O. T., A Danish Romance

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In honor of the strangers, coffee was taken after dinner in the
garden, where, under the plum-trees, a swing was fixed. Somewhat
later a sailing party was arranged. A small yacht belonging to the
merchant lay, just unladen, near the bridge of boats.

Otto found Maren and the young lady from Holstebro sitting in the
arbor. Somewhat startled, they concealed something at his entrance.

"The ladies have secrets! May one not be initiated?"

"No, not at all!" replied Maren.

"You have manuscript poems in the little book!" said Otto, and
boldly approached. "Perhaps of your own composition?"

"O, it is only a memorandum-book," said Maren, blushing. "When I
read anything pretty I copy it, for we cannot keep the books."

"Then I may see it!" said Otto. His eye fell upon the written
sheet:--
"So fliessen nun zwei Wasser
Wohl zwischen mir und Dir
Das eine sind die Thranen,
Das andre ist der See!"
[Note: Des Knaben Wunderhorn.]
he read. "That is very pretty! 'Der verlorne Schwimmer,' the poem
is called, is it not?"

"Yes, I have copied it out of the secretary's memorandum-book; he
has so many pretty pieces."

"The secretary has many splendid things!" said Otto, smiling.
"Memorandum-book, musical snuff-box"--

"And a collection of seals!" added the young lady from Holstebro.

"I must read more!" said Otto; but the ladies fled with glowing
cheeks.

"Are you already at your tricks, Mr. Thostrup?" said the mother,
who now entered the garden. "Yes, you do not know how Maren has
thought of you--how much she has spoken of you. You never wrote to
us; we never heard anything of you, except when Miss Rosalie
related us something out of your letters. That was not nice of you!
You and Maren were always called bride and bridegroom. You were a
pair of pretty children, and your growth has not been disadvantageous
to either of you."

At four o'clock the evening party assembled--a whole swarm of young
ladies, a few old ones, and the secretary, who distinguished
himself by a collection of seals hanging to a long watch-chain, and
everlastingly knocking against his body; a white shirt-frill, stiff
collar, and a cock's comb, in which each hair seemed to take an
affected position. They all walked down to the bay. Otto had some
business and came somewhat later. Whilst he was crossing, alone,
the court-yard, he heard, proceeding from the back of the house, a
fearful, wild cry, which ended in violent sobbing. Terrified, he
went nearer, and perceived the aunt sitting in the middle of a
large heap of turf. The priestess at Delphi could not have looked
more agitated! Her close cap she had torn from her head; her long,
gray hair floated over her shoulders; and with her feet she stamped
upon the turf, like a willful child, until the pieces flew in
various directions. When she perceived Otto she became calm in a
moment, but soon she pressed her thin hands before her face and
sobbed aloud. To learn from her what was the matter was not to be
thought of.

"O, she is only quarrelsome!" said the girl, to whom Otto had
turned for an explanation. "Aunt is angry because she was not
invited to sail with the company. She always does so,--she can be
quite wicked! Just lately, when she should have helped me to wring
out the sheets, she always twisted them the same way that I did, so
that we could never get done, and my hands hurt me very much!"

Otto walked down to the bay. The sail was unfurled, the secretary
brought out his musical-box, and, accompanied by its tones, they
glided in the burning sunshine over the water.

On the other side tea was to be drunk, and then Maren was to sing.
Her mother asked her to sing the song with the strong tones, so
that Otto might hear what a voice she had.

She sang "Dannevang." Her voice had uncommon power, but no style,
no grace.

"Such a voice, I fancy, you have not heard in the theatre at
Copenhagen?" said the secretary, with dogmatical gravity.

"You might wish yourself such a chest!" said the lieutenant.

The secretary should now sing; but he had a little cold, which he
had always.

"You must sing to the musical-box!" said the lady, and her wish was
fulfilled. If Maren had only commenced, one might have believed it
a trial of skill between Boreas and Zephyr.

They now walked about, drank tea, and after this they were to
return to the house, there to partake of fish and roast meat, a
piece of boxed ham, and other good things.

Otto could by no means be permitted to think of leaving them the
following morning; he must remain a few days, and gather strength,
so that in Copenhagen he might apply himself well to work. But only
one day would he enjoy all the good things which they heaped upon
him. He yearned for other people, for a more intellectual circle.
Two years before he had agreed splendidly with them all, had found
them interesting and intellectual; now he felt that Lemvig was a
little town, and that the people were good, excellent people.

The following play again brought capital cookery, good foul, and
good wine--that was to honor Mr. Thostrup. His health was drunk,
Maren was more confidential, the aunt had forgotten her trouble,
and again sat with a laughing face beside the constrained shopman.
They must, it is true, make a little haste over their dinner, for
the fire-engine was to be tried; and this splendor, they
maintained, Otto must see, since he so fortunately chanced to lie
there.

"How can my mother think that this will give Mr. Thostrup
pleasure?" said Maren. "There is nothing to see in it."

"That has given him pleasure formerly!" answered the mother. "It
is, also, laughable when the boys run underneath the engine-rain,
and the stream comes just in their necks."

She spoke of the former Otto and of the present one--he was become
so Copenhagenish, so refined and nice, as well in the cut of his
clothes as in his manners; yet she still found an opportunity of
giving him a little hint to further refinement. Only think! he took
the sugar for his coffee with his fingers!

"But where are the sugar-tongs, the massive silver sugar-tongs?"
asked she. "Maren, dost thou allow him to take the sugar with his
fingers?"

"That is more convenient!" answered Otto. "I do that always."

"Yes, but if strangers had been here," said the hostess, in a
friendly but teaching tone, "we must, like that grand lady you know
of, have thrown the sugar out of the window."

"In the higher circles, where people have clean fingers, they make
use of them!" said Otto. "There would be no end of it if one were
to take it with the sugar-tongs."

"They are of massive silver!" said the lady, and weighed them in
her hand.

Toward evening Rosalie went into the garden under the plum trees.

"These, also, remind me of my mountains," said she; "this is the
only fruit which will properly flourish there. Lemvig lies, like La
Locle, in a valley," and she pointed, smiling, to the surrounding
sand-hills. "How entirely different it is here from what it is at
home on thy grandfather's estate! There I have been so accustomed
to solitude, that it is almost too lively for me here. One
diversion follows another."

It was precisely this which Otto did not like. These amusements of
the small towns wearied him, and he could not delight himself with
them, no longer mingle in this life.

He wished to set out early the following morning. It would be too
exhausting to drive along the dry road in the sun's heat, they all
declared; he must wait until the afternoon, then it would be
cooler; it was, also, far pleasanter to travel in the night.
Rosalie's prayers decided him. Thus, after dinner and coffee, the
horses should be put into the carriage.

It was the last day. Maren was somewhat in a grave mood. Otto must
write in her album. "He would never come to Lemvig again," said
she. As children they had played with each other. Since he went to
Copenhagen she had, many an evening, seated herself in the swing
near the summer-house and thought of him. Who knows whether she
must not have done so when she copied out of the secretary's
memorandum-book, the verses,--
"So fliessen nun zwei Wasser
Wohl zwischen mir and Dir?"

The sea certainly flows between Aarhuus and Copenhagen.

"Maren will perhaps go over for the winter," said the mother; "but
we dare not speak too much about it, for it is not yet quite
settled. It will really make her gayer! lately she has been very
much inclined to melancholy, although God knows that we have denied
her no pleasure!"

There now arrived a quantity of letters from different
acquaintance, and from their acquaintance: if Mr. Thostrup would
have the goodness to take care of this to Viborg, these to Aarhuus,
and the others as far as Copenhagen. It was a complete freight,
such as one gets in little towns, just as though no post went
through the country.

The carriage stopped before the door.

Rosalie melted into tears. "Write to me!" said she. "Thee I shall
never see again! Greet my Switzerland when thou comest there!"

The others were merry. The lady sang,--
"O could I, like a cloud, but fly!"

The young lady from Holstebro bowed herself before him with an
Album-leaf its her hand, upon which she must beg Mr. Thostrup to
write her something. Maren gave him her hand, blushed and drew
back: but as the carriage rolled away she waved her while
handkerchief through the open window: "Farewell! Farewell!"

CHAPTER XX

"Stop! cried Patroclus, with mighty, thundering voice."--WILSTER'S Iliad.

The parting with Rosalie, the hospitality of the family, and their
sincere sympathy, touched Otto; he thought upon the last days, upon
his whole sojourn in his home. The death of his grandfather made
this an important era in his life. The quiet evening and the
solitary road inclined him still more to meditation.

How cheering and interesting had been a visit to Lemvig in former
times! Then it furnished matter for conversation with Rosalie for
many weeks; it now lay before him a subject of indifference. The
people were certainly the same, therefore the change must have
taken place in himself. He thought of Copenhagen, which stood so
high, and of the people there.

"After all, the difference is not so great!" said he. "In
Copenhagen the social foci are more numerous, the interests more
varied; each day brings a fresh topic of conversation, and one can
choose one's society. The multitude, on the contrary, has something
citizenish; it obtrudes itself even from beneath the ball-dress
which shows itself at court; it is seen in the rich saloon of the
wholesale merchant, as well as in the house of the brandy
distiller, whose possessions give to him and his two brewers the
right of election. It is the same food which is presented to us; in
the small towns one has it on earthenware, in Copenhagen on china.
If one had only the courage, in the so-called higher classes, to
break through the gloss which life in a greater circle, which
participation in the customs of the world, has called forth, one
should soon find in many a lady of rank, in many a nobleman who
sits not alone in the theatre, on the first bench, merely that
empty common earthenware; and that, as with the merchant's wife in
Lemvig, a dejeuner or a soiree, like some public event, will
occupy the mind before and after its occurrence. A court-ball, at
which either the son or daughter has figured, resembles the most
brilliant success in an examination for office. We laugh at the
authorities of Lemvig, and yet with us the crowd runs after nothing
but authorities and newspapers. This is a certain state of
innocence. How many a poor officer or student must play the
subordinate part of the shopman at the table of the rich, and
gratefully kiss the hand of the lady of the house because she has
the right of demanding gratitude? And in the theatre, with the
multitude, what does not 'an astonishing chest' do? A strength of
voice which can penetrate right through the leather of the mind
gains stormy applause, whilst taste and execution can only be
appreciated by the few. The actor can be certain of applause if he
only thunder forth his parting reply. The comedian is sure of a
shout of bravo if he puts forth an insipidity, and rubs his legs
together as if replying with spirit and humor. The massive plate in
the house gives many a lady the boldness to teach that in which she
herself might perhaps have been instructed. Many a lady, like the
Mamsell from Holstebro, dresses always in silk and a long shawl,
and if one asks after her profession one finds it consists at most
in dress-making; perhaps she does not even possess the little
accompanying talent of playing the flute. How many people do not
copy, like Maren, out of other people's memorandum-books, and do
not excel musical-boxes! still one hears a deal of musical snuff-box
music, and is waited upon by voices which are equally as insignificant
as the secretary's."

These were pretty much Otto's reflections, and certainly it was a
good feeling which lay at the bottom of them. Let us remember in
our judgment that he was so young, and that he had only known
Copenhagen _one_ year; otherwise he would most certainly have
thought _quite differently_.

Night spread itself over the heath, the heavens were clear. Slowly
the carriage wound along through the deep sand. The monotonous
sound, the unchanging motion, all rendered Otto sleepy. A falling
star shot like a fire column across the sky--this woke him for a
moment; he soon again bowed his head and slept, fast and deep. It
was an hour past midnight, when he was awoke by a loud cry. He
started up--the fire burnt before them; and between it and the
horse stood two figures, who had taken hold of the leather reins.
Close beside them was a cart, under which was placed a sort of bed,
on which slept a woman and some children.

"Will you drive into the soup-kettle?" asked a rough voice, whilst
another scolded in a gibberish which was unintelligible to Otto.

It had happened to the coachman as to him, only that the coachman
had fallen asleep somewhat later; the horses had lost their track,
and uncertain, as they had long been, they were now traversing the
impassable heath. A troop of the so-called Scavengers, who wander
through these districts a nomadic race, had here taken up their
quarters for the night, had made a fire and hung the kettle over
it, to cook some pieces of a lamb they had stolen on their journey.

"They were about half a mile from the highway," said an elderly
woman who was laying some bushes of heath under the kettle.

"Half a mile?" replied a voice from the other side of the cart, and
Otto remarked a man who, wrapped in a large gray riding-cloak, had
stretched himself out among the heather. "It is not a quarter of a
mile to the highway if people know how to direct their course
properly!"

The pronunciation of the man was somewhat foreign, but pure, and
free from the gibberish which the others employed in their speech.
The voice seemed familiar to Otto, his ear weighed each syllable,
and his blood ran quicker through his veins: "It is the German
Heinrich, the evil angel of my life!" he felt, and wrapt himself
closer in his mantle, so that his countenance was concealed.

A half-grown lad came forward and offered himself as a guide.

"But the lad must have two marks!" said the woman.

Otto nodded assent, and glanced once more toward the man in whom he
believed he recognized the German Heinrich; the man had again
carelessly stretched himself among the heath, and did not seem
inclined to enter into farther discourse.

The woman desired the payment in advance, and received it. The boy
led the horses toward one side; at the moment the fire flare up
between the turf-sods, a great dog, with a loose cord about his
neck, sprang forward and ran barking after the carriage, which now
travelled on over the heath in the gloomy night.

CHAPTER XXI

"Poetry does not always express sorrow; the rainbow can also arch
across a cloudless blue firmament."--JEAN PAUL.

We again find ourselves in Copenhagen, where we meet with Otto, and
may every day expect Wilhelm, Miss Sophie, and the excellent mamma;
they would only stay a few weeks. To learn tidings of their
arrival, Otto determined to pay a visit where they were expected;
we know the house, we were present at the Christmas festival: it
was here that Otto received his noble pedigree.

We will now become somewhat better acquainted with the family. The
husband had a good head, as people sat, had an excellent wine-cellar,
and was, as one of the friends maintained, a good l'hombre player.
But the soul of the house, the animating genius, which drew into
this circle all that possessed life and youth, was the wife.
Beautiful one could by no means call her, but, enchanted by her
natural loveliness, her mind, and her unaffectedness, you forgot
this in a few moments. A rare facility in appreciating the comic of
every-day life, and a good-humored originality in its representation,
always afforded her rich material for conversation. It was as if Nature,
in a moment of thoughtlessness, had formed an insipid countenance, but
immediately afterward strove to make good her fault by breathing into
it a soul, which, even through pale blue eyes, pale cheeks, and ordinary
features, could make her beauty felt.

When Otto entered the room he heard music. He listened: it must be
either Weyse or Gerson.

"It is the Professor Weyse," said the servant, and Otto opened the
door softly, without knocking.

The astral-lamp burnt upon the table; upon the sofa sat two young
ladies. The mistress of the house nodded Otto a friendly welcome,
but then smiling laid her finger on her lips, as a sign of silence,
and pointed to a chair, on which he seated himself, and listened to
the soft tones, which, like spirits, floated from the piano at
which the musician sat. It was as if the slumbering thoughts and
feelings of the soul, which in every breast find a response, even
among the most opposite nations, had found a voice and language.
The fantasies died away in a soft, spiritual piano. Thus lightly
has Raphael breathed the Madonna di Foligno upon the clouds; she
rests there as a soap-bubble rests upon velvet. That dying away of
the tomes resembled the thoughts of the lover when his eye closes,
and the living dream of his heart imperceptibly merges and vanishes
in sleep. Reality is over.

Here also the tones ceased.

"Der Bettelvogt von Ninive
Zog hinab zum Genfersee,
Hm, hm!"
[Author's Note: An old popular German song.]
commenced the musician once more, with an originality and spirit
which influenced the whole company. Far too soon did he again break
off, after he had enchanted all ears by his own treasures, as well
as by the curiosities of the people's life in the world of sound.
Only when he was gone did admiration find words; the fantasies
still echoed in every heart.

"His name deserves to be known throughout Europe!" said the
gracious lady; "how few people in the world know Weyse and Kuhlau!"

"That is the misfortune of a musician being born in a small
country," said Otto. "His works become only manuscript for friends;
his auditory extends only from Skagen to Kiel: there the door is
closed."

"One must console one's self that everything great and good becomes
at length known," said the cousin of the family, who is known to us
by his verses for the Christmas-tree. "The nations will become
acquainted with everything splendid in the kingdom of mind, let it
bloom in a small or in a large country. Certainly during this time
the artist may have died, but then he must receive compensation in
another world."

"I truly believe," returned the gracious lady, "that he would wish
a little in advance here below, where it is so ordered that the
immortal must bow himself before the mortal."

"Certainly," replied Otto; "the great men of the age are like
mountains; they it is which cause the land to be seen from afar,
and give it importance, but in themselves they are bare and cold;
their heights are never properly known."

"Very beautiful," said the lady; "you speak like a Jean Paul."

At this moment the door opened, and all were surprised by the
entrance of Miss Sophie, Wilhelm, and the dear mamma. They were
not expected before the following evening. They had travelled the
whole day through Zealand.

"We should have been here to dinner," said Sophie, "but my brother
could not get his business finished in Roeskelde; then he had
forgotten to order horses, and other little misadventures occurred:
six whole hours we remained there. Mamma contracted quite a passion
there--she fell fairly in love with a young girl, the pretty Eva."

"Yes, she is a nice creature!" said the old lady. "Had I not
reason, Mr. Thostrup? You and my Wilhelm had already made her
interesting to me. She has something so noble, so refined, which
one so rarely meets with in the lower class; she deserves to come
among educated people."

"Otto, what shall our hearts say," exclaimed Wilhelm, "when my good
mother is thus affected?"

They assembled round the tea-table. Wilhelm addressed Otto with the
confidential "thou" which Otto himself had requested.

"We will drink together in tea and renew our brotherhood."

Otto smiled, but with such a strangely melancholy air, and spoke
not a word.

"He's thinking about the old grandfather," thought Wilhelm, and
laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "The Kammerjunker and his
ladies greet thee!" said he. "I believe the Mamsell would willingly
lay thee in her own work-box, were that to be done."

Otto remained quiet, but in his soul there was a strange commotion.
It would be a difficult thing to explain this motive, which
belonged to his peculiarity of mind; it entered among the mysteries
of the soul. The multitude call it in individuals singularity, the
psychologist finds a deeper meaning in it, which the understanding
is unable to fathom. We have examples of men, whose strength of
mind and body were well known, feeling faint at the scent of a
rose; others have been thrown into a convulsive state by touching
gray paper. This cannot be explained; it is one of the riddles of
Nature. A similar relaxing sensation Otto experienced when he, for
the first time, heard himself addressed as "thou" by Wilhelm. It
seemed to him as though the spiritual band which encircled them
loosened itself, and Wilhelm became a stranger. It was impossible
for Otto to return the "thou," yet, at the same time, he felt the
injustice of his behavior and the singularity, and wished to
struggle against it; he mastered himself, attained a kind of
eloquence, but no "thou" would pass his lips.

"To thy health, Otto," said Wilhelm, and pushed his cup against
Otto's.

"Health!" said Otto, with a smile.

"It is true," began the cousin, "I promised you the other day to
bring my advertisements with me; the first volume is closed." And
he drew from his pocket a book in which a collection of the most
original Address-Gazette advertisements, such as one sees daily,
was pasted.

"I have one for you," said the lady; "I found it a little time
since. 'A woman wishes for a little child to bottle.' Is not that
capital?"

"Here is also a good one," said Wilhelm, who had turned over the
leaves of the book: "'A boy of the Mosaic belief may be apprenticed
to a cabinet-maker, but he need not apply unless he will eat
everything that happens to be in the house.' That is truly a hard
condition for the poor lad."

"Almost every day," said the cousin, "one may read, 'For the play
of to-day or to-morrow is a good place to be had in the third story
in the Christenbernikov Street.' The place is a considerable
distance from the theatre."

"Theatre!" exclaimed the master of the house, who now entered to
take his place at the tea-table, "one can soon hear who has that
word in his mouth; now is he again at the theatre! The man can
speak of nothing else. There ought, ready, to be a fine imposed,
which he should pay each time he pronounces the word theatre. I
would only make it a fine of two skillings, and yet I dare promise
that before a month was over he would be found to pay in fines his
whole pocket-money, and his coat and boots besides. It is a real
mania with the man! I know no one among my young friends," added
he, with an ironical smile at Wilhelm,--"no, not one, who has such
a hobby-horse as our good cousin."

"Here thou art unjust to him!" interrupted his wife; "do not place
a fine upon him, else I will place thee in a vaudeville! Thy life
is in politics; our cousin's in theatrical life; Wilhelm's in
thorough-bass; and Mr. Thostrup's in learned subjects. Each of you
is thus a little nail in the different world-wheels; whoever
despises others shows that he considers his wheel the first, or
imagines that the world is a wheelbarrow, which goes upon one
wheel! No, it is a more complicated machine."

Later in the evening, when the company broke up, Otto and Wilhelm
went together.

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