“Sure ‘tis fair in foreign land,
But not so fair as home;
Let me but see thy mountains grand
Glaciers and snowy dome!
Let me but hear the sound that tells
Of climbing cattle, dressed with bells.”
The Switzer’s Homesickness.
Not until after breakfast did the preacher pass over to Otto’s affairs.
His grandfather’s will made him the sole heir to the large property; a
man in Copenhagen, the merchant Berger, should be his guardian, since
the preacher did not wish to undertake the office. Rosalie was not
forgotten: her devotion and fidelity had won for her a relative’s right.
Her last days should be free from care: she had truly striven to remove
all care from the dead whilst yet he lived. An old age free from care
awaited her; but Otto wished that she should also have a happy old age.
He imparted his plan to the preacher; but the latter shook his head,
thought it was not practicable, and regarded it as a mere fancy--a whim.
But such it was not.
Some days passed by. One afternoon Rosalie sat upon a small wooden bench
under the cherry-trees, and was making mourning for the winter.
“This is the last summer that we shall sit here,” said she; “the last
summer that this is our home. Now I am become equally rooted to this
spot; it grieves me that I must leave it.”
“Thou wast forced to leave thy dear Switzerland,” said Otto; “that was
still harder!”
“I was then young,” answered she. “The young tree may be easily
transplanted, but the old one has shot forth deeper roots. Denmark is a
good land--a beautiful land!”
“But not the west coast of Jutland!” exclaimed Otto. “For thy green
pasture hast thou here heath; for thy mountains, low sand-hills.”
“Upon the Jura Mountains there is also heath,” said Rosalie. “The heath
here often reminds me of my home on the Jura. There also is it cold, and
snow can fall already in August. The fir-trees then stand as if powdered
over.”
“I love Switzerland, which I have never seen,” pursued Otto. “Thy
relation has given me a conception of the picturesque magnificence of
this mountain-land. I have a plan, Rosalie. I know that in the heart
of a mountaineer homesickness never dies. I remember well how thy eyes
sparkled when thou toldest of the walk toward Le Locle and Neufchâtel;
even as a boy I felt at thy words the light mountain air. I rode with
thee upon the dizzy height, where the woods lay below us like potato
fields. What below arose, like the smoke from a charcoal-burner’s kiln,
was a cloud in the air. I saw the Alpine chain, like floating cloud
mountains; below mist, above dark shapes with glancing glaciers.”
“Yes, Otto,” said Rosalie, and her eyes sparkled with youthful fire; “so
looks the Alpine chain when one goes from Le Locle to Neulfchâtel: so
did I see it when I descended the Jura for the list time. It was in
August. The trees, with their autumnal foliage, stood yellow and red
between the dark firs; barberries and hips grew among the tall fern.
The Alps lay in such a beautiful light, their feet blue as heaven, their
peaks snow-white in the clear sunshine. I was in a sorrowful mood; I
was leaving my mountains! Then I wrote in my book--O, I remember it so
well!--The high Alps appear to me the folded wings of the earth: how
if she should raise them! how if the immense wings should unfold, with
their gay images of dark woods, glaciers, and clouds! What a picture! At
the Last Judgment will the earth doubtless unfold these pinions, soar
up to God, and in the rays of His sunlight disappear! I also have been
young, Otto,” pursued she, with a melancholy smile. “Thou wouldst have
felt still more deeply at the sight of this splendor of nature. The lake
at the foot of the mountains was smooth as a mirror; a little boat with
white sails swam, like a swan, upon its expanse. On the road along which
we drove were the peasants beating down chestnuts; the grapes hung in
large black bunches. How an impression such as this can root itself in
the memory! It is five and thirty years since, and yet I still see that
boat with the white sail, the high Alps, and the black grapes.”
“Thou shalt see thy Switzerland again, Rosalie,” exclaimed Otto; “again
hear the bells of the cows upon the green pastures! Thou shalt go once
more to the chapel in Franche Compté, shalt visit thy friends at Le
Locle, see the subterranean mill, and the Doub fall.”
“The mill wheel yet goes round, the water dashes down as in my youth;
but the friends are gone, my relatives dispersed! I should appear
a stranger there; and when one has reached my age, nature cannot
satisfy--one must have people!”
“Thou knowest, Rosalie, my grandfather has settled a sum upon thee so
long as thou livest. Now I have thought thou couldst spend thy latter
days with thy beloved ones at home, in the glorious Switzerland. In
October I take my philosophicum; the following summer I would then
accompany thee. I must also see that splendid mountain-land,--know
something more of the world than I have yet known. I know how thy
thoughts always dwell upon Switzerland. Thither will I reconduct thee;
thou wilt feel thyself less lonely there than here in Denmark.”
“Thou art carried away by the thoughts of youth, as thou shouldst and
must be, thou dear, sweet soul!” said Rosalie, smiling. “At my age it is
not so easy.”
“We will make short days’ journeys,” said Otto, “go with the steamboat
up the Rhine--that is not fatiguing; and from Basel one is soon in
Franche Compté on the Jura.”
“No, upon the heath, near Vestervovov, as it is called here, will old
Rosalie die; here I have felt myself at home, here I have two or three
friends. The family at Lemvig have invited me, have for me a place at
table, a little room, and friendly faces. Switzerland would be no
longer that Switzerland which I quitted. Nature would greet me as an old
acquaintance; it would be to me music, once more to hear the ringing of
the cows’ bells; it would affect me deeply, once again to kneel in the
little chapel on the mountain: but I should soon feel myself a greater
stranger there than here. Had it been fifteen years ago, my sister would
still have been living, the dear, pious Adèle! She dwelt with my uncle
close on the confines of Neufchâtel, as thou knowest, scarcely a quarter
of a mile from Le Locle--_the town_, as we called it, because it was the
largest place in the neighborhood. Now there are only distant relations
of mine living, who have forgotten me. I am a stranger there. Denmark
gave me bread, it will also give me a grave!”
“I thought of giving thee a pleasure!” said Otto.
“That thou dost by thy love to me!” returned she.
“I thought thou wouldst have shown me thy mountains, thy home, of which
thou hast so often spoken!”
“That can I still do. I remember every spot, every tree--all remains so
clear in my recollection. Then we ascend together the Jura higher and
higher; here are no more vineyards to be found, no maize, no chestnuts
only dark pines, huge cliffs, here and there a beech, as green and large
as in Denmark. Now we have the wood behind us, we are many feet
above the sea; thou canst perceive this by the freshness of the air.
Everywhere are green meadows; uninterruptedly reaches our ear the
ringing of the cow-bells. Thou as yet seest no town, and yet we are
close upon Le Locle. Suddenly the road turns; in the midst of the
mountain-level we perceive a small valley, and in this lies the town,
with its red roofs, its churches, and large gardens. Close beneath the
windows rises the mountain-side, with its grass and flowers; it looks
as though the cattle must be precipitated upon the houses. We go through
the long street, past the church; the inhabitants are Protestants--it
is a complete town of watchmakers. My uncle and Adèle also sat the whole
day, and worked at wheels and chains. That was for Monsieur Houriet,
in Le Locle. His daughters I know; one is called Rosalie, like myself.
Rosalie and Lydia, they will certainly have forgotten me! But it is true
that we are upon our own journey! Now, thou seest, at the end of the
town we do not follow the broad road--that leads to Besançon; we remain
in the lesser one, here in the valley where the town lies. The beautiful
valley! The green mountain-sides we keep to our right; on it are
scattered houses, with large stones upon their steep wooden roofs, and
with little gardens tilled with plum-trees. Steep cliff-walls shut in
the valley; there stands up a crag; if thou climbest it thou canst look
straight into France: one sees a plain, flat like the Danish plains. In
the valley where we are, close under the rock, lies a little house; O, I
see it distinctly! white-washed and with blue painted window-frames: at
the gate a great chained dog. I hear him bark! We step into that quiet,
friendly little house! The children are playing about on the ground.
O, my little Henry-Numa-Robert! Ah, it is true that now he is older and
taller than thou! We descend the steps toward the cellar. Here stand
sacks and chests of flour; under the floor one hears a strange roaring;
still a few steps lower, and we must light the lamp, for here it is
dark. We find ourselves in a great water-mill, a subterranean mill. Deep
below in the earth rushes a river--above no one dreams of it; the water
dashes down several fathoms over the rushing wheel, which threatens to
seize our clothes and whirl us away into the circle. The steps on which
we stand are slippery: the stone walls drip with water, and only a step
beyond the depth appears bottomless! O, thou wilt love this mill as I
love it! Again having reached the light of day, and under free heaven,
one only perceives the quiet, friendly little house. Dost thou know,
Otto, often as thou hast sat quiet and dreaming, silent as a statue,
have I thought of my mill, and the repose which it presented? and yet
how wildly the stream roared in its bosom, how the wheels rushed round,
and how gloomy it was in the depth!”
“We will leave the mill!” said Otto, and sought to lead her from her
reflections back to her own relation. “We find ourselves in the wood,
where the ringing of the evening-bell reaches our ear from the little
chapel in Franche Compté.”
“There stands my father’s house!” said Rosalie. “From the corner-window
one looks over the wood toward Aubernez, [Author’s Note: A village in
the canton Neufchâtel, lying close upon the river Doub, where it forms
the boundary between Switzerland and France.] where the ridge leads over
the Doub. The sun shines upon the river, which, far below, winds along,
gleaming like the clearest silver.”
“And the whole of France spreads itself out before us!” said Otto.
“How beautiful! O, how beautiful!” exclaimed Rosalie, and her eyes
sparkled as she gazed before her; but soon her glance became sad, and
she pressed Otto’s hand. “No one will welcome me to my home! I know
neither their joys nor their sorrows--they are not my own family! In
Denmark--I am at home. When the cold sea-mist spreads itself over the
heath I often fancy I am living among my mountains, where the heather
grows. The mist seems to me then to be a snow-cloud which rests over
the mountains, and thus, when other people are complaining of the bad
weather, I am up among my mountains!”
“Thou wilt then remove to the family at Lemvig?” asked Otto.
“There I am welcome!” returned she.