"At last we separate:To Jutland one, to F黱en others go;And still the quick thought comes,--A day so bright, so full of fun,Never again on us shall rise."--CARL BAGGER.
It was in October of the year 1829. Examen artium had been passedthrough. Several young students were assembled in the evening atthe abode of one of their comrades, a young Copenhagener ofeighteen, whose parents were giving him and his new friends abanquet in honor of the examination. The mother and sister hadarranged everything in the nicest manner, the father had givenexcellent wine out of the cellar, and the student himself, here therex convivii, had provided tobacco, genuine Oronoko-canaster. Withregard to Latin, the invitation--which was, of course, composed inLatin--informed the guests that each should bring his own.
The company, consisting of one and twenty persons--and these wereonly the most intimate friends--was already assembled. About onethird of the friends were from the provinces, the remainder out ofCopenhagen.
"Old Father Homer shall stand in the middle of the table!" said oneof the liveliest guests, whilst he took down from the stove aplaster bust and placed it upon the covered table.
"Yes, certainly, he will have drunk as much as the other poets!"said an older one. "Give me one of thy exercise-books, Ludwig! Iwill cut him out a wreath of vine-leaves, since we have no rosesand since I cannot cut out any."
"I have no libation!" cried a third,--"Favete linguis." And hesprinkled a small quantity of salt, from the point of a knife, uponthe bust, at the same time raising his glass to moisten it with afew drops of wine.
"Do not use my Homer as you would an ox!" cried the host. "Homershall have the place of honor, between the bowl and the garland-cake!He is especially my poet! It was he who in Greek assisted me tolaudabilis et quidem egregie. Now we will mutually drink healths!J鰎gen shall be magister bibendi, and then we will sing 'Gaudeamusigitur,' and 'Integer vitae.'"
"The Sexton with the cardinal's hat shall be the precentor!" criedone of the youths from the provinces, pointing toward a rosy-cheekedcompanion.
"O, now I am no longer sexton!" returned the other laughing. "Ifthou bringest old histories up again, thou wilt receive thy oldschool-name, 'the Smoke-squirter.'"
"But that is a very nice little history!" said the other. "Wecalled him 'Sexton," from the office his father held; but that,after all, is not particularly witty. It was better with the hat,for it did, indeed, resemble a cardinal's hat. I, in the mean time,got my name in a more amusing manner."
"He lived near the school," pursued the other; "he could always sliphome when we had out free quarters of an hour: and then one day hehad filled his mouth with tobacco smoke, intending to blow it intoour faces; but when he entered the passage with his filled cheeksthe quarter of an hour was over, and we were again in class: therector was still standing in the doorway; he could not, therefore,blow the smoke out of his mouth, and so wished to slip in as hewas. 'What have you there in your mouth?' asked the rector; butPhilip could answer nothing, without at the same time losing thesmoke. 'Now, cannot you speak?' cried the rector, and gave him abox on the ear, so that the smoke burst through nose and mouth.This looked quite exquisite; the affair caused the rector suchpleasure, that he presented the poor sinner with the nota bene."
"Integer vitae!" broke in the Precentor, and harmoniously followedthe other voices. After this, a young Copenhagener exhibited hisdramatic talent by mimicking most illusively the professors of theAcademy, and giving their peculiarities, yet in such a good-naturedmanner that it must have amused even the offended partiesthemselves. Now followed the healths--"Vivant omnes hi et hae!"
"A health to the prettiest girl!" boldly cried one of the merriestbrothers. "The prettiest girl!" repeated a pair of the youngerones, and pushed their glasses toward each other, whilst the bloodrushed to their cheeks at this their boldness, for they had neverthought of a beloved being, which, nevertheless, belonged to theirnew life. The roundelay now commenced, in which each one must givethe Christian name of his lady-love, and assuredly every secondyouth caught a name out of the air; some, however, repeated a namewith a certain palpitation of the heart. The discourse became moreanimated; the approaching military exercises, the handsome uniform,the reception in the students' club, and its pleasures, were allmatters of the highest interest. But there was the futurephilologicum and philosophicum--yes, that also was discussed;there they must exhibit their knowledge of Latin.
"What do you think," said one of the party, "if once a week wealternately met at each other's rooms, and held disputations? NoDanish word must be spoken. This might be an excellent scheme."
"I agree to that!" cried several.
"Regular laws must be drawn up."
"Yes, and we must have our best Latin scholar, the Jutlander, OttoThostrup, with us! He wrote his themes in hexameters."
"He is not invited here this evening," remarked the neighbor, theyoung Baron Wilhelm of Funen, the only nobleman in the company.
"Otto Thostrup!" answered the host. "Yes, truly he's a cleverfellow, but he seems to me so haughty. There is something about himthat does not please me at all. We are still no dunces, althoughhe did receive nine prae caeteris!"
"Yet it was very provoking," cried another, "that he received theonly Non in mathematics. Otherwise he would have been called in.Now he will only have to vex himself about his many brilliantcharacters."
"Yes, and he is well versed in mathematics!" added Wilhelm "Therewas something incorrect in the writing; the inspector was to blamefor that, but how I know not. Thostrup is terribly vehement, andcan set all respect at defiance; he became angry, and went out.There was only a piece of unwritten paper presented from him,and this brought him a cipher, which the verbal examination couldnot bring higher than non. Thostrup is certainly a glorious fellow.We have made a tour together in the steamboat from Helsing鰁r toCopenhagen, and in the written examination we sat beside each otheruntil the day when we had mathematics, and then I sat below him. Ilike him very much, his pride excepted; and of that we must breakhim."
"Herr Baron," said his neighbor, "I am of your opinion.Shall not we drink the Thou-brotherhood?"
"To-night we will all of us drink the Thou!" said the host; "it isnothing if comrades and good friends call each other you."
"Evoe Bacchus!" they joyously shouted. The glasses were filled, onearm was thrown round that of the neighbor, and the glasses wereemptied, whilst several commenced singing "dulce cum sodalibus!"
"Tell me what thou art called?" demanded one of the younger guestsof his new Thou-brother.
"What am I called?" replied he. "With the exception of one letter,the same as the Baron."
"The Baron!" cried a third; "yes, where is he?"
"There he stands talking at the door; take your glasses! now haveall of us drank the Thou-brotherhood?"
The glasses were again raised; the young Baron laughed, clinked hisglass, and shouted in the circle, "Thou, Thou!" But in his wholebearing there lay something constrained, which, however, none ofthe young men remarked, far less allowed themselves to imagine thathis sudden retreat, during the first drinking, perhaps occurredfrom the sole object of avoiding it. But soon was he again one ofthe most extravagant; promised each youth who would study theologya living on his estate when he should once get it into his ownhands; and proposed that the Latin disputations should commencewith him, and on the following Friday. Otto Thostrup, however,should he of the party--if he chose, of course being understood;for he was a capital student, and his friend they had made ajourney together and had been neighbors at the green table.
Among those who were the earliest to make their valete amici wasthe Baron. Several were not yet inclined to quit this joyouscircle. The deepest silence reigned in the streets; it was the mostbeautiful moonlight. In most houses all had retired to rest--onlyhere and there was a light still seen, most persons slept, eventhose whose sense of duty should leave banished the god of sleep:thus sat a poor hackney-coachman, aloft upon his coach-box, beforethe house where he awaited his party, and enjoyed, the reins woundabout his hand, the much-desired rest. Wilhelm (henceforth we willonly call the young Baron by his Christian name) walked alonethrough the street. The wine had heated his northern blood--besideswhich it never flowed slowly; his youthful spirits, his jovialmood, and the gayety occasioned by the merry company he had justquitted did not permit him quietly to pass by this sleepingEndymion. Suddenly it occurred to him to open the coach-door andleap in; which having done, he let the glass fall and called outwith a loud voice, "Drive on!" The coachman started up out of hisblessed sleep and asked, quite confused, "Where to?" Withoutreflecting about the matter, Wilhelm cried, "To the Ship in WestStreet." The coachman drove on; about half-way, Wilhelm againopened the coach-door, a bold spring helped him out, and the coachrolled on. It stopped at the public-house of the Ship. The coachmangot down and opened the door; there was no one within; he thrusthis head in thoroughly to convince himself; but no, the carriagewas empty! "Extraordinary!" said the fellow; "can I have dreamedit? But still I heard, quite distinctly, how I was told to drive tothe Ship! Lord preserve us! now they are waiting for me!" He leapedupon the box and drove rapidly back again.
In the mean time Wilhelm had reached his abode in Vineyard Street;he opened a window to enjoy the beautiful night, and gazed out uponthe desolate church-yard which is shut in by shops. He had noinclination for sleep, although everything in the street, even thewatchmen not excepted, appeared to rejoice the gift of God. Wilhelmthought upon the merry evening party, upon his adventure with thepoor hackney-coachman, then took down his violin from the wall andbegan to play certain variations.
The last remaining guests from the honorable carousal, merrier thanwhen Wilhelm left them, now came wandering up the street. One ofthem jodeled sweetly, and no watchman showed himself as adisturbing principle. They heard Wilhelm violin and recognized themusician.
"Play us a Fran鏰ise, thou up there!" cried they.
"But the watchman?" whispered one of the less courageous.
"Zounds, there he sits!" cried a third, and pointed toward asleeping object which leaned its head upon a large wooden chestbefore a closed booth.
"He is happy!" said the first speaker. "If we had only the strongIcelander here, he would soon hang him up by his bandelier upon oneof the iron hooks. He has done that before now; he has the strengthof a bear. He seized such a lazy fellow as this right daintily byhis girdle on one of the hooks at the weighing-booth. There hungthe watchman and whistled to the others; the first who hastened tothe spot was immediately hung up beside him, and away ran theIcelander whilst the two blew a duet."
"Here, take hold!" cried one of the merry brothers, quickly openingthe chest, the lid of which was fastened by a peg. "Let us put thewatchman into the chest; he sleeps indeed like a horse!" In amoment, the four had seized the sleeper, who certainly awoke duringthe operation, but he already lay in the chest. The lid flew down,and two or three of the friends sprang upon it whilst the peg wasstuck in again. The watchman immediately seized his whistle anddrew the most heart-rending tones from it. Quickly the tormentingspirits withdrew themselves; yet not so far but that they couldstill hear the whistle and observe what would take place.
The watchmen now came up.
"The deuce! where art thou?" cried they, and then discovered theplace.
"Ah, God help me!" cried the prisoner. "Let me out, let me out! Imust call!"
"Thou hast drunk more than thy thirst required, comrade!" said theothers. "If thou hast fallen into the chest, remain lying there,thou swine!" And laughing they left him.
"O, the rascals!" sighed he, and worked in vain at opening the lid.Through all his powerful exertions the box fell over. The young mennow stepped forth, and, as though they were highly astonished atthe whole history which he related to them, they let themselves beprevailed upon to open the box, but only upon condition that heshould keep street free from the interference of the otherwatchmen whilst they danced a Fran鏰ise to Wilhelm's violin.
The poor man was delivered from his captivity, and must obliginglyplay the sentinel whilst they arranged them for the dance. Wilhelmwas called upon to play, and the dance commenced; a partner,however, was wanting. Just then a quiet citizen passed by. Thegentleman who had no partner approached the citizen with comicrespect, and besought him to take part in the amusement.
"I never dance!" said the man, laughing, and wished to pursue hisway.
"Yes," replied the cavalier, "yet you must still do me thispleasure, or else I shall have no dance." Saying this he took holdof him by the waist and the dance commenced, whether the good manwould or no.
"The watchman should receive a present from every one!" said they,when the Fran鏰ise was at an end. "He is an excellent man who thuskeeps order in the street, so that one can enjoy a little dance."
"These are honest people's children!" said the watchman to himself,whilst he with much pleasure thrust the money into his leathernpurse.
All was again quiet in the street; the violin was also silent.