"L'Angleterre jalouse et la Gr鑓e hom閞ique,Toute l'Europe admire, et la jeune Am閞iqueSe l鑦e et bat des mains du bord des oc閍ns.Trois jours vous ont suffi pour briser vos entraves.Vous 阾es les a頽閟 d'une race de braves,Vous 阾es les fits des g閍ns!" V. HUGO, Chants du Cr閜uscule."Politiken, mine Herrer!" MORTONS' Lystspil: den Hjemkomne Nabob
"In France there is revolution!" was the first piece of informationwhich Otto related. "Charles X. has flown with his family. This,they say, is in the German papers."
"Revolution?" repeated Rosalie, and folded her hands. "UnhappyFrance! Blood has flowed there, and it again flows. There I lost myfather and my brother. I became a refugee--must seek for myself anew father-land." She wiped away a tear from her cheek, and sunkinto deep meditation. She knew the horrors of a revolution, andonly saw in this new one a repetition of those scenes of terrorwhich she had experienced, and which had driven her out into theworld, up into the north, where she struggled on, until at lengthshe found a home with Otto's grandfather--a resting abode.
Everything great and beautiful powerfully affected Otto's soul;only in one direction had he shown no interest--in the politicaldirection, and it was precisely politics which had most occupiedthe grandfather in his seclusion. But Otto's soul was toovivacious, too easily moved, too easily carried away by what laynearest him. "One must first thoroughly enter into life, before theaffairs of the world can seize upon us!" said he. "With the greaternumber of those who in their early youth occupy themselves withpolitics, it is merely affectation. It is with them like the boywho forces himself to smoke tobacco so as to appear older than hereally is." Beyond his own country, France was the only land whichreally interested Otto. Here Napoleon had ruled, and Napoleon'sname had reached his heart--he had grown up whilst this name passedfrom mouth to mouth; the name and the deeds of the hero sounded tohim, yet a boy, like a great world adventure. How often had heheard his grandfather, shaking his head, say, "Yes, now newspaperwriters have little to tell since Napoleon is quiet." And then hehad related to him of the hero at Arcole and among the Pyramids, ofthe great campaign against Europe, of the conflagration at Moscow,and the return from Elba.
Who has not written a play in his childhood? Otto's sole subjectwas Napoleon; the whole history of the hero, from the snow-batteriesat Brienne to the rocky island in the ocean. True, this poem wasa wild shoot; but it had sprung from an enthusiastic heart. Atthat time he preserved it as a treasure. A little incident whichis connected with it, and is characteristic of Otto's wild outbreaksof temper when a boy, we will here introduce.
A child of one of the domestics, a little merry boy with whom Ottoassociated a good deal, was playing with him in his garret. Ottowas then writing his play. The boy bantered him, pulling the paperat the same time. Otto forbade him with the threat,--"If thou dostthat again I will throw thee out of the window!" The boy againimmediately pulled at the paper. In a moment Otto seized him by thewaist, swung him toward the open window, and would certainly havethrown him out, had not Rosalie fortunately entered the room, and,with an exclamation of horror, seized Otto's arm, who now stoodpale as death and trembling in every limb.
In this manner had Napoleon awoke Otto's interest for France.Rosalie also spoke, next to her Switzerland, with most pleasure ofthis country. The Revolution had livingly affected her, andtherefore her discourse regarding it was living. It even seemed tothe old preacher as though the Revolution were an event which hehad witnessed. The Revolution and Napoleon had often fed histhoughts and his discourse toward this land. Otto had thus, withouttroubling himself the least about politics, grown up with a kind ofinterest about France. The mere intelligence of this struggle ofthe July days was therefore not indifferent to him. He still onlyknew what the horse-dealer had related; nothing of the congregation,or of Polignac's ministry: but France was to him the mighty world-crater,which glowed with its splendid eruptions, and which he admiredfrom a distance.
The old preacher shook his head when Otto imparted this politicalintelligence to him. A king, so long as he lived, was in his eyesholy, let him be whatever sort of a man he might. The actions of aking, according to his opinion, resembled the words of the Bible,which man ought not to weigh; they should be taken as they were."All authority is from God!" said he. "The anointed one is holy;God gives to him wisdom; he is a light to whom we must all lookup!"
"He is a man like ourselves!" answered Otto. "He is the firstmagistrate of the land, and as such we owe him the highestreverence and obedience. Birth, and not worth, gives him the highpost which he fills. He ought only to will that which is good; toexercise justice. His duties are equally great with those of hissubjects."
"But more difficult, my son!" said the old man. "It is nothing, asa flower, to adorn the garland; more difficult is it to be the handwhich weaves the garland. The ribbon must be tight as well asgently tied; it must not cut into the stems, and yet it must not betoo loose. Yes, you young men talk according to your wisdom! Yes,you are wise! quite as wise as the woman who kept a roasted chickenfor supper. She placed it upon a pewter plate upon the glowingcoals, and went out to attend to her affairs. When she returned theplate was melted, and the chicken lay among the ashes. 'What a wisecat I have!' said she; 'she has eaten I the plate and left thechicken!' See, you talk just so, and regard things from the samefoolish point of view. Do not speak like the rest of them in thecity! 'Fear God, and honor the king!' We have nothing to argue withthese two; they transact their business between them! The Frenchresemble young students; when these have made their examen artiumthey imagine they are equal to the whole world: they grow restive,and give student-feasts! The French must have a Napoleon, who cangive their something to do! If they be left to themselves they willplay mad pranks!"
"Let us first see what the papers really say," replied Otto.
The following day a large letter arrived; it was from Wilhelm:--
"My excellent Otto,--We have all drunk to Otto Thostrup's health. Iraised the glass, and drank the health. The friendship's dissonanceYOU has dissolved itself into a harmonious THOU, and thou thyselfhast given the accord. All at home speak of thee; even theKammerjunker's Mamsell chose lately thee, and not her work-box, asa subject of conversation. The evening as thou drovest over theJutland heaths I seated myself at the piano, and played thy wholejourney to my sisters. The journey over the heath I gave them in amonotonous piece, composed of three tones, quite dissimilar to thatcomposed by Rousseau. My sisters were near despair; but I told themit was not more uninteresting than the heath. Sometimes I made alittle flight, a quaver; that was the heath-larks which flew upinto the air. The introduction to the gypsy-chorus in 'Preciosa'signified the German gypsy-flock. Then came the thema out of'Jeannot and Collin'--'O, joyous days of childhood!'--and then thouwast at home. I thundered powerfully down in the bass; that was theNorth Sea, the chorus in thy present grand' op閞a. Thou canst wellimagine that it was quite original.
"For the rest, everything at home remains in its old state. I havebeen in Svendborg, and have set to music that sweet poem, 'TheWishes,' by Carl Bagger. His verses seem to me a little rough; butsomething will certainly come out of the fellow! Thy own wishes arethey which he has expressed. Besides this, the astonishing tidingsout of France have given us, and all good people here, anelectrical shock. Yes, thou in thy solitude hast certainly heardnothing of the brilliant July days. The Parisians have deposedCharles X. If the former Revolution was a blood-fruit, this one isa true passionflower, suddenly sprung up, exciting astonishmentthrough its beauty, and as soon as the work is ended rollingtogether its leaves. My cousin Joachim, who as thou knowest is justnow at Paris, has lived through these extraordinary days. The daybefore yesterday we received a long, interesting letter from him,which gave us--of the particulars as well as of the whole--a morecomplete idea than the papers can give us. People assemble ingroups round the post-houses to receive the papers as they arrive.I have extracted from my cousin's letter what has struck me most,and send thee these extracts in a supplement. Thou canst thus inthy retirement still live in the world. A thousand greetings fromall here. Thou hast a place in mamma's heart, but not less so in mine.
"Thy friend and brother,
"WILHELM.
"P. S.--It is true! My sister Sophie begs thee to bring her a stonefrom the North Sea. Perhaps thou wilt bring for me a bucket ofwater; but it must not incommode thee!"
This hearty letter transported Otto into the midst of the friendlycircle in Funen. The corner of the paper where Wilhelm's name stoodhe pressed to his lips. His heart was full of noble friendship.
The extract which Wilhelm had made from his cousin's letter wasshort and descriptive. It might be compared with a beautiful poemtranslated into good prose.
In the theatre we interest ourselves for struggling innocence; butwe are still more affected when the destiny of a whole nation is tobe decided. It is on this account that "Wilhelm Tell" possesses somuch interest. Not of the single individual is here the question,but of all. Here is flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone.Greater than the play created by the poet was the effect which thisdescription of the July days produced upon Otto. This was thereality itself in which he lived. His heart was filled withadmiration for France, who fought for Liberty the holy fight, andwho, with the language of the sword, had pronounced the anathema ofthe age on the enemies of enlightenment and improvement.
The old preacher folded his hands as he heard it; his eyessparkled: but soon he shook his head. "May men so judge theanointed ones of God? 'He who taketh the sword shall perish by thesword!'"
"The king is for the people," said Otto; "not the people for theking!"
"Louis XVIth's unhappy daughter!" sighed Rosalie; "for the thirdtime is she driven from her father-land. Her parents and brotherskilled! her husband dishonored! She herself has a mind and heart.'She is the only man among the Bourbons,'" said Napoleon.
The preacher, with his old-fashioned honesty, and a royalist fromhis whole heart, regarded the affair with wavering opinion, andwith fear for the future. Rosalie thought most of those who weremade unhappy of the royal ladies and the poor children. Eachfollowed the impulse of their own nature, and the instinctivefeeling of their age; thus did Otto also, and therefore was hissoul filled with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm belongs to youth. Histhoughts were busied with dreams of Paris; thither flew his wishes."Yes, I will travel!" exclaimed he; "that will give my wholecharacter a more decided bias: I will and must," added he inthought. "My sorrow will be extinguished, the recollections of mychildhood be forgotten. Abroad, no terrific figures, as here, willpresent themselves to me. My father is dead, foreign earth liesupon his coffin!"
"But the office--examination!" said the old preacher, "pass thatfirst. It is always good to have this in reserve, even if thou dostmake no use of it. Only make this year thy philosophicum."
"And in the spring I shall travel," said Otto.
"That depends upon thy guardian, my son!" said the preacher.
Several days passed, and Otto began to feel it solitary in hishome--all moved here in such a confined circle. His mind wasaccustomed to a wider sphere of action. He began to grow weary, andthen the hours travel with the snail's pace.
"...minutterna ligesom r鋍ka og str鋜ka sig.Man k鋘ner behof at g鰎e sa med." [Note: Sketches of Every-day Life.]
He thought of his departure.
"Thou must take the road through Lemvig," said Rosalie. "I willthen visit the family there for a few days; it will make them quitehappy to see thee, and I shall then be so much longer with thee.That thou wilt do, wilt thou not?"
The day was fixed when they should travel.
The evening previous, Otto paid his last visit to the preacher.They spoke together a long time about the deceased grandfather. Thepreacher gave up several papers to Otto; among them also hisfather's last letter.
In honor of Otto, a bottle of wine was placed upon the table.
"To thy health, my son!" said the preacher, raising his glass. "Weshall hardly spend another evening together. Thou wilt have much tolearn before thou comest as far as I. The world has more thorn-bushesthan gold-mountains. The times look unsettled. France commences a newdescription of campaign in Europe, and certainly will draw along withit all young men: formerly it was the conquerer Napoleon who led tothe field; now it is the idea of liberty! May the Lord preserve ourgood king, and then it will remain well with us! Thou, Otto, wilt flyout into the wide world--hadst thou only first passed thy examinationfor office! But when and where-ever thou mayest fly, remember on alloccasions the words of Scripture.
"We all desire to rule. Phaeton wished to drive the chariot of thesun, but not understanding how to guide the reins, he set fire tothe countries, precipitated himself from the chariot, and broke hisneck. I have no one in the city of Copenhagen whom I can ask theeto greet for me. All the friends of my youth are scattered to theeast and to the west. If any of them still be in the city, theywill certainly have forgotten me. But shouldst thou ever go to theRegent's Court, and smoke with the others a pipe under the tree,think of me. I have also sat there when I was young like thee; whenthe French Revolution drove also the blood quicker through myveins, and thoughts of freedom caused me to carry my head morehigh. The dear old tree! [Author's Note: At the end of the lastcentury it was felled, and two younger ones, which are now in fullgrowth, planted in its stead.] Yes, but one does not perceive init, as in me, how many years have passed since then!"
He pressed a kiss on Otto's forehead, gave him his blessing, andthey parted.
Otto was in a melancholy mood; he felt that he had certainly seenthe old man for the last time. When he arrived at home he foundRosalie busy hacking. The following morning, by earliest dawn, theywere to travel toward Lemvig. Otto had not been there within thesetwo last years. In old times the journey thither had always been tohim a festival, now it was almost indifferent to him.
He entered his little chamber; for the last time in his life heshould now sleep there. From the next morning commenced, so itseemed to him, a new chapter in his life. Byron's "Farewell"sounded in his ears like an old melody:--
"Fare thee well, and if forever, Still for ever fare thee well."
At break of day the carriage rolled away with him and old Rosalie.Both were silent; the carriage moved slowly along the deep ruts.Otto looked back once more. A lark rose, singing above him.
"It will be a beautiful day!" said the coachman; his words and thesong of the lark Rosalie regarded as a good omen for Otto's wholejourney.