“L’amour est pour les coeurs,
Ce que l’aurore est pour les fleurs,
Et le printemps pour la nature.”--VIGUE.
“Love is a childish disease and like the small-pox. Some
die, some become deformed, others are more or less scarred,
while upon others the disease does not leave any visible
trace.”--The Alchemist, by C. HAUCH.
“Be candid, Otto!” said Wilhelm, as he one day visited his friend. “You
cannot make up your mind to say thou to me; therefore let it be. We are,
after all, good friends. It is only a form; although you must grant that
in this respect you are really a great fool.”
Otto now explained what an extraordinary aversion he had felt, what a
painful feeling had seized upon him, and made it impossible to him.
“There you were playing the martyr!” said Wilhelm, laughing. “Could you
not immediately tell me how you were constituted? So are most men. When
they have no trouble, they generally hatch one themselves; they will
rather stand in the cold shadow than in the warm sunshine, and yet the
choice stands open to us. Dear friend, reflect; now we are both of us on
the stream: we shall soon be put into the great business-bottles, where
we shall, like little devils, stretch and strain ourselves without
ever getting out, until life withdraws from us!” He laid his arm
confidentially upon Otto’s shoulder. “Often have I wished to speak with
you upon one point! Yes, I do not desire that you should confess every
word, every thought to me. I already know that I shall be able to prove
to you that the thing lies in a region where it cannot have the power
which you ascribe to it. In the cold zones a venomous bite does not
operate as dangerously as in warmer ones; a sorrow in childhood cannot
overpower us as it does in riper age. Whatever misfortune may have
happened to you when a child, if in your wildness--you yourself say that
you were wild--whatsoever you may have then done, it cannot, it ought
not to influence your whole life: your understanding could tell you this
better than I. At our age we find ourselves in the land of joy, or we
never enter it!”
“You are a happy man!” exclaimed Otto, and gazed sorrowfully before
him. “Your childhood afforded you only joy and hope! Only think of the
solitude in which mine was passed. Among the sand-hills of the west
coast my days glided away: my grandfather was gloomy and passionate;
our old preacher lived only in a past time which I knew not, and Rosalie
regarded the world through the spectacles of sorrow. Such an environment
might well cast a shadow upon my life-joy. Even in dress, one is
strangely remarkable when one comes from afar province to the capital;
first this receives another cut, and one gradually becomes like those
around one. The same thing happens in a spiritual relation, but one’s
being and ideas one does not change so quickly as one’s clothes. I have
only been a short time among strangers, and who knows?” added he, with
a melancholy smile, “perhaps I shall come into equilibrium when some
really great misfortune happens to me and very much overpowers me,
and then I may show the same carelessness, the same phlegm as the
multitude.”
“A really great misfortune!” repeated Wilhelm. “You do, indeed, say
something. That would be a very original means of cure, but you are an
original being. Perhaps lay this means you might really be healed. ‘Make
no cable out of cobweb!’ said a celebrated poet whose name does not
occur to me at this moment. But the thought is good, you should have it
embroidered upon your waistcoat, so that you might have it before your
eyes when you droop your head. Do not look so grave; we are friends,
are we not? Among all my young acquaintance you are the dearest to me,
although there are moments when I know not how it stands with us. I
could confide every secret to you, but I am not sure that you would be
equally open with me. Do not be angry, my dear friend! There are secrets
of so delicate a nature, that one may not confide them even to the
dearest friend. So long as we preserve _our_ secret it is our prisoner;
it is quite the contrary, however, so soon as we have let it escape us.
And yet, Otto, you are so dear to me, that I believe in you as in my own
heart. This, even now, bears a secret which penetrates me with joy and
love of life! I must speak cut. But you must enter into my joy, partake
in it, or say nothing about it; you have then heard nothing--nothing!
Otto, I love! therefore am I happy, therefore is there sunshine in my
heart, life joy in my veins! I love Eva, the beautiful lovely Eva!”
Otto pressed his hand, but preserved silence.
“No, not so!” cried Wilhelm. “Only speak a word! Do you I’m in a
conception of the world which has opened before me?”
“Eva is beautiful! very beautiful!” said Otto, slowly. “She is innocent
and good. What can one wish for more? I can imagine how she fills your
whole heart! But will she do so always? She will not always remain
young, always lovely! Has she, then, mind sufficient to be everything
to you? Will this momentary happiness which you prepare for her and
yourself be great enough to outweigh--I will not say the sorrow, but the
discontent which this union will bring forth in your family? For God’s
sake, think of everything!”
“My dear fellow!” said Wilhelm, “your old preacher now really speaks
out of you! But enough: I can bear the confession. I answer, ‘Yes, yes!’
with all my heart, ‘yes!’ Wherefore will you now bring me out of my
sunshine into shade? Wherefore, in my joy over the beauty of the rose
should I be reminded that the perfume and color will vanish, that the
leaves will fall? It is the course of life! but must one, therefore,
think of the grave, of the finale, when the act begins?”
“Love is a kind of monomania,” said Otto; “it may be combated: it
depends merely upon our own will.”
“Ah, you know this not at all!” said Wilhelm. “But it will come in due
time, and then you will be far more violent than others! Who knows?
perhaps this is the sorrow of which you spoke, the misfortune which
should bring your whole being into equipoise! That was also a kind of
search after the sorrowful. I will sincerely wish that your heart may be
filled with love as mine is; then will the influence of the sand-hills
vanish, and you will speak with me as you ought to do, and as my
confidence deserves!”
“That will I!” replied Otto. “You make the poor girl miserable! Now you
love Eva, but then you will no longer be able. The distance between
you and her is too great, and I cannot conceive how the beauty of her
countenance can thus fill your whole being. A waiting-girl! yes, I
repeat the name which offends your ear: a waiting-girl! Everywhere
will it be repeated. And you? No one can respect nobility less than I
do--that nobility which is only conferred by birth; it is nothing, and a
time will come when this will not be prized at all, when the nobility of
the soul will be the only nobility. I openly say this to you, who are a
nobleman yourself. The more development of mind, the more ancestors!
But Eva has nothing, can have nothing, except a pretty face, and this
is what has enchained you; you are become the servant of a servant, and
that is degrading yourself and your nobility of mind!”
“Mr. Thostrup!” exclaimed Wilhelm, “you wound me! This is truly not the
first time, but now I am weary of it. I have shown too much good nature,
and that is the most unfortunate failing a man can be cursed with!”
He seated himself at the piano, and hammered away.
Otto was silent a moment, his checks glowed, but he was soon again calm,
and in a joking tone said: “Do not expend your anger upon that poor
instrument because we disagree in our views. You are playing only
dissonances, which offend my ear more than your anger!”
“Dissonances!” repeated Wilhelm. “Cannot you hear that they are
harmonies? There are many things for which you have a bad ear!”
Otto knew how to lead his anger to different points regarding which
they had formerly been at variance, but he spoke with such mildness that
Wilhelm’s anger rather abated than increased.
They were again friends, but regarding Eva not one word more was said.
“I should not be an honest and true friend to him, were I to let him
be swallowed up by this whirlpool!” said Otto to himself, when he was
alone. “At present he is innocent and good but at his age, with his gay
disposition!--I must warn Eva! soon! soon! The snow which has once
been trodden is no longer pure! Wilhelm will scarcely forgive me! But I
must!”
On the morrow it was impossible for him to travel to Roeskelde, but the
following day he really would and must hasten thither.
Still, in the early morning hour, Eva occupied his thoughts; she busied
Wilhelm’s also, but in a different way: but they agreed in the purity of
their intentions. There was still a third, whose blood was put in motion
at the mention of her name, who said: “The pretty Eva is a servant
there! One must speak with her. The family can make an excursion there!”
“You sweet children!” said the merchant’s wife, “the autumn is charming,
far pleasanter than the whole summer! The father, should the weather
remain good, will make an excursion with us to Lethraborg the day after
to-morrow. We will then walk in the beautiful valley of the Hertha, and
pass the night at Roeskelde. Those will be two delightful days! What an
excellent father you have! But shall we not invite Mr. Thostrup to go
with us? We are so many ladies, and it looks well to have a few young
gentlemen with us. Grethe, thou must write an invitation; thou canst
write thy father’s name underneath.”