"In one short speaking silence all conveys--And looks a sigh, and weeps without a tear." MRS. BROWNING."Forgive us our debts as we The debts of others forgive;And lead us not in tempting ways; Apart from evil let us live." A. VON CHAMISSO.
We will not accompany the friends, but will remain behind in Funen,where we will make a bolder journey than they, namely, we will goback one-and-twenty years. We will allow the circumstances ofOtto's birth again to come before us. It is a leap backward that wetake from 1830 to 1810. We are in Odense, that old city, whichtakes its name from Odin.
The common people there have still a legend about the origin of thename of the city. Upon Naesbyhoved's Hill [Author's Note: Not farfrom the city, by the Odense Channel; it is described in WedelSimonsen's City Ruins.] there once stood a castle; here lived KingOdin and his wife: Odense city was not then in existence, but thefirst building of it was then begun. [Author's Note: The place isgiven as being that of the now so-called Cross Street.] The courtwas undecided as to the name which should be given to the city.After long indecision it was at last agreed that the first wordwhich either King or Queen should speak the next morning should bethe name given to it. In the early morning the Queen awoke andlooked out from her window over the wood. The first house in thecity was erected to the roof, and the builders had hung up a greatgarland, glittering with tinsel, upon the rooftree. "Odin, see!"exclaimed the Queen; and thenceforward the city was called Odensee,which name, since then, has been changed by daily speech to Odense.
When people ask the children in Copenhagen whence they have come,they reply, out of the Peblings鰁. The little children of Odense,who know nothing about the Peblings鰁, say that they are fetchedout of Rosenbaek, a little brook which has only been ennobledwithin the few last years, just as in Copenhagen is the case withKrystal Street, which formerly had an unpleasant name. This brookruns through Odense, and must, in former times, when united withthe Odense River, have formed an island where the city at that timestood; hence some people derive the name of Odense from Odins Ei,or Odins ? that is, Odin's Island. Be it then as it might, thebrook flows now, and in 1810, when the so-called Willow-dam, by theWest Gate, was not filled up, it stood, especially in spring, lowand watery. It often overflowed its banks, and in so doingoverflowed the little gardens which lay on either side. It thus ranconcealed through the city until near the North Gate, where it madeits appearance for a moment and then dived again in the samestreet, and, like a little river, flowed through the cellars of theold justice-room, which was built by the renowned Oluf Bagger.[Author's Note: He was so rich that once, when Frederick the Secondvisited him, he had the room heated with cinnamon chips. Much maybe found about this remarkable man in the second collection ofThiele's Popular Danish Legends. His descendants still live inOdense, namely, the family of the printer Ch. Iversen, who haspreserved many curiosities which belonged to him.]
It was an afternoon in the summer of 1810; the water was high inthe brook, yet two washerwomen were busily employed in it; reed-mattingwas fast bound round their bodies, and they beat with wooden stavesthe clothes upon their washing-stools. They were in deep conversation,and yet their labor went on uninterruptedly.
"Yes," said one of them, "better a little with honor, than muchwith dishonor. She is sentenced; to-morrow she is to go about inthe pillory. That is sure and certain! I know it from thetrumpeter's Karen, and from the beggar-king's [Author's Note:Overseer of the poor.] wife: neither of them go about with lies."
"Ih, my Jesus!" exclaimed the other, and let her wooden beaterfall, "is Johanne Marie to go in the pillory, the handsome girl?she that looked so clever and dressed herself so well?"
"Yes, it is a misfortune!" said the first; "a great misfortune itmust be! No, let every one keep his own! say I every day to mychildren. After the sweet claw comes the bitter smart. One had muchbetter work till the blood starts from the finger-ends."
"Ih, see though!" said the other; "there goes the old fellow,Johanne Marie's father. He is an honest man; he was so pleased withhis daughter, and to-morrow he must himself bind her to thepillory! But can she really have stolen?"
"She has herself confessed," returned she; "and the Colonel issevere. I fancy the Gevaldiger is going there."
"The Colonel should put the bridle on his own son. He is a badfellow! Not long ago, when I was washing yarn there, and was merry,as I always am, he called me 'wench.' If he had said 'woman,' Ishould not have troubled myself about it, for it has anothermeaning; but 'wench,' that is rude! Ei, there sails the wholeaffair!" screamed she suddenly, as the sheet which she had woundround the washing-stool got loose and floated down the stream: sheran after it, and the conversation was broken off.
The old man whom they had seen and compassionated, went into agreat house close by, where the Colonel lived. His eyes were castupon the ground; a deep, silent suffering lay in his wrinkled face;he gently pulled at the bell, and bowed himself deeply before theblack-appareled lady who opened to him the door.
We know her--it was the old Rosalie, then twenty years younger thanwhen we saw her upon the western coast of Jutland.
"Good old man!" said she, and laid her hand kindly on his shoulder."Colonel Thostrup is severe, but he is not, however, inhuman; andthat he would be if he let you tomorrow do your office. The Colonelhas said that the Gevaldiger should stay at home."
"No!" said the old man, "our Lord will give me strength. God bethanked that Johanne Marie's mother has closed her eyes: she willnot see the misery! We are not guilty of it!"
"Honest man!" said Rosalie. "Johanne was always so good and clever;and now"--she shook her head--"I would have sworn for her, but shehas confessed it herself!"
"The law must have its course!" said the old man, and tearsstreamed down his cheeks.
At that moment the door opened, and Colonel Thostrup, a tall, thinman, with a keen eye, stood before them. Rosalie left the room.
"Gevaldiger," said the Colonel, "to-morrow you will not be requiredto act in your office."
"Colonel," returned the old man, "it is my duty to be there, and,if I may say a few words, people would speak ill of me if I keptaway."
On the following forenoon, from the early morning, the square wherelay the council-house and head-watch, was filled with people; theywere come to see the handsome girl led forth in the pillory. Thetime began to appear long to them, and yet no sign was seen of thatwhich they expected. The sentinel, who went with measured stepbackward and forward before the sentry-box, could give nointelligence. The door of the council-house was closed, andeverything gave occasion to the report which suddenly was put intocirculation, that the handsome Johanne Marie had been for a wholehour in the pillory within the council-house, and thus they shouldhave nothing at all to see. Although it is entirely opposed tosound reason that punishment should be inflicted publicly, it metwith much support, and great dissatisfaction was excited.
"That is shabby!" said a simple woman, in whom we may recognize oneof the washerwomen; "it is shabby thus to treat the folks as ifthey were fools! Yesterday I slaved like a horse, and here one hasstood two whole hours by the clock, till I am stiff in the legs,without seeing anything at all!"
"That is what I expected," said another woman; "a fair face hasmany friends! She has known how to win the great people to herside!"
"Do not you believe," inquired a third, "that she has been goodfriends with the Colonels son?"
"Yes; formerly I would have said No, because she always looked sosteady, and against her parents there is not a word to be said; butas she has stolen, as we know she has, she may also have beenunsteady. The Colonel's son is a wild bird; riots and drinks doeshe in secret! We others know more than his father does: he had heldtoo tight a hand over him. Too great severity causes bad blood!"
"God help me, now it begins!" interrupted another woman, as adetachment of soldiers marched out of the guard-house, and at somelittle distance one from the other inclosed an open space. The doorof the council-house now opened, and two officers of police,together with some of the guard, conducted out the condemned, whowas placed in the pillory. This was a sort of wooden yoke laidacross the shoulders of the delinquent; a piece of wood cameforward from this into which her hands were secured: above allstood two iron bars, to the first of which was fastened a littlebell; to the other a long fox's tail, which hung down the lack ofthe condemned.
The girl seemed hardly more than nineteen, and was of an unusuallybeautiful figure; her countenance was nobly and delicately formed,but pale as death: yet there was no expression either of sufferingor shame,--she seemed like the image of a penitent, who meeklyaccomplishes the imposed penance.
Her aged father, the Gevaldiger, followed her slowly; his eye wasdetermined; no feature expressed that which went forward in hissoul: he silently took his place beside one of the pillars beforethe guard house.
A loud murmur arose among the crowd when they saw the beautifulgirl and the poor old father, who must himself see his daughter'sdisgrace.
A spotted dog sprang into the open space; the girl's monotonoustread, as she advanced into the middle of the square, the ringingof the little bell, and the fox-tail which moved in the wind,excited the dog, which began to bark, and wanted to bite the fox'stail. The guards drove the dog away, but it soon came back again,although it did not venture again into the circle, but thrustitself forward, and never ceased barking.
Many of those who already had been moved to compassion by thebeauty of the girl and the sight of the old father, were thrownagain by this incident into a merry humor; they laughed and foundthe whole thing very amusing.
The hour was past, and the girl was now to be released. TheGevaldiger approached her, but whilst he raised his hand to theyoke the old man tottered, and sank, in the same moment, back uponthe hard stone pavement.
A shriek arose from those who stood around; the young girl alonestood silent and immovable; her thoughts seemed to be far away. Yetsome people fancied they saw how she closed her eyes, but that wasonly for a moment. A policeman released her from the pillory, herold father was carried into the guard-house, and two policemen ledher into the council-house.
"See, now it is over!" said an old glover, who was among thespectators; "the next time she'll get into the House of Correction."
"O, it is not so bad there," answered another; "they sing and aremerry there the whole day long, and have no need to troublethemselves about victuals."
"Yes, but that is prison fare."
"It is not so bad--many a poor body would thank God for it; andJohanne Marie would get the best of it. Her aunt is the head-cook,and the cook and the inspector they hang together. It's my opinion,however, that this affair will take the life out of the old man. Hegot a right good bump as he fell on the stone-pavement; one couldhear how it rung again."
The crowd separated.
The last malicious voice had prophesied truth.
Three weeks afterward six soldiers bore a woven, yellow strawcoffin from a poor house in East Street. The old Gevaldiger lay,with closed eyes and folded hands, in the coffin. Within thechamber, upon the bedstead, sat Johanne Marie, with a countenancepale as that of the dead which had been carried away. Acompassionate neighbor took her hand, and mentioned her nameseveral times before she heard her.
"Johanne, come in with me; eat a mouthful of pease and keep life inyou; if not for your own sake, at least for that of the child whichlies under your heart."
The girl heaved a wonderfully deep sigh. "No, no!" said she, andclosed her eyes.
Full of pity, the good neighbor took her home with her.
A few days passed on, and then one morning two policemen enteredthe poor room in which the Gevaldiger had died. Johanne Marie wasagain summoned before the judge.
A fresh robbery had taken place at the Colonel's. Rosalie said thatit was a long time since she had first missed that which was gone,but that she thought it best to try to forget it. The Colonel'sviolent temper and his exasperation against Johanne Marie, who, ashe asserted, by her bad conduct, had brought her old, excellentfather to the grave, insisted on summoning her before the tribunal,that the affair might be more narrowly inquired into.
Rosalie, who had been captivated by the beauty of the girl and byher modest demeanor, and who was very fond of her, was this timequite calm, feeling quite sure that she would deny everything,because, in fact, the theft had only occurred within the last fewdays. The public became aware of this before long, and the opinionwas that Johanne Marie could not possibly have been an actor in it;but, to the astonishment of the greater number, she confessed thatshe was the guilty person, and that with such calmness as amazedevery one. Her noble, beautifully formed countenance seemedbloodless; her dark-blue eyes beamed with a brilliancy which seemedlike that of delirium; her beauty, her calmness, and yet thisobduracy in crime, produced an extraordinary impression upon thespectators.
She was sentenced to the House of Correction in Odense. Despisedand repulsed by the better class of her fellow-beings, she went toher punishment. No one had dreamed that under so fair a form so corrupta soul could have been found. She was set to the spinning-wheel;silent and introverted, she accomplished the tasks that wereassigned her. In the coarse merriment of the other prisoners shetook no part.
"Don't let your heart sink within you, Johanne Marie," said GermanHeinrich, who sat at the loom; "sing with us till the iron barsrattle!"
"Johanne, you brought your old father to the grave," said herrelation, the head-cook; "how could you have taken such badcourses?"
Johanne Marie was silent; the large, dark eyes looked straightbefore her, whilst she kept turning the wheel.
Five months went on, and then she became ill--ill to death, andgave birth to twins, a boy and a girl--two beautiful and well-formedchildren, excepting that the girl was as small and delicate as if itslife hung on a thread.
The dying mother kissed the little ones and wept; it was the firsttime that the people within the prison had seen her weep. Herrelation the cook sat alone with her upon the bed.
"Withdraw not your hand from the innocent children," said JohanneMarie; "if they live to grow up, tell them some time that theirmother was innocent. My eternal Saviour knows that I have neverstolen! Innocent am I, and innocent was I when I went out aspectacle of public derision, and now when I sit here!"
"Ih, Jesus though! What do you say?" exclaimed the woman.
"The truth!" answered the dying one. "God be gracious to me!--mychildren!"
She sank back upon the couch, and was dead.