“In vain his beet endeavors were;
Dull was the evening, and duller grew.”--LUDOLF SCHLEF.
“Seest thou how its little life
The bird hides in the wood?
Wilt thou be my little wife--
Then do it soon. Good!
--A bridegroom am I.”--Arion.
Close beside St. Knud’s Church, where once the convent stood, is now the
dwelling of a private man. [Author’s Note: See Oehlenschläger’s Jorney
to Funen.] The excellent hostess here, who once charmed the public on
the Danish stage as Ida Munster, awaited the family to dinner.
After dinner they wandered up and down the garden, which extended to the
Odense River.
In the dusk of evening Otto went to visit the German Heinrich; he had
mentioned it to Louise, and she promised to divert attention from him
whilst he was away.
The company took coffee in the garden-house; Otto walked in deep thought
in the avenue by the side of the river. The beautiful scene before
him riveted his eye. Close beside lay a water-mill, over the two great
wheels of which poured the river white as milk. Behind this was thrown a
bridge, over which people walked and drove. The journeyman-miller
stood upon the balcony, and whistled an air. It was such a picture as
Christian Winther and Uhland give in their picturesque poems. On the
other side of the mill arose tall poplars half-buried in the green
meadow, in which stood the nunnery; a nun had once drowned herself where
now the red daisies grow.
A strong sunlight lit up the whole scene. All was repose and summer
warmth. Suddenly Otto’s ear caught the deep and powerful tones of an
organ; he turned himself round. The tones, which went to his heart, came
from St. Knud’s Church, which lay close beside the garden. The sunshine
of the landscape, and the strength of the music, gave, as it were, to
him light and strength for the darkness toward which he was so soon to
go.
The sun set; and Otto went alone across the market-place toward the old
corner house, where German Heinrich practiced his arts. Upon this place
stood St. Albani’s Church, where St. Knud, betrayed by his servant
Blake, [Author’s Note: Whence has arisen the popular expression of
“being a false Blake.”] was killed by the tumultuous rebels. The common
people believe that from one of the deep cellars under this house
proceeds a subterranean passage to the so-called “Nun’s Hill.” At
midnight the neighboring inhabitants still hear a roaring under the
marketplace, as if of the sudden falling of a cascade. The better
informed explain it as being a concealed natural water-course, which has
a connection with the neighboring river. In our time the old house is
become a manufactory; the broken windows, the gaps of which are repaired
either with slips of wood or with paper, the quantity of human bones
which are found in the garden, and which remain from the time when this
was a church-yard, give to the whole place a peculiar interest to the
common people of Odense.
Entering the house at the front, it is on the same level as the
market-place; the back of the house, on the contrary, descends
precipitously into the garden, where there are thick old walls and
foundations. The situation is thus quite romantic; just beside it is
the old nunnery, with its dentated gables, and not far off the ruins, in
whose depths the common people believe that there resides an evil being,
“the river-man,” who annually demands his human sacrifice, which he
announces the night before. Behind this lie meadows, villas, and green
woods.
On the other side of the court, in a back gate-way, German Heinrich
had set up his theatre. The entrance cost eight skillings; people of
condition paid according to their own will.
Otto entered during the representation. A cloth constituted the whole
scenic arrangement. In the middle of the floor sat a horrible goblin,
with a coal-black Moorish countenance and crispy hair upon its head. An
old bed-cover concealed the figure, yet one saw that it was that of a
woman.
The audience consisted of peasants and street boys. Otto kept himself in
the background, and remained unobserved by Heinrich.
The representation was soon at an end, and the crowd dispersed. It was
then that Otto first came forward.
“We must speak a few words together!” said he. “Heinrich, you have not
acted honestly by me! The girl is not that which you represented her to
be; you have deceived me: I demand an explanation!”
German Heinrich stood silent, but every feature eloquently expressed
first amazement, and then slyness and cunning; his knavish, malicious
eye, measured Otto from top to toe.
“Nay; so then, Mr. Thostrup, you are convinced, are you, that I have
been cheating you?” said he. “If so, why do you come to me? In that case
there needs no explanation. Ask herself there!” And so saying he pointed
to the black-painted figure.
“Do not be too proud, Otto!” said she, smiling; “thou couldst yet
recognize thy sister, although she has a little black paint on her
face!”
Otto riveted a dark, indignant glance upon her, pressed his lips
together, and tried to collect himself. “It is my firm determination
to have the whole affair searched into,” said he, with constrained
calmness.
“Yes, but it will bring you some disagreeables!” said Heinrich, and
laughed scornfully.
“Do not laugh in that manner when I speak to you!” said Otto, with
flushing cheeks.
Heinrich leaned himself calmly against the door which led into the
garden.
“I am acquainted with the head of the police,” said Otto, “and I might
leave the whole business in his hands. But I have chosen a milder way; I
am come myself. I shall very soon leave Denmark; I shall go many
hundred miles hence shall, probably, never return; and thus you see the
principal ground for my coming to you is a whim: I will know wherefore
you have deceived me; I will know what is the connection between you and
her.”
“Nay; so, then, it is _that_ that you want to know?” said Heinrich, with
a malicious glance. “Yes, see you, she is my best beloved; she shall be
my wife: but your sister she is for all that, and that remains so!”
“Thou couldst easily give me a little before thou settest off on thy
journey!” said Sidsel, who seemed excited by Heinrich’s words, and put
forth her painted face.
Otto glanced at her with contracted eyebrows.
“Yes,” said she, “I say ‘thou’ to thee: thou must accustom thyself to
that! A sister may have, however, that little bit of pleasure!”
“Yes, you should give her your hand!” said Heinrich, and laughed.
“Wretch!” exclaimed Otto, “she is not that which you say! I will find
out my real sister! I will have proof in hand of the truth! I will
show myself as a brother; I will care for her future! Bring to me her
baptismal register; bring to me one only attestation of its reality--and
that before eight days are past! Here is my address, it is the envelope
of a letter; inclose in it the testimonial which I require, and send it
to me without delay. But prove it, or you are a greater villain than I
took you for.”
“Let us say a few rational words!” said Heinrich, with a constrained,
fawning voice. “If you will give to me fifty rix-dollars, then you shall
never have any more annoyance with us! See, that would be a great deal
more convenient.”
“I abide by that which I have said!” answered Otto; “we will not have
any more conversation together!” And so saying, he turned him round to
go out.
Heinrich seized him by the coat.
“What do you want?” inquired Otto.
“I mean,” said Heinrich, “whether you are not going to think about the
fifty rix-dollars?”
“Villain!” cried Otto, and, with the veins swelling in his forehead, he
thrust Heinrich from him with such force, that he fell against the worm
eaten door which led into the garden; the panel of the door fell out,
and had not Heinrich seized fast hold on some firm object with both his
hands, he must have gone the same way. Otto stood for a moment silent,
with flashing eyes, and threw the envelope, on which his address was, at
Heinrich’s feet, and went out.
When Otto returned to the hotel, he found the horses ready to be put to
the carriage.
“Have you had good intelligence?” whispered Louise.
“I have in reality obtained no more than I had before!” replied he;
“only my own feelings more strongly convince me than ever that I have
been deceived by him.”
He related to her the short conversation which had taken place.
The Kammerjunker’s carriage was now also brought out; in this was more
than sufficient room for two, whereas in the other carriage they had
been crowded. The Kammerjunker, therefore, besought that they would
avail themselves of the more convenient seat which he could offer; and
Otto saw Sophie and her mother enter the Kammerjunker’s carriage. This
arrangement would shortly before have confounded Otto, now it had much
less effect upon him. His mind was so much occupied by his visit to
German Heinrich, his soul was filled with a bitterness, which for the
moment repelled the impulse which he had felt to express his great love
for Sophie.
“I have been made Heinrich’s plaything--his tool!” thought he. “Now he
ridicules me, and I am compelled to bear it! That horrible being is not
my sister!--she cannot be so!”
The street was now quiet. They mounted into the carriage. In the corner
house just opposite there was a great company; light streamed through
the long curtains, a low tenor voice and a high ringing soprano mingled
together in Mozart’s “Audiam, audiam, mio bene.”
“The bird may not flutter from my heart!” sighed Otto, and seated
himself by the side of Louise. The carriage rolled away.
The full moon shone; the wild spiraea sent forth its odor from the road
side; steam ascended from the moor-lands; and the white mist floated
over the meadows like the daughters of the elfin king.
Louise sat silent and embarrassed; trouble weighed down her heart. Otto
was also silent.
The Kammerjunker drove in first, cracked his whip, and struck up a wild
halloo.
Wilhelm began to sing, “Charming the summer night,” and the Kammerjunker
joined in with him.
“Sing with us man,” cried Wilhelm to the silent Otto, and quickly the
two companies were one singing caravan.
It was late when they reached the hall.