Popular Tradition it is related that she was one Margrethe Skofgaard of Sanderumgaard, and that she died at a ball, where she had danced to death twelve knights. The people relate it with a variation as above; it is probable that it is mingled with a second tradition, for example, that of the blood-spots at Koldinghuus, which relates that an old king was so angry with his daughter that he resolved to kill her, and ordered that his knights should dance with her one after another until the breath was out of her. Nine had danced with her, and then came up the king himself as the tenth, and when he became weary he cut her girdle in two, on which the blood streamed from her mouth and she died.]
“She was a northern Turandot!” said Otto; “the stony heart itself was forced to break and bleed. There is really a jest in having the marble painted. She stands before future ages as if she lived—a stone image, white and red, only a mask of beauty. She is a warning to young ladies!”
“Yes, against dancing!” said Sophie, smiling at Otto’s extraordinary gravity.
“And yet it must be a blessed thing,” exclaimed he, “a very blessed thing, amid pealing music, arm-in-arm with one’s beloved, to be able to dance life away, and to sink bleeding before her feet!”
“And yet only to see that she would dance with a new one!” said Sophie.
“No, no!” exclaimed Otto, “that you could not do! that you will not do! O Sophie, if you knew!”—He approached her still nearer, bent his head toward her, and his eye had twofold fire and expression in it.
“You must come with us and see the cats!” said the Kammerjunker, and sprang in between them.
“Yes, it is charming!” said Sophie. “You will have an opportunity, Mr. Thostrup, of moralizing over the perishableness of female beauty!”
“In the evening, when we drive home together,” thought Otto to himself consolingly, “in the mild summer-evening no Kammerjunker will disturb me. It must, it shall be decided! Misfortune might subject the wildness of childhood, but it gave me confidence, it never destroyed my independence; Love has made me timid,—has made me weak. May I thereby win a bride?”
Gravely and with a dark glance he followed after Sophie and her guide.
“In vain his beet endeavors were;Dull was the evening, and duller grew.”—LUDOLF SCHLEF.“Seest thou how its little lifeThe bird hides in the wood?Wilt thou be my little wife—Then do it soon. Good!—A bridegroom am I.”—Arion.
Close beside St. Knud’s Church, where once the convent stood, is now the dwelling of a private man. [Author’s Note: See Oehlenschläger’s Jorney to Funen.] The excellent hostess here, who once charmed the public on the Danish stage as Ida Munster, awaited the family to dinner.
After dinner they wandered up and down the garden, which extended to the Odense River.
In the dusk of evening Otto went to visit the German Heinrich; he had mentioned it to Louise, and she promised to divert attention from him whilst he was away.
The company took coffee in the garden-house; Otto walked in deep thought in the avenue by the side of the river. The beautiful scene before him riveted his eye. Close beside lay a water-mill, over the two great wheels of which poured the river white as milk. Behind this was thrown a bridge, over which people walked and drove. The journeyman-miller stood upon the balcony, and whistled an air. It was such a picture as Christian Winther and Uhland give in their picturesque poems. On the other side of the mill arose tall poplars half-buried in the green meadow, in which stood the nunnery; a nun had once drowned herself where now the red daisies grow.
A strong sunlight lit up the whole scene. All was repose and summer warmth. Suddenly Otto’s ear caught the deep and powerful tones of an organ; he turned himself round. The tones, which went to his heart, came from St. Knud’s Church, which lay close beside the garden. The sunshine of the landscape, and the strength of the music, gave, as it were, to him light and strength for the darkness toward which he was so soon to go.
The sun set; and Otto went alone across the market-place toward the old corner house, where German Heinrich practiced his arts. Upon this place stood St. Albani’s Church, where St. Knud, betrayed by his servant Blake, [Author’s Note: Whence has arisen the popular expression of “being a false Blake.”] was killed by the tumultuous rebels. The common people believe that from one of the deep cellars under this house proceeds a subterranean passage to the so-called “Nun’s Hill.” At midnight the neighboring inhabitants still hear a roaring under the marketplace, as if of the sudden falling of a cascade. The better informed explain it as being a concealed natural water-course, which has a connection with the neighboring river. In our time the old house is become a manufactory; the broken windows, the gaps of which are repaired either with slips of wood or with paper, the quantity of human bones which are found in the garden, and which remain from the time when this was a church-yard, give to the whole place a peculiar interest to the common people of Odense.
Entering the house at the front, it is on the same level as the market-place; the back of the house, on the contrary, descends precipitously into the garden, where there are thick old walls and foundations. The situation is thus quite romantic; just beside it is the old nunnery, with its dentated gables, and not far off the ruins, in whose depths the common people believe that there resides an evil being, “the river-man,” who annually demands his human sacrifice, which he announces the night before. Behind this lie meadows, villas, and green woods.
On the other side of the court, in a back gate-way, German Heinrich had set up his theatre. The entrance cost eight skillings; people of condition paid according to their own will.
Otto entered during the representation. A cloth constituted the whole scenic arrangement. In the middle of the floor sat a horrible goblin, with a coal-black Moorish countenance and crispy hair upon its head. An old bed-cover concealed the figure, yet one saw that it was that of a woman.
The audience consisted of peasants and street boys. Otto kept himself in the background, and remained unobserved by Heinrich.
The representation was soon at an end, and the crowd dispersed. It was then that Otto first came forward.
“We must speak a few words together!” said he. “Heinrich, you have not acted honestly by me! The girl is not that which you represented her to be; you have deceived me: I demand an explanation!”
German Heinrich stood silent, but every feature eloquently expressed first amazement, and then slyness and cunning; his knavish, malicious eye, measured Otto from top to toe.
“Nay; so then, Mr. Thostrup, you are convinced, are you, that I have been cheating you?” said he. “If so, why do you come to me? In that case there needs no explanation. Ask herself there!” And so saying he pointed to the black-painted figure.
“Do not be too proud, Otto!” said she, smiling; “thou couldst yet recognize thy sister, although she has a little black paint on her face!”
Otto riveted a dark, indignant glance upon her, pressed his lips together, and tried to collect himself. “It is my firm determination to have the whole affair searched into,” said he, with constrained calmness.
“Yes, but it will bring you some disagreeables!” said Heinrich, and laughed scornfully.
“Do not laugh in that manner when I speak to you!” said Otto, with flushing cheeks.
Heinrich leaned himself calmly against the door which led into the garden.
“I am acquainted with the head of the police,” said Otto, “and I might leave the whole business in his hands. But I have chosen a milder way; I am come myself. I shall very soon leave Denmark; I shall go many hundred miles hence shall, probably, never return; and thus you see the principal ground for my coming to you is a whim: I will know wherefore you have deceived me; I will know what is the connection between you and her.”
“Nay; so, then, it isthatthat you want to know?” said Heinrich, with a malicious glance. “Yes, see you, she is my best beloved; she shall be my wife: but your sister she is for all that, and that remains so!”
“Thou couldst easily give me a little before thou settest off on thy journey!” said Sidsel, who seemed excited by Heinrich’s words, and put forth her painted face.
Otto glanced at her with contracted eyebrows.
“Yes,” said she, “I say ‘thou’ to thee: thou must accustom thyself to that! A sister may have, however, that little bit of pleasure!”
“Yes, you should give her your hand!” said Heinrich, and laughed.
“Wretch!” exclaimed Otto, “she is not that which you say! I will find out my real sister! I will have proof in hand of the truth! I will show myself as a brother; I will care for her future! Bring to me her baptismal register; bring to me one only attestation of its reality—and that before eight days are past! Here is my address, it is the envelope of a letter; inclose in it the testimonial which I require, and send it to me without delay. But prove it, or you are a greater villain than I took you for.”
“Let us say a few rational words!” said Heinrich, with a constrained, fawning voice. “If you will give to me fifty rix-dollars, then you shall never have any more annoyance with us! See, that would be a great deal more convenient.”
“I abide by that which I have said!” answered Otto; “we will not have any more conversation together!” And so saying, he turned him round to go out.
Heinrich seized him by the coat.
“What do you want?” inquired Otto.
“I mean,” said Heinrich, “whether you are not going to think about the fifty rix-dollars?”
“Villain!” cried Otto, and, with the veins swelling in his forehead, he thrust Heinrich from him with such force, that he fell against the worm eaten door which led into the garden; the panel of the door fell out, and had not Heinrich seized fast hold on some firm object with both his hands, he must have gone the same way. Otto stood for a moment silent, with flashing eyes, and threw the envelope, on which his address was, at Heinrich’s feet, and went out.
When Otto returned to the hotel, he found the horses ready to be put to the carriage.
“Have you had good intelligence?” whispered Louise.
“I have in reality obtained no more than I had before!” replied he; “only my own feelings more strongly convince me than ever that I have been deceived by him.”
He related to her the short conversation which had taken place.
The Kammerjunker’s carriage was now also brought out; in this was more than sufficient room for two, whereas in the other carriage they had been crowded. The Kammerjunker, therefore, besought that they would avail themselves of the more convenient seat which he could offer; and Otto saw Sophie and her mother enter the Kammerjunker’s carriage. This arrangement would shortly before have confounded Otto, now it had much less effect upon him. His mind was so much occupied by his visit to German Heinrich, his soul was filled with a bitterness, which for the moment repelled the impulse which he had felt to express his great love for Sophie.
“I have been made Heinrich’s plaything—his tool!” thought he. “Now he ridicules me, and I am compelled to bear it! That horrible being is not my sister!—she cannot be so!”
The street was now quiet. They mounted into the carriage. In the corner house just opposite there was a great company; light streamed through the long curtains, a low tenor voice and a high ringing soprano mingled together in Mozart’s “Audiam, audiam, mio bene.”
“The bird may not flutter from my heart!” sighed Otto, and seated himself by the side of Louise. The carriage rolled away.
The full moon shone; the wild spiraea sent forth its odor from the road side; steam ascended from the moor-lands; and the white mist floated over the meadows like the daughters of the elfin king.
Louise sat silent and embarrassed; trouble weighed down her heart. Otto was also silent.
The Kammerjunker drove in first, cracked his whip, and struck up a wild halloo.
Wilhelm began to sing, “Charming the summer night,” and the Kammerjunker joined in with him.
“Sing with us man,” cried Wilhelm to the silent Otto, and quickly the two companies were one singing caravan.
It was late when they reached the hall.
“Destiny often pulls off leaves, as we treat the vine, thatits fruits may be earlier brought to maturity.”—JEAN PAUL.
It was not until toward morning that Otto fell into sleep. Wilhelm and he were allowed to take their own time in rising, and thus it was late in the day before these two gentlemen made their appearance at the breakfast-table; the Kammerjunker was already come over to the hall, and now was more adorned than common.
“Mr. Thostrup shall be one of the initiated!” said the mother. “It will be time enough this evening for strangers to know of it. The Kammerjunker and my Sophie are betrothed.”
“See, it was in the bright moonlight, Mr. Thostrup, that I became such a happy man!” said the Kammerjunker, and kissed the tips of Sophie’s fingers. He offered his other hand to Otto.
Otto’s countenance remained unchanged, a smile played upon his lips. “I congratulate you!” said he; “it is indeed a joyful day! If I were a poet, I would give you an ode!”
Louise looked at him with an extraordinary expression of pain in her countenance.
Wilhelm called the Kammerjunker brother-in-law, and smiling shook both his hands.
Otto was unusually gay, jested, and laughed. The ladies went to their toilet, Otto into the garden.
He had been so convinced in his own mind that Sophie returned his passion. With what pleasure had she listened to him! with what an expression had her eye rested upon him! Her little jests had been to him such convincing proofs that the hope which he nourished was no self-delusion. She was the light around which his thoughts had circled. Love to her was to him a good angel, which sung to him consolation and life’s gladness in his dark moments.
Now, all was suddenly over. It was as if the angel had left him; the flame of love which had so entirely filled his soul, was in a moment extinguished to its last spark. Sophie was become a stranger to him; her intellectual eye, which smiled in love on the Kammerjunker, seemed to him the soulless eye of the automaton. A stupefying indifference went through him, deadly as poison that is infused into the human blood.
“The vain girl! she thought to make herself more important by repelling from her a faithful heart! She should only see how changed her image is in my soul. All the weaknesses which my love for her made me pass over, now step forth with repulsive features! Not a word which she spoke fell to the ground. The diamond has lost its lustre; I feel only its sharp corners!”
Sophie had given the preference to a man who, in respect of intellect, stood far below Otto! Sophie, who seemed to be enthusiastic for art and beauty, for everything glorious in the kingdom of mind, could thus have deceived him!
We will now see the sisters in their chamber.
Louise seemed pensive, she sat silently looking before her.
Sophie stood thoughtfully with a smile upon her lips.
“The Kammerjunker is very handsome, however!” exclaimed she: “he looks so manly!”
“You ought to find him love-worthy!” said Louise.
“Yes,” replied her sister, “I have always admired these strong countenances! He is an Axel—a northern blackbearded savage. Faces such as Wilhelm’s look like ladies’! And he is so good! He has said, that immediately after our marriage we shall make a tour to Hamburg. What dress do you think I should wear?”
“When you make the journey to Hamburg?” inquired Louise.
“O no, child! to-day I mean. Thostrup was indeed very polite! he congratulated me! I felt, however, rather curious when it was told to him. I had quite expected a scene! I was almost ready to beg of you to tell him first of all. He ought to have been prepared. But he was, however, very rational! I should not have expected it from him. I really wish him all good, but he is an extraordinary character! so melancholy! Do you think that he will take my betrothal to heart? I noticed that when I was kissed he turned himself suddenly round to the window and played with the flowers. I wish that he would soon go! The journey into foreign countries will do him good—there he will soon forget his heart’s troubles. To-morrow I will write to Cousin Joachim; he will also be surprised!”
Late in the afternoon came Jakoba, the Mamsell, the preacher, and yet a few other guests.
In the evening the table was arranged festively. The betrothed sat together, and Otto had the place of honor—he sat on the other side of Sophie. The preacher had written a song to the tune of “Be thou our social guardian-goddess;” this was sung. Otto’s voice sounded beautifully and strong; he rang his glass with the betrothed pair, and the Kammerjunker said that now Mr. Thostrup must speedily seek out a bride for himself.
“She is found,” answered Otto; “but now that is yet a secret.”
“Health to the bride!” said Sophie, and rung her glass; but soon again her intellectual eye rested upon the Kammerjunker, who was talking about asparagus and stall-feeding with clover, yet her glance brought him back again to the happiness of his love.
It was a very lively evening. Late in the night the party broke up. The friends went to their chamber.
“My dear, faithful Otto!” said Wilhelm, and laid his hand on his shoulder; “you were very lively and good-humored this evening. Continue always thus!”
“I hope to do so,” answered Otto: “may we only always have as happy an evening as this!”
“Extraordinary man!” said Wilhelm, and shook his head. “Now we will soon set out on our journey, and catch for ourselves the happiness of the glorious gold bird!”
“And not let it escape again!” exclaimed Otto. “Formerly I used to say, To-morrow! to-morrow! now I say, To-day, and all day long! Away with fancies and complainings. I now comprehend that which you once said to me, that is. Mancanbe happy if he onlywillbe so.”
Wilhelm took his hand, and looked into his face with a half-melancholy expression.
“Are you sentimental?” inquired Otto.
“I only affect that which I am not!” answered Wilhelm; and with that, suddenly throwing off the natural gravity of the moment, returned to his customary gayety.
The following days were spent in visiting and in receiving visitors. On every post-day Otto sought through the leathern bag of the postman, but he found no letter from German Heinrich, and heard nothing from him. “I have been deceived,” said he, “and I feel myself glad about it! She, the horrible one, is not my sister!”
There was a necessity for him to go away, far from home, and yet he felt no longing after the mountains of Switzerland or the luxuriant beauty of the south.
“Nature will only weaken me! I will not seek after it. Man it is that I require: these egotistical, false beings—these lords of everything! How we flatter our weaknesses and admire our virtues! Whatever serves to advance our own wishes we find to be excellent. To those who love us, we give our love in return. At the bottom, whom do I love except myself? Wilhelm? My friendship for him is built upon the foundation,—I cannot do without thee! Friendship is to me a necessity. Was I not once convinced that I adored Sophie, and that I never could bear it if she were lost to me? and yet there needed the conviction ‘She loves thee not,’ and my strong feeling was dead. Sophie even seems to me less beautiful; I see faults where I formerly could only discover amiabilities! Now, she is to me almost wholly a stranger. As I am, so are all. Who is there that feels right lovingly, right faithfully for me, without his own interest leading him to do so? Rosalie? My old, honest Rosalie? I grew up before her eyes like a plant which she loved. I am dear to her as it! When her canary-bird one morning lay dead in its cage, she wept bitterly and long; she should never more hear it sing, she should never more look after its cage and its food. It was the loss of it which made her weep. She missed that which had been interesting to her. I also interested her. Interest is the name for that which the world calls love. Louise?” He almost spoke the name aloud, and his thoughts dwelt, from a strong combination of circumstances, upon it. “She appears to me true, and capable of making sacrifices! but is not she also very different from all the others? How often have I not heard Sophie laugh at her for it—look down upon her!” And Otto’s better feeling sought in vain for a shadow of self-love in Louise, a single selfish motive for her noble conduct.
“Away from Denmark! to new people! Happy he who can always be on the wing, making new friendships, and speedily breaking them off! At the first meeting people wear their intellectual Sunday apparel; every point of light is brought forth; but soon and the festival-day is over, and the bright points have vanished.”
“We will set off next week!” said Wilhelm, “and then it shall be—