“Christmas-tide,
When in the wood the snow shines bright.”
OEHLENSCHLÄGER’S Helge
We again let several weeks pass by; it was Christmas Eve, which brings
us the beautiful Christmas festival. We find the two friends taking a
walk.
Describe to an inhabitant of the south a country where the earth appears
covered with the purest Carrara marble, where the tree twigs resemble
white branches of coral sprinkled with diamonds, and above a sky as blue
as that belonging to the south, and he will say that is a fairy land.
Couldst thou suddenly remove him from his dark cypresses and olive-trees
to the north, where the fresh snow lies upon the earth, where the white
hoar-frost has powdered the trees over, and the sun shines down from the
blue heaven, then would he recognize the description and call the north
a fairy land.
This was the splendor which the friends admired. The large trees upon
the fortification-walls appeared crystallized when seen against the blue
sky. The Sound was not yet frozen over; vessels, illuminated by the red
evening sun, glided past with spread sails. The Swedish coast seemed to
have approached nearer; one might see individual houses in Landskrona.
It was lovely, and on this account there were many promenaders upon the
walls and the Langelinie.
“Sweden seems so near that one might swim over to it!” said Wilhelm.
“The distance would be too far,” answered Otto; “but I should love to
plunge among the deep blue waters yonder.”
“How refreshing it is,” said Wilhelm, “when the water plays about one’s
cheeks! Whilst I was at home, I always swam in the Great Belt. Yes, you
are certainly half a fish when you come into the water.”
“I!” repeated Otto, and was silent; but immediately added, with a kind
of embarrassment which was at other times quite foreign to him, and from
which one might infer how unpleasant confessing any imperfection was to
him, “I do not swim.”
“That must be learned in summer!” said Wilhelm.
“There is so much to learn,” answered Otto; “swimming will certainly be
the last thing.” He now suddenly turned toward the fortress, and
stood still. “Only see how melancholy and quiet!” said he, and led the
conversation again to the surrounding scenery. “The sentinel before the
prison paces so quietly up and down, the sun shines upon his bayonet!
How this reminds me of a sweet little poem of Heine’s; it is just as
though he described this fortress and this soldier, but in the warmth
of summer: one sees the picture livingly before one, as here; the weapon
glances in the sun, and the part ends so touchingly,--‘Ich wollt’, er
schösse mich todt!’ It is here so romantically beautiful! on the right
the animated promenade, and the view over the Sund; on the left, the
desolate square, where the military criminals are shot, and close upon
it the prison with its beam-fence. The sun scarcely shines through those
windows. Yet, without doubt, the prisoner can see us walking here upon
the wall.”
“And envy our golden freedom!” said Wilhelm.
“Perhaps he derides it,” answered Otto. “He is confined to his chamber
and the small courts behind the beam-lattice; we are confined to the
coast; we cannot fly forth with the ships into the mighty, glorious
world. We are also fastened with a chain, only ours is somewhat longer
than that of the prisoner. But we will not think of this; let us go down
to where the beautiful ladies are walking.”
“To see and to be seen,” cried Wilhelm. “‘Spectatum veniunt; veniunt
spectentur ut ipsae,’ as Ovid says.”
The friends quitted the wall.
“There comes my scholar, little Jonas!” cried Wilhelm. “The boy was
better dressed than at his last appearance; quickly he pulled his little
cap off and stood still: a young girl in a wretched garb held him by the
hand.
“Good day, my clever lad!” said Wilhelm, and his glance rested on the
girl: she was of a singularly elegant form; had she only carried herself
better she would have been a perfect beauty. It was Psyche herself who
stood beside Cupid. She smiled in a friendly manner; the little lad had
certainly told her who the gentlemen were; but she became crimson, and
cast down her eyes when Wilhelm looked back after her: he beckoned to
Jonas, who immediately came to him. The girl was his sister, he said,
and was called Eva. Wilhelm nodded to her, and the friends went on.
“That was a beautiful girl!” said Wilhelm, and looked back once more. “A
rosebud that one could kiss until it became a full blown rose!”
“During the experiment the rosebud might easily be broken!” answered
Otto; “at least such is the case with the real flower. But do not look
back again, that is a sin!”
“Sin?” repeated Wilhelm; “no, then it is a very innocent sin! Believe
me, it flatters the little creature that we should admire her beauty.
I can well imagine how enchanting a loving look from a rich young
gentleman may be for a weak, feminine mind. The sweet words which one
can say are as poison which enters the blood. I have still a clear
conscience. Not ONE innocent soul have I poisoned!”
“And yet you are rich and young enough to do so,” returned Otto, not
without bitterness. “Our friends precede us with a good example: here
come some of our own age; they are acquainted with the roses!”
“Good evening, thou good fellow!” was the greeting Wilhelm received from
three or four of the young men.
“Are you on Thou-terms with all these?” inquired Otto.
“Yes,” answered Wilhelm; “we became so at a carouse. There all drank the
Thou-brotherhood. I could not draw myself back. At other times I do
not willingly give my ‘thou’ to any but my nearest friends. _Thou_ has
something to my mind affectionate and holy. Many people fling it to the
first person with whom they drink a glass. At the carouse I could not
say no.”
“And wherefore not?” returned Otto; “that would never have troubled me.”
The friends now wandered on, arm-in-arm. Later in the evening we again
meet with them together, and that at the house of a noble family, whose
name and rank are to be found in the “Danish Court Calendar;” on which
account it would be wanting in delicacy to mention the same, even in a
story the events of which lie so near our hearts.
Large companies are most wearisome. In these there are two kinds of
rank. Either you are riveted to a card-table, or placed against the
wall where you must stand with your hat in your hand, or, later in the
evening, with it at your feet, nay, even must stand during supper. But
this house was one of the most intellectual. Thou who dost recognize the
house wilt also recognize that it is not to be reckoned with those,--
“Where each day’s gossiping stale fish
Is served up daily for thy dish.”
This evening we do not become acquainted with the family, but only with
their beautiful Christmas festival.
The company was assembled in a large apartment; the shaded lamp burned
dimly, but this was with the intention of increasing the effect when
the drawing-room doors should open and the children joyfully press in
together.
Wilhelm now stepped to the piano-forte; a few chords produced stillness
and attention. To the sounds of low music there stepped forth from
the side-doors three maidens arrayed in white; each wore a long veil
depending from the back of her head,--one blue, the other red, and the
third white. Each carried in her arms an urn, and thus they represented
fortune-tellers from the East. They brought good or ill luck, which each
related in a little verse. People were to draw a number, and according
to this would he receive his gift from the Christmas-tree. One of the
maidens brought blanks--but which of them? now it was proved whether you
were a child of fortune. All, even the children, drew their uncertain
numbers: exception was only made with the family physician and a few
elderly ladies of the family; these had a particular number stuck into
their hands--their presents had been settled beforehand.
“Who brings me good luck?” inquired Otto, as the three pretty young
girls approached him. The one with a white veil was Wilhelm’s eldest
sister, Miss Sophie, who was this winter paying a visit to the family.
She resembled her brother. The white drapery about her head increased
the expression of her countenance. She rested her gaze firmly upon Otto,
and, perhaps, because he was the friend of her brother, she raised her
finger. Did she wish to warn or to challenge him? Otto regarded it as
a challenge, thrust his hand into the urn, and drew out number 33. All
were now provided. The girls disappeared, and the folding-doors of the
drawing-room were opened.
A dazzling light streamed toward the guests. A splendid fir-tree,
covered with burning tapers, and hung over with tinsel-gold, gilt eggs
and apples, almonds and grapes, dazzled the eye. On either side of the
tree were grottoes of fir-trees and moss, hung with red and blue paper
lamps. In each grotto was an altar; upon one stood John of Bologna’s
floating Mercury; upon the other, a reduced cast in plaster of
Thorwaldsen’s Shepherd-boy. The steps were covered with presents, to
which were attached the different numbers.
“Superbe! lovely!” resounded from all sides; and the happy children
shouted for joy. People arranged themselves in a half-circle, one row
behind the other. One of the cousins of the family now stepped forth,
a young poet, who, if we mistake not, has since then appeared among the
Anonymouses in “The New Year’s Gift of Danish Poets.” He was appareled
this evening as one of the Magi, and recited a little poem which
declared that, as each one had himself drawn out of the urn of Fate,
no one could be angry, let him have procured for himself honor or
derision--Fate, and not Merit, being here the ruler. Two little boys,
with huge butterfly wings and in flowing garments, bore the presents to
the guests. A number, which had been purposely given to one of the elder
ladies, was now called out, and the boys brought forward a large, heavy,
brown earthen jug. To the same hung a direction the length of two sheets
of paper, upon which was written, “A remedy against frost.” The jug was
opened, and a very nice boa taken out and presented to the lady.
“What number have you?” inquired Otto of Wilhelm’s sister, who, freed
from her long veil, now entered the room and took her place near him.
“Number 34,” she answered. “I was to keep the number which remained over
when the others had drawn.”
“We are, then, neighbors in the chain of Fate,” returned Otto; “I have
number 33.”
“Then one of us will receive something very bad!” said Sophie. “For, as
much as I know, only every other number is good.” At this moment their
numbers were called out. The accompanying poem declared that only a
poetical, noble mind deserved this gift. It consisted of an illuminated
French print, the subject a simple but touching idea. You saw a frozen
lake, nothing but one expanse of ice as far as the horizon. The ice was
broken, and near to the opening lay a hat with a red lining, and beside
it sat a dog with grave eyes, still and expectant. Around the broken
opening in the ice were seen traces of the dog having scratched into the
hard crust of ice. “Il attend toujours” was the simple motto.
“That is glorious!” exclaimed Otto. “An affecting thought! His master
has sunk in the depth, and the faithful log yet awaits him. Had that
picture only fallen to my lot!”
“It is lovely!” said Sophie, and a melancholy glance made the young girl
still more beautiful.
Soon after Wilhelm’s turn came.
“Open the packet, thou shalt see
The very fairest gaze on thee!”
ran the verse. He opened the packet, and found within a small mirror.
“Yes, that was intended for a lady,” said he; “in that case it would
have spoken the truth! in my hands it makes a fool of me.
“For me nothing certainly remains but my number!” said Otto to his
neighbor, as all the gifts appeared to be distributed.
“The last is number 33,” said the cousin, and drew forth a roll of
paper, which had been hidden among the moss. It was unrolled. It was an
old pedigree of an extinct race. Quite at the bottom lay the knight with
shield and armor, and out of his breast grew the many-branched tree with
its shields and names. Probably it had been bought, with other rubbish,
at some auction, and now at Christmas, when every hole and corner was
rummaged for whatever could be converted into fun or earnest, it had
been brought out for the Christmas tree. The cousin read the following
verse:--
“Art thou not noble?--then it in far better;
This tree unto thy father is not debtor;
Thyself alone is thy ancestral crown.
From thee shall spring forth branches of renown,
And if thou come where blood gives honor’s place,
This tree shall prove thee first of all thy race!
From this hour forth thy soul high rank hath won her,
Not will forget thy knighthood and thy honor.”
“I congratulate you,” said Wilhelm, laughing. “Now you will have to pay
the nobility-tax!”
Several of the ladies who stood near him, smiling, also offered a
kind of congratulation. Sophie alone remained silent, and examined
the present of another lady--a pretty pincushion in the form of a gay
butterfly.
The first row now rose to examine more nearly how beautifully the
Christmas tree was adorned. Sophie drew one of the ladies away with her.
“Let us look at the beautiful statues,” said she; “the Shepherd-boy and
the Mercury.”
“That is not proper,” whispered the lady; “but look there at the
splendid large raisins on the tree!”
Sophie stepped before Thorwaldsen’s Shepherd-boy. The lady whispered to
a friend, “It looks so odd that she should examine the figures!”
“Ah!” replied the other, “she is a lover of the fine arts, as you well
know. Only think! at the last exhibition she went with her brother
into the great hall where all the plaster-casts stand, and looked at
them!--the Hercules, as well as the other indecent figures! they were
excellent, she said. That is being so natural; otherwise she is a nice
girl.”
“It is a pity she is a little awry.”
Sophie approached them; both ladies made room for her, and invited
her most lovingly to sit clown beside them. “Thou sweet girl!” they
flatteringly exclaimed.