I may be so; that is the way in which one retaliates.”
Otto pressed his hand. “We will never speak again of the occurrence of yesterday!”
“Never!” repeated Wilhelm, affected by the strange gravity of his friend.
“You are a noble, a good creature!” said Otto, and bent over him; his lips touched Wilhelm’s forehead.
Wilhelm seized his hand, and gazed frankly into his eye. “You are not happy!” exclaimed he. “If I cannot assist you, I can, at least, dear Otto, honestly share the grief of a friend!”
“Even on that very point we may never speak!” replied Otto. “Farewell! I have determined on travelling home; we have only vacation for a few weeks, and I have not been in Jutland since I became a student. Even a month’s sojourn there cannot throw me back; I am well prepared for the philosophicum.”
“And when will you set out?” asked Wilhelm.
“To-morrow, with the steamboat. It is hot and sultry here in the city: my blood becomes heated: it will, also, soon be a year since I saw my family.”
“Thostrup!” exclaimed Wilhelm, through whom a thought suddenly flashed, “I should also like to see my family; they have written to me to come. Listen: make your journey through Funen, and only remain three or four days with us. My mother’s carriage shall convey you then to Middelfart. Say ‘Yes,’ and we will set out this evening.”
“That cannot be done!” replied Otto; but half an hour later, as both sat together over the tea-table, and Wilhelm repeated his wish, Otto consented, but certainly more through a feeling of obligation than through any pleasure of his own. Toward evening, therefore, they set out in the beautiful summer night to travel through Zealand.
Smartly dressed families wandered pleasantly through the city gate toward the summer theatre and Fredericksberg. The evening sun shone upon the column of Liberty; the beautiful obelisk, around which stand Wiedewelt’s statues, one of which still weeps,
“In white marble clothing,
Hand upon the breast,
Ever grief-oppressed,
Looking down upon the gloomy sea,”
where were closed the eyes of the artist. Was it the remembrance which here clouded Otto’s glance, as his eye rested upon the statues as they drove past, or did his own soul, perhaps, mirror itself in his eyes?
“Here it is gay and animated!” said Wilhelm, wishing to commence a conversation. “Vesterbro is certainly your most brilliant suburb. It forms a city by itself,—a little state! There upon the hill lies the King’s Castle, and there on the left, between the willows, the poet’s dwelling, where old Rahbek lived with his Kamma!”
“Castle and poet’s dwelling!” repeated Otto; “the time will be when they will inspire equal interest!”
“That old place will soon be pulled down!” said Wilhelm; “in such a beautiful situation, so near the city, a splendid villa will be raised, and nothing more remind one of Philemon and Baucis!”
“The old trees in the park will be spared!” said Otto; “in the garden the flowers will scent the air, and remind one of Kamma’s flowers. Rahbek was no great poet, but he possessed a true poet’s soul, labored faithfully in the great vineyard, and loved flowers as Kamma loved them.”
The friends hail left Fredericksberg behind them. The white walls of the castle glanced through the green boughs; behind Söndermark, the large, wealthy village stretched itself out. The sun had set before they reached the Dam-house, where the wild swans, coming from the ocean, build in the fresh water fake. This is the last point of beauty; nothing but lonely fields, with here and there a cairn, extend to the horizon.
The clear summer’s night attracted their gaze upward; the postilion blew his horn, and the carriage rolled toward the town of Roeskilde, the St. Denis of Denmark, where kings turn to dust; where Hroar’s spring still flows, and its waters mingle with those of Issefjords.
They drove to a public-house to change horses. A young girl conducted the friends into the public room; she lighted the way for them. Her slender figure and her floating gait drew Wilhelm’s attention toward her; his hand touched her shoulder, she sprang aside and fixed her beautiful grave eyes upon him; but their expression became milder, she smiled and colored at the same time.
“You are the sister of little Jonas!” cried Wilhelm, recognizing the young girl he had seen with him at Christmas.
“I must also thank you,” said she, “for your kindness toward the poor boy!” She quickly placed the lights on the table, and left the room with a gentle glance.
“She is beautiful, very beautiful!” exclaimed Wilhelm. “That was really quite a pleasant meeting.”
“Is it then you, Herr Baron, who honor me thus?” cried the host, stepping in—an elderly man with a jovial countenance. “Yes, the Baron will doubtless visit his dear relations in hunch? It is now some little time since you were there.”
“This is our host!” said Wilhelm to Otto. “He and his wife were born upon my parent’s estate.”
“Yes,” said the host, “in my youth I have shot many a snipe and wild duck with the Herr Baron’s father. But Eva should spread the table; the gentlemen will certainly take supper, and a glass of good punch the Herr Baron will certainly not despise, if he is like his blessed father.”
The young girl spread the cloth in an adjoining room.
“She is pretty!” Wilhelm whispered to the old man.
“And just as pious and innocent as she is pretty!” returned he; “and that is saying much, as she is a poor girl, and from Copenhagen. She is of good service to us, and my wife says Eva shall not leave us until she is well married.”
Wilhelm invited the host to join them at a glass. The old man became more animated, and now confided to him, half mysteriously, what made Eva so honorable in the eyes of his wife, and what was, indeed, really very nice of her. “My old woman,” said he, “was in Copenhagen, in search of a waiting-girl. Yes, there are enough to be had, and they are fine girls; but mother has her own thoughts and opinions: she has good eyes—that she has! Now, there came many, and among others Eva; but, good Lord! she was very poorly clad, and she looked feeble and weak, and what service could one get out of her! But she had a good countenance, and the poor girl wept and besought mother to take her, for she was not comfortable at home, and would not remain at Copenhagen. Now, mother knows how to make use of her words: it is unfortunate that she is not at home to-night; how pleased she would have been to see the Herr Baron! Yes, what I would say is, she so twisted her words about, that Eva confessed to her why she wished to leave home. You see the girl is petty; and the young gallant gentlemen of Copenhagen had remarked her smooth face,—and not alone the young, but the old ones also! So an old gentleman—I could easily name him, but that has nothing to do with the affair—a very distinguished man in the city, who has, besides, a wife and children, had said all sorts of things to her parents; and, as eight hundred dollars is a deal of money to poor people, one can excuse them: but Eva wept, and said she would rather spring into the castle-ditch. They represented all sorts of things to the poor girl; she heard of the service out here with us. She wept, kissed my old woman’s hand, and thus came to us; and since then we have had a deal of service from Eva, and joy also!”
Some minutes after Eva stepped in, Otto’s eye rested with a melancholy expression upon the beautiful form: never had he before so gazed upon a
