“And if I have wept alone, it is my own sorrow.”--GOETHE
Latterly Otto had been but seldom at Mr. Berger’s. He had no interest
about the merchant’s home. The family showed him every politeness and
mark of confidence; but his visits became every week more rare. Business
matters, however, led him one day there.
Chance or fate, as we call it, if the shadow of a consequence shows
itself, caused Maren to pass through the anteroom when Otto was about
taking his departure. She was the only one of the ladies at home. In
three weeks she would return to Lemvig. She said that she could not
boast of having enjoyed Mr. Thostrup’s society too often.
“Your old friends interest you no longer!” added she, somewhat gravely.
With this exception she had amused herself very well in the city,
had seen everything but the stuffed birds, and these she should see
to-morrow. She had been seven times in the theatre, and had seen the
“Somnambule” twice. However, she had not seen “Der Frieschütz,” and
she had an especial desire to see this on account of the wolf-glen. At
Aarhuus there was a place in the wood, said she, called the wolf-glen;
this she knew, and now wished to see whether it resembled the one on the
stage.
“May I then greet Rosalie from you?” she asked at length.
“You will still remain three weeks here,” said Otto: “it is too soon to
speak of leave-taking.”
“But you scarcely ever come here,” returned she. “You have better places
to go to! The Baron’s sister certainly sees you oftener; she is said
to be a pretty and very clever girl: perhaps one may soon offer one’s
congratulations?”
Otto became crimson.
“In spring you will travel abroad,” pursued she; “we shall not then see
you in Jutland: yes, perhaps you will never go there again! That will
make old Rosalie sad: she thinks so incredibly much of you. In all the
letters which I have received here there were greetings to Mr. Thostrup.
Yes, I have quite a multitude of them for you; but you do not come to
receive them, and I dare not pay a visit to such a young gentleman. For
the sake of old friendship let me, at least, be the first who can relate
at home of the betrothal!”
“How can you have got such a thought?” replied Otto. “I go to so many
houses where there are young ladies; if my heart had anything to do with
it, I should have a bad prospect. I have great esteem for Miss Sophie;
I speak with her as with you, that is all. I perceive that the air of
Copenhagen has affected you; here in the city they are always betrothing
people. This comes from the ladies in the house here. How could you
believe such stories?”
Maren also joked about it, but after they had parted she seated herself
in a corner, drew her little apron over her head and wept; perhaps
because she should soon leave the lively city, where she had been seven
times to the theatre, and yet had not seen the wolf-glen.
“Betrothed!” repeated Otto to himself, and thought of Sophie, of the
cousin, and of his own childhood, which hung like a storm-cloud in
his heaven. Many thoughts passed through his mind: he recollected the
Christmas Eve on which he had seen Sophie for the first time, when she,
as one of the Fates, gave him the number. He had 33, she 34; they were
united by the numbers following each other. He received the pedigree,
and was raised to her nobility. The whole joke had for him a
signification. He read the verse again which had accompanied it. The
conclusion sounded again and again in his ears:--“From this hour forth
thy soul high rank hath won her, Nor will forget thy knighthood and thy
honor!”
“O Sophie!” he exclaimed aloud, and the fire which had long smouldered
in his blood now burst forth in flames. “Sophie! thee must I press to my
heart!” He lost himself in dreams. Dark shapes disturbed them. “Can she
then be happy? Can I? The picture which she received where the covering
of ice was broken and the faithful dog watched in vain, is also
significant. That is the fulfillment of hopes. I sink, and shall never
return!”
The image of the cousin mingled in his dreams. That refined countenance
with the little mustache looked forth saucily and loquaciously; and
Sophie’s eyes he saw rest upon the cousin, whilst her white hand played
with the brown curls which fell over her cheek.
“O Sophie!” sighed Otto, and fell asleep.