Ганс Христиан Андерсен
O. T., A Danish Romance
CHAPTER XXXI
“The monastery is still called ‘Andersskov’ (the wood of Anders) in memory of its being the habitation of the pious Anders.
“The hill on which he awoke, comforted by sleep, is still called ‘Hvile höi’ (the hill of rest). A cross having a Latin inscription, half-effaced, marks the spot.”—J. L. HEIBERG.
It was spring, fresh, life-bearing spring! Only one day and one night, and the birds of passage were back again; the woods made themselves once more young with green, odorous leaves; the Sound had its swimming Venice of richly laden vessels; only one day and one night, and Sophie was removed from Otto—they were divided by the salt sea; but it was spring in his heart; from it flew his thoughts, like birds of passage, to the island of Funen, and there sang of summer. Hope gave him more “gold and green woods” than the ships bear through the Sound, more than Zealand’s bays can show. Sophie at parting pressed his hand. In her eyes lay what his heart might hope and dream.
He forgot that hope and dreams were the opposites of reality.
Cousin Joachim had gone to Stockholm, and would not return either in the spring or summer to Funen. On the contrary, Otto intended to spend a few weeks at the country-seat; not before August would he and Wilhelm travel. There would at least be one happy moment, and many perhaps almost as happy. In his room stood a rose-bush, the first buds formed themselves, and opened their red lips—as pure and tender as these leaves was Sophie’s cheek: he bent over the flower, smiled and read there sweet thoughts which were related to his love. A rose-bud is a sweet mystery.
“The myriad leaves enmaze
Small labyrinthine ways
Where spicy odor flows,
Thou lovelv bud o’ the rose!”
The day came on which Otto, after he had comfortably terminated his visits of leave-taking, at midday, in the company of three young students travelled away through Zealand. They had taken a carriage together as far as Slagelse, where, like Abraham’s and Lot’s shepherds, they should separate to the right and left. Otto remained alone, in order to travel post that night to Nyborg. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, Otto had no acquaintance here, therefore it was but to take a walk.
“There still exist remains of the old Antvorskov convent,22 do there not?” asked he.
“Yes, but very little!” answered the host. “The convent became a castle, the castle a private house, and now within the last few years, on account of the stones, it has been still more pulled down. You will find nothing old remaining, except here and there in the garden a piece of a red wall standing out. But the situation is beautiful! If you will only take the road toward the large village called Landsgrav, you are on the way to Korsöer, and close to the cross of the holy Anders. It is a right pleasant excursion!”
“Convent ruins and the holy cross!” said Otto; “that sounds quite romantic!” And he commenced his wanderings.
A few scholars from the Latin school, with their books held together by a strait, and then a square built lancer, who greeted in military style an elderly-young lady, who was seated behind a barricade of geraniums and wall flowers, were the only individuals he met with on his way. Yet Otto remarked that the windows were opened as he passed; people wanted to see who the stranger might be who was going up the street.
A long avenue led from the town to the castle. On either side the way lay detached houses, with little gardens. Otto soon reached the remains of old Antvorskov. The way was red from the stones which were flung about, and were now ground to dust. Huge pieces of wall, where the mortar and stone were united in one piece, lay almost concealed among the high nettles. Rather more distant stood a solitary house of two stories. It was narrow, and whitewashed. A thick pilaster, such as one sees in churches, supported the strong wall. This was half of the last wing of the castle,—a mingling of the ancient and incident, of ruin and dwelling-house.
Otto went into the garden, which was laid out upon the hill itself, and its terraces. Here were only young trees; but the walks were everywhere overgrown. The view stretched itself far over the plain, toward the Belt and Funen. He descended from the terrace down to the lowest wall. In this there yet remained a piece of an old tombstone, of the age of the convent, on which you perceived the trace of a female form; and near to this the figure of a skeleton, round which was twined a snake. Otto stood sunk in contemplation, when an old man, with two water-buckets suspended from a yoke on his shoulders, approached a near well.
The old man was very ready to commence a conversation. He told of excavations, and of an underground passage which had not been discovered, but which, according to his opinion, was certainly in existence. So far they had only found a few walled-round spaces, which had most probably been prisons. In one of these was an iron chain fastened into the wall. But with regard to the underground passage, they had only not yet discovered the right place, for it must exist. It led from here, deep under the lake and forest, toward Soröe. There were large iron gates below. At Christmas one could hear how they were swung to and fro. “Whoever should have that which is concealed there,” said the old man, “would be a made man, and need not neither slip nor slide.”
Otto looked at the solitary wing which rose up over the terrace. How splendid it had been here in former times!
Close to the large wood, several miles in extent, which stretches itself on the other side of Soröe, down to the shore of the King’s Brook, lay the rich convent where Hans Tausen spoke what the Spirit inspired him with. Times changed; the convent vanished;
“Halls of state
Tower upon that spot elate;
Where the narrow cell once stood;”23
where the monks sang psalms, knights and ladies danced to the sound of beating drums: but these tone’s ceased; the blooming cheeks became dust. It was again quiet. Many a pleasant time did Holberg ride over from Soröe, through the green wood, to visit the steward of Antvorskov. Otto recollected what one of his daughters, when an old woman, had related to a friend of his. She was a child, and lay in the cradle, when old Holberg came riding there, with a little wheaten loaf and a small pot of preserve in his pocket—his usual provision on such little excursions. The steward’s young wife sat at her spinning-wheel. Holberg paced up and down the room with the husband; they were discussing politics. This interested the wife, and she joined in the conversation. Holberg turned round to her,—“I fancy the distaff speaks!” said he. This the wife could never forget.24
Otto smiled at this recollection of the witty but ungallant poet, quitted the garden, and went through a winding hollow way, where the luxuriant briers hung in rich masses over the stone fence. Slagelse, with its high hills in the background, looked picturesque. He soon reached Landsgrav. The sun went down as he walked over the field where the wooden cross stands, with its figure of the Redeemer, in memory of the holy Anders. Near it he perceived a man, who appeared to kneel. One hand held fast by the cross; in the other was a sharp knife, with which he was probably cutting out his name. He did not observe Otto. Near the man lay a box covered with green oil-cloth; and in the grass lay a knapsack, a pair of boots, and a knotty stick. It must be a wandering journeyman, or else a pedlar.
Otto was about to return, when the stranger rose and perceived him. Otto stood as if nailed to the earth. It was the German Heinrich whom he saw before him.
“Is not that Mr. Thostrup?” said the man and that horrible grinning smile played around his mouth. “No, that I did not expect!”
“Does it go well with you, Heinrich?” asked Otto.
“There’s room for things to mend!” replied Heinrich “It goes better with you! Good Lord, that you should become such a grand gentleman! Who would have thought it, when you rode on my knee, and I pricked you in the arm? Things go on strangely in this world! Have you heard of your sister? She was not so much spoiled as you! But she was a beautiful child!”
“I have neither seen her nor my parents!” replied he, with a trembling which he strove to conquer. “Do you know where she is?”
“I am always travelling!” said Heinrich; “but thus much I know, that she is still in Funen. Yes, she must take one of us, an unpretending husband! You can choose a genteel young lady for yourself. That’s the way when people are lucky. You will become a landed proprietor. Old Heinrich will then no doubt obtain permission to exhibit his tricks on your estate? But none of its will speak of former times!—of the red house on the Odense water!” This last he whispered quite low. “I shall receive a few shillings from you?” he asked.
“You shall have more!” said Otto, and gave to him. “But I wish us to remain strangers to each other, as we are!”
“Yes, certainly, certainly!” said Heinrich, and nodded affirmatively with his head, whilst his eyes rested on the gift Otto had presented him with. “Then you are no longer angry with my joke in Jutland?” asked he with a simpering smile, and kissed Otto’s hand. “I should not have known you then. Had you not shown me your shoulder, on which I saw the letters O and T which I myself had etched, it would never have occurred to me that we knew each other! But a light suddenly flashed across me. I should have said Otto Thostrup; but I said ‘Odense Tugt-huus.’25 That was not handsome of me, seeing you are such a good gentleman!”
“Yes, now adieu!” said Otto, and extended to him unwillingly his hand.
“There, our Saviour looks down upon us!” said the German Heinrich, and fixed his eyes upon the figure on the cross. “As certainly as He lives may you rely upon the silence of my mouth. He is my Redeemer, who hangs there on the cross, just as he is etched upon my skin, and as he stands along the high-roads in my father-land. Here is the only place in the whole country where the sign of the cross stands under the free heaven; here I worship: for you must know, Mr. Thostrup, I am not of your faith, but of the faith of the Virgin Mary. Here I have cut into the wood the holy sign, such as is placed over every door in my father-land,—an I, an H, and this S. In this is contained my own name; for H stands for Heinrich; I, for I myself; and S means Sinner; that is, I, Heinrich, Sinner. Now I have completed my worship, and you have given me a handsome skilling, I shall now go to my bed at the public-house; and if the girl is pretty, and lets one flatter her, I am still young enough, and shall fancy that I am Mr. Thostrup, and have won that most glorious, elegant young lady! Hurrah! it is a player’s life which we lead!”
Otto left him, but heard how Heinrich sang:
“Tri, ri, ro,
The summer comes once mo!
To beer, boys! to beer
The winter lies in bands, O!
And he who won’t come here,
We’ll trounce him with our wands, O!
Yo, yo, yo,
The summer comes once mo!”
As, suddenly on a clear sunny day, a cloud can appear, extinguish the warm sunshine, conceal the green coast, and change everything into gray mist forms, so was it now with Otto, who had but just before felt himself so happy and full of youthful joy.
“You can sleep quietly!” said the host, when Otto returned to Slagelse; “you shall be wakened early enough to leave with the mail.”
But his rest was like a delirium.
The post-horn sounded in the empty street; they rolled away—it was at daybreak.
“Is that a gallows?” inquired one of the travellers, and pointed toward the hill, where at this distance the cross looked like a stake.
“That is the cross of the holy Anders!” replied Otto; and livingly stood before him the recollections of the evening before.
“Does that really exist?” said the stranger. “I have read of it in the ‘Letters of a Wandering Ghost.’”
This was a beautiful morning, the sun shone warmly, the sea was smooth as a mirror, and so much the faster did the steamboat glide away. The vessel with the mail, which had set sail two hours earlier, still lay not far from land. The sails hung down loosely; not a breeze stirred them.
The steamboat glided close past her; the passengers in the mail-vessel, the greater portion coachmen, travelling journeymen, and peasants, stood on the deck to see it. They waved greetings. One of the foremost leaned on his knotty stick, pulled off his hat, and shouted, “Good morning, my noble gentlefolk!” It was the German Heinrich; he then was going to Funen. Otto’s heart beat faster, he gazed down among the rushing waves which foamed round the paddle, where the sunbeams painted a glorious rainbow.
“That is lovely!” said one of the strangers, close to him.
“Very lovely!” returned Otto, and stilled the sigh which would burst forth from his breast.
Scarcely two hours were fled—the cables were flung upon the Nyborg bridge of boats, and the steamboat made fast to the island of Funen.
CHAPTER XXXII
“It is so sweet when friendly hands bid you a hearty welcome, so dear to behold well-known features, wherever you turn your eyes. Everything seems so home-like and quiet about you and in your own breast.” HENRIETTE HAUCK.
Otto immediately hired a carriage, and reached the hall just about dinner-time. In the interior court-yard stood two calashes and an Holstein carriage; two strange coachmen, with lace round their hats, stood in animated discourse when Otto drove in through the gate. The postilion blew his horn.
“Be quiet there!” cried Otto.
“There are strangers at the hall!” said the postilion; “I will only let them know that another is coming.”
Otto gazed at the garden, glanced up toward the windows, where mine of the ladies showed themselves only out of a side building a female head was stretched out, whose hair was put back underneath a cap. Otto recognized the grown-together eyebrows. “Is she the first person I am to see here?” sighed he; and the carriage rolled into the inner court. The dogs barked, the turkey-cocks gobbled, but not Wilhelm showed himself. The Kammerjunker came—the excellent neighbor! and immediately afterward Sophie; both exclaimed with smiles, “Welcome!”
“See, here we have our man!” said the Kammerjunker; “we can make use of him in the play!”
“It is glorious you are come!” cried Sophie. “We shall immediately put you under arrest.” She extended her hand to him—he pressed it to his lips. “We will have tableaux vivants this evening!” said she: “the pastor has never seen any. We have no service from Wilhelm; he is in Svendborg, and will not return for two days. You must be the officer; the Kammerjunker will represent the Somnambulist, who comes with her light through the window. Will you?”
“Everything you desire!” said Otto.
“Do not speak of it!” returned Sophie, and laid her finger on her lips. The mother descended the steps.
“Dear Thostrup!” said she, and pressed, with warm cordiality, both his hands. “I have really quite yearned after you. Now Wilhelm is away, you must for two whole days put up with us alone.”
Otto went through the long passage where hung the old portraits; it was as if these also wished welcome. It only seemed a night full of many dreams which had passed since he was here; a year in the lapse of time is also not so long as a winter’s night in the life of man.
Here it was so agreeable, so home-like; no one could have seen by the trees that since then they had stood stripped of leaves and covered with snow; luxuriantly green they waved themselves in the sun’s warmth, just as when Otto last gazed out of this window.
He had the red room as before. The dinner-bell rang.
Louise met him in the passage.
“Thostrup!” exclaimed she, with delight, and seized his hand. “Now, it is almost a year and a day since I saw you!”
“Yes much has happened in this year!” said the Kammerjunker. “Come soon to me, and you shall see what I have had made for pastime—a bowling-green! Miss Sophie has tried her skill upon it.”
The Kammerjunker took the mother to dinner. Otto approached Sophie.
“Will you not take the Kammerjunker’s sister?” whispered she.
Mechanically, Otto made his bow before Miss Jakoba.
“Take one of the young ladies!” said she; “you would rather do that?”
Otto bowed, cast a glance toward Sophie; she had the old pastor. Otto smiled, and conducted Jakoba to table.
The Mamsell, renowned through her work-box, sat on his left hand. He observed the company who, beside those we have already mentioned, consisted of several ladies and gentlemen whom he did not know. One chair was empty, but it was soon occupied; a young girl, quiet in her attire, and dressed like Louise, entered.
“Why do you come so late?” asked Sophie, smiling.
“That is only known to Eva and me!” said Louise, and smiled at the young girl.
Eva seated herself. It was, perhaps, the complete resemblance of their dress which induced Otto to observe both her and Louise so closely, and even against his own will to draw comparisons. Both wore a simple dark brown dress, a small sea-green handkerchief round the neck. Louise seemed to him enchanting—pretty one could not call her: Eva, on the contrary, was ideal; there lay something in her appearance which made him think of the pale pink hyacinth. Every human being has his invisible angel, says the mythos; both are different and yet resemble each other. Eva was the angel; Louise, on the contrary, the human being in all its purity. Otto’s eyes encountered those of Sophie—they were both directed to the same point. “What power! what beauty!” thought he. Her mind is far above that of Louise, and in beauty she is a gorgeous flower, and not, like Eva, a fine, delicate hyacinth. He drew eloquence from these eyes, and became interesting like the cousin, although he had not been in Paris.
The Kammerjunker spoke of sucking-pigs, but that also was interesting; perhaps be drew his inspiration out of the same source as Otto. He spoke of the power of green buckwheat, and how the swine which eat it become mad. From this doubtless originated the legend of the devil entering into the swine. It is only coal-black pigs which can digest green buckwheat; if they have a single white speck upon them, they become ill at eating. “This is extraordinary,” exclaimed he.
In his enthusiasm his discourse became almost a cry, which caused Miss Jakoba to say that one might almost think that he himself had eaten green buckwheat.
Otto meantime cut out of the green melon-peel a man, and made him ride on the edge of his glass; that withdrew Sophie’s attention from the Kammerjunker. The whole company found that this little cut-out figure was very pretty; and the Mamsell begged that she might have it—it should lie in her work-box.
Toward evening all were in preparation for the approaching tableaux.
Eva must represent Hero. With a torch in her hand she must kneel on a table, which was to be draped so as to represent a balcony. The poor girl felt quite unhappy at having to appear in this manner. Sophie laughed at her fear, and assured her that she would be admired, and that therefore she must and should.
“Give way to my sister,” said Louise, in a beseeching voice; and Eva was ready, let down her long brown hair, and allowed Sophie to arrange the drapery.
Otto must put on an officer’s uniform. He presented himself to the sisters.
“That gold is not sewn fast on the collar,” said Sophie, and undertook to rectify it. He could easily keep the uniform on whilst she did this, said she. Her soft hand touched Otto’s cheek, it was like an electric shock to him; his blood burned; how much he longed to press the hand to his lips!
They all burst out laughing when the Kammerjunker appeared in a white petticoat which only reached a little below the knee, and in a large white lady’s dressing-jacket. Miss Sophie must arrange his hair. She did it charmingly; her hand stroked the hair away from his brow, and glided over his cheeks: he kissed it; she struck him in the face, and begged him not to forget himself! “We are ladies,” said he, and rose in his full splendor. They all laughed except Otto; he could not—he felt a desire to beat him. The spectators arranged themselves in a dark room, the folding doors were opened.
Eva as Hero, in a white linen robe, her hair hanging down on her shoulders, and a torch in her hand, gazed out over the sea. No painter could have imagined anything more beautiful; the large dark-blue eyes expressed tenderness and melancholy; it was Eva’s natural glance, but here you saw her quiet. The fine black eyebrows increased the expression, the whole figure was as if breathed into the picture.
Now followed a new picture—Faust and Margaret in the arbor; behind stood Mephistophiles, with his devilish smile. The Kammerjunker’s Mamsell was Margaret. When the doors were opened she sent forth aloud cry, and ran away; she would not stay, she was so afraid. The group was disarranged, people laughed and found it amusing, but the Kammerjunker scolded aloud, and swore that she should come in again; at that the laughter of the spectators increased, and was not lessened when the Kammerjunker, forgetting his costume as the Somnambule, half stepped into the frame in which the pictures were represented, and seated the Mamsell on the bench. This group was only seen for one moment: the dorors were again closed; the spectators applauded, but a whistle was heard. Laughter, and the hum of conversation, resounded through the room; and it was impossible to obtain perfect quiet, although a new picture already shone in the frame. It was Sophie as Correggio’s “Magdalene”: her rich hair fell in waves over her shoulders and round arms; before her lay the skull and the holy book.
Otto’s blood flowed faster; never had he seen Sophie more beautiful. The audience, however, could not entirely forget the comic scene which they had just witnessed; there was heard a faint suppressed laughter.
This at length was able to take its free course when the following picture presented itself, where the Kammerjunker, as the Somnambule, his hand half-concealing the extinguished light, showed himself at the open window.
A most stormy burst of applause was awarded to the actors.
“Miss Sophie has arranged the whole!” cried the Kammerjunker, and now her name sounded from the lips of all the audience.
Not before two days did Wilhelm return. He and Otto slept in the same apartment. Otto told of the tableaux, and said how lovely Eva had been as Hero.
“That I can well believe,” replied Wilhelm, but did not enter further into the subject; he laughed about the Kammerjunker and the disarranged group.
Otto again named Eva, but Wilhelm lightly passed over this subject in his replies. Otto could not fathom their connection.
“Shall we not go to sleep?” said Wilhelm; they wished each other good-night, and it was quiet.
The old man Sleep, as Tieck has described him, with the box out of which he brings his dream-puppets, now commenced his nightly dramatic adventures, which lasted until the sun shone in through the window.
