'I should be under the necessity of pitying you very much, poor fellow!' said Jettè, laughing. 'But who would have thought that this morning?'
'You may indeed pity me, Jettè, for when I leave this place my heart and my thoughts will remain behind, with you--with all your dear family; and I must leave you soon.'
'Soon! Are you going abroad again?' asked Gustav.
'Two days after your arrival among us!' exclaimed Jettè; 'no, no, we cannot agree to that.'
'And yet it must be,' I said. 'I shall be gone, perhaps, sooner than you think. I have my own peculiar manner of coming and going, and ...'
'But what whim is this, Carl?' asked Jettè, interrupting me. 'Did you not come to spend some time with us? You may depend on it my father will not hear of your going, though our wishes and requests may have no influence over you.'
'I am compelled to go, dear Jettè; I must leave you for some time. Perhaps we shall meet again ... but should that be impossible, I shall write you, if you will permit me. And when I am gone, will you take my part, if I should be made the subject of animadversion? Let me hope, dear Jettè, that you and Gustav will think kindly of me, and that on the anniversary of this day you will not forget me when you stroll together through that wood which was this morning the scene of my dismissal.'
They both shook hands with me.
'But Carl, I hardly understand you,' said Jettè; 'you are so grave, so strange; you speak as if we were about to part for ever. Have you any idea of settling in Berlin?'
'I beseech you, Jettè, speak not of Berlin--that was a subterfuge, a story, which came suddenly into my mind; I could not pitch upon any better excuse wherewith to upset your father's plan in a hurry, or I would not have lied against myself. I assure you I have never put my foot in Berlin, nor am I betrothed to anyone.'
Jettè stepped back a few paces, and fixed on me a look of surprise and earnest inquiry.
'What!' she exclaimed, 'you have never been at Berlin? You have told what is not true about yourself to help me? You are not engaged?'
'No; as certainly as that I stand at this moment in your presence, I am not engaged, and have never attempted to become so. I have only put myself in the way of receiving one refusal in my life,' I added, smiling, as Jettè began to look suspiciously at me, 'and that was this morning in yonder wood. Were it not superfluous, I could with ease give you the most minute particulars.'
There was a short silence; then Jettè exclaimed,
'You are a noble creature, Carl; may God reward you, for I cannot. But day and night I will pray for your welfare.' She was much affected, her voice faltered. Gustav shook my hand cordially.
'My dear friends,' said I, 'do not accord to me more praise than I deserve, for the higher one is praised the greater is the fall when opinions change. Hear me before you promise to pray for me, and let me tell you how ... but no, no, let me keep silence--let me say nothing. Pardon my seeming caprice. Promise me that you will be my sincere and unshaken friends, and let us go and dance again. May I have the honour of engaging the bride for the next waltz?'
I had been on the point of confessing all my foolish pranks, and how I was imposing on them; but false shame prevented me. Was it better or not? I scarcely knew myself. I begged them to accompany me back to the summer-house. In the alley of pine-trees which led to it we met Hannè, who, according to her own account, was looking about for us; she almost ran against us before she perceived us.
'But, good Heavens I have you all become deaf? I have been calling you over and over, without receiving the slightest answer, and now I find you gliding about in deep silence, like ghosts, scaring people's lives out of them. I suppose Carl has been amusing himself, as usual, with mischief, and has been haunting you two poor lovers, and disturbing you. Do you not know, Carl, that you have no sort of business to be--in short, are quite an incumbrance where Jettè and Holm are? Now answer me--do you know this, or do you not, Carl?'
'No,' I replied, shortly.
'"No!" Is that a fitting answer to a lady? Be so good as to reply politely. I must take upon myself to teach you good manners before you go abroad again, else we shall have reason to be ashamed of you.'
And then she began to hum the song of 'Die Wiener in Berlin:'
'In Berlin, sagt er,Musz du fein, sagt er,Und gescheut, sagt er,Immer sein, sagt er....'
'In Berlin, sagt er,Musz du fein, sagt er,Und gescheut, sagt er,Immer sein, sagt er....'
'I wish Berlin were at the devil, Hannè!' I exclaimed, interrupting her; 'that is my most earnest desire, believe me.'
'A very Christian wish, and expressed in choicely elegant phraseology, everyone must admit.'
'Only think, Hannè, he hasneverbeen at Berlin, and isnotbetrothed there. Carl only made these assertions because he could think of no other way of making my father agree to our wishes,' said Jettè, almost crying.
'What! he is not engaged? He has never been in Berlin? Well! he is the greatest story-teller I ever met. Did he not stand up, and make positive declarations of these events, with the most cool audacity? It is too bad. Lying is the worst of all faults--it is the root of all evil.'
'No, my little Hannè, idleness is the root of all evil.'
'I dare say you abound in that root too. But I don't think you can ever have studied the early lesson-books, from which all children should be instructed. I shall myself hear you your catechism to-morrow, and rehearse to you the first principles of right and wrong; so that when you leave us, you may be a little better acquainted with the doctrines of Christianity than you are at present.'
'But he leaves us to-morrow, Hannè; he has assured us of that.'
'We positively will not allow him to make his escape,' said Hannè. 'At night we shall lock him in his room, and during the day Thomas shall watch him. That boy sticks as fast as a burr,--he won't easily shake him off.'
'But suppose I were to get out by the window? You cannot well fasten that on the outside.'
'And break your neck, forsooth. No, no; that way of making your exit won't answer.'
'Oh, people can climb up much higher than my window, and descend again without breaking their necks,' said I.
Jettè and Gustav coloured violently.
'Well, we can discuss that point to-morrow. This evening, at least, you will remain with us, on account of its being Jettè's betrothal day. Come, give me your arm, and let us take a walk; it is charming, yonder in the garden--within the summer-house one is like to faint from the heat.'
We strolled on, two and two, in the sweet moonlight; sometimes each pair sauntering at a little distance from the other--Hannè and I chatting busily, while Gustav and Jettè often walked in the silence of a happiness too new and too deep for the language of every-day life.
'Is it really true that you are going to leave us?' asked Hannè.
'It is, indeed, too true; I must quit this place.'
'Why? if I may venture to ask. But do not tell me any untruth.'
'Because I have been here too long already--because a longer residence among you all ... near you, dear Hannè, would but destroy my peace.'
'I expressly desired you not to tell me any lies. Good Heavens! is it impossible for you to speak truth two minutes together?'
'And is it impossible for you to speak seriously for two minutes together? What I have just said is the honest truth.'
'Humph! However, tell me, is it true or not true that you are engaged in Berlin? Who have you hoaxed--Jettè and me, or my father and mother? I beseech you speak truth this once.'
'If any one is hoaxed, it is your father, Hannè; but at the moment I could think of nothing else to shake his determination, or I certainly should not have composed such a story, for telling which I blamed myself severely.'
'Oh, of course I believe you! To make a fool of one's own excellent uncle! It is a sin that ought to lie very heavy on your conscience, Carl. It is almost as great a sin as to make fools of one's cousins.'
'That is a sin from which I hope you will absolve me. Ah, Hannè! what has most distressed me was, that my character must have appeared dubious in your eyes. From the first moment I was wretched, because I could not tell you that it was only a pretended engagement.'
'I do not see whatIhave to do with your being betrothed in Berlin or not. As far as I am concerned, you might be betrothed in China, if you liked.'
'Your gaiety of temper makes you take everything lightly, and yet it is you who have taught me that life has serious moments. You have transformed me, Hannè; if you could only know what an influence the first sight of you, the night I arrived here, has exercised upon my fate ...'
'Indeed! Do tell me all about it; what was the wondrous and fearful effect of the sight of me?' said Hannè, laughing.
'Dear Hannè, without intending it, you have pitched upon the right words, in calling it "wondrous and fearful." Yes, it will follow me like a heavy sentence from a judgment-seat, ever reproaching me with my thoughtlessness. Awake, and in dreams, will I implore forgiveness; I will kneel and pray for it. Look at me once more with that captivating glance which, yon evening, made me forget myself, and tell me that you will not hate me--loathe me--despise me: see, upon my knee I entreat one kind look--one kind word!'
I had actually fallen on one knee before Hannè, and had seized her hand--
'Let my hand go, you are squeezing it, so that you quite hurt me. That is not at all necessary to the part you are acting. Get up, cousin; you will have green marks on your knees, and I can't endure to see men in such an absurd, old-fashioned plight. You should be thankful that it is no longer the mode, when one is making love in earnest, to fall down on one's knees. These pastoral attitudes are very ridiculous; they savour of a shepherd's crook, and a frisky lamb with red ribbon round its neck.'
I arose quite crestfallen.
'At any rate I must allow that you promise to be a capital actor,' added Hannè. 'Next Christmas, when you come back, we shall get up some private theatricals: that will be charming! Last year we could not manage them, because we had no lover; Holm positively refused to act the part, unless I would undertake to be his sweetheart; and a play without love is like a ball without music.'
'Hannè, let us speak seriously for once. I really am going away, and shall be gone, perhaps, before you expect it; for I hate farewell scenes. It is not without emotion that I can think of leaving my amiable cousins, and God only knows if we shall ever meet again. Laugh at me if you will, I cannot forbid your doing that; but believe me when I tell you that your image will be present with me wherever I may go, and ...'
'You will travel in very good company, then,' said Hannè, interrupting me.
'Let me take the happy hope with me that I shall live in your friendly remembrance. Sink the cousin if you choose, dear Hannè; cousinship is not worth much, and let the termfriendsupersede it. That is a voluntary tie, for which I should have to thank but your own feelings. It is as a friend that I shall think of you when I go from this dear place, and as a friend that your image will follow me throughout the world.'
'Oh, it won't be very troublesome to you,' said Hannè. 'As to me, I don't happen to be in want of cousins, still less of friends. Let me see, in what office shall I instal you? Make a confidant of you? We do not employ any in our family; I am my own confidante: assuredly I could have none safer. I shall follow in this the example of my silent sister, who never gave me the slightest hint of her love for Gustav. A counsellor? Truly, such an accomplished fibber would make a trustworthy counsellor? No, I am afraid, if you throw up the post you hold, you will find it difficult to replace it by any other.'
'Very well, let me retain it then, but not as the gift of chance. You must yourself, of your own free will, bestow on me the title of your cousin, your chosen cousin: that is a distinction of which I shall be proud.'
'And will you, then, promise to come back at Christmas, and act plays with us?'
'I promise you into the bargain a summer representation, before autumn is over,' said I. 'The Fates only know if I shall preserve the dramatic talent I now have until winter.'
I had caught a portion of Hannè 's gaiety, and my sentimental feelings, so much jeered at, shrank into the background.
'Then I will dub you my cousin of cousins; and besides, on account of your many great services and merits, I will confer on you the distinguished title of my court story-teller.'
'And on the occasion of receiving this new title, I must, as in duty bound, kiss your hand; wherefore I remove this little brown glove, which henceforth shall be placed in my helmet, in token of my vassalage to a fair lady.'
'No, stop! give up my glove, cousin--I cannot waste it upon you. It is a good new glove, without a single hole in it. Give it up, I tell you; the other will be of no use without it.'
She tried to snatch it from me, but I held it high above her head, and speedily managed to seize its fellow-glove.
'You must redeem them, Hannè; a kiss for each of the pair is what I demand; and they are well worth it, for they are really nice new gloves. I will not part with them for less.'
'I think you must be a fool, Carl, to fancy for one moment that I would kiss you to recover my own gloves. No, I will die first,' she exclaimed, in a tone of comic indignation.
In answer to her mock heroics, I apostrophized the gloves in glowing terms, finishing with--'On your smooth perfumed surface I press my burning lips. Tell your fair mistress what I dare not say to her, what I at this moment confide to you.' I kissed the gloves.
'Well, well, give me back my gloves and I will let you kiss me,' said Hannè. 'But it shall be the slightest atom of a kiss, such as they give in the Christmas games, the most economical possible; it must not be worth more than four marks, for that was the price of the gloves. Now, are you not ashamed to take a kiss valued so low?'
'No, I will take it. But the value I put upon it is very different, for the slightest kiss from your lips, Hannè, is worth at least a million. You will make me amillionnaire, Hannè.'
I gave her the gloves, and was just on the point of kissing her, when the voice of the Justitsraad broke on the silence around, calling, 'Jettè, Hannè, Carl, hollo! where are you all?'
'Here,' cried Hannè, bursting away from me. 'We are coming.'
'But dearest, dearest Hannè! my kiss--my million?'
'We will see about it to-morrow; you must give me credit this evening.'
'My dearest Hannè, to-morrow will be too late; for Heaven's sake, have compassion on me! I am going away to-night; there is no to-morrow for me here. Give me but half the million now--but the quarter--but the four marks' worth which you owe me! Dear Hannè, pay me but the smallest mite of my promised treasure.'
'Nonsense! we must make the best of our way home, or we shall be well scolded.'
Gustav and Jettè joined us at that moment. The gloves and the kiss were for ever lost!
'Why, children, what has become of you, all this time?' exclaimed the Justitsraad. 'Come in now, and have a country-dance with the good folks before we leave them and go to have some mulled claret. Stop, stop, Carl, you can't dance with Hannè; she is engaged to one of the young farmers. You must take another partner. There is poor Annie, the lame milkmaid, she has scarcely danced at all; it is a sin that she is to sit all the evening, because one leg is a little shorter than the other. Go, dance with her.'
'Don't turn the poor girl's head with your enormous fibs,' cried Hannè to me, as I was entering the summer-house. 'Have pity on her unsophisticated heart, and do not speculate upona million there; the herdsman would probably not allow it.'
'A million? The herdsman? What is all that stuff you are talking?' asked her father.
'Ill-nature--downright ill-nature, uncle.'
'Fie! cousin; that is not a chivalrous mode of speaking. But do go and foot it merrily with lame Annie, and I promise you the dance shall last at least an hour.'
The dance was over--the mulled wine was finished--the happy Gustav had gone to his home--the family had bid each other good night, and I was alone in my chamber.
'This was the last evening,' thought I to myself; 'the short dream was now over, and I had to leave that pleasant house, never more to return to it.' A deep sigh responded to these reflections. 'My deception will soon be discovered; they will revile and despise me. I shall most probably be the cause of their being exposed to the ridicule of the whole neighbourhood; that will annoy them terribly, and they will be very angry that anyone should have presumed to impose so impudently on their frank hospitality. And my kiss ... my million ... the realization of that delightful promise!... What if I were to remain yet another day--half a day--another morning even? Remain!--in order to add another link to the chain which binds me here, and which I am already almost too weak to sever? No--I will go hence. In about an hour the moon will set, and when its tell-tale light is gone I will go too. One short hour! Alas! how many melancholy hours shall I not have to endure whenthat onehas passed. It is incomprehensible to me how I became involved in all this. Chance is sometimes a miraculous guide, when we allow ourselves to be blindly led by it. But a truce to these tiresome reflections; I have no time to think of anything but Hannè, now that I am about to leave her for ever ...For ever!These are two detestable words. Everything is now quite still in the house. I hear no sound but poor Pasop, rustling his chains in his kennel; he will not bark when he sees it is only I passing. They are all friendly to me here, even the very dogs; yet how false I have been to them!'
I threw my clothes and other little travelling appurtenances into myvalise, and opened the window.
'But ought I to run away without leaving one word behind? The worthy family might be alarming themselves about me. What shall I write? I suppose I must play the cousin to the end; at any rate I must try to put them on a wrong scent. I shall address my note to Hannè, that she may see that my last thoughts were with her.'
I seized a pencil and wrote:--
'Hannè's cruelty has caused my bankruptcy and my flight. She could have made me amillionnaire, but she has left me a beggar. Poor and sad I quit this hospitable house, leaving behind my blessings on its much-respected and amiable inmates, including the hard-hearted fair one who has compelled me to seek a refuge at Fredericia, which, from the time of Axel, has affordedjus asylito unfortunate subjects.'
I stuck the paper in the dressing-glass, where it would speedily be observed.
I had played out my comedy, and the sober realities of life were now before me. I fell into a deep reverie, which lasted until the first dawn of day, when I started up to prepare for my departure. First, I threw my carpet-bag out of the window, and then, getting out myself upon the tree, and cautiously descending from branch to branch, I reached the ground safely and quietly. Taking a circuitous route, I at length passed the woody village near my uncle's abode; and the sun stood high in the heavens when, weary and dispirited, and out of humour with the whole world, I entered the parsonage-house.
Eight days after my arrival, I was sitting in the dusk with the old people, while my thoughts were at ---- Court. The good clergyman, according to habit, was shoving the skull-cap he wore on his head to and fro, and talking half-aloud to himself. At length he exclaimed,
'In good sooth, nephew, I am quite surprised at you. Is it natural for a young man to sit so much within doors? You have never gone a step beyond the garden and our little shrubbery, and really there is some very pretty scenery in our neighbourhood, quite worth your seeing.'
'It is a sin that he should be shut up here with us two old people,' said his wife; 'if our son had been at home, it would have been more pleasant for him. It is very unlucky that he should be at Kiel just now. How can we amuse such a young man, my dear? I am quite sorry for him.'
I assured them that I had everything I wished at their house, and was extremely comfortable. But the fact was, that I felt extremely uncomfortable. I was miserable at knowing that I was so near ---- Court, and yet could have no communication with its inhabitants; I was certain that I must have thrown everything there into the greatest commotion, yet, since my flight, I had heard nothing of or from the place round which my heart's dearest thoughts hovered continually.
'Why, instead of a wild, mischievous, merry madcap, as you were represented to be, we find a staid, quiet, grave young man. It is not a good sign when a gay temper takes such a sudden turn. You seem to be quite changed, nephew. Indeed, it strikes me your very appearance has altered; your hair looks darker to me, within these eight days, and your skin is as yellow as if you had the jaundice.'
'Oh, Heaven forbid! The Lord preserve him from that!' cried my worthy aunt, much alarmed.
I relieved her mind by assuring her that my health was excellent.
'And you are allowing the hair on your upper lip to grow to a pair of moustaches,' continued my uncle. 'You will soon look like an officer of hussars. If you were not such a sensible, quiet youth, I should think it was a piece of conceit and affectation, to look smart in the eyes of the girls.'
Without having formed any settled plan connected with the change of my appearance, but not without considerable trouble, had I by degrees blackened my hair, and darkened my complexion with walnut juice, so that I could not be recognized if any of the people from ---- Court should meet me. I had also cultivated moustaches for the same purpose, but they were as yet very diminutive.
'Just tell me, nephew, what do you want with moustaches?'
'I want them because ... I wish ... I must ... I belong to the corps of riflemen, uncle, and the new regulation is, that every rifleman is to have moustaches ... so I must mount a pair.'
'What a foolish regulation! Don't you think so, wife? But I suppose it is a case in which one must do as others do.'
This settled, I was left, as to my disguise, in peace. But my venerable uncle commenced another attack. 'I must positively have you to go out and look about you, Adolph. I am going to-morrow to see my friends Justitsraad ----, whose country seat is not far from this. You shall drive over there with me; the road is very pretty.'
I was in agony. 'I would, much rather remain at home, uncle; I don't know these people.'
'I will introduce you to them. They are a very amiable, charming family, and you will soon become acquainted with them. You absolutely must go.'
What excuse was I to manufacture? I had recourse to fibs again.
'The Justitsraad and my father are personal enemies--they quarrelled about some matter of business. They are deadly foes--I should be very unwelcome--my name is proscribed at ---- Court.'
'How very strange that I never heard of this before!' exclaimed the unsuspecting old man. 'People should not hate each other for the sake of sinful mammon. We must bring about a reconciliation between them. I shall certainly preach upon the subject of forgiveness next Sunday--a powerful discourse will I give.'
'It is also my wish that they should be reconciled, dear uncle, and therefore, I think it would be most prudent not to mention my nameyet. If I make the acquaintance of the Justitsraad without his knowing who I am, I shall feel more at my ease with him. I assure you this will be best.'
'Well--so be it,' said my uncle; 'I will not then mention your being here. But I shall throw out a few hints about forgiveness and Christian feelings--these can do no harm.'
'No--that they cannot,' said my aunt. 'But I quite agree with Adolph. I think his plan a good one.'
As soon as the old people had retired to rest, I stole softly through the garden, and reaching the high road, took the way to ---- Court. As I approached it, I saw with pleasure the white summer-house on the outskirts of the garden. Soon after I reached the hill, where stood the well-known swing. The moon was shining brightly, and it was a lovely night. All was so still around, that I could hear the wind whistling through the adjacent alleys of trees--and the rustling of the wind amidst the branches of the pine and the fir has a peculiar sound. Far away in the wood was to be heard the melancholy tinkling of the bells worn by the sheep round their necks. There is a sadness in this monotonous, yet plaintive sound, which has a great effect upon the heart that is filled with longing--and where is the human being who has nothing to long for? But such sadness is not hopeless, and as the bells give tones sometimes higher, sometimes deeper, from different parts of the woods or fields, so tranquillizing voices whisper to our souls, 'There is comfort for every sorrow--we shall not always long in vain.'
The moon shed its soft light over the quiet garden, the clock struck eleven--that was generally the time at which the family retired to rest--therefore I ventured to leave my place of concealment, without the fear of encountering anyone. Presently after I stood again behind the bushes of fragrant jasmine, immediately beneath the windows, and beheld one light extinguished after the other. In the room I lately occupied, all was dark. At length the light also disappeared in Hannè's chamber.
Sleep, sweetly sleep! Dream blessed dreams!
I whispered with Baggesen, and my heart added, in the words of the same poet,
I love--I love--I love but only thee!
In Jettè's room there was still a candle burning; doubtless she was thinking of her Gustav, perhaps writing a few kind words to him. I could hardly refrain myself from climbing upthetree, and speaking to her; I had a claim upon her indulgence, for had I not laid the fountain of her happiness?Laid the foundation!How did I know that the real cousin had not arrived? But even in that case it would be scarcely possible to undo what had been done. I clung to the pleasing idea that I had effected some good.
At length Jettè's candle was extinguished also. The last--last light--I had gazed on it, till I was almost blinded. With an involuntary sigh I turned my steps slowly back towards the garden; something was moving close behind me; it was my quondam friend, a greyhound belonging to the Justitsraad, but he followed growling at my heels, as if he wished to hunt me off the grounds I polluted by my presence.
'Watchel! my boy! is that you? So--so--be still, be still, Watchel!' I turned to pat his head, but he showed his white teeth, and barked at me; and presently all the other dogs near began to bark also. 'Forgotten!' I exclaimed bitterly to myself, 'forgotten, and disliked!' Watchel followed me, snarling, to the extremity of the garden, and barked long at my shadow as I crossed the field.
The next day my uncle drove over to ---- Court. The moment he was gone I hurried up to his study, which looked towards the east, and arranged his large telescope to bear upon that place which had so much interest for me. I could overlook the whole plain; at its extremity was some rising ground studded with trees--this was the garden; to the left lay the grove, and close to it was the hillock on which stood the swing! Suddenly the swing, until then empty, seemed to be occupied with something white, which put it in motion. 'It is Hannè who is swinging!' I exclaimed aloud in my joy; and I spent the whole afternoon in gazing through the telescope, with a beating heart, and with my eyes fixed upon the swing to catch another glimpse of her who had vanished, alas! too soon. One glance at the folds of her white dress had thrown my blood into a tumult of excitement, but how wildly did not all my pulses beat when, towards evening, my uncle's carriage rolled up the avenue of the rectory.
After he had greeted my aunt with all due affection, and delivered the complimentary messages with which he was charged, inquired how things had gone on during the hours of his absence, settled himself comfortably in his old easy-chair, and lighted his pipe, he began with--
'I heard some very strange news over yonder; I really can think of nothing else.'
'What is it, dear? A great rise in the price of anything?' asked his wife.
'Oh no, my dear, not at all. It is a very ridiculous story. It is not to be mentioned; but I know you will keep it to yourself when I particularly request you to do so. Well--I will tell you all about it; it is really quite a mysterious affair.'
And the good man proceeded to relate how, one evening when they were expecting a cousin who was betrothed to Jettè, a person arrived who answered every question about the family, seemed to know all their affairs, gave himself out to be Carl, whom they had not seen for eleven years, and, as might be supposed, insinuated himself into the good graces of the whole of them. 'He found out that Jettè was attached to that young man Holm, who is studying agricultural affairs in this neighbourhood; so he insisted on annulling his engagement to her, declaring that he was not in love with her, but was betrothed abroad. The Justitsraad was at first very angry, but he gave way at last, and there were gay doings at ---- Court that evening. Next morning the cousin was nowhere to be found; but he left behind him a paper of which nobody can make anything. They expected him during two whole days, but he did not make his appearance again. On the third day, another person arrived, who also declared himself to be a cousin, said he was called Carl, and that he was the expected guest. He brought letters from his father, about whose handwriting there could be no doubt, and the whole family recognized him at once from many things. The first, of course, was an impostor. But Jettè is now betrothed to Holm as well as to the cousin, who had come to arrange about the wedding. There was an awful scene--he insisted on Holm's giving up Jettè to him, and her father had at last to interfere to prevent the rivals carrying their wrath to some fearful extremity. The cousin's obstinacy gave great offence, and he took his departure the day after he had arrived. But he was so angry, that it was with great difficulty he was induced to promise that he would hold his tongue, and not blab about this absurd affair.'
'May the Lord graciously preserve us all! It must have been some wicked sharper!' exclaimed my aunt, clasping her hands in great agitation, when her husband had finished his recital.
'Of course he was an impostor. But it is a very curious story. For what could he have come--will anyone tell me that?'
'Why, to steal, to be sure. Did he break into none of the keeping-places? Is there nothing missing--none of the plate? no forks or spoons?'
'Not the slightest article, and he was there for two days, and went about like one of themselves.'
'It is very surprising; but the fact is, he must have come to reconnoitre the premises, and, when the nights are longer and darker, they will hear of him again.'
'It is a most incomprehensible affair,' said I, in a voice that might have betrayed, me to more acute observers. 'And can they not guess at all who he is--have they no clue to him?'
'Not the slightest, nephew. They all describe him as a handsome, gentlemanly young man, who knew how to conduct himself in good society; and he acquitted himself so well in his assumed character, that none of them had the least notion what a trick he was playing them.'
'Believe me, my dear sirs, this person was no other than the celebratedMorten Frederichsen, who was arrested and imprisoned at Roeskilde, but made his escape. He must be a very clever fellow, that,' said my aunt; 'I have been told that he pretended to be a Russian officer once in Copenhagen, made his way into the higher circles, and spoke Russian as if it had been his mother tongue. No doubt he has contrived to get free again; and he is a dangerous man. Heaven preserve us from him! Whereheis, there is always mischief going on. I will take care to see that the house-doors are well bolted and secured, and I shall tell the servants to let Sultan loose at night. One cannot be too careful when there are such characters lurking in the neighbourhood.'
The old lady went out to superintend the safe fastening of the house, without dreaming that he who caused her such alarm was dwelling under her own peaceful roof.
The next day nothing else was spoken of, and it was easy for me to draw from my uncle all that I wished to hear. I ascertained that the real cousin had not made a favourable impression; and that, in fact, they were all glad that the engagement between him and Jettè was at an end. My extraordinary and mysterious disappearance had set them all guessing, but they despaired of ever solving the riddle, since all the investigations and inquiries which could be quietly instituted had failed to yield the slightest trace of me. Gustav, following up the hint I had given in the note I had left, had written to a friend in Fredericia, but, of course, this had led to no result. Thomas daily scoured the country round, searching the woods and the moors to find me; but every succeeding day lessened his hopes of being able to bring me a prisoner to his home.
My imprudence, then, had been productive of no bad effects; fortune had befriended the rash fool, as it so often does. I cannot describe with what joy I gathered this happy intelligence; and when I had reflected on it for some days, I came to the conclusion that Imightventure again to show myself at ---- Court, and entreat forgiveness of my sad delinquencies. I formed a thousand plans and relinquished them again. At length I wrote to Copenhagen for new clothes, and sent a letter, to be forwarded from thence by the post to the Justitsraad, wherein I made a confession, and candidly avowed all that my inclination for a frolic and a succession of accidental circumstances had led me into. I threw myself upon Miss Jettè's kindness to intercede for me, trusting that she would not refuse me this favour; I dwelt on my contrition and deep regret, and implored forgiveness for my misdemeanours. Nothing did I conceal, except my name and my love for Hannè. I hope, dear reader, that you will not find it necessary to ask why I concealed these.
The blue coat arrived at length from Copenhagen, with information that the letter had been forwarded. It was not difficult for me to put it into my uncle's head to drive over to ---- Court, and ascertain if there had been any elucidation of the mysterious story that had almost entirely chased sleep from my good aunt's couch. I had intended to have accompanied him, but when the time came my courage failed, and, pleading a headache, I left him to go alone.
'You are not well, my dear nephew, that I can easily perceive,' said he, as I saw him into his carriage; 'we must positively send for the doctor. You will turn quite black in the long run, for in a fortnight only you have become as dark as a Tartar, and that is not a healthy colour. Perhaps you have got worms.'
The worthy man little knew that I was purposely obliterating my good complexion more and more, and had the greatest trouble in giving myself this Tartar tint. 'He shall drink some of my decoction of wormwood,' said my aunt; 'it is better than any apothecary's mixtures, and will do him a great deal of good.' Whereupon she invited me to go with her to her sanctum, and there I was compelled to swallow a horrid bitter potion, which was enough to bring the most hardened sinner to a sense of his guilt.
'Well, tell me, have they found Morten Frederichsen?' asked my aunt, when my uncle returned. 'Has he broken in over yonder?'
'No, no, my dear. There was no housebreaker in question at all. Truly, it is a laughable story. The man has written the Justitsraad from Copenhagen.'
'Written? A threatening letter? A defiance? It is making nothing at all of the police--a positive insult to them. But, God be thanked, he is no longer in our neighbourhood.'
'Now, my good wife, you are quite mistaken,' replied my uncle, who then proceeded to relate the contents of my letter, which, it appeared, had still further excited the baffled curiosity of the worthy family.
My aunt could not recover from the state of amazement into which she had been thrown.
'But what says the Justitsraad?' I asked.
'Why, what can he say? He is glad that the intruder was a gentleman, for the letter is evidently written by one in that rank of life, but of course he is angry at having been so hoaxed. But it was Jettè who pacified him, for she did not stop entreating him until he promised her not to vex himself any longer about the matter. I thought of you, nephew, and took the opportunity to say a few words about forgiveness and placability, grounding my lesson of Christian duty on the excellent admonitions of the Scriptures. They talked a great deal about the mysterious personage; and the Justitsraad said at length that he would not wreak his vengeance upon him if he could see him, but would rather feel a pleasure in meeting him again. The girls wanted their father to put an advertisement in the papers addressed in a roundabout way to him, but Mr. Holm dissuaded them from this.'
'That was very right of Mr. Holm,' said my aunt. 'He is a sensible young man; for if the person really was a thief--of which there can be no doubt--for he who tells a lie will also steal ...'
'That does not by any means follow, dear aunt,' said I.
'Well, be that as it may, we are invited to ---- Court to-morrow, and I promised that we would go, and you, too, Adolph. I told them I had a nephew on a visit to me at present.'
'I ... but ... you know, uncle, my father and the Justitsraad ...'
'Oh, we must manage to set all that to-rights; to entertain feelings of enmity is quite unworthy of two such men. Leave the matter to me. I have not yet mentioned your name, therefore you need be under no embarrassment in presenting yourself to the Justitsraad. He is a very pleasant man.'
'Sooner or later--it makes but little difference,' thought I; 'and if I can but look him full in the face, without dreading to be discovered, I shall be willing to acknowledge all his good qualities.'
'Had we not better take the bottle of wormwood with us in the carriage?' said my aunt, next day. 'Adolph looks so black under the eyes this morning, that I am sure he is worse than he was yesterday.'
'I confess I do not like his looks,' said my uncle; 'but perhaps that dark shade is cast by his moustaches. One might really fancy, nephew, that you had darkened your face with burnt cork. You don't look at all like yourself. Truly, the rifle corps has a great deal to answer for.'
My endeavours had been successful. Instead of the gay, fresh-looking, light-hearted cousin, in a dark-green frock-coat, that had left ---- Court, came, along with the clergyman and his lady, a grave, silent, dark-haired nephew, in a blue coat; with an olive complexion, very sallow, and with black moustaches; my transformation was complete. I scarcely recognized myself when I saw myself in the glass. The worst that could happen would be to be taken for myself--the agreeably characterized 'sad scamp' from Hamburg. But for what would I not be taken to see Hannè again!
None of them knew me; the Justitsraad addressed me as 'Mr. Adolph,' and received me very courteously. The guests were Kammerraad Tvede, the Jutlander, and his family, Gustav, a friend of his, and ourselves. I do not doubt that my heightened colour might have been visible even through the swarthy shade of my cheek when Hannè entered the room. She had become ten times prettier than ever in these fourteen days; she looked really quite captivating. Gustav and Jettè cast many speaking glances at each other, and her mother looked kindly at them. I stood silent and grave in a corner window; the various feelings that rushed upon me assisted me in playing the part of a somewhat embarrassed stranger. Watchel rose from his mat, and walked round the room as if to greet his master's well-known guests; he wagged his tail in token of welcome to my uncle and aunt, but he growled at me, whereupon Hannè called him away, and made him lie down in his usual place.
'But tell me, my dear friend, how does this happen? When I was here last your daughter was engaged to another gentleman. What has become of him?' said the inquisitive neighbour, Tvede.
'Oh, that was only a jest from their childhood,' said the Justitsraad. 'He was my brother's son, and was on a visit to us. Jettè was betrothed at that time to Mr. Holm, though her engagement was not generally known.'
'Oh, indeed; but where is your nephew now?'
'He left us some time ago.'
'A very nice young man your nephew is; perhaps what was only jest between him and the elder sister may become earnest between him and the younger one. What say you to that, Miss Hannè?'
Hannè blushed scarlet, but made no answer. The Justitsraad looked a little confused, and smiled to my uncle; I sat as if on thorns.
'So your father resides in Copenhagen, Mr. Adolph?' said the indefatigable questioner, turning towards me.
I rose in a fright, and bowed.
'He is a merchant, is he not? and has a good deal to do with the West Indies?'
'Yes, he has a good deal to do with the West Indies,' I replied, in a feigned voice, as different from my own as I possibly could make it.
'My brother-in-law does a great deal of business with the provinces also--commission-business--as a corn-merchant,' said my uncle; 'that is safer than West India business.'
'Ah, so he is your brother-in-law--married to your sister, no doubt? Well, your nephew seems a fine young man. He is in the army, I suppose?'
'No, my dear sir, he is a clerk in his father's office; but as he has joined a rifle corps, according to a new regulation he is obliged to have moustaches,' replied my uncle, honestly believing the truth of my assertion.
The observation of all present was drawn upon me. I turned crimson. Gustav and his friend cast a meaning glance at each other, and both smiled, I interpreted the smile into this, 'He is a vain, conceited puppy; the regulation is the coinage of his own brain.' What an unmerciful interpreter is conscience! We were to take our coffee in the garden; thither, therefore, we all proceeded. I approached Jettè, and began to talk to her about the pretty country round.
'Have you been long at your uncle's?' she asked.
'I have been there some little time, and I should have left it before now, had not a strange commission been imposed on me--one which I find it very difficult to fulfil. It is a commission which relates to the family here,' I added, when I found she was not inclined to ask any questions.
'To us?' said Jettè; 'and the commission is so difficult?'
'It is no other than to obtain for a man the restoration of that peace of mind of which his inconsiderate folly has deprived him, and to procure for him your father's forgiveness--his pardon of an injury that otherwise will weigh him down with regret and remorse for the remainder of his life.'
Jettè looked at me in astonishment.
'What--Mr. Adolph? I do not understand.'
'A friend of mine has written to me from Copenhagen, and charged me to try and make his peace with the Justitsraad; but the papers which he has forwarded to me containing his case, really present it in such a perplexing and unfortunate light, that I cannot attempt to carry out his wishes, unless you, to whom he particularly desired me first to apply, will grant me your valuable assistance. He certainly did most shamefully abuse your confidence.'
'You know ... it is ... you are acquainted with that strange story?' exclaimed Jettè, much embarrassed.
'I know it thoroughly; and though this is the first time I have had the honour of seeing you, I think I may say you yourself are not better acquainted with the particulars of that affair than I am. It is on your kindness that I principally rely; yet I may not mention my friend's name until he has obtained entire forgiveness. He has given me very positive directions.'
'I cannot but be much surprised that a person who insulted my father and us all so much, should ...'
'Insulted you, my dear young lady? I am shocked to hear it; I am sorry that he should have written me what was not true; his letter led me to believe that, on the contrary, he had rather been of service to you.'
Jettè blushed deeply, and I thought I perceived tears in her eyes. 'He shall certainly not find me ungrateful,' she said; 'I have not forgotten what I owe him. What do you require of me?'
'My friend entreats you, through me, to grant him your forgiveness for a mystification to which purely accidental circumstances led at first, but which was continued solely from an interest in your fate, and an anxious desire to serve you. He entreats that you will use your influence to mollify your father towards him, and procure for me a private interview with him, which I trust will end in the pardon of my friend, who has no dearer wish than to be received again into a circle he so highly esteems and respects, and to be permitted to prove to them how deeply he regrets his thoughtless folly.'
Some others of the same party now approached, and I was obliged to drop the conversation. Gustave and Hannè were disputing.
'Jeer at me as you will,' said Hannè, 'I hold to my opinion, that nothing is so tiresome as family connections. If one only could choose one's kindred those sort of ties would be much stronger. It is a pity not to go a step further, and let it be a fixed rule, that relations to a certain extent remote, should marry whether they suit each other or not. This would certainly extirpatelove, but it would be vastly convenient, and in a recent case it would have hindered many doubts and hopes, and all that followed.'
'Pray recollect your last election; there was not much to boast of in him. The ties of consanguinity could hardly have furnished any family with a less desirable member.'
'Yes they could, for the member who came after him was much inferior, notwithstanding he bore on his brow the stamp of legitimacy. Even though my "election," as you call it, fell upon one who was treacherous, he was at any rate pleasant, lively, and amusing, whereas the legitimate one was cold, stupid, pedantic, tiresome; wearying one with every slow word he uttered. You do not mean one syllable of all the evil you speak of the stranger. The properly installed cousins and nephews whom I have latterly seen have been miserable creatures, who looked as if they could not count five, and as if they had not a thought to bestow on anything but their own pitiful persons, on which they placed the most exorbitant value, without the slightest grounds for so doing.'
As she finished this tirade, Hannè cast a side-glance at me, who, in truth, played capitally the part of the most tiresome, self-satisfied blockhead of a nephew anyone could imagine. She had no conception how part of her harangue had enchanted me.
'Legitimate right is a good thing; in that I quite agree with the young lady,' said the Jutlander, who had just approached us, and thought fit to join in the conversation. He had only caught a word or two of what Hannè had been saying, and mistook entirely her meaning.
While we continued to stroll about, Jettè took her sister aside, and whispered something to her. Hannè turned her eyes full on me, and looked keenly at me. As soon as it was possible, I went up to her, and began to talk about the weather, that invariable preface to even the most important and most interesting subjects. We soon fell into conversation, and it turned upon the communication Jettè had just made.
'My sister tells me that your friend is anxious to obtain our forgiveness,' said she. 'We have already given him that, for he has done us a greater service than he thinks. Our regard is another affair; that would be more difficult to bestow, and doubtless he does not entertain the slightest idea of ever winning it.'
'You would condemn him to a severe doom if you would forbid his striving at least to deserve it. Without your good opinion, your forgiveness would be a mere passing act of charity; without the former he would be a beggar all his life, with ithe would become a millionnaire.'
Hannè coloured at the reminiscences these words awakened; but she only said,
'You put a high value on it.'
'Not higher than my friend does.Yourregard, charming Miss Hannè, is what he seeks, and were he not attracted to this place by a perhaps too vividsouvenirof you, I should not be standing here as his spokesman. Your sister has kindly promised to obtain for me a few minutes' private conversation with your father; if your hatred of my unfortunate friend cannot be softened, tell me so, I pray you, at once, and I shall spare your father a communication which may perhaps remind him of disagreeable impressions, for without your entire pardon I cannot fulfil my errand, and I will not attempt to do it by halves.'
'You are a very zealous agent, there is no denying that. Well, you may speak to my father; I will not be the most hard-hearted of the family. Besides, I really feel that your friend has an advocate in my own inclination for a joke, though his jest was carried rather too far.'
'I expected this goodness from you, or my friend would not have painted you in true colours.'
'And pray in what colours did he paint me, if I may venture to ask? It would be difficult to give anyone's likeness on so short an acquaintance.'
'They were as radiant as if he had borrowed for his pencil tints from heaven to do justice to the original ... He adores you, to say the absolute truth.'
'Indeed! He really does me too much honour,' she said, stiffly, and in an offended tone of voice.
At the 'tints from heaven,' and 'justice to the original,' she had smiled; at the 'absolute truth,' she became angry.
We were at the foot of the hillock, on which stood the swing.
'There must be a fine view from the top of that rising ground,' said I.
Politeness obliged her to ascend the bank. Gustav and his friend followed us at a little distance in earnest conversation; the rest of the party had gone to the summer-house, where coffee was prepared.
'Really, this is a lovely view!' I remarked, mechanically.
'Yonder lies your uncle's church,' said Hannè; 'it makes the twelfth spire we can see from this hill.'
'I have remarked this place from my uncle's window; these white poles shine out against the dark-green background.'
'Were you afraid of them? Did you fancy they were ...'
'A gallows!' I exclaimed, interrupting her. 'No, Miss Hannè; I am rather more rational than my foolish friend.'
Hannè looked inquisitively at me.
'Have you remembered what he begged of you on this spot? That when you heard evil of him, and doubts of his honour, you would come up here, and judge leniently of the absent; that you would not condemn him totally, although appearances might be against him?'
'He must have favoured you with a remarkably minute report of his sayings and doings here,' said Hannè, laughing. 'You have got his speeches by heart--word for word.'
'Every word which he exchanged with you remains for ever engraved on his memory. You promised this to him. Dare he flatter himself that you have not forgotten that promise, and have not deserted him, while he relied on your compassion?'
'I have taken his part a great deal more than he deserves,' she replied. 'But now that is no longer necessary, and if he return here, he shall find me his worst enemy, for I do not allow myself to be made a fool of without taking my revenge.'
'Have some mercy, fair lady! See, I sue for grace--he cannot stand your ire. I have come to throw myself at your feet--acquitted by you, he will have courage to meet any storm ... Miss Hannè,' I added, with my own natural voice, 'you are the only one who knows that the unfortunate sinner is here; condemn me irrevocably, if you have the heart to do so--I will hear my sentence from your lips.'
Hannè looked at me with an arch smile.
'You will not betray me, or misuse my confidence,' I added, in a supplicatory tone. 'Bestow on me your forgiveness, and procure for me that of your parents. Without this I cannot live. You have discovered me, notwithstanding my disguise; it was only under its shelter that I ventured to come near you during the light of day. Ah! at night, I have often been here, standing outside of the house, looking up at your window, until the light was extinguished in your room, and I had no longer any evidence of your proximity to feast upon.'
She looked at me for a moment with unusual softness,--nay, with kindness; then clapping her hands together, she called out,
'Gustav! Linden! Come here--make haste! Here he is--here he is!'
'Who? What is it?' cried the two young men, as they came hurrying towards us.
'For Heaven's sake--Miss Hannè--you surely will not ... you abuse the confidence I placed in you--I did not expect this of you. Will you betray me? Will you disgrace me before that stranger?' I stammered out, amazed and vexed at her sudden change.
'There he is--the false cousin--standing yonder. Now he is caught,' added Hannè, skipping about with joy.
'The cousin--he!' exclaimed Gustav, in great astonishment; 'but tell me then ...'
'Mr. Holm,' said I, 'and you, sir, with whom I have not the pleasure of being acquainted ...'
'True!' cried Hannè, interrupting me, 'I owe you an explanation. You need not excuse yourself to Gustav, in his heart he acknowledges you to be his benefactor; and this gentleman,with whom you have not the pleasure of being acquainted, is quite as cognisant of your exploits as any of us. "You will not betray me, or misuse my confidence,"' said she, mimicking me, 'therefore let me present to you Mr. Linden, my bridegroom elect. You once asked me what this ring I wear betokened--do you remember that? I was then obliged to give you an evasive answer; now I will confide the secret to you, my much honoured cousin--and much admired truth-teller.'
Could I have guessedthis, or have had the slightest suspicion of it, two hours earlier, I never again would have put my feet within the doors of ---- Court.
There was nothing for it now but to let myself patiently be dragged about by them, after I had muttered something, that might as well have been taken for a malediction as a felicitation.
My uncle was walking in the alley of pine-trees with the Justitsraad and Jettè; she had been preparing him for the audience I told her I wished of him, but she had not yet the least idea that I was the person for whom she had been pleading. I appeared before them as a poor culprit.
'Dear father,' said Hannè, 'I bring a deserter, who has given himself up to me. He relies on your forgiveness, for which I have become surety, and if you withhold it, my word will be broken.'
'Let me speak, child,' said my uncle, who fancied that a disagreement between my father and the Justitsraad was the affair in question.
'As the servant of the Lord, it is my duty to exhort everyone to peace, and forgiveness of injuries; you should all remember the divine mission of Him who is the fountain of love, and who came to bring goodwill on earth; remembering His example you should chase away hatred, and all evil passions and thoughts from your mind. See, this young person comes to you with confiding hope, and now do shake hands with him in sign of reconciliation, and let not two worthy men remain longer enemies. Speak kindly to him, my old friend, and do not oblige him longer to conceal his name, because it is one which you once disliked--let the past be now forgotten!'
'What,youalso pleading for him, my worthy friend? Then, indeed, I must give in. Well, the foolish madcap has found intercessors enough, I think,' said the Justitsraad, as he held out his hand to me.
'He is petitioning for his friend,' said Jettè.
'For my benefactor,' said Gustav.
'For his old father,' said my uncle.
'For himself,' said Hannè. 'This is the pretended cousin himself, in disguise; this is the very man himself who threw our family into such confusion; but what his real name may be, Heaven only knows.'
'He is my sister's son--Adolph Kerner, a son of Mr. Kerner, the well-known Copenhagen merchant; he has no need to be ashamed of his name,' said my uncle.
Everyone was astonished; there was a general silence from amazement.
At length Jettè exclaimed, 'The pretended cousin himself?'
'The young Kerner who went to Hamburg?' asked the Justitsraad.
'What! the impostor my own nephew?' cried my uncle, upon whom the truth began to dawn. The formidable explanation was given, forgiveness followed, and we were reconciled. The Justitsraad shook hands with me cordially.
'And now let us seek my mother,' said Hannè, 'and fall at her feet. For the honour of our sex, I hope Mr. Kerner will have to undergo the pains of purgatory in her presence.'
We proceeded to the summer-house where the rest of the party were sitting at table, taking coffee. The Justitsraad led me up to his wife, and said, 'I beg to present to you your lost nephew, who returns, like the prodigal son, and begs for forgiveness. Tomorrow he will show himself without these moustaches, in his own fair hair, and he hopes to find the same kind aunt in you whom the false cousin Carl learned so speedily to love.'
The lady gave me her hand, after having held up her finger as if to threaten me.
'And here you see Morten Frederichsen, my dear, against whom Sultan was to have guarded our house. The good-for-nothing, he has certainly hoaxed all us old ones,' said my uncle, laughing. 'His liver-complaint was nothing but a trick.'
'What is that you say? Morten Frederichsen! How the idea of that dreadful creature frightened me! But I have retaliated upon him with my wormwood, I rather think.' The good woman was much puzzled, and could hardly comprehend how it all came about.
'And now I beg to introduce to Kammerraad Tvede, the younger Kerner, son of Mr. Kerner of Copenhagen, a youth who has lately returned from an educational trip to Hamburg,' said the mischief-loving Hannè, pulling me up to the Jutlander.
'A very fine young man,' stammered the Kammerraad. 'I have the pleasure of knowing your father, and am aware of the high standing of your house.'
I made my escape over to Jettè and Gustav, who kindly took compassion on me.
'Don't you all see now that it was not so stupid of me to propose examining him in the almanack?' said Hannè.
'At any rate, toyoubelongs the credit of having placed me in the most painful dilemma,' said I, with some bitterness. 'Be merciful now, and do not play with me as a cat does with a mouse; the conqueror can afford to be magnanimous to the vanquished.'
'Well, the sun is about to set, and I suppose I must let my just resentment go with it. I will forgive you for all your misdemeanours upon one condition, that, according to our late agreement, you will return by-and-by, and assist us in getting up some private theatricals, to which I have the pleasure of inviting all now present. I think you will shine in "The April Fools."'[6]
'Shame on you all!' cried Jettè. 'How can you be so revengeful, and still persecute Mr. Kerner in this inhuman way?'
'I trust he will excuse the persecution,' said her father; 'and I hope that it will not frighten him from a house which will always be open to him, and where he will henceforth be as well received under his own name as he was under that of--Cousin Carl.'