“The travellers roll through the world of men,
Like rose leaves in a stream.
The past will ne’er come back again,
But fade into a dream.”--B. S. INGEMANN.
The following day, the last before Otto’s departure, whilst he and
Wilhelm were walking in the garden, Sophie approached them with a
garland made of oak-leaves: this was intended for Otto; they were now
really to lose him.
“Sophie will scarcely be up so early to-morrow morning,” said Louise;
“she is, therefore, obliged to present her garland to-day. I am never
missing at the breakfast-table, as you well know; and I shall then bring
my bouquet.”
“I shall preserve both until we meet again,” returned Otto; “they are
vignettes to my beautiful summer-dream. When I again sit in Copenhagen,
when the rain patters and the winter approaches with cold and a joyless
sky, I shall still see before me Funen with its green woods, flowers,
and sunshine; it will appear to me that it must still be so there, and
that the garland and bouquet are only withered because they are with me
in the winter cold.”
“In Copenhagen we shall meet again!” said Sophie.
“And I shall see you again with the swallows!” said Louise, “when my
flowers spring up again, when we have again warm summer days! As far
as I am concerned, you belong to the summer, and not to the cold, calm
winter.”
Early on the following morning was Sophie, after all, at the breakfast
table. That was to honor Otto. Mamma showed herself as the carriage
was at the door. Wilhelm would accompany him as far as Odense. It was,
therefore, a double leave taking, here and there.
“We will always remain friends, faithful friends!” said Wilhelm, when
they parted.
“Faithful friends!” repeated Otto, and they rolled away toward
Middelfart; thus far should mamma’s own carriage convey the excellent
Otto. Wilhelm remained behind in Odense; his coachman drove Otto, and
they discoursed upon the way. They passed Vissenberg: the high, wooded
hills there have received the name of the Funen Alps. The legend relates
of robbers who had here deep passages underneath the high-road, where
they hung bells which rang when any one passed above. The inhabitants
are still looked upon with suspicion. Vissenberg appears a kind of Itri,
between Copenhagen and Hamburg. [Author’s Note: “Itri,” Fra Diavolo’s
birthplace, lies in the Neapolitan States, on the highway between
Rome and Naples. The inhabitants are not, without reason, suspected of
carrying on the robber’s trade.] Near the church there formerly lay a
stone, on which Knud, the saint, is said to have rested himself when
flying from the rebellious Jutlanders. In the stone remained the
impression of where he had sat; the hard stone had been softer than the
hearts of the rebellious people.
This, and similar legends, the coachman knew how to relate; he was born
in this neighborhood, but not in Vissenberg itself, where they make the
false notes. [Author’s Note: A number of years ago a band of men were
seized in Vissenberg who had forged bank-notes.] Every legend gains
in interest when one hears it in the place with which it is connected.
Funen is especially rich in such relations.
“That cairn elevates itself at Christmas upon four red posts, and one
can then see the dance and merriment of the goblins within. Through that
peasant’s farm there drives every night a glowing coach, drawn by four
coal-black horses. Where we now see a pond overgrown with reeds and
roots there once stood a church, but it sank as the godless desecrated
it; at midnight we still hear their sighs, and hymns of repentance.”
It is true that the narrator mixed up together certain leg-ends which
related to other places in the country--that he took little springs, and
mingled his own thoughts with his relations; but Otto listened to him
with great interest. The discourse turned also upon the family at the
hall.
“Yes, they are very much liked!” said the coachman; “the gentleman may
believe we know how to value them.”
“And now, which of the young ladies is the best?” asked Otto.
“Yes, every one is best served by Miss Louise,” returned the fellow.
“Miss Sophie is the prettiest,” said Otto.
“Yes, she is also very good,--she belongs to the learned ones! She knows
German, that she does! she can act comedy very excellently! I once
got permission with the rest of the people to be up-stairs in the
sitting-room--we stood behind the family; she did not manage her affairs
at all badly.”
However much the old legends interested Otto, it seemed as though he
listened with more pleasure to the simple reasonings of the coachman
upon the family who were become so dear to him. Words and thoughts were
busied about the objects there. Wilhelm, however, was and still remained
the dearest; he recollected with what mildness Wilhelm had stretched
forth his hand in reconciliation, when he himself had thrust him
from him. Already the happy summer days which he had spent at the
country-seat, the whole visit, appeared a beautiful but short dream.
Otto felt an inward impulse to express his gratitude; his pride even,
which was a fundamental feature of his character, commanded him to do
this. Wilhelm’s affection, his desire for a continued friendship, Otto
thought he must reward; and on this account he added the following words
to the few lines which he gave the coachman before his passage over the
Little Belt:--
“Wilhelm, in future we will say thou to each other; that is more
confidential!” “He is the first to whom I have given my thou,” said
Otto, when the letter was dispatched. “This will rejoice him: now,
however, I myself have for once made an advance, but he deserves it.”
A few moments later it troubled him. “I am a fool like the rest!” said
he, and wished he could annihilate the paper. He was summoned on board.
The Little Belt is only a river between the two countries; he soon found
himself upon Jutland ground; the whip cracked, the wheels turned round,
like the wheels of fortune, up and down, yet ever onward.
Late in the evening he arrived at an inn. From his solitary chamber
his thoughts flew in opposite directions; now toward the solitary
country-seat of his grandfather, among the sand-hills; now toward the
animated mansion in Funen, where the new friends resided. He had
opened his box and taken out what lay quite at the top, the garland of
oak-leaves and the beautiful bouquet of flowers of this morning.
Most people maintain that one dreams at night of that which one has
thought much about. According to this, Otto must have thought a deal
about the North Sea, for of it he dreamed the whole night,--not of the
young ladies.