O. T., A Danish Romance

CHAPTER XL

Close beside St. Knud’s Church, where once the convent stood, is now the dwelling of a private man.35 The excellent hostess here, who once charmed the public on the Danish stage as Ida Munster, awaited the family to dinner.

After dinner they wandered up and down the garden, which extended to the Odense River.

In the dusk of evening Otto went to visit the German Heinrich; he had mentioned it to Louise, and she promised to divert attention from him whilst he was away.

The company took coffee in the garden-house; Otto walked in deep thought in the avenue by the side of the river. The beautiful scene before him riveted his eye. Close beside lay a water-mill, over the two great wheels of which poured the river white as milk. Behind this was thrown a bridge, over which people walked and drove. The journeyman-miller stood upon the balcony, and whistled an air. It was such a picture as Christian Winther and Uhland give in their picturesque poems. On the other side of the mill arose tall poplars half-buried in the green meadow, in which stood the nunnery; a nun had once drowned herself where now the red daisies grow.

A strong sunlight lit up the whole scene. All was repose and summer warmth. Suddenly Otto’s ear caught the deep and powerful tones of an organ; he turned himself round. The tones, which went to his heart, came from St. Knud’s Church, which lay close beside the garden. The sunshine of the landscape, and the strength of the music, gave, as it were, to him light and strength for the darkness toward which he was so soon to go.

The sun set; and Otto went alone across the market-place toward the old corner house, where German Heinrich practiced his arts. Upon this place stood St. Albani’s Church, where St. Knud, betrayed by his servant Blake,36 was killed by the tumultuous rebels. The common people believe that from one of the deep cellars under this house proceeds a subterranean passage to the so-called “Nun’s Hill.” At midnight the neighboring inhabitants still hear a roaring under the marketplace, as if of the sudden falling of a cascade. The better informed explain it as being a concealed natural water-course, which has a connection with the neighboring river. In our time the old house is become a manufactory; the broken windows, the gaps of which are repaired either with slips of wood or with paper, the quantity of human bones which are found in the garden, and which remain from the time when this was a church-yard, give to the whole place a peculiar interest to the common people of Odense.

Entering the house at the front, it is on the same level as the market-place; the back of the house, on the contrary, descends precipitously into the garden, where there are thick old walls and foundations. The situation is thus quite romantic; just beside it is the old nunnery, with its dentated gables, and not far off the ruins, in whose depths the common people believe that there resides an evil being, “the river-man,” who annually demands his human sacrifice, which he announces the night before. Behind this lie meadows, villas, and green woods.

On the other side of the court, in a back gate-way, German Heinrich had set up his theatre. The entrance cost eight skillings; people of condition paid according to their own will.

Otto entered during the representation. A cloth constituted the whole scenic arrangement. In the middle of the floor sat a horrible goblin, with a coal-black Moorish countenance and crispy hair upon its head. An old bed-cover concealed the figure, yet one saw that it was that of a woman.

The audience consisted of peasants and street boys. Otto kept himself in the background, and remained unobserved by Heinrich.

The representation was soon at an end, and the crowd dispersed. It was then that Otto first came forward.

“We must speak a few words together!” said he. “Heinrich, you have not acted honestly by me! The girl is not that which you represented her to be; you have deceived me: I demand an explanation!”

German Heinrich stood silent, but every feature eloquently expressed first amazement, and then slyness and cunning; his knavish, malicious eye, measured Otto from top to toe.

“Nay; so then, Mr. Thostrup, you are convinced, are you, that I have been cheating you?” said he. “If so, why do you come to me? In that case there needs no explanation. Ask herself there!” And so saying he pointed to the black-painted figure.

“Do not be too proud, Otto!” said she, smiling; “thou couldst yet recognize thy sister, although she has a little black paint on her face!”

Otto riveted a dark, indignant glance upon her, pressed his lips together, and tried to collect himself. “It is my firm determination to have the whole affair searched into,” said he, with constrained calmness.

“Yes, but it will bring you some disagreeables!” said Heinrich, and laughed scornfully.

“Do not laugh in that manner when I speak to you!” said Otto, with flushing cheeks.

Heinrich leaned himself calmly against the door which led into the garden.

“I am acquainted with the head of the police,” said Otto, “and I might leave the whole business in his hands. But I have chosen a milder way; I am come myself. I shall very soon leave Denmark; I shall go many hundred miles hence shall, probably, never return; and thus you see the principal ground for my coming to you is a whim: I will know wherefore you have deceived me; I will know what is the connection between you and her.”

“Nay; so, then, it is that that you want to know?” said Heinrich, with a malicious glance. “Yes, see you, she is my best beloved; she shall be my wife: but your sister she is for all that, and that remains so!”

“Thou couldst easily give me a little before thou settest off on thy journey!” said Sidsel, who seemed excited by Heinrich’s words, and put forth her painted face.

Otto glanced at her with contracted eyebrows.

“Yes,” said she, “I say ‘thou’ to thee: thou must accustom thyself to that! A sister may have, however, that little bit of pleasure!”

“Yes, you should give her your hand!” said Heinrich, and laughed.

“Wretch!” exclaimed Otto, “she is not that which you say! I will find out my real sister! I will have proof in hand of the truth! I will show myself as a brother; I will care for her future! Bring to me her baptismal register; bring to me one only attestation of its reality—and that before eight days are past! Here is my address, it is the envelope of a letter; inclose in it the testimonial which I require, and send it to me without delay. But prove it, or you are a greater villain than I took you for.”

“Let us say a few rational words!” said Heinrich, with a constrained, fawning voice. “If you will give to me fifty rix-dollars, then you shall never have any more annoyance with us! See, that would be a great deal more convenient.”

“I abide by that which I have said!” answered Otto; “we will not have any more conversation together!” And so saying, he turned him round to go out.

Heinrich seized him by the coat.

“What do you want?” inquired Otto.

“I mean,” said Heinrich, “whether you are not going to think about the fifty rix-dollars?”

“Villain!” cried Otto, and, with the veins swelling in his forehead, he thrust Heinrich from him with such force, that he fell against the worm eaten door which led into the garden; the panel of the door fell out, and had not Heinrich seized fast hold on some firm object with both his hands, he must have gone the same way. Otto stood for a moment silent, with flashing eyes, and threw the envelope, on which his address was, at Heinrich’s feet, and went out.

When Otto returned to the hotel, he found the horses ready to be put to the carriage.

“Have you had good intelligence?” whispered Louise.

“I have in reality obtained no more than I had before!” replied he; “only my own feelings more strongly convince me than ever that I have been deceived by him.”

He related to her the short conversation which had taken place.

The Kammerjunker’s carriage was now also brought out; in this was more than sufficient room for two, whereas in the other carriage they had been crowded. The Kammerjunker, therefore, besought that they would avail themselves of the more convenient seat which he could offer; and Otto saw Sophie and her mother enter the Kammerjunker’s carriage. This arrangement would shortly before have confounded Otto, now it had much less effect upon him. His mind was so much occupied by his visit to German Heinrich, his soul was filled with a bitterness, which for the moment repelled the impulse which he had felt to express his great love for Sophie.

“I have been made Heinrich’s plaything—his tool!” thought he. “Now he ridicules me, and I am compelled to bear it! That horrible being is not my sister!—she cannot be so!”

The street was now quiet. They mounted into the carriage. In the corner house just opposite there was a great company; light streamed through the long curtains, a low tenor voice and a high ringing soprano mingled together in Mozart’s “Audiam, audiam, mio bene.”

“The bird may not flutter from my heart!” sighed Otto, and seated himself by the side of Louise. The carriage rolled away.

The full moon shone; the wild spiraea sent forth its odor from the road side; steam ascended from the moor-lands; and the white mist floated over the meadows like the daughters of the elfin king.

Louise sat silent and embarrassed; trouble weighed down her heart. Otto was also silent.

The Kammerjunker drove in first, cracked his whip, and struck up a wild halloo.

Wilhelm began to sing, “Charming the summer night,” and the Kammerjunker joined in with him.

“Sing with us man,” cried Wilhelm to the silent Otto, and quickly the two companies were one singing caravan.

It was late when they reached the hall.

CHAPTER XLI

“Destiny often pulls off leaves, as we treat the vine, that its fruits may be earlier brought to maturity.”—JEAN PAUL.

It was not until toward morning that Otto fell into sleep. Wilhelm and he were allowed to take their own time in rising, and thus it was late in the day before these two gentlemen made their appearance at the breakfast-table; the Kammerjunker was already come over to the hall, and now was more adorned than common.

“Mr. Thostrup shall be one of the initiated!” said the mother. “It will be time enough this evening for strangers to know of it. The Kammerjunker and my Sophie are betrothed.”

“See, it was in the bright moonlight, Mr. Thostrup, that I became such a happy man!” said the Kammerjunker, and kissed the tips of Sophie’s fingers. He offered his other hand to Otto.

Otto’s countenance remained unchanged, a smile played upon his lips. “I congratulate you!” said he; “it is indeed a joyful day! If I were a poet, I would give you an ode!”

Louise looked at him with an extraordinary expression of pain in her countenance.

Wilhelm called the Kammerjunker brother-in-law, and smiling shook both his hands.

Otto was unusually gay, jested, and laughed. The ladies went to their toilet, Otto into the garden.

He had been so convinced in his own mind that Sophie returned his passion. With what pleasure had she listened to him! with what an expression had her eye rested upon him! Her little jests had been to him such convincing proofs that the hope which he nourished was no self-delusion. She was the light around which his thoughts had circled. Love to her was to him a good angel, which sung to him consolation and life’s gladness in his dark moments.

Now, all was suddenly over. It was as if the angel had left him; the flame of love which had so entirely filled his soul, was in a moment extinguished to its last spark. Sophie was become a stranger to him; her intellectual eye, which smiled in love on the Kammerjunker, seemed to him the soulless eye of the automaton. A stupefying indifference went through him, deadly as poison that is infused into the human blood.

“The vain girl! she thought to make herself more important by repelling from her a faithful heart! She should only see how changed her image is in my soul. All the weaknesses which my love for her made me pass over, now step forth with repulsive features! Not a word which she spoke fell to the ground. The diamond has lost its lustre; I feel only its sharp corners!”

Sophie had given the preference to a man who, in respect of intellect, stood far below Otto! Sophie, who seemed to be enthusiastic for art and beauty, for everything glorious in the kingdom of mind, could thus have deceived him!

We will now see the sisters in their chamber.

Louise seemed pensive, she sat silently looking before her.

Sophie stood thoughtfully with a smile upon her lips.

“The Kammerjunker is very handsome, however!” exclaimed she: “he looks so manly!”

“You ought to find him love-worthy!” said Louise.

“Yes,” replied her sister, “I have always admired these strong countenances! He is an Axel—a northern blackbearded savage. Faces such as Wilhelm’s look like ladies’! And he is so good! He has said, that immediately after our marriage we shall make a tour to Hamburg. What dress do you think I should wear?”

“When you make the journey to Hamburg?” inquired Louise.

“O no, child! to-day I mean. Thostrup was indeed very polite! he congratulated me! I felt, however, rather curious when it was told to him. I had quite expected a scene! I was almost ready to beg of you to tell him first of all. He ought to have been prepared. But he was, however, very rational! I should not have expected it from him. I really wish him all good, but he is an extraordinary character! so melancholy! Do you think that he will take my betrothal to heart? I noticed that when I was kissed he turned himself suddenly round to the window and played with the flowers. I wish that he would soon go! The journey into foreign countries will do him good—there he will soon forget his heart’s troubles. To-morrow I will write to Cousin Joachim; he will also be surprised!”

Late in the afternoon came Jakoba, the Mamsell, the preacher, and yet a few other guests.

In the evening the table was arranged festively. The betrothed sat together, and Otto had the place of honor—he sat on the other side of Sophie. The preacher had written a song to the tune of “Be thou our social guardian-goddess;” this was sung. Otto’s voice sounded beautifully and strong; he rang his glass with the betrothed pair, and the Kammerjunker said that now Mr. Thostrup must speedily seek out a bride for himself.

“She is found,” answered Otto; “but now that is yet a secret.”

“Health to the bride!” said Sophie, and rung her glass; but soon again her intellectual eye rested upon the Kammerjunker, who was talking about asparagus and stall-feeding with clover, yet her glance brought him back again to the happiness of his love.

It was a very lively evening. Late in the night the party broke up. The friends went to their chamber.

“My dear, faithful Otto!” said Wilhelm, and laid his hand on his shoulder; “you were very lively and good-humored this evening. Continue always thus!”

“I hope to do so,” answered Otto: “may we only always have as happy an evening as this!”

“Extraordinary man!” said Wilhelm, and shook his head. “Now we will soon set out on our journey, and catch for ourselves the happiness of the glorious gold bird!”

“And not let it escape again!” exclaimed Otto. “Formerly I used to say, To-morrow! to-morrow! now I say, To-day, and all day long! Away with fancies and complainings. I now comprehend that which you once said to me, that is. Man can be happy if he only will be so.”

Wilhelm took his hand, and looked into his face with a half-melancholy expression.

“Are you sentimental?” inquired Otto.

“I only affect that which I am not!” answered Wilhelm; and with that, suddenly throwing off the natural gravity of the moment, returned to his customary gayety.

The following days were spent in visiting and in receiving visitors. On every post-day Otto sought through the leathern bag of the postman, but he found no letter from German Heinrich, and heard nothing from him. “I have been deceived,” said he, “and I feel myself glad about it! She, the horrible one, is not my sister!”

There was a necessity for him to go away, far from home, and yet he felt no longing after the mountains of Switzerland or the luxuriant beauty of the south.

“Nature will only weaken me! I will not seek after it. Man it is that I require: these egotistical, false beings—these lords of everything! How we flatter our weaknesses and admire our virtues! Whatever serves to advance our own wishes we find to be excellent. To those who love us, we give our love in return. At the bottom, whom do I love except myself? Wilhelm? My friendship for him is built upon the foundation,—I cannot do without thee! Friendship is to me a necessity. Was I not once convinced that I adored Sophie, and that I never could bear it if she were lost to me? and yet there needed the conviction ‘She loves thee not,’ and my strong feeling was dead. Sophie even seems to me less beautiful; I see faults where I formerly could only discover amiabilities! Now, she is to me almost wholly a stranger. As I am, so are all. Who is there that feels right lovingly, right faithfully for me, without his own interest leading him to do so? Rosalie? My old, honest Rosalie? I grew up before her eyes like a plant which she loved. I am dear to her as it! When her canary-bird one morning lay dead in its cage, she wept bitterly and long; she should never more hear it sing, she should never more look after its cage and its food. It was the loss of it which made her weep. She missed that which had been interesting to her. I also interested her. Interest is the name for that which the world calls love. Louise?” He almost spoke the name aloud, and his thoughts dwelt, from a strong combination of circumstances, upon it. “She appears to me true, and capable of making sacrifices! but is not she also very different from all the others? How often have I not heard Sophie laugh at her for it—look down upon her!” And Otto’s better feeling sought in vain for a shadow of self-love in Louise, a single selfish motive for her noble conduct.

“Away from Denmark! to new people! Happy he who can always be on the wing, making new friendships, and speedily breaking them off! At the first meeting people wear their intellectual Sunday apparel; every point of light is brought forth; but soon and the festival-day is over, and the bright points have vanished.”

“We will set off next week!” said Wilhelm, “and then it shall be—

Away over the moors, up the Rhine, through the land of champagne to the city of cities, the life-animating Paris!”

CHAPTER XLII

“A maiden stood musing, gentle and mild. I grasped the hand of the friendly child, but the lovely fawn shyly disappeared.... From the Rhine to the Danish Belt, beautiful and lovely maidens are found in palaces and tents; yet nobody pleases me.”—SCHMIDT VON LÜBECK.

The last day at home was Sophie’s birthday. In the afternoon the whole family was invited to the Kammerjunker’s, where Jakoba and the Mamsell were to be quite brilliant in their cookery.

A table filled with presents, all from the Kammerjunker, awaited Miss Sophie; it was the first time that he had ever presented to her a birthday gift, and he had now, either out of his own head or somebody’s else, fallen on the very good idea of making her a present for every year which she had lived. Every present was suited to the age for which it was intended, and thus he began with a paper of sugar-plums and ended with silk and magnificent fur; but between beginning and end there were things, of which more than the half could be called solid: gold ear-rings, a boa, French gloves, and a riding-horse. This last, of course, could not stand upon the table. It was a joy and a happiness; people walked about, and separated themselves by degrees into groups.

The only one who was not there was Eva. She always preferred remaining at home; and yet, perhaps, to-day she might have allowed herself to have been overpersuaded, had she not found herself so extremely weak.

Silently and alone she now sat at home in the great empty parlor. It was in the twilight; she had laid down her work, and her beautiful, thoughtful eyes looked straight before her: thoughts which we may not unveil were agitating her breast.

Suddenly the door opened, and Wilhelm stood before her. Whilst the others were walking he had stolen away. He knew that Eva was alone at home; nobody would know that he visited her, nobody would dream of their conversation.