O. T., A Danish Romance

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"I do not think," said Wilhelm, "that thou hast yet said thou to
me. Is it not agreeable to thee?"

"It was my own wish, my own request," replied Otto. "I have not
remarked what expressions I have employed." He remained silent.
Wilhelm himself seemed occupied with unusual thoughts, when he
suddenly exclaimed: "Life is, after all, a gift of blessings! One
should never make one's self sorrows which do not really exist!
'Carpe diem,' said old Horace."

"That will we!" replied Otto; "but now we must first think of our
examination."

They pressed each other's hands and parted.

"But I have heard no thou!" said Wilhelm to himself "He is an
oddity, and yet I love him! In this consists, perhaps, my own
originality."

He entered his room, where the hostess had been cleaning,
and had arranged the books and papers in the nicest order. Wilhelm
truly called it disorder; the papers in confusion and the books in
a row. The lamp even had a new place; and this was called order!

Smiling, he seated himself at the piano; it was so long since they
had said "Good day" to each other! He ran over the keys several
times, then lost himself in fantasies. "That is lovely!" he
exclaimed. "But it is not my property! What does it belong to? It
melts into my own feelings!" He played it again. It was a thema out
of "Tancredi," therefore from Rossini, even the very composer whom
our musical friends most looked down upon; how could he then guess
who had created those tones which now spoke to his heart? His whole
being he felt penetrated by a happiness, a love of life, the cause
of which he knew not. He thought of Otto with a warmth which the
latter's strange behavior did not deserve. All beloved beings
floated so sweetly before his mind. This was one of those moments
which all good people know; one feels one's self a member of the
great chain of love which binds creation together.

So long as the rose-bud remains folded together it seems to be
without fragrance; yet only one morning is required, and the fine
breath streams from the crimson mouth. It is only one moment; it is
the commencement of a new existence, which already has lain long
concealed in the bud: but one does not see the magic wand which
works the change. This spiritual contrast, perhaps, took place in
the past hour; perhaps the last evening rays which fell upon the
leaves concealed this power! The roses of the garden must open;
those of the heart follow the same laws. Was this love? Love is, as
poets say, a pain; it resembles the disease of the mussel, through
which pearls are formed. But Wilhelm was not sick; he felt himself
particularly full of strength and enjoyment of life. The poet's
simile of the mussel and the pearl sounds well, but it is false.
Most poets are not very learned in natural history; and, therefore,
they are guilty of many errors with regard to it. The pearl is
formed on the mussel not through disease; when an enemy attacks her
she sends forth drops in her defense, and these change into pearls.
It is thus strength, and not weakness, which creates the beautiful.
It would be unjust to call love a pain, a sickness; it is an energy
of life which God has planted in the human breast; it fills our
whole being like the fragrance which fills each leaf of the rose,
and then reveals itself among the struggles of life as a pearl of
worth.

These were Wilhelm's thoughts; and yet it was not perfectly clear
to him that he loved with his whole soul, as one can only love
once.

The following forenoon he paid a visit to Professor Weyse.

"You are going to Roeskelde, are you not?" asked Wilhelm. "I have
heard you so often play the organ here in Our Lady's church, I
should very much like to hear you there, in the cathedral. If I
were to make the journey, would you then play a voluntary for me?"

"You will not come!" said the musician.

"I shall come!" answered Wilhelm, and kept his word. Two days after
this conversation he rolled through the streets of Roeskelde.

"I am come for a wager! I shall hear Weyse play the organ!" said he
to the host, although there was no need for an apology.

Bulwer in his romance, "The Pilgrims of the Rhine," has with
endless grace and tenderness called forth a fairy world. The little
spirits float there as the breath of air floats around the material
reality; one is forced to believe in their existence. With a genius
powerful as that which inspired Bulwer, glorious as that which
infused into Shakespeare the fragrance we find breathed over the
"Midsummer-night's Dream," did Weyse's tones fill Wilhelm; the deep
melodies of the organ in the old cathedral had indeed attracted him
to the quiet little town! The powerful tones of the heart summoned
him! Through them even every day things assumed a coloring, an
expression of beauty, such as Byron shows us in words, Thorwaldsen
in the hard stone, Correggio in colors.

We have by Goethe a glorious poem, "Love a Landscape-painter." The
poet sits upon a peak and gazes before him into the mist, which,
like canvas spread upon the easel, conceals all heights and
expanses; then comes the God of Love and teaches him how to paint a
picture on the mist. The little one now sketches with his rosy
fingers a picture such as only Nature and Goethe give us. Were the
poet here, we could offer him no rock on which he might seat
himself, but something, through legends and songs, equally
beautiful. He would then sing,--I seated myself upon the mossy
stone above the cairn; the mist resembled outstretched canvas. The
God of Love commenced on this his sketch. High up he painted a
glorious still, whose rays were dazzling! The edges of the clouds
he made as of gold, and let the rays penetrate through them; then
painted he the fine light boughs of fresh, fragrant trees; brought
forth one hill after the other. Behind these, half-concealed, lay a
little town, above which rose a mighty church; two tall towers with
high spires rose into the air; and below the church, far out, where
woods formed the horizon, drew he a bay so naturally! it seemed to
play with the sunbeams as if the waves splashed up against the
coast. Now appeared flowers; to the fields and meadows he gave the
coloring of velvet and precious stones; and on the other side of
the bay the dark woods melted away into a bluish mist. "I can
paint!" said the little one; "but the most difficult still remains
to do." And he drew with his delicate finger, just where the rays
of the sun fell most glowingly, a maiden so gentle, so sweet, with
dark blue eyes and cheeks as blooming as the rosy fingers which
formed the picture. And see! a breeze arose; the leaves of the
trees quivered; the expanse of water ruffled itself; the dress of
the maiden was gently stirred; the maiden herself approached: the
picture itself was a reality! And thus did the old royal city
present itself before Wilhelm's eyes, the towers of the cathedral,
she tay, the far woods, and--Eva!

The first love of a pure heart is holy! This holiness may be
indicated, but not described! We return to Otto.

CHAPTER XXII

"A man only gains importance by a poet's fancy, when his genius
vividly represents to our imagination a clearer, but not an
ennobled image of men and objects which have an existence; then
alone he understands how to idealize."--H. HERTZ.

We pass on several weeks. It was toward the end of September, the
examen philosophicum was near. Preparations for this had been
Otto's excuse for not yet having visited the family circle of his
guardian, the merchant Berger. This was, however, brought about by
Otto's finding one day, when he went to speak with his guardian,
the mistress of the house in the same room. We know that there are
five daughters in the house, and that only one is engaged, yet they
are all well-educated girls--domestic girls, as their mother
assured her friend upon more than one occasion.

"So, then, I have at length the honor of making your acquaintance,"
said Mrs. Berger. "this visit, truly, is not intended either for me
or the children, but still you must now drink a cup of coffee with
us. Within it certainly looks rather disorderly; the girls are
making cloaks for the winter. We will not put ourselves out of the
way for you: you shall be regarded as a member of the family: but
then you must come to us in a friendly way. Every Thursday our
son-in-law dines with us, will you then be contented with our dinner?
Now you shall become acquainted with my daughters."

"And I must to my office," said the husband; "therefore let us
consider Thursday as an appointment. We dine at three o'clock, and
after coffee Laide gives us music."

The lady now conducted Otto into the sitting-room, where he found
the four daughters in full activity with a workwoman. The fifth
daughter, Julle, was, as they had told him, gone to the shops for
patterns: yesterday she had run all over the town, but the patterns
she received were not good.

The lady told him the name of each daughter; their characteristics
he naturally learnt later.

All the five sisters had the idea that they were so extremely
different, and yet they resembled each other to a hair. Adelaide,
or Laide, as she was also called, was certainly the prettiest; that
she well knew also, therefore she would have a fur cape, and no
cloak; her figure should be seen. Christiane was what one might
call a practical girl; she knew how to make use of everything.
Alvilde had always a little attack of the tooth-ache; Julle went
shopping, and Miss Grethe was the bride. She was also musical, and
was considered witty. Thus she said one evening when the house-door
was closed, and groaned dreadfully on its hinges, "See now, we have
port wine after dinner." [Translator's Note: A pun which it is
impossible to translate. The Danish word Portviin according to
sound, may mean either port wine or the creaking of a door.] The
brother, the only son of the house, with whom we shall become
better acquainted, had written down this conceit; "but that was
only to be rude toward her," said Miss Grethe. "Such good ideas as
this I have every hour of the day!"

We ought really to accuse these excellent girls of nothing foolish;
they were very good and wise. The lover, Mr. Svane, was also a
zealous wit; he was so lively, they said. Every one with whom he
became a little familiar he called immediately Mr. Petersen, and
that was so droll!

"Now the father has invited Mr. Thostrup to come on Thursday!" said
the lady. "I also think, if we were to squeeze ourselves a little
together, he might find a place with us in the box; the room is,
truly, very confined."

Otto besought them not to incommode themselves.

"O, it is a large box!" said the lady, but she did not say how many
of them were already in it. Only eleven ladies went from the family
itself. They were obliged to go to the theatre in three parties, so
that people might not think; if they all went together, there was a
mob. One evening, when the box had been occupied by eighteen
persons, beside several twelve-year old children, who had sat in
people's laps, or stood before them, and the whole party had
returned home in one procession, and were standing before the house
door to go in, people streamed together, imagining there was some
alarm, or that some one had fallen into convulsions. "What is the
matter?" they asked, and Miss Grethe immediately replied, "It is a
select company!" [Translator's Note: A select or shut-out company.
We regret that this pun, like the foregoing one, is untransferable
into English.] Since that evening they returned home in separate
divisions.

"It is really a good box!" said Alvilde; "if we had only other
neighbors! The doors are opening and shutting eternally, and make a
draught which is not bearable for the teeth. And then they speak so
loud! the other night I did not hear a single word of the pretty
song about Denmark."

"But did you lose much through that?" asked Otto, smiling, and soon
they found themselves very much at variance, just as if they had
been old acquaintances. "I do not think much of these patriotic
scraps, where the poet, in his weakness, supports himself by this
beautiful sentiment of patriotism in the people. You will certainly
grant that here the multitude always applauds when it only hears
the word 'Father-land,' or the name of 'Christian IV.' The poet
must give something more; this is a left-handed kind of patriotism.
One would really believe that Denmark were the only country in the
world!"

"Fie, Mr. Thostrup!" said the lady: "do you not then love your
father-land?"

"I believe I love it properly!" returned he: "and because it really
possesses so much that is excellent do I desire that only what is
genuine should be esteemed, only what is genuine be prized."

"I agree in the main with Mr. Thostrup," said Miss Grethe, who was
busied in unpicking and turning her cloak, in order, as she herself
said, to spoil it on the other side. "I think he is right! If a
poem is well spoken on the stage, it has always a kind of effect.
It is just the same as with stuffs--they may be of a middling
quality and may have an unfavorable pattern, but if they are worn
by a pretty figure they look well after all!"

"I am often vexed with the public!" said Otto. "It applauds at
improper places, and sometimes exhibits an extraordinary
innocence."

"Those are 'the lords of the kingdom of mind,'" said Miss Grethe, smiling.
[Note: "We are the lords of the kingdom of mind!
We are the stem which can never decay!"
--Students' Song, by CHRISTIAN WINTHER.]

"No, the _neighbors_!" replied Otto quickly.

At this moment Miss Julle entered. She had been wandering from shop
to shop, she said, until she could bear it no longer! She had had
the stuffs down from all the shelves, and at length had succeeded
so far as to become possessed of eight small pieces--beautiful
patterns, she maintained. And now she knew very well where the
different stuffs were to be had, how wide they were, and how much
the yard. "And whom did I meet?" said she; "only think! down the
middle of East Street came the actor--you know well! Our little
passion! He is really charming off the stage."

"Did you meet him?" said Laide. "That girl is always lucky!"

"Mr. Thostrup," said the mother, presenting him, for the young lady
seemed to forget him entirely, so much was she occupied with this
encounter and her patterns.

Julle bowed, and said she had seen him before: he had heard
Mynster, and had stood near the chair where she sat; he was dressed
in an olive-green coat.

"Then you are acquainted with each other!" said the lady. "She is
the most pious of all the children. When the others rave about
Spindler and Johanne Schoppenhauer, she raves about the clergyman
who confirmed her. You know my son? He became a student a year
before you. He sees you in the club sometimes."

"There you will have seen him more amiable than you will find him
at home," said Adelaide. "Heaven knows he is not gallant toward his
sisters!"

"Sweet Laide, how can you say so!" cried the mother. "You are
always so unjust toward Hans Peter! When you become better
acquainted with him, Mr. Thostrup, you will like him; he is a
really serious young man, of uncorrupted manners. Do you remember,
Laide, how he hissed that evening in the theatre when they gave
that immoral piece? And how angry he is with that 'Red Riding
Hood?' O, the good youth! Besides, in our family, you will soon
meet with an old acquaintance--in a fortnight a lady out of Jutland
will come here. She remains the winter here. Do you not guess who
it is? A little lady from Lemvig!"

"Maren!" exclaimed Otto.

"Yes, truly!" said the lady. "She is said to have such a beautiful
voice!"

"Yes, in Lemvig," remarked Adelaide. "And what a horrible name she
has! We must christen her again, when she comes. She must be called
Mara, or Massa."

"We could call her Massa Carara!" said Grethe.

"No; she shall be called Maja, as in the 'Every-day Tales,'" said
Christiane.

"I am of Jane's opinion!" said the mother. "We will christen her
again, and call her Maja."

CHAPTER XXIII

Men are not always what they seem.--LESSING.

Our tale is no creation of fancy; it is the reality in which we
live; bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh. Our own time and
the men of our own age we shall see. But not alone will we occupy
ourselves with every-day life, with the moss on the surface; the
whole tree, from the roots to the fragrant leaves, will we observe.
The heavy earth shall press the roots, the moss and bark of every-day
life adhere to the stern, the strong boughs with flowers and leaves
spread themselves out, whilst the sun of poetry shall shine among
them, and show the colors, odor, and singing-birds. But the tree of
reality cannot shoot up so soon as that of fancy, like the enchantment
in Tieck's "Elves." We must seek our type in nature. Often may
there be an appearance of cessation; but that is not the case. It
is even so with our story; whilst our characters, by mutual discourse,
make themselves worthy of contemplation, there arises, as with the
individual branches of the tree, an unseen connection. The branch
which shoots high up in the air, as though it would separate itself
from the mother-stem, only presses forward to form the crown, to lend
uniformity to the whole tree. The lines which diverge from the general
centre are precisely those which produce the harmony.

We shall, therefore, soon see, though these scenes out of every-day
life are no digression from the principal events, nothing
episodical which one may pass over. In order still sooner to arrive
at a clear perception of this assertion, we will yet tarry a few
moments in the house of Mr. Berger, the merchant; but in the mean
time we have advanced three weeks. Wilhelm and Otto had happily
passed their examen philosophicum. The latter had paid several
visits, and was already regarded as an old friend of the family.
The lover already addressed him with his droll "Good day, Mr.
Petersen;" and Grethe was witty about his melancholy glance, which
he was not always able to conquer. She called it "making faces,"
and besought him to appear so on the day of her funeral.

The object of the five sisters' first Platonic love had been their
brother. They had overwhelmed him with caresses and tenderness, had
admired and worshipped him. "The dear little man!" they called him;
they had no other. But Hans Peter was so impolite and teasing
toward the dear sisters, that they were found to resign him so soon
as one of them had a lover. Upon this lover they all clung. Each
one seemed to have a piece of him. He was Grethe's bridegroom,
would be their brother-in-law. They might address him with the
confidential thou, and even give him a little kiss.

Otto's appearance in the family caused these rays to change their
direction. Otto was handsome, and possessed of fortune; either of
which often suffices to bow a female heart. Beauty bribes the
thoughtless; riches, the prudent.

Maren, or as she was here called, Maja, had arrived. The young
ladies had already pulled off some of her bows, arranged her hair
differently, and made one of her silk handkerchiefs into an apron;
but, spite of all this finesse, she still remained the lady from
Lemvig. They could remove no bows from her pronunciation. She had
been the first at home; here she could not take that rank. This
evening she was to see in the theatre, for the first time, the
ballet of the "Somnambule."

"It is French!" said Hans Peter; "and frivolous, like everything
that we have from them."

"Yes, the scene in the second act, where she steps out of the
window," said the merchant; "that is very instructive for youth!"

"But the last act is sweet!" cried the lady. "The second act is
certainly, as Hans Peter very justly observed, somewhat French.
Good heavens! he gets quite red, the sweet lad!" She extended her
hand to him, and nodded, smiling, whereupon Hans Peter spoke very
prettily about the immorality on the stage. The father also made
some striking observation.

"Yes," said the lady, "were all husbands like thee, and all young
men like Hans Peter, they would speak in another tone on the stage,
and dress in another manner. In dancing it is abominable; the
dresses are so short and indecent, just as though they had nothing
on! Yet, after all, we must say that the 'Somnambule' is beautiful.
And, really, it is quite innocent!"

They now entered still deeper into the moral: the conversation
lasted till coffee came.

Maren's heart beat even quicker, partly in expectation of the play,
through hearing of the corruptions of this Copenhagen Sodom. She
heard Otto defend this French piece; heard him speak of
affectation. Was he then corrupted? How gladly would she have heard
him discourse upon propriety, as Hans Peter had done. "Poor Otto!"
thought she; "this is having no relations, but being forced to
struggle on in the world alone."

The merchant now rose. He could not go to the theatre. First, he
had business to attend to; and then he must go to his club, where
he had yesterday changed his hat.

"Nay, then, it has happened to thee as to Hans Peter!" said the
lady. "Yesterday, in the lecture-room, he also got a strange hat.
But, there, thou hast his hat!" she suddenly exclaimed, as her eye
fell upon the hat which her husband held in his hand. "That is Hans
Peter's hat! Now, we shall certainly find that he has thine! You
have exchanged them here at home. You do not know each other's
hats, and therefore you fancy this occurred from home."

One of the sisters now brought the hat which Hans Peter had got in
mistake. Yes, it was certainly the father's. Thus an exchange in
the house, a little intermezzo, which naturally, from its
insignificance, was momentarily forgotten by all except the parties
concerned, for to them it was an important moment in their lives;
and to us also, as we shall see, an event of importance, which has
occasioned us to linger thus long in this circle. In an adjoining
room will we, unseen spirits, watch the father and son. They are
alone; the family is already in the theatre. We may, indeed, watch
them--they are true moralists. It is only a moral drawn from a hat.

But the father's eyes rolled, his cheeks glowed, his words were
sword-strokes, and must make an impression on any disposition as
gentle as his son's; but the son stood quiet, with a firm look and
with a smile on his lips, such as the moral bestows. "You were in
the adjoining room!" said he. "Where it is proper for you to be
there may I also come."

"Boy!" cried the father, and named the place, but we know it not;
neither know we its inhabitants. Victor Hugo includes them in his
"Children's Prayer," in his beautiful poem, "La Priere pour Tous."
The child prays for all, even "for those who sell the sweet name of
love." [Note: "Prie! ...
Pour les femmes echevelees
Qui vendent le doux nom d'amour!"]

"Let us be silent with each other!" said the son. "I am acquainted
with many histories. I know another of the pretty Eva!"--

"Eva!" repeated the father.

We will hear no more! It is not proper to listen. We see the father
and son extend their hands. It appeared a scene of reconciliation.
They parted: the father goes to his business, and Hans Peter to the
theatre, to anger himself over the immorality in the second act of
the "Somnambule."

CHAPTER XXIV

"L'amour est pour les coeurs,
Ce que l'aurore est pour les fleurs,
Et le printemps pour la nature."--VIGUE.

"Love is a childish disease and like the small-pox. Some die, some
become deformed, others are more or less scarred, while upon others
the disease does not leave any visible trace."--The Alchemist, by
C. HAUCH.

"Be candid, Otto!" said Wilhelm, as he one day visited his friend.
"You cannot make up your mind to say thou to me; therefore let it
be. We are, after all, good friends. It is only a form; although
you must grant that in this respect you are really a great fool."

Otto now explained what an extraordinary aversion he had felt, what
a painful feeling had seized upon him, and made it impossible to
him.

"There you were playing the martyr!" said Wilhelm, laughing. "Could
you not immediately tell me how you were constituted? So are most
men. When they have no trouble, they generally hatch one
themselves; they will rather stand in the cold shadow than in the
warm sunshine, and yet the choice stands open to us. Dear friend,
reflect; now we are both of us on the stream: we shall soon be put
into the great business-bottles, where we shall, like little
devils, stretch and strain ourselves without ever getting out,
until life withdraws from us!" He laid his arm confidentially upon
Otto's shoulder. "Often have I wished to speak with you upon one
point! Yes, I do not desire that you should confess every word,
every thought to me. I already know that I shall be able to prove
to you that the thing lies in a region where it cannot have the
power which you ascribe to it. In the cold zones a venomous bite
does not operate as dangerously as in warmer ones; a sorrow
in childhood cannot overpower us as it does in riper age. Whatever
misfortune may have happened to you when a child, if in your
wildness--you yourself say that you were wild--whatsoever you may
have then done, it cannot, it ought not to influence your whole
life: your understanding could tell you this better than I. At our
age we find ourselves in the land of joy, or we never enter it!"

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