“The towers pass by, even before we perceive them.”
OEHLENSCHLÄER’S Journey to Fünen.
Early the following morning, whilst Wilhelm still slept and dreamed of
his beloved sisters, well-known footsteps sounded on the stairs, the
door opened, and Otto stepped into the sleeping-room. Wilhelm opened his
eyes. Otto was pale; a sleepless night and sorrow of heart had breathed
upon his brow and eyes.
“Thostrup!” cried Wilhelm, with joyous surprise, and stretched forth
his hand toward him, but it again sank; Otto seized it, and pressed it
firmly in his own, adding at the same time, with gravity,--“You have
humbled me! Is that sufficient satisfaction for you?”
“We are then friends!” said Wilhelm. “Friends must be very indulgent
toward each other. Yesterday you were a little strange, to-morrow I may
be so; that is the way in which one retaliates.”
Otto pressed his hand. “We will never speak again of the occurrence of
yesterday!”
“Never!” repeated Wilhelm, affected by the strange gravity of his
friend.
“You are a noble, a good creature!” said Otto, and bent over him; his
lips touched Wilhelm’s forehead.
Wilhelm seized his hand, and gazed frankly into his eye. “You are not
happy!” exclaimed he. “If I cannot assist you, I can, at least, dear
Otto, honestly share the grief of a friend!”
“Even on that very point we may never speak!” replied Otto. “Farewell!
I have determined on travelling home; we have only vacation for a few
weeks, and I have not been in Jutland since I became a student. Even a
month’s sojourn there cannot throw me back; I am well prepared for the
philosophicum.”
“And when will you set out?” asked Wilhelm.
“To-morrow, with the steamboat. It is hot and sultry here in the city:
my blood becomes heated: it will, also, soon be a year since I saw my
family.”
“Thostrup!” exclaimed Wilhelm, through whom a thought suddenly flashed,
“I should also like to see my family; they have written to me to come.
Listen: make your journey through Funen, and only remain three or four
days with us. My mother’s carriage shall convey you then to Middelfart.
Say ‘Yes,’ and we will set out this evening.”
“That cannot be done!” replied Otto; but half an hour later, as both
sat together over the tea-table, and Wilhelm repeated his wish, Otto
consented, but certainly more through a feeling of obligation than
through any pleasure of his own. Toward evening, therefore, they set out
in the beautiful summer night to travel through Zealand.
Smartly dressed families wandered pleasantly through the city gate
toward the summer theatre and Fredericksberg. The evening sun shone
upon the column of Liberty; the beautiful obelisk, around which stand
Wiedewelt’s statues, one of which still weeps,
“In white marble clothing,
Hand upon the breast,
Ever grief-oppressed,
Looking down upon the gloomy sea,”
where were closed the eyes of the artist. Was it the remembrance which
here clouded Otto’s glance, as his eye rested upon the statues as they
drove past, or did his own soul, perhaps, mirror itself in his eyes?
“Here it is gay and animated!” said Wilhelm, wishing to commence a
conversation. “Vesterbro is certainly your most brilliant suburb. It
forms a city by itself,--a little state! There upon the hill lies the
King’s Castle, and there on the left, between the willows, the poet’s
dwelling, where old Rahbek lived with his Kamma!”
“Castle and poet’s dwelling!” repeated Otto; “the time will be when they
will inspire equal interest!”
“That old place will soon be pulled down!” said Wilhelm; “in such a
beautiful situation, so near the city, a splendid villa will be raised,
and nothing more remind one of Philemon and Baucis!”
“The old trees in the park will be spared!” said Otto; “in the garden
the flowers will scent the air, and remind one of Kamma’s flowers.
Rahbek was no great poet, but he possessed a true poet’s soul, labored
faithfully in the great vineyard, and loved flowers as Kamma loved
them.”
The friends hail left Fredericksberg behind them. The white walls of the
castle glanced through the green boughs; behind Söndermark, the large,
wealthy village stretched itself out. The sun had set before they
reached the Dam-house, where the wild swans, coming from the ocean,
build in the fresh water fake. This is the last point of beauty; nothing
but lonely fields, with here and there a cairn, extend to the horizon.
The clear summer’s night attracted their gaze upward; the postilion blew
his horn, and the carriage rolled toward the town of Roeskilde, the St.
Denis of Denmark, where kings turn to dust; where Hroar’s spring still
flows, and its waters mingle with those of Issefjords.
They drove to a public-house to change horses. A young girl conducted
the friends into the public room; she lighted the way for them. Her
slender figure and her floating gait drew Wilhelm’s attention toward
her; his hand touched her shoulder, she sprang aside and fixed her
beautiful grave eyes upon him; but their expression became milder, she
smiled and colored at the same time.
“You are the sister of little Jonas!” cried Wilhelm, recognizing the
young girl he had seen with him at Christmas.
“I must also thank you,” said she, “for your kindness toward the poor
boy!” She quickly placed the lights on the table, and left the room with
a gentle glance.
“She is beautiful, very beautiful!” exclaimed Wilhelm. “That was really
quite a pleasant meeting.”
“Is it then you, Herr Baron, who honor me thus?” cried the host,
stepping in--an elderly man with a jovial countenance. “Yes, the Baron
will doubtless visit his dear relations in hunch? It is now some little
time since you were there.”
“This is our host!” said Wilhelm to Otto. “He and his wife were born
upon my parent’s estate.”
“Yes,” said the host, “in my youth I have shot many a snipe and wild
duck with the Herr Baron’s father. But Eva should spread the table; the
gentlemen will certainly take supper, and a glass of good punch the Herr
Baron will certainly not despise, if he is like his blessed father.”
The young girl spread the cloth in an adjoining room.
“She is pretty!” Wilhelm whispered to the old man.
“And just as pious and innocent as she is pretty!” returned he; “and
that is saying much, as she is a poor girl, and from Copenhagen. She is
of good service to us, and my wife says Eva shall not leave us until she
is well married.”
Wilhelm invited the host to join them at a glass. The old man became
more animated, and now confided to him, half mysteriously, what made Eva
so honorable in the eyes of his wife, and what was, indeed, really very
nice of her. “My old woman,” said he, “was in Copenhagen, in search of a
waiting-girl. Yes, there are enough to be had, and they are fine girls;
but mother has her own thoughts and opinions: she has good eyes--that
she has! Now, there came many, and among others Eva; but, good Lord! she
was very poorly clad, and she looked feeble and weak, and what service
could one get out of her! But she had a good countenance, and the poor
girl wept and besought mother to take her, for she was not comfortable
at home, and would not remain at Copenhagen. Now, mother knows how
to make use of her words: it is unfortunate that she is not at home
to-night; how pleased she would have been to see the Herr Baron! Yes,
what I would say is, she so twisted her words about, that Eva confessed
to her why she wished to leave home. You see the girl is petty; and the
young gallant gentlemen of Copenhagen had remarked her smooth face,--and
not alone the young, but the old ones also! So an old gentleman--I could
easily name him, but that has nothing to do with the affair--a very
distinguished man in the city, who has, besides, a wife and children,
had said all sorts of things to her parents; and, as eight hundred
dollars is a deal of money to poor people, one can excuse them: but
Eva wept, and said she would rather spring into the castle-ditch. They
represented all sorts of things to the poor girl; she heard of the
service out here with us. She wept, kissed my old woman’s hand, and thus
came to us; and since then we have had a deal of service from Eva, and
joy also!”
Some minutes after Eva stepped in, Otto’s eye rested with a melancholy
expression upon the beautiful form: never had he before so gazed upon a
woman. Her countenance was extraordinarily fine, her nose and forehead
nobly formed, the eyebrows dark, and in the dark-blue eyes lay something
pensive, yet happy: one might employ the Homeric expression, “smiling
through tears,” to describe this look. She announced that the carriage
was ready.
A keen observer would soon have remarked what a change the host’s
relation had worked in the two friends. Wilhelm was no longer so free
toward poor Eva. Otto, on the contrary, approached her more,--and at
their leave-taking they offered her a greater present than they would
otherwise have given.
She stood with Otto at the door, and assisted him on with his travelling
cloak.
“Preserve your heart pure!” said he, gravely; “that is more than
beauty!”
The young girl blushed, and gazed at him with astonishment; in such a
manner had no one of his age ever before spoken to her.
“The poor girl!” said Otto; “but I think she is come to good people.”
“She has a strange glance!” said Wilhelm. “Do you know that there
is really a certain affinity between you and her? It was to me quite
striking.”
“That is a compliment which I cannot accept,” returned Otto, smiling.
“Yet, perhaps, I might resemble her.”
It was not yet three o’clock when the friends reached Ringsted.
“I have never before been so far in Zealand,” said Otto.
“Shall I be your guide?” returned Wilhelm. “Ringsted has a street and an
inn, and one is very badly served there, as you will soon both see and
experience yourself. Meanwhile, one can think of Hagbarth and Signe;
not far from here, at Sigersted, he hung his mantle on the oak, and
Signelil’s abode stood in flames. Now only remain fields and meadows, a
cairn, and the old popular song. Then we rush past the friendly Soroe,
that mirrors itself with the wood in the lake, which forms itself
into so many bays; but we do not see much of it. We have here another
romantic spot, an old castle converted into a church, high up on the
hill near the lake, and close to it the dismal place of execution.
We then reach Slagelse, an animated little town; with the Antvorskov
convent, the poet Frankenau’s grave, and a Latin school, celebrated on
account of its poets. It was there Baggesen and Ingemann learned their
Latin. When I once questioned the hostess regarding the lions of the
town, she would only acknowledge two,--Bastholm’s library, and the
English fire-engine. The curtain in the theatre represents an alley
with a fountain, the jets of which are painted as if spouting out of
the prompter’s box; or is this, perhaps, the English fire-engine? I
know not. The scene-decoration for towns represents the market-place of
Slagelse itself, so that the pieces thus acquire a home-feeling. This is
the modern history of the little town; and, with regard to its older
and romantic history, learn that the holy Anders was preacher here! Yes,
indeed, that was a man! He has been also sung of by our first poets. We
end with Korsöer, where Baggesen was born and Birckner lies buried. In
the more modern history of this town, King Solomon and Jörgen the hatter
play a considerable rôle. Besides this, I know that the town is said
once to have possessed a private theatre; but this soon was done for,
and the decorations were sold; a miller bought them, and patched his
windmill sails with them. Upon one sail was a piece of a wood, upon
another a shred of a room, or a street; and so they rushed round one
after the other. Perhaps this is mere slander, for I have my information
from Slagelse; and neighboring towns never speak well of each other.”
In this manner Wilhelm gossiped on, and the friends travelled over the
way he had described. Slagelse, and the peasant village of Landsgrav,
they had already behind them, when Wilhelm ordered the coachman to
diverge from the high-road toward the right.
“Where will you take us to?” asked Otto.
“I will give you a pleasure!” returned Wilhelm. “We shall reach the
weariful Korsöer early enough: the steamboat leaves at ten, and it is
not yet seven. You shall be surprised--I know well that you are half a
Catholic; I will conduct you where you may believe yourself carried back
several centuries, and may imagine yourself in a Catholic country. That
is right pleasant, is it not?”
Otto smiled. The friends alighted from the coach and walked over a
corn-field. They found themselves upon a hill, the whole landscape
spread itself out before them--they saw the Belt, with Sprogöe and
Funen. The surrounding country was certainly flat, but the variety of
greens, the near meadow, the dark stretch of wood in the neighborhood
of Korsöer, the bay itself, and all this seen in a warm morning light,
produced effect. The friends diverged to the right; and before them,
upon a hill, stood a large wooden cross, with the figure of the
Crucified One. Above the cross was built a small roof to carry off the
rain,--such as one may yet find in Bavaria. The figure of the Redeemer
was of wood, painted with strong, tawdry colors; a withered garland of
corn-flowers still hung around his bowed head.
“It is extraordinary,” said Otto, “to find in our time, in the year
1830, such a Catholic symbol in Lutheran Denmark! And yet--yes, you will
laugh at me, but I find it lovely: it affects me, moves me to worship.”
“That tawdry, tasteless figure!” cried Wilhelm. “Only see how coarse!
the hair is covered with tar to keep off the rain! The peasants here
have their peculiar superstition. If they allow the cross to fall they
have no luck with their lands. It was upon this hill that the holy
Anders, the celebrated preacher of Slagelse, awoke. He visited the
sepulchre of Christ, but through praying there too long the ship sailed
without him, and he was forced to stay behind. Then came a man and took
him upon his horse, and they would ride to Joppa: the holy Anders fell
asleep; but when he awoke he lay here, and heard the bells ringing in
Slagelse. Upon a foal, only one night old, he rode round the extensive
city lands, whilst King Waldemar lay in his bath. He could hang his
glove upon the beams of the sun. This hill, where he awoke, was called
Rest-hill; and the cross, with the figure of the Redeemer erected
upon it, which still stands here, reminds us of the legend of the holy
Anders.”
A little peasant girl at this moment mounted the hill, but paused when
she perceived the strangers.
“Don’t be afraid, my child!” said Wilhelm. “What hast thou there? a
garland! shall it hang here upon the cross? Only come, we will help
thee.”
“It should hang over our Lord,” said the little one, holding, in an
embarrassed manner, the garland of pretty blue cornflowers in her hand.
Otto took the garland, and hung it up in place of the faded one.
“That was our morning adventure!” said Wilhelm, and soon they were
rolling in the deep sand toward Korsöer, toward the hill where the poet
watched the sun and moon sink into the sea, and wished that he had wings
that he might catch them.
Melancholy and silent lies the town on the flat coast, the old castle
turned into a farm-house--high grass grows upon the walls. In a storm,
when the wind blows against the city, the surf beats against the
outermost houses. High upon the church stands a telegraph; the black
wooden plates resemble mourning-flags hung above the sinking town. Here
is nothing for the stranger to see, nothing except a grave--that of the
thinker Birckner. The friends drove to the public-house on the
strand. No human being met them in the street except a boy, who rung a
hand-bell.
“That calls to church,” said Wilhelm. “Because there are no bells in the
tower, they have here such a wandering bell-ringer as this. Holla! there
lies the inn!”
“Baron Wilhelm!” cried a strong voice, and a man in a green jacket with
pockets in the breast, the mighty riding-boots splashed above the tops,
and with whip in hand, approached them, pulled his horse-hair cap, and
extended his hand to Wilhelm.
“The Kammerjunker from Funen!” said Wilhelm; “my mother’s neighbor, one
of the most industrious and rich noblemen in all Funen.”
“You will come one of the first days to me!” said the Kammerjunker; “you
shall try my Russian steam-bath: I have erected one upon my estate. All
who visit me, ladies and gentlemen without any exception, must try it!”
“And do the cherry-trees bear well this year?” asked Wilhelm.
“No, no,” answered the Kammerjunker, “they are good for nothing; but
the apples are good! All the old trees in the hill-garden stand in full
splendor: I’ve brought them into condition! Two years ago there was not,
on all the trees together, a bushel of fruit. But I had all the horses
which had to be bled led under the trees, and had the warm blood
sprinkled upon the roots; this happened several times, and it has been a
real inoculation for life.”
“The wind is certainly favorable,” said Otto, whom this conversation
began to weary.
“No, just the contrary!” said the Kammerjunker. “The vane upon the
little house yonder lies; it points always to Nyborg, always shows a
good wind for us when we want to leave. In Nyborg is also a vane, which
stands even as firmly as this, and prates to the folk there of good
wind. I regard both vanes as a kind of guide-post, which merely says,
There goes the way! No, if we had had a wind I should have gone with the
boat, and not with the little splashing thing, as the seamen call the
steamboat. The carriage is doubtless awaiting the young gentleman in
Nyborg?” pursued he. “I will join company with you--my brown horse
waits for me at Schalburg. You should see him! He has sinews like steel
springs, and legs like a dancing-master! He is my own brown.”
“No one knows that we are coming,” answered Wilhelm. “We shall,
therefore, take a carriage from Nyborg.”
“We will join company,” said the Kammerjunker, “and then you will pay me
a visit with the young gentleman. You shall sleep in the black chamber!
Yes, you will give me the pleasure?” said he to Otto. “If you are a
lover of the antique, my estate will afford you pleasure; you find there
moats, towers, guard-rooms, ghosts, and hobgoblins, such as belong to an
old estate. The black chamber! after all, it is not quite secure there;
is it, Herr Baron?”
“No, the deuce remain a night with you!” said Wilhelm; “one gets to bed
late, and even then it is not permitted one to close one’s eyes. You,
your sister, and the Mamsell,--yes, you are a pretty clover-leaf!
Yes, Thostrup, you cannot believe what pranks are hatched upon the
Kammerjunker’s estate! One must be prepared for it! It is said to be
haunted, but if the dead will not take that trouble the living do. The
Kammerjunker is in the plot with his women-folk. They sewed me lately
live cockchafers into my pillow, and they crawled and scrambled about
till I did not know what the deuce it could be! A live cock they had
also placed under my bed, and just in the morning, when I would go to
sleep, the creature began to crow!”
“The women-folk had done that,” said the Kammerjunker. “Did they not
the very same night fasten a door-bell to the head of my bed? I never
thought of it; fat Laender slept in the same room, and had fastened
along the wall a string to the bell. I awoke with the ringing. ‘What the
devil is that bell?’ said I, and glanced about the room, for I could not
conceive what it was. ‘Bell?’ asked Laender--‘there is no bell here!’
The ringing also ceased. I thought I must have dreamed, or that our
merry evening must have left some buzzing in my ears. Again it began to
ring. Laender looked so innocent all the time, I could not comprehend
myself; I thought it must be my imagination. I became quite
fainthearted, I denied my own hearing, and said, ‘No, I have only
dreamed!’ and commenced reckoning and counting to employ my mind; but
that did no good, and it nearly drove me mad! I sprang out of bed, and
then I found out the trick: but how Laender grinned! he was swollen and
red in the face with his mirth.”
“Do you play such jokes on your estate?” inquired Otto, addressing
himself to Wilhelm.
“No, not such refined ones!” returned the Kammerjunker; “perhaps a piece
of wood, or a silly mask, is laid in your bed. Miss Sophie gives us
other clever things for amusement--tableaux and the magic-lantern. I was
once of the party. Yes, what was it I represented? Ah, I played, Heaven
help me! King Cyrus: had a paper crown on my head, and Miss Sophie’s
cloak about me, the wrong side turned outward, for it is lined with
sable. I looked like Satan!”
The steamboat passengers were summoned on board, the company went down
to the vessel, and soon it was cutting through the waves of the Belt.