"Poetry does not always express sorrow; the rainbow can also archacross a cloudless blue firmament."--JEAN PAUL.
We again find ourselves in Copenhagen, where we meet with Otto, andmay every day expect Wilhelm, Miss Sophie, and the excellent mamma;they would only stay a few weeks. To learn tidings of theirarrival, Otto determined to pay a visit where they were expected;we know the house, we were present at the Christmas festival: itwas here that Otto received his noble pedigree.
We will now become somewhat better acquainted with the family. Thehusband had a good head, as people sat, had an excellent wine-cellar,and was, as one of the friends maintained, a good l'hombre player.But the soul of the house, the animating genius, which drew intothis circle all that possessed life and youth, was the wife.Beautiful one could by no means call her, but, enchanted by hernatural loveliness, her mind, and her unaffectedness, you forgotthis in a few moments. A rare facility in appreciating the comic ofevery-day life, and a good-humored originality in its representation,always afforded her rich material for conversation. It was as if Nature,in a moment of thoughtlessness, had formed an insipid countenance, butimmediately afterward strove to make good her fault by breathing intoit a soul, which, even through pale blue eyes, pale cheeks, and ordinaryfeatures, could make her beauty felt.
When Otto entered the room he heard music. He listened: it must beeither Weyse or Gerson.
"It is the Professor Weyse," said the servant, and Otto opened thedoor softly, without knocking.
The astral-lamp burnt upon the table; upon the sofa sat two youngladies. The mistress of the house nodded Otto a friendly welcome,but then smiling laid her finger on her lips, as a sign of silence,and pointed to a chair, on which he seated himself, and listened tothe soft tones, which, like spirits, floated from the piano atwhich the musician sat. It was as if the slumbering thoughts andfeelings of the soul, which in every breast find a response, evenamong the most opposite nations, had found a voice and language.The fantasies died away in a soft, spiritual piano. Thus lightlyhas Raphael breathed the Madonna di Foligno upon the clouds; sherests there as a soap-bubble rests upon velvet. That dying away ofthe tomes resembled the thoughts of the lover when his eye closes,and the living dream of his heart imperceptibly merges and vanishesin sleep. Reality is over.
Here also the tones ceased.
"Der Bettelvogt von Ninive Zog hinab zum Genfersee, Hm, hm!" [Author's Note: An old popular German song.]
commenced the musician once more, with an originality and spiritwhich influenced the whole company. Far too soon did he again breakoff, after he had enchanted all ears by his own treasures, as wellas by the curiosities of the people's life in the world of sound.Only when he was gone did admiration find words; the fantasiesstill echoed in every heart.
"His name deserves to be known throughout Europe!" said thegracious lady; "how few people in the world know Weyse and Kuhlau!"
"That is the misfortune of a musician being born in a smallcountry," said Otto. "His works become only manuscript for friends;his auditory extends only from Skagen to Kiel: there the door isclosed."
"One must console one's self that everything great and good becomesat length known," said the cousin of the family, who is known to usby his verses for the Christmas-tree. "The nations will becomeacquainted with everything splendid in the kingdom of mind, let itbloom in a small or in a large country. Certainly during this timethe artist may have died, but then he must receive compensation inanother world."
"I truly believe," returned the gracious lady, "that he would wisha little in advance here below, where it is so ordered that theimmortal must bow himself before the mortal."
"Certainly," replied Otto; "the great men of the age are likemountains; they it is which cause the land to be seen from afar,and give it importance, but in themselves they are bare and cold;their heights are never properly known."
"Very beautiful," said the lady; "you speak like a Jean Paul."
At this moment the door opened, and all were surprised by theentrance of Miss Sophie, Wilhelm, and the dear mamma. They werenot expected before the following evening. They had travelled thewhole day through Zealand.
"We should have been here to dinner," said Sophie, "but my brothercould not get his business finished in Roeskelde; then he hadforgotten to order horses, and other little misadventures occurred:six whole hours we remained there. Mamma contracted quite a passionthere--she fell fairly in love with a young girl, the pretty Eva."
"Yes, she is a nice creature!" said the old lady. "Had I notreason, Mr. Thostrup? You and my Wilhelm had already made herinteresting to me. She has something so noble, so refined, whichone so rarely meets with in the lower class; she deserves to comeamong educated people."
"Otto, what shall our hearts say," exclaimed Wilhelm, "when my goodmother is thus affected?"
They assembled round the tea-table. Wilhelm addressed Otto with theconfidential "thou" which Otto himself had requested.
"We will drink together in tea and renew our brotherhood."
Otto smiled, but with such a strangely melancholy air, and spokenot a word.
"He's thinking about the old grandfather," thought Wilhelm, andlaid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "The Kammerjunker and hisladies greet thee!" said he. "I believe the Mamsell would willinglylay thee in her own work-box, were that to be done."
Otto remained quiet, but in his soul there was a strange commotion.It would be a difficult thing to explain this motive, whichbelonged to his peculiarity of mind; it entered among the mysteriesof the soul. The multitude call it in individuals singularity, thepsychologist finds a deeper meaning in it, which the understandingis unable to fathom. We have examples of men, whose strength ofmind and body were well known, feeling faint at the scent of arose; others have been thrown into a convulsive state by touchinggray paper. This cannot be explained; it is one of the riddles ofNature. A similar relaxing sensation Otto experienced when he, forthe first time, heard himself addressed as "thou" by Wilhelm. Itseemed to him as though the spiritual band which encircled themloosened itself, and Wilhelm became a stranger. It was impossiblefor Otto to return the "thou," yet, at the same time, he felt theinjustice of his behavior and the singularity, and wished tostruggle against it; he mastered himself, attained a kind ofeloquence, but no "thou" would pass his lips.
"To thy health, Otto," said Wilhelm, and pushed his cup againstOtto's.
"Health!" said Otto, with a smile.
"It is true," began the cousin, "I promised you the other day tobring my advertisements with me; the first volume is closed." Andhe drew from his pocket a book in which a collection of the mostoriginal Address-Gazette advertisements, such as one sees daily,was pasted.
"I have one for you," said the lady; "I found it a little timesince. 'A woman wishes for a little child to bottle.' Is not thatcapital?"
"Here is also a good one," said Wilhelm, who had turned over theleaves of the book: "'A boy of the Mosaic belief may be apprenticedto a cabinet-maker, but he need not apply unless he will eateverything that happens to be in the house.' That is truly a hardcondition for the poor lad."
"Almost every day," said the cousin, "one may read, 'For the playof to-day or to-morrow is a good place to be had in the third storyin the Christenbernikov Street.' The place is a considerabledistance from the theatre."
"Theatre!" exclaimed the master of the house, who now entered totake his place at the tea-table, "one can soon hear who has thatword in his mouth; now is he again at the theatre! The man canspeak of nothing else. There ought, ready, to be a fine imposed,which he should pay each time he pronounces the word theatre. Iwould only make it a fine of two skillings, and yet I dare promisethat before a month was over he would be found to pay in fines hiswhole pocket-money, and his coat and boots besides. It is a realmania with the man! I know no one among my young friends," addedhe, with an ironical smile at Wilhelm,--"no, not one, who has sucha hobby-horse as our good cousin."
"Here thou art unjust to him!" interrupted his wife; "do not placea fine upon him, else I will place thee in a vaudeville! Thy lifeis in politics; our cousin's in theatrical life; Wilhelm's inthorough-bass; and Mr. Thostrup's in learned subjects. Each of youis thus a little nail in the different world-wheels; whoeverdespises others shows that he considers his wheel the first, orimagines that the world is a wheelbarrow, which goes upon onewheel! No, it is a more complicated machine."
Later in the evening, when the company broke up, Otto and Wilhelmwent together.
"I do not think," said Wilhelm, "that thou hast yet said thou tome. Is it not agreeable to thee?"
"It was my own wish, my own request," replied Otto. "I have notremarked what expressions I have employed." He remained silent.Wilhelm himself seemed occupied with unusual thoughts, when hesuddenly exclaimed: "Life is, after all, a gift of blessings! Oneshould never make one's self sorrows which do not really exist!'Carpe diem,' said old Horace."
"That will we!" replied Otto; "but now we must first think of ourexamination."
They pressed each other's hands and parted.
"But I have heard no thou!" said Wilhelm to himself "He is anoddity, and yet I love him! In this consists, perhaps, my ownoriginality."
He entered his room, where the hostess had been cleaning,and had arranged the books and papers in the nicest order. Wilhelmtruly called it disorder; the papers in confusion and the books ina row. The lamp even had a new place; and this was called order!
Smiling, he seated himself at the piano; it was so long since theyhad said "Good day" to each other! He ran over the keys severaltimes, then lost himself in fantasies. "That is lovely!" heexclaimed. "But it is not my property! What does it belong to? Itmelts into my own feelings!" He played it again. It was a thema outof "Tancredi," therefore from Rossini, even the very composer whomour musical friends most looked down upon; how could he then guesswho had created those tones which now spoke to his heart? His wholebeing he felt penetrated by a happiness, a love of life, the causeof which he knew not. He thought of Otto with a warmth which thelatter's strange behavior did not deserve. All beloved beingsfloated so sweetly before his mind. This was one of those momentswhich all good people know; one feels one's self a member of thegreat chain of love which binds creation together.
So long as the rose-bud remains folded together it seems to bewithout fragrance; yet only one morning is required, and the finebreath streams from the crimson mouth. It is only one moment; it isthe commencement of a new existence, which already has lain longconcealed in the bud: but one does not see the magic wand whichworks the change. This spiritual contrast, perhaps, took place inthe past hour; perhaps the last evening rays which fell upon theleaves concealed this power! The roses of the garden must open;those of the heart follow the same laws. Was this love? Love is, aspoets say, a pain; it resembles the disease of the mussel, throughwhich pearls are formed. But Wilhelm was not sick; he felt himselfparticularly full of strength and enjoyment of life. The poet'ssimile of the mussel and the pearl sounds well, but it is false.Most poets are not very learned in natural history; and, therefore,they are guilty of many errors with regard to it. The pearl isformed on the mussel not through disease; when an enemy attacks hershe sends forth drops in her defense, and these change into pearls.It is thus strength, and not weakness, which creates the beautiful.It would be unjust to call love a pain, a sickness; it is an energyof life which God has planted in the human breast; it fills ourwhole being like the fragrance which fills each leaf of the rose,and then reveals itself among the struggles of life as a pearl ofworth.
These were Wilhelm's thoughts; and yet it was not perfectly clearto him that he loved with his whole soul, as one can only loveonce.
The following forenoon he paid a visit to Professor Weyse.
"You are going to Roeskelde, are you not?" asked Wilhelm. "I haveheard you so often play the organ here in Our Lady's church, Ishould very much like to hear you there, in the cathedral. If Iwere to make the journey, would you then play a voluntary for me?"
"You will not come!" said the musician.
"I shall come!" answered Wilhelm, and kept his word. Two days afterthis conversation he rolled through the streets of Roeskelde.
"I am come for a wager! I shall hear Weyse play the organ!" said heto the host, although there was no need for an apology.
Bulwer in his romance, "The Pilgrims of the Rhine," has withendless grace and tenderness called forth a fairy world. The littlespirits float there as the breath of air floats around the materialreality; one is forced to believe in their existence. With a geniuspowerful as that which inspired Bulwer, glorious as that whichinfused into Shakespeare the fragrance we find breathed over the"Midsummer-night's Dream," did Weyse's tones fill Wilhelm; the deepmelodies of the organ in the old cathedral had indeed attracted himto the quiet little town! The powerful tones of the heart summonedhim! Through them even every day things assumed a coloring, anexpression of beauty, such as Byron shows us in words, Thorwaldsenin the hard stone, Correggio in colors.
We have by Goethe a glorious poem, "Love a Landscape-painter." Thepoet sits upon a peak and gazes before him into the mist, which,like canvas spread upon the easel, conceals all heights andexpanses; then comes the God of Love and teaches him how to paint apicture on the mist. The little one now sketches with his rosyfingers a picture such as only Nature and Goethe give us. Were thepoet here, we could offer him no rock on which he might seathimself, but something, through legends and songs, equallybeautiful. He would then sing,--I seated myself upon the mossystone above the cairn; the mist resembled outstretched canvas. TheGod of Love commenced on this his sketch. High up he painted aglorious still, whose rays were dazzling! The edges of the cloudshe made as of gold, and let the rays penetrate through them; thenpainted he the fine light boughs of fresh, fragrant trees; broughtforth one hill after the other. Behind these, half-concealed, lay alittle town, above which rose a mighty church; two tall towers withhigh spires rose into the air; and below the church, far out, wherewoods formed the horizon, drew he a bay so naturally! it seemed toplay with the sunbeams as if the waves splashed up against thecoast. Now appeared flowers; to the fields and meadows he gave thecoloring of velvet and precious stones; and on the other side ofthe bay the dark woods melted away into a bluish mist. "I canpaint!" said the little one; "but the most difficult still remainsto do." And he drew with his delicate finger, just where the raysof the sun fell most glowingly, a maiden so gentle, so sweet, withdark blue eyes and cheeks as blooming as the rosy fingers whichformed the picture. And see! a breeze arose; the leaves of thetrees quivered; the expanse of water ruffled itself; the dress ofthe maiden was gently stirred; the maiden herself approached: thepicture itself was a reality! And thus did the old royal citypresent itself before Wilhelm's eyes, the towers of the cathedral,she tay, the far woods, and--Eva!
The first love of a pure heart is holy! This holiness may beindicated, but not described! We return to Otto.