“The monastery is still called ‘Andersskov’ (the wood of
Anders) in memory of its being the habitation of the pious
Anders.
“The hill on which he awoke, comforted by sleep, is still
called ‘Hvile höi’ (the hill of rest). A cross having a
Latin inscription, half-effaced, marks the spot.”--J. L.
HEIBERG.
It was spring, fresh, life-bearing spring! Only one day and one night,
and the birds of passage were back again; the woods made themselves once
more young with green, odorous leaves; the Sound had its swimming Venice
of richly laden vessels; only one day and one night, and Sophie was
removed from Otto--they were divided by the salt sea; but it was spring
in his heart; from it flew his thoughts, like birds of passage, to the
island of Funen, and there sang of summer. Hope gave him more “gold and
green woods” than the ships bear through the Sound, more than Zealand’s
bays can show. Sophie at parting pressed his hand. In her eyes lay what
his heart might hope and dream.
He forgot that hope and dreams were the opposites of reality.
Cousin Joachim had gone to Stockholm, and would not return either in the
spring or summer to Funen. On the contrary, Otto intended to spend a
few weeks at the country-seat; not before August would he and Wilhelm
travel. There would at least be one happy moment, and many perhaps
almost as happy. In his room stood a rose-bush, the first buds formed
themselves, and opened their red lips--as pure and tender as these
leaves was Sophie’s cheek: he bent over the flower, smiled and read
there sweet thoughts which were related to his love. A rose-bud is a
sweet mystery.
“The myriad leaves enmaze
Small labyrinthine ways
Where spicy odor flows,
Thou lovelv bud o’ the rose!”
The day came on which Otto, after he had comfortably terminated his
visits of leave-taking, at midday, in the company of three young
students travelled away through Zealand. They had taken a carriage
together as far as Slagelse, where, like Abraham’s and Lot’s shepherds,
they should separate to the right and left. Otto remained alone, in
order to travel post that night to Nyborg. It was only four o’clock in
the afternoon, Otto had no acquaintance here, therefore it was but to
take a walk.
“There still exist remains of the old Antvorskov convent, [Author’s
Note: The convent was founded by Waldemar I., 1177.] do there not?”
asked he.
“Yes, but very little!” answered the host. “The convent became a castle,
the castle a private house, and now within the last few years, on
account of the stones, it has been still more pulled down. You will find
nothing old remaining, except here and there in the garden a piece of a
red wall standing out. But the situation is beautiful! If you will only
take the road toward the large village called Landsgrav, you are on the
way to Korsöer, and close to the cross of the holy Anders. It is a right
pleasant excursion!”
“Convent ruins and the holy cross!” said Otto; “that sounds quite
romantic!” And he commenced his wanderings.
A few scholars from the Latin school, with their books held together by
a strait, and then a square built lancer, who greeted in military style
an elderly-young lady, who was seated behind a barricade of geraniums
and wall flowers, were the only individuals he met with on his way. Yet
Otto remarked that the windows were opened as he passed; people wanted
to see who the stranger might be who was going up the street.
A long avenue led from the town to the castle. On either side the way
lay detached houses, with little gardens. Otto soon reached the remains
of old Antvorskov. The way was red from the stones which were flung
about, and were now ground to dust. Huge pieces of wall, where the
mortar and stone were united in one piece, lay almost concealed among
the high nettles. Rather more distant stood a solitary house of two
stories. It was narrow, and whitewashed. A thick pilaster, such as one
sees in churches, supported the strong wall. This was half of the last
wing of the castle,--a mingling of the ancient and incident, of ruin and
dwelling-house.
Otto went into the garden, which was laid out upon the hill itself, and
its terraces. Here were only young trees; but the walks were everywhere
overgrown. The view stretched itself far over the plain, toward the Belt
and Funen. He descended from the terrace down to the lowest wall. In
this there yet remained a piece of an old tombstone, of the age of the
convent, on which you perceived the trace of a female form; and near
to this the figure of a skeleton, round which was twined a snake. Otto
stood sunk in contemplation, when an old man, with two water-buckets
suspended from a yoke on his shoulders, approached a near well.
The old man was very ready to commence a conversation. He told
of excavations, and of an underground passage which had not been
discovered, but which, according to his opinion, was certainly in
existence. So far they had only found a few walled-round spaces, which
had most probably been prisons. In one of these was an iron chain
fastened into the wall. But with regard to the underground passage, they
had only not yet discovered the right place, for it must exist. It led
from here, deep under the lake and forest, toward Soröe. There were
large iron gates below. At Christmas one could hear how they were swung
to and fro. “Whoever should have that which is concealed there,” said
the old man, “would be a made man, and need not neither slip nor slide.”
Otto looked at the solitary wing which rose up over the terrace. How
splendid it had been here in former times!
Close to the large wood, several miles in extent, which stretches itself
on the other side of Soröe, down to the shore of the King’s Brook, lay
the rich convent where Hans Tausen spoke what the Spirit inspired him
with. Times changed; the convent vanished;
“Halls of state
Tower upon that spot elate;
Where the narrow cell once stood;”
[Author’s Note: Anders-skov, by Oehlenschläger.]
where the monks sang psalms, knights and ladies danced to the sound of
beating drums: but these tone’s ceased; the blooming cheeks became dust.
It was again quiet. Many a pleasant time did Holberg ride over from
Soröe, through the green wood, to visit the steward of Antvorskov. Otto
recollected what one of his daughters, when an old woman, had related
to a friend of his. She was a child, and lay in the cradle, when old
Holberg came riding there, with a little wheaten loaf and a small pot of
preserve in his pocket--his usual provision on such little excursions.
The steward’s young wife sat at her spinning-wheel. Holberg paced up
and down the room with the husband; they were discussing politics. This
interested the wife, and she joined in the conversation. Holberg turned
round to her,--“I fancy the distaff speaks!” said he. This the wife
could never forget. [Translator’s Note: Rokkehoved, distaff, means also
dunce in Danish.]
Otto smiled at this recollection of the witty but ungallant poet,
quitted the garden, and went through a winding hollow way, where the
luxuriant briers hung in rich masses over the stone fence. Slagelse,
with its high hills in the background, looked picturesque. He soon
reached Landsgrav. The sun went down as he walked over the field where
the wooden cross stands, with its figure of the Redeemer, in memory of
the holy Anders. Near it he perceived a man, who appeared to kneel. One
hand held fast by the cross; in the other was a sharp knife, with which
he was probably cutting out his name. He did not observe Otto. Near
the man lay a box covered with green oil-cloth; and in the grass lay a
knapsack, a pair of boots, and a knotty stick. It must be a wandering
journeyman, or else a pedlar.
Otto was about to return, when the stranger rose and perceived him. Otto
stood as if nailed to the earth. It was the German Heinrich whom he saw
before him.
“Is not that Mr. Thostrup?” said the man and that horrible grinning
smile played around his mouth. “No, that I did not expect!”
“Does it go well with you, Heinrich?” asked Otto.
“There’s room for things to mend!” replied Heinrich “It goes better with
you! Good Lord, that you should become such a grand gentleman! Who would
have thought it, when you rode on my knee, and I pricked you in the arm?
Things go on strangely in this world! Have you heard of your sister? She
was not so much spoiled as you! But she was a beautiful child!”
“I have neither seen her nor my parents!” replied he, with a trembling
which he strove to conquer. “Do you know where she is?”
“I am always travelling!” said Heinrich; “but thus much I know, that
she is still in Funen. Yes, she must take one of us, an unpretending
husband! You can choose a genteel young lady for yourself. That’s the
way when people are lucky. You will become a landed proprietor. Old
Heinrich will then no doubt obtain permission to exhibit his tricks on
your estate? But none of its will speak of former times!--of the red
house on the Odense water!” This last he whispered quite low. “I shall
receive a few shillings from you?” he asked.
“You shall have more!” said Otto, and gave to him. “But I wish us to
remain strangers to each other, as we are!”
“Yes, certainly, certainly!” said Heinrich, and nodded affirmatively
with his head, whilst his eyes rested on the gift Otto had presented him
with. “Then you are no longer angry with my joke in Jutland?” asked he
with a simpering smile, and kissed Otto’s hand. “I should not have known
you then. Had you not shown me your shoulder, on which I saw the letters
O and T which I myself had etched, it would never have occurred to
me that we knew each other! But a light suddenly flashed across me. I
should have said Otto Thostrup; but I said ‘Odense Tugt-huus.’ [Note:
Odense house of correction.] That was not handsome of me, seeing you are
such a good gentleman!”
“Yes, now adieu!” said Otto, and extended to him unwillingly his hand.
“There, our Saviour looks down upon us!” said the German Heinrich, and
fixed his eyes upon the figure on the cross. “As certainly as He lives
may you rely upon the silence of my mouth. He is my Redeemer, who hangs
there on the cross, just as he is etched upon my skin, and as he stands
along the high-roads in my father-land. Here is the only place in the
whole country where the sign of the cross stands under the free heaven;
here I worship: for you must know, Mr. Thostrup, I am not of your faith,
but of the faith of the Virgin Mary. Here I have cut into the wood the
holy sign, such as is placed over every door in my father-land,--an I,
an H, and this S. In this is contained my own name; for H stands for
Heinrich; I, for I myself; and S means Sinner; that is, I, Heinrich,
Sinner. Now I have completed my worship, and you have given me a
handsome skilling, I shall now go to my bed at the public-house; and if
the girl is pretty, and lets one flatter her, I am still young enough,
and shall fancy that I am Mr. Thostrup, and have won that most glorious,
elegant young lady! Hurrah! it is a player’s life which we lead!”
Otto left him, but heard how Heinrich sang:
“Tri, ri, ro,
The summer comes once mo!
To beer, boys! to beer
The winter lies in bands, O!
And he who won’t come here,
We’ll trounce him with our wands, O!
Yo, yo, yo,
The summer comes once mo!”
As, suddenly on a clear sunny day, a cloud can appear, extinguish the
warm sunshine, conceal the green coast, and change everything into
gray mist forms, so was it now with Otto, who had but just before felt
himself so happy and full of youthful joy.
“You can sleep quietly!” said the host, when Otto returned to Slagelse;
“you shall be wakened early enough to leave with the mail.”
But his rest was like a delirium.
The post-horn sounded in the empty street; they rolled away--it was at
daybreak.
“Is that a gallows?” inquired one of the travellers, and pointed toward
the hill, where at this distance the cross looked like a stake.
“That is the cross of the holy Anders!” replied Otto; and livingly stood
before him the recollections of the evening before.
“Does that really exist?” said the stranger. “I have read of it in the
‘Letters of a Wandering Ghost.’”
This was a beautiful morning, the sun shone warmly, the sea was smooth
as a mirror, and so much the faster did the steamboat glide away. The
vessel with the mail, which had set sail two hours earlier, still lay
not far from land. The sails hung down loosely; not a breeze stirred
them.
The steamboat glided close past her; the passengers in the mail-vessel,
the greater portion coachmen, travelling journeymen, and peasants, stood
on the deck to see it. They waved greetings. One of the foremost leaned
on his knotty stick, pulled off his hat, and shouted, “Good morning,
my noble gentlefolk!” It was the German Heinrich; he then was going to
Funen. Otto’s heart beat faster, he gazed down among the rushing waves
which foamed round the paddle, where the sunbeams painted a glorious
rainbow.
“That is lovely!” said one of the strangers, close to him.
“Very lovely!” returned Otto, and stilled the sigh which would burst
forth from his breast.
Scarcely two hours were fled--the cables were flung upon the Nyborg
bridge of boats, and the steamboat made fast to the island of Funen.