O. T., A Danish Romance

Chance or fate, as we call it, if the shadow of a consequence shows itself, caused Maren to pass through the anteroom when Otto was about taking his departure. She was the only one of the ladies at home. In three weeks she would return to Lemvig. She said that she could not boast of having enjoyed Mr. Thostrup’s society too often.

“Your old friends interest you no longer!” added she, somewhat gravely. With this exception she had amused herself very well in the city, had seen everything but the stuffed birds, and these she should see to-morrow. She had been seven times in the theatre, and had seen the “Somnambule” twice. However, she had not seen “Der Frieschütz,” and she had an especial desire to see this on account of the wolf-glen. At Aarhuus there was a place in the wood, said she, called the wolf-glen; this she knew, and now wished to see whether it resembled the one on the stage.

“May I then greet Rosalie from you?” she asked at length.

“You will still remain three weeks here,” said Otto: “it is too soon to speak of leave-taking.”

“But you scarcely ever come here,” returned she. “You have better places to go to! The Baron’s sister certainly sees you oftener; she is said to be a pretty and very clever girl: perhaps one may soon offer one’s congratulations?”

Otto became crimson.

“In spring you will travel abroad,” pursued she; “we shall not then see you in Jutland: yes, perhaps you will never go there again! That will make old Rosalie sad: she thinks so incredibly much of you. In all the letters which I have received here there were greetings to Mr. Thostrup. Yes, I have quite a multitude of them for you; but you do not come to receive them, and I dare not pay a visit to such a young gentleman. For the sake of old friendship let me, at least, be the first who can relate at home of the betrothal!”

“How can you have got such a thought?” replied Otto. “I go to so many houses where there are young ladies; if my heart had anything to do with it, I should have a bad prospect. I have great esteem for Miss Sophie; I speak with her as with you, that is all. I perceive that the air of Copenhagen has affected you; here in the city they are always betrothing people. This comes from the ladies in the house here. How could you believe such stories?”

Maren also joked about it, but after they had parted she seated herself in a corner, drew her little apron over her head and wept; perhaps because she should soon leave the lively city, where she had been seven times to the theatre, and yet had not seen the wolf-glen.

“Betrothed!” repeated Otto to himself, and thought of Sophie, of the cousin, and of his own childhood, which hung like a storm-cloud in his heaven. Many thoughts passed through his mind: he recollected the Christmas Eve on which he had seen Sophie for the first time, when she, as one of the Fates, gave him the number. He had 33, she 34; they were united by the numbers following each other. He received the pedigree, and was raised to her nobility. The whole joke had for him a signification. He read the verse again which had accompanied it. The conclusion sounded again and again in his ears:—“From this hour forth thy soul high rank hath won her, Nor will forget thy knighthood and thy honor!”

“O Sophie!” he exclaimed aloud, and the fire which had long smouldered in his blood now burst forth in flames. “Sophie! thee must I press to my heart!” He lost himself in dreams. Dark shapes disturbed them. “Can she then be happy? Can I? The picture which she received where the covering of ice was broken and the faithful dog watched in vain, is also significant. That is the fulfillment of hopes. I sink, and shall never return!”

The image of the cousin mingled in his dreams. That refined countenance with the little mustache looked forth saucily and loquaciously; and Sophie’s eyes he saw rest upon the cousin, whilst her white hand played with the brown curls which fell over her cheek.

“O Sophie!” sighed Otto, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXX

…”We live through others,We think we are others; we seemOthers to be… And so think others of us.”SCHEFER.

When the buds burst forth we will burst forth also! had Otto and Wilhelm often said. Their plan was, in the spring to travel immediately to Paris, but on their way to visit the Rhine, and to sail from Cologne to Strasburg.

“Yes, one must see the Rhine first!” said Cousin Joachim; “when one has seen Switzerland and Italy, it does not strike one nearly as much. That must be your first sight; but you should not see it in spring, but toward autumn. When the vines have their full variety of tint, and the heavy grapes hang from the stems, see, it is then the old ruins stand forth. These are the gardens of the Rhine! Another advantage which you have in going there in autumn is that you then enter Paris in winter, and that one must do; then one does not come post festum; then is the heyday of gayety—the theatre, the soirées, and everything which can interest the beau monde.”

Although Otto did not generally consider the cousin’s words of much weight, he this time entered wonderfully into his views. “It would certainly be the most prudent to commence their journey toward autumn,” he thought: “there could be no harm in preparing themselves a little more for it!”

“That is always good!” said Joachim; “but, what is far more advantageous abroad than all the preparations you can make at home, is said in a few words—give up all intercourse with your own country-people! Nowadays every one travels! Paris is not now further from us than Hamburg was some thirty years ago. When I was in Paris I found there sixteen or seventeen of my countrymen. O, how they kept together! Eleven of them dwelt in the same hôtel: they drank coffee together, walked out together, went to the restaurateur’s together, and took together half a bench in the theatre. That is the most foolish thing a person can do! I consider travelling useful for every one, from the prince to the travelling journeyman. But we allow too many people to travel! We are not rich, therefore restrictions should be made. The creative artist, the poet, the engineer, and the physician must travel; but God knows why theologians should go forth. They can become mad enough at home! They come into Catholic countries, and then there is an end of them! Wherefore should book-worms go forth? They shut themselves up in the diligence and in their chambers, rummage a little in the libraries, but not so much as a pinch of snuff do they do us any good when they return! Those who cost the most generally are of the least use, and bring the country the least honor! I, thank God! paid for my journey myself, and am therefore free to speak my opinion!”

We will now hear what Miss Sophie said, and therefore advance a few days.

“We keep you then with us till August!” said she, once when she was alone with Otto. “That is wise! You can spend some time with us in Funen, and gather strength for your journey. Yes, the journey will do you good!”

“I hope so!” answered Otto. “I am perhaps able to become as interesting as your cousin, as amiable!”

“That would be requiring too much from you!” said Sophie, bantering him. “You will never have his humor, his facility in catching up character. You will only preach against the depravity of the Parisians; you will only be able to appreciate the melancholy grandeur of Switzerland and the solitude of the Hungarian forests.”

“You would make a misanthrope of me, which I by no means am.”

“But you have an innate talent for this character!” answered Sophie. “Something will certainly be polished away by this journey, and it is on account of this change that I rejoice.”

“Must one, then, have a light, fickle mood to please you?” asked Otto.

“Yes, certainly!” answered Sophie, ironically.

“Then it is true what your cousin told me!” said Otto. “If one will be fortunate with the ladies, one must at least be somewhat frivolous, fond of pleasure, and fickle,—that makes one interesting. Yes, he has made himself acquainted with the world, he has experience in everything!”

“Yes, perfectly!” said Sophie, and laughed aloud.

Otto was silent, with contracted brow.

“I wish you sunshine!” said Sophie, and smiling raised her finger. Otto remained unchanged—he wrinkled his brow.

“You must change very much!” said she, half gravely; and danced out of the room.

Three weeks passed by, rich in great events in the kingdom of the heart; it was still a diplomatic secret: the eyes betrayed it by their pantomimic language, the mouth alone was silent, and it is after all the deciding power.

Otto visited the merchant’s family. Maren had departed just the day before. In vain had she awaited his visit throughout the three weeks.

“You quite forget your true friends!” said the ladies. “Believe us, Maja was a little angry with you, and yet we have messages. Now she is sailing over the salt sea.”

This was not precisely the case; she was already on land, and just at this moment was driving over the brown heath, thinking of Copenhagen and the pleasures there, and of the sorrow also—it is so sad to be forgotten by a friend of childhood! Otto was so handsome, so clever—she did not dream at all how handsome and clever she herself would appear at home. Beauty and cleverness they had discovered in her before she left; now she had been in the capital, and that gives relief.

The little birds fluttered round the carriage; perhaps they sang to her what should happen in two years: “Thou wilt be a bride, the secretary’s lovely little bride; thou shalt have both him and the musical-box! Thou wilt be the grandest lady in the town, and yet the most excellent mother. Thy first daughter shall be called Maja—that is a pretty name, and reminds thee of past days!”

CHAPTER XXXI

“The monastery is still called ‘Andersskov’ (the wood of Anders) in memory of its being the habitation of the pious Anders.

“The hill on which he awoke, comforted by sleep, is still called ‘Hvile höi’ (the hill of rest). A cross having a Latin inscription, half-effaced, marks the spot.”—J. L. HEIBERG.

It was spring, fresh, life-bearing spring! Only one day and one night, and the birds of passage were back again; the woods made themselves once more young with green, odorous leaves; the Sound had its swimming Venice of richly laden vessels; only one day and one night, and Sophie was removed from Otto—they were divided by the salt sea; but it was spring in his heart; from it flew his thoughts, like birds of passage, to the island of Funen, and there sang of summer. Hope gave him more “gold and green woods” than the ships bear through the Sound, more than Zealand’s bays can show. Sophie at parting pressed his hand. In her eyes lay what his heart might hope and dream.

He forgot that hope and dreams were the opposites of reality.

Cousin Joachim had gone to Stockholm, and would not return either in the spring or summer to Funen. On the contrary, Otto intended to spend a few weeks at the country-seat; not before August would he and Wilhelm travel. There would at least be one happy moment, and many perhaps almost as happy. In his room stood a rose-bush, the first buds formed themselves, and opened their red lips—as pure and tender as these leaves was Sophie’s cheek: he bent over the flower, smiled and read there sweet thoughts which were related to his love. A rose-bud is a sweet mystery.

“The myriad leaves enmazeSmall labyrinthine waysWhere spicy odor flows,Thou lovelv bud o’ the rose!”

The day came on which Otto, after he had comfortably terminated his visits of leave-taking, at midday, in the company of three young students travelled away through Zealand. They had taken a carriage together as far as Slagelse, where, like Abraham’s and Lot’s shepherds, they should separate to the right and left. Otto remained alone, in order to travel post that night to Nyborg. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, Otto had no acquaintance here, therefore it was but to take a walk.

“There still exist remains of the old Antvorskov convent,22 do there not?” asked he.

“Yes, but very little!” answered the host. “The convent became a castle, the castle a private house, and now within the last few years, on account of the stones, it has been still more pulled down. You will find nothing old remaining, except here and there in the garden a piece of a red wall standing out. But the situation is beautiful! If you will only take the road toward the large village called Landsgrav, you are on the way to Korsöer, and close to the cross of the holy Anders. It is a right pleasant excursion!”

“Convent ruins and the holy cross!” said Otto; “that sounds quite romantic!” And he commenced his wanderings.

A few scholars from the Latin school, with their books held together by a strait, and then a square built lancer, who greeted in military style an elderly-young lady, who was seated behind a barricade of geraniums and wall flowers, were the only individuals he met with on his way. Yet Otto remarked that the windows were opened as he passed; people wanted to see who the stranger might be who was going up the street.

A long avenue led from the town to the castle. On either side the way lay detached houses, with little gardens. Otto soon reached the remains of old Antvorskov. The way was red from the stones which were flung about, and were now ground to dust. Huge pieces of wall, where the mortar and stone were united in one piece, lay almost concealed among the high nettles. Rather more distant stood a solitary house of two stories. It was narrow, and whitewashed. A thick pilaster, such as one sees in churches, supported the strong wall. This was half of the last wing of the castle,—a mingling of the ancient and incident, of ruin and dwelling-house.

Otto went into the garden, which was laid out upon the hill itself, and its terraces. Here were only young trees; but the walks were everywhere overgrown. The view stretched itself far over the plain, toward the Belt and Funen. He descended from the terrace down to the lowest wall. In this there yet remained a piece of an old tombstone, of the age of the convent, on which you perceived the trace of a female form; and near to this the figure of a skeleton, round which was twined a snake. Otto stood sunk in contemplation, when an old man, with two water-buckets suspended from a yoke on his shoulders, approached a near well.

The old man was very ready to commence a conversation. He told of excavations, and of an underground passage which had not been discovered, but which, according to his opinion, was certainly in existence. So far they had only found a few walled-round spaces, which had most probably been prisons. In one of these was an iron chain fastened into the wall. But with regard to the underground passage, they had only not yet discovered the right place, for it must exist. It led from here, deep under the lake and forest, toward Soröe. There were large iron gates below. At Christmas one could hear how they were swung to and fro. “Whoever should have that which is concealed there,” said the old man, “would be a made man, and need not neither slip nor slide.”

Otto looked at the solitary wing which rose up over the terrace. How splendid it had been here in former times!

Close to the large wood, several miles in extent, which stretches itself on the other side of Soröe, down to the shore of the King’s Brook, lay the rich convent where Hans Tausen spoke what the Spirit inspired him with. Times changed; the convent vanished;

“Halls of stateTower upon that spot elate;Where the narrow cell once stood;”23

where the monks sang psalms, knights and ladies danced to the sound of beating drums: but these tone’s ceased; the blooming cheeks became dust. It was again quiet. Many a pleasant time did Holberg ride over from Soröe, through the green wood, to visit the steward of Antvorskov. Otto recollected what one of his daughters, when an old woman, had related to a friend of his. She was a child, and lay in the cradle, when old Holberg came riding there, with a little wheaten loaf and a small pot of preserve in his pocket—his usual provision on such little excursions. The steward’s young wife sat at her spinning-wheel. Holberg paced up and down the room with the husband; they were discussing politics. This interested the wife, and she joined in the conversation. Holberg turned round to her,—“I fancy the distaff speaks!” said he. This the wife could never forget.24

Otto smiled at this recollection of the witty but ungallant poet, quitted the garden, and went through a winding hollow way, where the luxuriant briers hung in rich masses over the stone fence. Slagelse, with its high hills in the background, looked picturesque. He soon reached Landsgrav. The sun went down as he walked over the field where the wooden cross stands, with its figure of the Redeemer, in memory of the holy Anders. Near it he perceived a man, who appeared to kneel. One hand held fast by the cross; in the other was a sharp knife, with which he was probably cutting out his name. He did not observe Otto. Near the man lay a box covered with green oil-cloth; and in the grass lay a knapsack, a pair of boots, and a knotty stick. It must be a wandering journeyman, or else a pedlar.

Otto was about to return, when the stranger rose and perceived him. Otto stood as if nailed to the earth. It was the German Heinrich whom he saw before him.

“Is not that Mr. Thostrup?” said the man and that horrible grinning smile played around his mouth. “No, that I did not expect!”

“Does it go well with you, Heinrich?” asked Otto.

“There’s room for things to mend!” replied Heinrich “It goes better with you! Good Lord, that you should become such a grand gentleman! Who would have thought it, when you rode on my knee, and I pricked you in the arm? Things go on strangely in this world! Have you heard of your sister? She was not so much spoiled as you! But she was a beautiful child!”

“I have neither seen her nor my parents!” replied he, with a trembling which he strove to conquer. “Do you know where she is?”

“I am always travelling!” said Heinrich; “but thus much I know, that she is still in Funen. Yes, she must take one of us, an unpretending husband! You can choose a genteel young lady for yourself. That’s the way when people are lucky. You will become a landed proprietor. Old Heinrich will then no doubt obtain permission to exhibit his tricks on your estate? But none of its will speak of former times!—of the red house on the Odense water!” This last he whispered quite low. “I shall receive a few shillings from you?” he asked.

“You shall have more!” said Otto, and gave to him. “But I wish us to remain strangers to each other, as we are!”

“Yes, certainly, certainly!” said Heinrich, and nodded affirmatively with his head, whilst his eyes rested on the gift Otto had presented him with. “Then you are no longer angry with my joke in Jutland?” asked he with a simpering smile, and kissed Otto’s hand. “I should not have known you then. Had you not shown me your shoulder, on which I saw the letters O and T which I myself had etched, it would never have occurred to me that we knew each other! But a light suddenly flashed across me. I should have said Otto Thostrup; but I said ‘Odense Tugt-huus.’25 That was not handsome of me, seeing you are such a good gentleman!”

“Yes, now adieu!” said Otto, and extended to him unwillingly his hand.

“There, our Saviour looks down upon us!” said the German Heinrich, and fixed his eyes upon the figure on the cross. “As certainly as He lives may you rely upon the silence of my mouth. He is my Redeemer, who hangs there on the cross, just as he is etched upon my skin, and as he stands along the high-roads in my father-land. Here is the only place in the whole country where the sign of the cross stands under the free heaven; here I worship: for you must know, Mr. Thostrup, I am not of your faith, but of the faith of the Virgin Mary. Here I have cut into the wood the holy sign, such as is placed over every door in my father-land,—an I, an H, and this S. In this is contained my own name; for H stands for Heinrich; I, for I myself; and S means Sinner; that is, I, Heinrich, Sinner. Now I have completed my worship, and you have given me a handsome skilling, I shall now go to my bed at the public-house; and if the girl is pretty, and lets one flatter her, I am still young enough, and shall fancy that I am Mr. Thostrup, and have won that most glorious, elegant young lady! Hurrah! it is a player’s life which we lead!”

Otto left him, but heard how Heinrich sang:

“Tri, ri, ro,The summer comes once mo!To beer, boys! to beerThe winter lies in bands, O!And he who won’t come here,We’ll trounce him with our wands, O!Yo, yo, yo,The summer comes once mo!”

As, suddenly on a clear sunny day, a cloud can appear, extinguish the warm sunshine, conceal the green coast, and change everything into gray mist forms, so was it now with Otto, who had but just before felt himself so happy and full of youthful joy.

“You can sleep quietly!” said the host, when Otto returned to Slagelse; “you shall be wakened early enough to leave with the mail.”

But his rest was like a delirium.

The post-horn sounded in the empty street; they rolled away—it was at daybreak.

“Is that a gallows?” inquired one of the travellers, and pointed toward the hill, where at this distance the cross looked like a stake.

“That is the cross of the holy Anders!” replied Otto; and livingly stood before him the recollections of the evening before.

“Does that really exist?” said the stranger. “I have read of it in the ‘Letters of a Wandering Ghost.’”

This was a beautiful morning, the sun shone warmly, the sea was smooth as a mirror, and so much the faster did the steamboat glide away. The vessel with the mail, which had set sail two hours earlier, still lay not far from land. The sails hung down loosely; not a breeze stirred them.

The steamboat glided close past her; the passengers in the mail-vessel, the greater portion coachmen, travelling journeymen, and peasants, stood on the deck to see it. They waved greetings. One of the foremost leaned on his knotty stick, pulled off his hat, and shouted, “Good morning, my noble gentlefolk!” It was the German Heinrich; he then was going to Funen. Otto’s heart beat faster, he gazed down among the rushing waves which foamed round the paddle, where the sunbeams painted a glorious rainbow.

“That is lovely!” said one of the strangers, close to him.

“Very lovely!” returned Otto, and stilled the sigh which would burst forth from his breast.

Scarcely two hours were fled—the cables were flung upon the Nyborg bridge of boats, and the steamboat made fast to the island of Funen.

CHAPTER XXXII

“It is so sweet when friendly hands bid you a hearty welcome, so dear to behold well-known features, wherever you turn your eyes. Everything seems so home-like and quiet about you and in your own breast.”   HENRIETTE HAUCK.

Otto immediately hired a carriage, and reached the hall just about dinner-time. In the interior court-yard stood two calashes and an Holstein carriage; two strange coachmen, with lace round their hats, stood in animated discourse when Otto drove in through the gate. The postilion blew his horn.

“Be quiet there!” cried Otto.

“There are strangers at the hall!” said the postilion; “I will only let them know that another is coming.”

Otto gazed at the garden, glanced up toward the windows, where mine of the ladies showed themselves only out of a side building a female head was stretched out, whose hair was put back underneath a cap. Otto recognized the grown-together eyebrows. “Is she the first person I am to see here?” sighed he; and the carriage rolled into the inner court. The dogs barked, the turkey-cocks gobbled, but not Wilhelm showed himself. The Kammerjunker came—the excellent neighbor! and immediately afterward Sophie; both exclaimed with smiles, “Welcome!”

“See, here we have our man!” said the Kammerjunker; “we can make use of him in the play!”

“It is glorious you are come!” cried Sophie. “We shall immediately put you under arrest.” She extended her hand to him—he pressed it to his lips. “We will have tableaux vivants this evening!” said she: “the pastor has never seen any. We have no service from Wilhelm; he is in Svendborg, and will not return for two days. You must be the officer; the Kammerjunker will represent the Somnambulist, who comes with her light through the window. Will you?”