"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!
"
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.
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.
"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." 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!" 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 _neighb ors_! 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."
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."
"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!"
You are a happy man! exclaimed Otto, and gazed sorrowfully before him. "Your childhood afforded you only joy and hope! Only think of the solitude in which mine was passed. Among the sand-hills of the west coast my days glided away: my grandfather was gloomy and passionate; our old preacher lived only in a past time which I knew not, and Rosalie regarded the world through the spectacles of sorrow. Such an environment might well cast a shadow upon my life-joy. Even in dress, one is strangely remarkable when one comes from afar province to the capital; first this receives another cut, and one gradually becomes like those around one. The same thing happens in a spiritual relation, but one's being and ideas one does not change so quickly as one's clothes. I have only been a short time among strangers, and who knows?" added he, with a melancholy smile, "perhaps I shall come into equilibrium when some really great misfortune happens to me and very much overpowers me, and then I may show the same carelessness, the same phlegm as the multitude."
A really great misfortune! repeated Wilhelm. "You do, indeed, say something. That would be a very original means of cure, but you are an original being. Perhaps lay this means you might really be healed. 'Make no cable out of cobweb!' said a celebrated poet whose name does not occur to me at this moment. But the thought is good, you should have it embroidered upon your waistcoat, so that you might have it before your eyes when you droop your head. Do not look so grave; we are friends, are we not? Among all my young acquaintance you are the dearest to me, although there are moments when I know not how it stands with us. I could confide every secret to you, but I am not sure that you would be equally open with me. Do not be angry, my dear friend! There are secrets of so delicate a nature, that one may not confide them even to the dearest friend. So long as we preserve _our_ secret it is our prisoner; it is quite the contrary, however, so soon as we have let it escape us. And yet, Otto, you are so dear to me, that I believe in you as in my own heart. This, even now, bears a secret which penetrates me with joy and love of life! I must speak cut. But you must enter into my joy, partake in it, or say nothing about it; you have then heard nothing--nothing! Otto, I love! therefore am I happy, therefore is there sunshine in my heart, life joy in my veins! I love Eva, the beautiful lovely Eva!"
Otto pressed his hand, but preserved silence.
No, not so! cried Wilhelm. "Only speak a word! Do you I'm in a conception of the world which has opened before me?"
Eva is beautiful! very beautiful! said Otto, slowly. "She is innocent and good. What can one wish for more? I can imagine how she fills your whole heart! But will she do so always? She will not always remain young, always lovely! Has she, then, mind sufficient to be everything to you? Will this momentary happiness which you prepare for her and yourself be great enough to outweigh--I will not say the sorrow, but the discontent which this union will bring forth in your family? For God's sake, think of everything!"
My dear fellow! said Wilhelm, "your old preacher now really speaks out of you! But enough: I can bear the confession. I answer, 'Yes, yes!' with all my heart, 'yes!' Wherefore will you now bring me out of my sunshine into shade? Wherefore, in my joy over the beauty of the rose should I be reminded that the perfume and color will vanish, that the leaves will fall? It is the course of life! but must one, therefore, think of the grave, of the finale, when the act begins?"
Love is a kind of monomania, said Otto; "it may be combated: it depends merely upon our own will."
Ah, you know this not at all! said Wilhelm. "But it will come in due time, and then you will be far more violent than others! Who knows? perhaps this is the sorrow of which you spoke, the misfortune which should bring your whole being into equipoise! That was also a kind of search after the sorrowful. I will sincerely wish that your heart may be filled with love as mine is; then will the influence of the sand-hills vanish, and you will speak with me as you ought to do, and as my confidence deserves!"
That will I! replied Otto. "You make the poor girl miserable! Now you love Eva, but then you will no longer be able. The distance between you and her is too great, and I cannot conceive how the beauty of her countenance can thus fill your whole being. A waiting-girl! yes, I repeat the name which offends your ear: a waiting-girl! Everywhere will it be repeated. And you? No one can respect nobility less than I do--that nobility which is only conferred by birth; it is nothing, and a time will come when this will not be prized at all, when the nobility of the soul will be the only nobility. I openly say this to you, who are a nobleman yourself. The more development of mind, the more ancestors! But Eva has nothing, can have nothing, except a pretty face, and this is what has enchained you; you are become the servant of a servant, and that is degrading yourself and your nobility of mind!"
Mr. Thostrup! exclaimed Wilhelm, "you wound me! This is truly not the first time, but now I am weary of it. I have shown too much good nature, and that is the most unfortunate failing a man can be cursed with!"
He seated himself at the piano, and hammered away.
Otto was silent a moment, his checks glowed, but he was soon again calm, and in a joking tone said: "Do not expend your anger upon that poor instrument because we disagree in our views. You are playing only dissonances, which offend my ear more than your anger!"
Dissonances! repeated Wilhelm. "Cannot you hear that they are harmonies? There are many things for which you have a bad ear!"
Otto knew how to lead his anger to different points regarding which they had formerly been at variance, but he spoke with such mildness that Wilhelm's anger rather abated than increased.
They were again friends, but regarding Eva not one word more was said.
I should not be an honest and true friend to him, were I to let him be swallowed up by this whirlpool! said Otto to himself, when he was alone. "At present he is innocent and good but at his age, with his gay disposition!--I must warn Eva! soon! soon! The snow which has once been trodden is no longer pure! Wilhelm will scarcely forgive me! But I must!"
On the morrow it was impossible for him to travel to Roeskelde, but the following day he really would and must hasten thither.
Still, in the early morning hour, Eva occupied his thoughts; she busied Wilhelm's also, but in a different way: but they agreed in the purity of their intentions. There was still a third, whose blood was put in motion at the mention of her name, who said: "The pretty Eva is a servant there! One must speak with her. The family can make an excursion there!"
You sweet children! said the merchant's wife, "the autumn is charming, far pleasanter than the whole summer! The father, should the weather remain good, will make an excursion with us to Lethraborg the day after to-morrow. We will then walk in the beautiful valley of the Hertha, and pass the night at Roeskelde. Those will be two delightful days! What an excellent father you have! But shall we not invite Mr. Thostrup to go with us? We are so many ladies, and it looks well to have a few young gentlemen with us. Grethe, thou must write an invitation; thou canst write thy father's name underneath."
"These poetical letters are so similar to those of Baggesen, that we could be almost tempted to consider the news of his death as false, although so well affirmed that we must acknowledge it." --Monthly Journal of Literature.
She is as slender as the poplar-willow, as fleet as the hastening waters. A Mayflower odorous and sweet.--H. P. HOLST.
Ah, where is the rose?--Lulu, by GUNTELBURG.
The evening before Otto was to travel with the merchant's family to Roeskelde he called upon the family where Miss Sophie was staying. Her dear mamma had left three days before. Wilhelm had wished to accompany him to Roeskelde, but the mother did not desire it.
We have had a pleasure to-day, said Sophie, "a pleasure from which we shall long have enjoyment. Have you seen the new book, the 'Letters of a Wandering Ghost?' It is Baggesen himself in his most perfect beauty, a music which I never believed could have been given in words. This is a poet! He has made July days in the poetry of Denmark. Natural thoughts are so strikingly, and yet so simply expressed; one has the idea that one could write such verses one's self, they fall so lightly."
They are like prose, said the lady, "and yet the most beautifully perfect verse I know. You must read the book, Mr. Thostrup!"
Perhaps you will read to us this evening? said Sophie. "I should very much like to hear it again."
In a second reading one shall enter better into the individual beauties, said the lady of the house.
I will remain and listen, said the host.
This must be a masterpiece! exclaimed Otto,"--a true masterpiece, since all are so delighted with it."
It is Baggesen himself; and truly as he must sing in that world where everything mortal is ennobled.
"
'Meadows all fragrance, the strongholds of pleasure, Heaven blue streamlets, That speed through the green woods in musical measure,'
"
began Otto, and the spiritual battle-piece with beauty and tone developed itself more and more; they found themselves in the midst of the winter camp of the Muses, where the poet with
..."lyre on his shoulder and sword at his side,
Hastened to fight with the foes of the Muses."
Otto's gloomy look won during the perusal a more animated expression. "Excellent!" exclaimed he; "this is what I myself have thought and felt, but, alas! have been unable to express."
I am a strange girl, said Sophie; "whenever I read a new poet of distinguished talent, I consider that he is the greatest. It was so with Byron and Victor Hugo. 'Cain' overwhelmed me, 'Notre Dame' carried me away with it. Once I could imagine no greater poet than Walter Scott, and yet I forget him over Oehlenschlager; yes, I remember a time when Heiberg's vaudevilles took almost the first place among my chosen favorites. Thus I know myself and my changeable disposition, and yet I firmly believe that I shall make an exception with this work. Other poets showed me the objects of the outer world, this one shows me my own mind: my own thoughts, my own being he presents before me, and therefore I shall always take the same interest in the Ghost's Letters."
They are true food for the mind, said Otto; "they are as words in season; there must be movement in the lake, otherwise it will become a bog."
The author is severe toward those whom he has introduced, said the lady; "but he carries, so to say, a sweet knife. A wound from a sharp sword-blade is not so painful as that from a rusty, notched knife."
But who may the author be? said Sophie.
May we never learn! replied Otto. "Uncertainty gives the book something piquant. In such a small country as ours it is good for the author to be unknown. Here we almost tread upon each other, and look into each other's garments. Here the personal conditions of the author have much to do with success; and then there are the newspapers, where either friend or enemy has an assistant, whereas the being anonymous gives it the patent of nobility. It is well never to know an author. What does his person matter to us, if his book is only good?
"
'Crush and confound the rabble dissolute That desecrate thy poet's grave?'
"
read Otto, and the musical poem was at an end. All were enchanted with it. Otto alone made some small objections: "The Muses ought not to come with 'trumpets and drums,' and so many expressions similar to 'give a blow on the chaps,' etc., ought not to appear."
But if the poet will attack what is coarse, said Sophie, "he must call things by their proper names. He presents us with a specimen of the prosaic filth, but in a soap-bubble. We may see it, but not seize upon it. I consider that you are wrong!"
The conception of idea and form, said Otto, "does not seem to be sufficiently presented to one; both dissolve into one. Even prose is a form."
But the form itself is the most important, said the lady of the house; "with poetry as with sculpture, it is the form which gives the meaning."
No, pardon me! said Otto; "poetry is like the tree which God allows to grow. The inward power expresses itself in the form; both are equally important, but I consider the internal as the most holy. This is here the poet's thought. The opinion which he expresses affects us as much as the beautiful dress in which he has presented it."
Now commenced a contest upon form and material, such as was afterward maintained throughout the whole of Copenhagen.
I shall always admire the 'Letters of a Wandering Ghost,' said Sophie,--"always rave about these poems. To-night I shall dream of nothing but this work of art."
How little men can do that which they desire, did this very moment teach.
When we regard the fixed star through a telescope and lose ourselves in contemplation, a little hair can conceal the mighty body, a grain of dust lead us from these sublime thoughts. A letter came for Miss Sophie; a traveller brought it from her mother: she was already in Funen, and announced her safe arrival.
And the news? said the hostess.
Mamma has hired a new maid, or, rather, she has taken to be with her an amiable young girl--the pretty Eva in Roeskelde. Mr. Thostrup and Wilhelm related to us this summer several things about her which make her interesting. We saw her on our journey hither, when mamma was prepossessed by her well-bred appearance. Upon her return, the young girl has quite won her heart. It really were a pity if such a pretty, respectable girl remained in a public-house. She is very pretty; is she not, Mr. Thostrup?
Very pretty! answered Otto, becoming crimson, for Sophie said this with an emphasis which was not without meaning.
The following day, at an early hour, Otto found himself at the merchant's.
Spite of the changeable weather of our climate, all the ladies were in their best dresses. Three persons must sit upon each seat. Hans Peter and the lover had their place beside the coachman. It was a long time before the cold meat, the provision for several days, was packed up, and the whole company were seated. At length, when they had got out of the city, Christiane recollected that they had forgotten the umbrellas, and that, after all, it would be good to have them. The coachman must go back for them, and meantime the carriage drew up before the Column of Liberty. The poor sentinel must now become an object of Miss Grethe's interest. Several times the soldier glanced down upon his regimentals. He was a Krahwinkler, who had an eye to his own advantage. A man who rode past upon a load of straw occupied a high position. That was very interesting.
Otto endeavored to give the conversation another direction. "Have not you seen the new poem which has just appeared, the 'Letters of a Wandering Ghost?'" asked he, and sketched out their beauty and tendency.
Doubtless, very heavy blows are dealt! said Mr. Berger, "the man must be witty--Baggesen to the very letter."
The 'Copenhagen Post' is called the pump! said Hans Peter.
That is superb! cried Grethe. "Who does it attack besides?"
Folks in Soroe, and this 'Holy Andersen,' as they call him.
Does he get something? said Laide. "That I will grant him for his milk and water. He was so impolite toward the ladies!"
I like them to quarrel in this way! said the merchant's lady. "Heiberg will doubtless get his share also, and then he will reply in something merry."
Yes, said Mr. Berger, "he always knows how to twist things in such a manner that one must laugh, and then it is all one to us whether he is right or not."
This book is entirely for Heiberg, said Otto. "The author is anonymous, and a clever man."
Good Heavens! you are not the author, Mr. Thostrup? cried Julle, and looked at him with a penetrating gaze. "You can manage such things so secretly! You think so highly of Heiberg: I remember well all the beautiful things you said of his 'Walter the Potter' and his 'Psyche.'"
Otto assured her that he could not confess to this honor.
They reached Roeskelde in the forenoon, but Eva did not receive them. The excursion to Lethraborg was arranged; toward evening they should again return to the inn, and then Eva would certainly appear.
The company walked in the garden at Lethraborg: the prospect from the terrace was beautiful; they looked through the windows of the castle, and at length came to the conclusion that it would be best to go in.
There are such beautiful paintings, people say! remarked the lover.
We must see them, cried all the ladies.
Do you often visit the picture-gallery of the Christiansborg? inquired Otto.
I cannot say that we do! returned Mrs. Berger. "You well know that what is near one seldom sees, unless one makes a downright earnest attempt, and that we have not yet done. Besides, not many people go up: that wandering about the great halls is so wearying."
There are splendid pieces by Ruysdal! said Otto.
Salvator Rosa's glorious 'Jonas is well worth looking at!"
Yes, we really must go at once, whilst our little Maja is here. It does not cost more than the Exhibition, and we were there three times last year. The view from the castle windows toward the canal, as well as toward the ramparts, is so beautiful, they say.
The company now viewed the interior of Lethraborg, and then wandered through the garden and in the wood. The trees had their autumnal coloring, but the whole presented a variety of tints far richer than one finds in summer. The dark fir-trees, the yellow beeches and oaks, whose outermost branches had sent forth light green shoots, presented a most picturesque effect, and formed a splendid foreground to the view over old Leire, the royal city, now a small village, and across the bay to the splendid cathedral.
That resembles a scene in a theatre! cried Mrs. Berger, and immediately the company were deep in dramatic affairs.
Such a decoration they should have in the royal theatre! said Hans Peter.
Yes, they should have many such! said Grethe. "They should have some other pieces than those they have. I know not how it is with our poets; they have no inventive power. Relate the droll idea which thou hadst the other day for a new piece!" said she to her lover, and stroked his cheeks.
O, said he, and affected a kind of indifference, "that was only an idea such as one has very often. But it might become a very nice piece. When the curtain is drawn up, one should see close upon the lamps the gable-ends of two houses. The steep roofs must go down to the stage, so that it is only half a yard wide, and this is to represent a watercourse between the two houses. In each garret a poor but interesting family should dwell, and these should step forth into the watercourse, and there the whole piece should be played."
But what should then happen? asked Otto.
Yes, said the lover, "I have not thought about that; but see, there is the idea! I am no poet, and have too much to do at the counting-house, otherwise one might write a little piece."
Heavens! Heiberg ought to have the idea! said Grethe.
No, then it would be a vaudeville, said the lover, "and I cannot bear them."
O, it might be made charming! cried Grethe. "I see the whole piece! how they clamber about the roofs! The idea is original, thou sweet friend!"
By evening the family were again in Roeskelde.
The merchant sought for Eva. Otto inquired after her, so did Hans Peter also, and all three received the same answer.
She is no longer here.
"I wish I was air, that I could beat my wings, could chase the clouds, and try to fly over the mountain summits: that would be life."--F. RUCKERT.
The first evening after Otto's return to Copenhagen he spent with Sophie, and the conversation turned upon his little journey. "The pretty Eva has vanished!" said he.
You had rejoiced in the prospect of this meeting, had you not? asked Sophie.
No, not in the least! answered Otto.
And you wish to make me believe that? She is really pretty, and has something so unspeakably refined, that a young gentleman might well be attracted by her. With my brother it is not all quite right in this respect; but, candidly speaking, I am in great fear on your account, Mr. Thostrup. Still waters--you know the proverb? I might have spared you the trouble. The letter which I received a few evenings ago informed me of her departure. Mamma has taken her with her. It seemed to her a sin to leave that sweet, innocent girl in a public-house. The host and hostess were born upon our estate, and look very much up to my mother; and as Eva will certainly gain by the change, the whole affair was soon settled. It is well that she is come under mamma's oversight.
The girl is almost indifferent to me! said Otto.
Almost! repeated Sophie. "But this almost, how many degrees of warmth does it contain? 'O Verite! Ou sont les autels et tes pretres?'" added she, and smiling raised her finger.
Time will show how much you are in error! answered Otto with much calmness.
The lady of the house now entered, she had made various calls; everywhere the Ghost's Letters were the subject of conversation, and now the conversation took the same direction.
It was often renewed. Otto was a very frequent guest at the house. The ladies sat at their embroidery frames and embroidered splendid pieces of work, and Otto must again read the "Letters of the Wandering Ghost;" after this they began "Calderon," in whom Sophie found something resembling the anonymous author. The world of poetry afforded subjects for discourse, and every-day life intermingled its light, gay scenes; if Wilhelm joined them, he must give them music, and all remarked that his fantasies were become far richer, far softer. He had gained his touch from Weyse, said they. No one thought how much one may learn from one's own heart. With this exception he was the same joyous youth as ever. No one thought of him and Eva together. Since that evening when the friends had almost quarreled, he had never mentioned her name; but Otto had remarked how when any female figure met them, Wilhelm's eyes flashed, and how, in society, he singled out the most beautiful. Otto said jokingly to him, that he was getting oriental thoughts. Oehlenschlager's "Helge," and Goethe's Italian sonnets were now Wilhelm's favorite reading. The voluptuous spirit of these poems agreed with the dreams which his warm feelings engendered. It was Eva's beauty--her beauty alone which had awoke this feeling in him; the modesty and poverty of the poor girl had captivated him still more, and caused him to forget rank and condition. At the moment when he would approach her, she was gone. The poison was now in his blood. If is gay and happy spirit did not meanwhile let him sink into melancholy and meditation; his feeling for beauty was excited, as he himself expressed it. In thought he pressed beauty to his heart, but only in thought--but even this is sin, says the Gospel.
Otto, on the contrary, moved in the lists of philosophy and poetry. Here his soul conceived beauty--inspired, he expressed it; and Sophie's eyes flashed, and rested with pleasure on him. This flattered him and increased his inspirations. For many years no winter had been to him so pleasant, had passed away so rich in change as this; he caught at the fluttering joy and yet there were moments when the though pressed upon him--"Life is hastening away, and I do not enjoy it." In the midst of his greatest happiness he experienced a strange yearning after the changing life of travel. Paris glanced before his eyes like a star of fortune.
Out into the bustling world! said he so often to Wilhelm, that the same thought was excited in him. "In the spring we will travel!" Now were plans formed; circumstances were favorable. Thus in the coming spring, in April, the still happier days should begin.
We will fly to Paris! said Wilhelm; "to joy and pleasure!"
Joy and pleasure were to be found at home, and were found: we will introduce the evening which brought them; perhaps we shall also find something more than joy and pleasure.
"A midsummer day's entertainment--but how? In February? Yea, some here and behold it!"--DR. BALFUNGO.
With us the students form no Burschenschafts, have no colors. The professors do not alone in the chair come into connection with them; the only difference is that which exists between young and old scholars. Thus they come in contact with each other, thus they participate in their mutual pleasures. We will spend an evening of this kind in the Students' Club, and then see for ourselves whether Miss Sophie were right when she wished she were a man, merely that she might be a student and member of this club. We choose one evening in particular, not only that we may seek a brilliant moment, but because this evening can afford us more than a description.
An excursion to the park had often been discussed in the club. They wished to hire the Caledonia steam-packet. But during the summer months the number of members is less; the majority are gone to the provinces to visit their relations. Winter, on the contrary, assembles them all. This time, also, is the best for great undertakings. The long talked of excursion to the park was therefore fixed for Carnival Monday, the 14th of February, 1831. Thus ran the invitations to the professors and older members. "It will be too cold for me," replied one. "Must one take a carriage for one's self?" asked mother. No, the park was removed to Copenhagen. In the Students' Club itself, in the Boldhuus Street, No. 225, was the park-hill with its green trees, its swings, and amusements. See, only the scholars of the Black School could have such ideas!
The evening of the 114th of February drew near. The guests assembled in the rooms on the first floor. Meanwhile all was arranged in the second story. Those who represented jugglers were in their places. A thundering cracker was the steamboat signal, and now people hastened to the park, rushing up-stairs, where two large rooms had, with great taste and humor, been converted into the park-hill. Large fir-trees concealed the walls--you found yourself in a complete wood. The doors which connected the two rooms were decorated with sheets, so that it looked as if you were going through a tent. Hand-organs played, drums and trumpets roared, and from tents and stages the hawkers shouted one against the other. It was a noise such as is heard in the real park when the hubbub has reached its height. The most brilliant requisites of the real park were found here, and they were not imitated; they were the things themselves. Master Jakel's own puppets had been hired; a student, distinguished by his complete imitation of the first actors, represented them by the puppets. The fortress of Frederiksteen was the same which we have already seen in the park. "The whole cavalry and infantry,--here a fellow without a bayonet, there a bayonet without a fellow!" The old Jew sat under his tree where he announced his fiftieth park jubilee: here a student ate flax, there another exhibited a bear; Polignac stood as a wax figure outside a cabinet. The Magdalene convent exhibited its little boxes, the drum-major beat most lustily, and from a near booth came the real odor of warm wafer-cakes. The spring even, which presented itself in the outer room, was full of significance. Certainly it was only represented by a tea-urn concealed between moss and stones, but the water was real water, brought from the well in Christiansborg. Astounding and full of effect was the multitude of sweet young girls who showed themselves. Many of the youngest students who had feminine features were dressed as ladies; some of them might even be called pretty. Who that then saw the fair one with the tambourine can have forgotten her? The company crowded round the ladies. The professors paid court to them with all propriety, and, what was best of all, some ladies who were less successful became jealous of the others. Otto was much excited; the noise, the bustle, the variety of people, were almost strikingly given. Then came the master of the fire-engines, with his wife and little granddaughter; then three pretty peasant girls; then the whole Botanical Society, with their real professor at their head. Otto seated himself in a swing; an itinerant flute-player and a drummer deafened him with dissonances. A young lady, one of the beauties, in a white dress, and with a thin handkerchief over her shoulders, approached and threw herself into his arms. It was Wilhelm! but Otto found his likeness to Sophie stronger than he had ever before noticed it to be; and therefore the blood rushed to his cheeks when the fair one threw her arms around him, and laid her cheek upon his: he perceived more of Sophie than of Wilhelm in this form. Certainly Wilhelm's features were coarser--his whole figure larger than Sophie's; but still Otto fancied he saw Sophie, and therefore these marked gestures, this reeling about with the other students, offended his eyes. When Wilhelm seated himself on his knee, and pressed his cheek to his, Otto felt his heart beat as in fever; it sent a stream of fire through his blood: he thrust him away, but the fair one continued to overwhelm him with caresses.
There now commenced, in a so-called Krahwinkel theatre, the comedy, in which were given the then popular witticisms of Kellerman.
The lady clung fast to Otto, and flew dancing with him through the crowd. The heat, the noise, and, above all, the exaggerated lacing, affected Wilhelm; he felt unwell. Otto led him to a bench and would have unfastened his dress, but all the young ladies, true to their part, sprang forward, pushed Otto aside, surrounded their sick companion and concealed her, whilst they tore up the dress behind so that she might have air: but, God forbid! no gentleman might see it.
Toward evening a song was commenced, a shot was heard, and the last verse announced:--
"
The gun has been fired, the vessel must fly To the town from the green wood shady. Come, friends, now we to the table will hie, A gentleman and a fair lady.
"
And now all rushed with the speed of a steamboat downstairs, and soon sat in gay rows around the covered tables.
Wilhelm was Otto's lady--the Baron was called the Baroness; the glasses resounded, and the song commenced:--
"
These will drink our good king's health, Will drink it here, his loyal students.
"
And that patriotic song:--
"
I know a land up in the North Where it is good to be.
"
It concluded with--
"
An hurrah For the king and the rescript!
"
In joy one must embrace everything joyful, and that they did. Here was the joy of youth in youthful hearts.
"
No condition's like the student's; He has chosen the better way!
"
so ran the concluding verse of the following song, which ended with the toast,--
"
For her of whom the heart dreams ever, But whom the lips must never name!
"
It was then that Wilhelm seemed to glow with inward fire; he struck his glass so violently against Otto's that it broke, and the wine was spilt.
A health to the ladies! cried one of the signors.
A health to the ladies! resounded from the different rooms, which were all converted into the banquet-hall.
The ladies rose, stood upon their chairs, some even upon the table, bowed, and returned thanks for the toast.
No, no, whispered Otto to Wilhelm, at the same time pulling him down. "In this dress you resemble your sister so much, that it is quite horrible to me to see you act a part so opposed to her character!"
And your eyes, Said Wilhelm, smiling, "resemble two eyes which have touched my heart. A health to first love!" cried he, and struck his glass against Otto's so that the half of his wine was again lost.
The champagne foamed, and amidst noise and laughter, as during the carnival joy, a new song refreshed the image of the nark which they had just left:--
"
Here if green trees were not growing Fresh as on yon little hill, Heard we not the fountains flowing, We in sooth should see them still! Tents were filled below, above, Filled with everything but love! *** Here went gratis brushing-boys-- Graduated have they all! Here stood, who would think it, sir? A student as a trumpeter!
"
A health to the one whose eyes mine resemble! whispered Otto, carried along with the merriment.
That health we have already drunk! answered Wilhelm, "but we cannot do a good thing too often."
Then you still think of Eva?
She was beautiful! sweet! who knows what might have happened had she remained here? Her fate has fallen into mamma's hands, and she and the other exalted Nemesis must now conduct the affair: I wash my hands of it.
Are you recovered? asked Otto. "But when you see Eva again in the summer?"
I hope that I shall not fall sick, replied Wilhelm; "I have a strong constitution. But we must now hasten up to the dance."
All rushed from the tables, and up-stairs, where the park was arranged. There was now only the green wood to be seen. Theatres and booths had been removed. Gay paper-lamps hung among the branches, a large orchestra played, and a half-bacchanalian wood-ball commenced. Wilhelm was Otto's partner, but after the first dance the lady sought out for herself a more lively cavalier.
Otto drew back toward the wall where the windows were concealed by the boughs of Fir-tree. His eye followed Wilhelm, whose great resemblance to Sophie made him melancholy; his hand accidentally glided through the branches and touched the window-seat; there lay a little bird--it was dead!
To increase the illusion they had bought a number of birds, which should fly about during the park-scene, but the poor little creatures had died from fright at the wild uproar. In the windows and corners they lay dead. It was one of these birds that Otto found.
It is dead! said he to Wilhelm, who approached him.
Now, that is capital! returned the friend; "here you have something over which you may be sentimental!"
Otto would not reply.
Shall we dance a Scotch waltz? asked Wilhelm laughing, and the wine and his youthful blood glowed in his cheeks.
I wish you would put on your own dress! said Otto. "You resemble, as I said before, your sister"--
And I am my sister, interrupted Wilhelm, in his wantonness. "And as a reward for your charming readings aloud, for your excellent conversation, and the whole of your piquant amiability, you shall now be paid with a little kiss!" He pressed his lips to Otto's forehead; Otto thrust him back and left the company.
Several hours passed before he could sleep; at length he was forced to laugh over his anger: what mattered it if Wilhelm resembled his sister?
The following morning Otto paid her a visit. All listened with lively interest to his description of the merry St. John's day in February. He also related how much Wilhelm had resembled his sister, and how unpleasant this had been to him; and they laughed. During the relation, however, Otto could not forbear drawing a comparison. How great a difference did he now find! Sophie's beauty was of quite another kind! Never before had he regarded her in this light. Of the kisses which Wilhelm had given him, of course, they did not speak; but Otto thought of them, thought of them quite differently to what he had done before, and--the ways of Cupid are strange! We will now see how affairs stand after advancing fourteen days.
"Huzza for Copenhagen and for Paris! may they both flourish!" The Danes in Paris by HEIBERG.
Wilhelm's cousin, Joachim, had arrived from Paris. We remember the young officer, out of whose letters Wilhelm had sent Otto a description of the struggle of the July days. As an inspired hero of liberty had he returned; struggling Poland had excited his lively interest, and he would willingly have combated in Warsaw's ranks. His mind and his eloquence made him doubly interesting. The combat of the July days, of which he had been an eye-witness, he described to them. Joachim was handsome; he had an elegant countenance with sharp features, and was certainly rather pale--one might perhaps have called him worn with dissipation, had it not been for the brightness of his eyes, which increased in conversation. The fine dark eyebrow, and even the little mustache, gave the countenance all expression which reminded one of fine English steel-engravings. His figure was small, almost slender, but the proportions were beautiful. The animation of the Frenchman expressed itself in every motion, but at the same time there was in him a certain determination which seemed to say: "I am aware of my own intellectual superiority!"
He interested every one: Otto also listened with pleasure when Cousin Joachim related his experiences, but when all eyes were turned toward the narrator, Otto fixed his suddenly upon Sophie, and found that she could moderate his attentions. Joachim addressed his discourse to all, but at the points of interest his glance rested alone on the pretty cousin! "She interests him!" said Otto to himself. "And Cousin Joachim?" Yes, he relates well; but had we only traveled we should not be inferior to him!"
Charles X. was a Jesuit! said Joachim; "he strove after an unrestrained despotism, and laid violent hands on the Charter. The expedition against Algiers was only a glittering fire-work arranged to flatter the national pride--all glitter and falseness! Like Peirronnet, through an embrace he would annihilate the Charter."
The conversation now turned from the Jesuits to the Charter and Polignac. The minute particulars, which only an eyewitness can relate, brought the struggle livingly before their eyes. They saw the last night, the extraordinary activity in the squares where the balls were showered, and in the streets where the barricades were erected. Overturned wagons and carts, barrels and stones, were heaped upon each other--even the hundred year-old trees of the Boulevards were cut down to form barricades: the struggle began, Frenchman fought against Frenchman--for liberty and country they sacrificed their life.
[Note:
"Ceux qui pieusement sont morts pour la patrie Ont droit qu'a leur cerceuil la foule vienne et prie: Entre le plus beaux noms, leur nom est le plus beau. Toute gloire, pres d'eux, passe et tombe ephemere Et, comme ferait une mere, La voix d'un peuple entier les berce en leur tombeau!
"--VICTOR HUGO.]
And he described the victory and Louis Philippe, whom he admired and loved.
That was a world event, said the man of business. "It electrified both king and people. They still feel the movement. Last year was an extraordinary year!"
For the Copenhageners also, said Otto, "there were three colors. These things occupied the multitude with equal interest: the July Revolution, the 'Letters of a Wandering Ghost,' and Kellermann's 'Berlin Wit.'"
Now you are bitter, Mr. Thostrup, said the lady of the house. "The really educated did not occupy themselves with these Berlin 'Eckensteher' which the multitude have rendered national!"
But they hit the right mark! said Otto; "they met with a reception from the citizens and people in office."
That I can easily believe, remarked Joachim; "that is like the people here!"
That is like the people abroad! said the hostess. "In Paris they pass over still more easily from a revolution, in which they themselves have taken part, to a review by Jules Janin, or to a new step of Taglioni's, and from that to 'une histoire scandaleuse!'"
No, my gracious lady, of the last no one takes any notice--it belongs to the order of the day!
That I can easily believe! said Miss Sophie.
The man of business now inquired after the Chamber. The cousin's answer was quite satisfactory. The lady of the house wished to hear of the flower-markets, and of the sweet little inclosed gardens in the Places. Sophie wished to hear of Victor Hugo. She received a description of him, of his abode in the Place Royale, and of the whole Europe litteraire beside. Cousin Joachim was extremely interesting.
Otto did not pay another visit for two days.
Where have you been for so long? asked Sophie, when he came again.
With my books! replied he: there lay a gloomy expression in his eyes.
O, you should have come half an hour earlier--our cousin was here! He was describing to me the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. O, quite excellently!
He is an interesting young man! said Otto.
The glorious garden! pursued Sophie, without remarking the emphasis with which Otto had replied. "Do you not remember, Mr. Thostrup, how Barthelemi has spoken of it?
'Ou tout homme, qui reve a son pays absent,
Retrouve ses parfums et son air caressant.'
In it there is a whole avenue with cages, in which are wild beasts,--lions and tigers! In small court-yards, elephants and buffaloes wander about at liberty! Giraffes nibble the branches of high trees! In the middle of the garden are the courts for bears, only there is a sort of well in which the bears walk about; it is surrounded by no palisades, and you stand upon the precipitous edge! There our cousin stood!"
But he did not precipitate himself down! said Otto, with indifference.
What is the matter? asked Sophie. "Are you in your elegiac mood? You look as I imagine Victor Hugo when he has not made up his mind about the management of his tragic catastrophe!"
That is my innate singularity! replied Otto. "I should have pleasure in springing down among the bears of which you relate!"
And in dying? asked Sophie. "No, you must live.
'C'est le bonheur de vivre
Qui fait la gloire de mourir.'"
You speak a deal of French to-day, said Otto, with a friendliness of manner intended to soften the bitterness of the tone. "Perhaps your conversation with the lieutenant was in that language?"
French interests me the most! replied she. "I will ask our cousin to speak it often with me. His accent is excellent, and he is himself a very interesting man!"
No doubt of it! answered Otto.
You will remain and dine with us? said the lady of the house, who now entered.
Otto did not feel well.
These are only whims, said Sophie.
The ladies made merry, and Otto remained. Cousin Joachim came and was interesting--very interesting, said all. He related of Paris, spoke also of Copenhagen, and drew comparisons. The quietness of home had made an especial impression on him.
People here, said he, "go about as if they bore some heavy grief, or some joy, which they might not express. If one goes into a coffee-house, it is just as if one entered a house of mourning. Each one seats himself, a newspaper in his hand, in a corner. That strikes one when one comes from Paris! One naturally has the thought,--Can these few degrees further north bring so much cold into the blood? There is the same quiet in our theatre. Now I love this active life. The only boldness the public permits itself is hissing a poor author; but a wretched singer, who has neither tone nor manner, a miserable actress, will be endured, nay, applauded by good friends--an act of compassion. She is so fearful! she is so good! In Paris people hiss. The decoration master, the manager, every one there receives his share of applause or blame. Even the directors are there hissed, if they manage badly."
You are preaching a complete revolution in our theatrical kingdom! said the lady of the house. "The Copenhageners cannot ever become Parisians, and neither should they."
The theatre is here, as well as there, the most powerful organ of the people's life. It has the greatest influence, and ours stands high, very high, when one reflects in what different directions it must extend its influence. Our only theatre must accommodate itself, and represent, at the same time, the Theatre Francais, the grand Opera, the Vaudeville, and Saint-Martin; it must comprehend all kinds of theatrical entertainments. The same actors who to-day appear in tragedy, must to-morrow show themselves in a comedy or vaudeville. We have actors who might compare themselves with the best in Paris--only _one_ is above all ours, but, also, above all whom I have seen in Europe, and this one is Mademoiselle Mars. You will, doubtless, consider the reason extraordinary which gives this one, in my opinion, the first place. This is her age, which she so completely compels you to forget. She is still pretty; round, without being called fat. It is not through rouge, false hair, or false teeth, that she procures herself youth; it lies in her soul, and from thence it flows into every limb--every motion becomes charming! She fills you with astonishment! her eyes are full of expression, and her voice is the most sonorous which I know! It is indeed music! How can one think of age when one is affected by an immortal soul? I rave about Leontine Fay, but the old Mars has my heart. There is also a third who stands high with the Parisians-- Jenny Vertpre, at the Gymnase Dramatique, but she would be soon eclipsed were the Parisians to see our Demoiselle Patges. She possesses talent which will shine in every scene. Vertpre has her loveliness, her whims, but not her Proteus-genius, her nobility. I saw Vertpre in 'La Reine de Seize Ans,'--a piece which we have not yet; but she was only a saucy soubrette in royal splendor--a Pernille of Holberg's, as represented by a Parisian. We have Madame Wexschall, and we have Frydendal! Were Denmark only a larger country, these names would sound throughout Europe!
He now described the decorations in the "Sylphide," in "Natalia," and in various other ballets, the whole splendor, the whole magnificence.
But our orchestra is excellent! said Miss Sophie.
It certainly contains several distinguished men, answered Joachim; "but must one speak of the whole? Yes, you know I am not musical, and cannot therefore express myself in an artistical manner about music, but certain it is that something lay in my ear, in my feeling, which, in Paris, whispered to me, 'That is excellent!' Here, on the contrary, it cries, 'With moderation! with moderation!' The voice is the first; she is the lady; the instruments, on the contrary, are the cavaliers who shall conduct the former before the public. Gently they should take her by the hand; she must stand quite foremost; but here the instruments thrust her aside, and it is to me as if each instrument would have the first place, and constantly shouted, 'Here am I! here am I!"
That sounds very well! said Sophie; "but one may not believe you! You have fallen in love with foreign countries, and, therefore, at home everything must be slighted."
By no means! The Danish ladies, for instance, appear the prettiest, the most modest whom I have known.
Appear? repeated Otto.
Joachim possesses eloquence, said the lady of the house.
That has developed itself abroad! answered he: "here at home there are only two ways in which it can publicly develop itself--in the pulpit, and at a meeting in the shooting-house. Yet it is true that now we are going to have a Diet and a more political life. I feel already, in anticipation, the effect; we shall only live for this life, the newspapers will become merely political, the poets sing politics the painters choose scenes from political life. 'C'est un Uebergang!' as Madame La Fleche says. Copenhagen is too small to be a great, and too great to be a small city. See, there lies the fault!"
Otto felt an irresistible desire to contradict him in most things which he said about home. But the cousin parried every bold blow with a joke.
Copenhagen must be the Paris of the North, said he, "and that it certainly would become in fifty, or twice that number of years. The situation was far more beautiful than that of the city of the Seine. The marble church must be elevated, and become a Pantheon, adorned with the works of Thorwaldsen and other artists; Christiansborg, a Louvre, whose gallery you visit; Oster Street and Pedermadsen's passage, arcades such as are in Paris, covered with glass roofs and flagged, shops on both sides, and in the evening, when thousands of gas-lamps burnt, here should be the promenade; the esplanades would be the Champs Elysees, with swings and slides, music, and mats de cocagne. On the Peblinger Lake, as on the Seine, there should be festive water excursions made. Voila!" exclaimed he, "that would be splendid!"
That might be divine! said Sophie.
Animation and thought lay in the cousin's countenance; his fine features became striking from their expression. Thus did his image stamp itself in Otto's soul, thus did it place itself beside Sophie's image as she stood there, with her large brown eyes, round which played thought and smiles, whilst they rested on the cousin. The beautifully formed white hand, with its taper fingers, played with the curls which fell over her cheeks. Otto would not think of it.
"And if I have wept alone, it is my own sorrow."--GOETHE
Latterly Otto had been but seldom at Mr. Berger's. He had no interest about the merchant's home. The family showed him every politeness and mark of confidence; but his visits became every week more rare. Business matters, however, led him one day there.
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 Frieschutz," 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 yon 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.
... "We live through others,
We think we are others; we seem
Others 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 soirees, 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 hotel: 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!"