O. T., A Danish Romance Part 41

"Yes, but that is prison fare."

"It is not so bad--many a poor body would thank G.o.d for it; and Johanne 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. He got a right good b.u.mp as he fell on the stone-pavement; one could hear how it rung again."

The crowd separated.

The last malicious voice had prophesied truth.

Three weeks afterward six soldiers bore a woven, yellow straw coffin from a poor house in East Street. The old Gevaldiger lay, with closed eyes and folded hands, in the coffin. Within the chamber, upon the bedstead, sat Johanne Marie, with a countenance pale as that of the dead which had been carried away. A compa.s.sionate neighbor took her hand, and mentioned her name several times before she heard her.

"Johanne, come in with me; eat a mouthful of pease and keep life in you; if not for your own sake, at least for that of the child which lies under your heart."

The girl heaved a wonderfully deep sigh. "No, no!" said she, and closed her eyes.

Full of pity, the good neighbor took her home with her.

A few days pa.s.sed on, and then one morning two policemen entered the poor room in which the Gevaldiger had died. Johanne Marie was again summoned before the judge.

A fresh robbery had taken place at the Colonel's. Rosalie said that it 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's violent temper and his exasperation against Johanne Marie, who, as he a.s.serted, by her bad conduct, had brought her old, excellent father 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 by her modest demeanor, and who was very fond of her, was this time quite calm, feeling quite sure that she would deny everything, because, in fact, the theft had only occurred within the last few days. The public became aware of this before long, and the opinion was that Johanne Marie could not possibly have been an actor in it; but, to the astonishment of the greater number, she confessed that she was the guilty person, and that with such calmness as amazed every one. Her n.o.ble, beautifully formed countenance seemed bloodless; her dark-blue eyes beamed with a brilliancy which seemed like that of delirium; her beauty, her calmness, and yet this obduracy in crime, produced an extraordinary impression upon the spectators.

She was sentenced to the House of Correction in Odense. Despised and repulsed by the better cla.s.s of her fellow-beings, she went to her punishment. No one had dreamed that under so fair a form so corrupt a soul could have been found. She was set to the spinning-wheel; silent and introverted, she accomplished the tasks that were a.s.signed her. In the coa.r.s.e merriment of the other prisoners she took no part.

"Don't let your heart sink within you, Johanne Marie," said German Heinrich, who sat at the loom; "sing with us till the iron bars rattle!"

"Johanne, you brought your old father to the grave," said her relation, the head-cook; "how could you have taken such bad courses?"

Johanne Marie was silent; the large, dark eyes looked straight before her, whilst she kept turning the wheel.

Five months went on, and then she became ill--ill to death, and gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl--two beautiful and well-formed children, excepting that the girl was as small and delicate as if its life hung on a thread.

The dying mother kissed the little ones and wept; it was the first time that the people within the prison had seen her weep. Her relation the cook sat alone with her upon the bed.

"Withdraw not your hand from the innocent children," said Johanne Marie; "if they live to grow up, tell them some time that their mother was innocent. My eternal Saviour knows that I have never stolen! Innocent am I, and innocent was I when I went out a spectacle 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. "G.o.d be gracious to me!--my children!"

She sank back upon the couch, and was dead.

CHAPTER XLIV

"Ah! wonderfully beautiful is G.o.d's earth, and worthy it is to live contented."--HoLTY.

We now return to the hall in Funen, to the family which we left there; but autumn and winter are gone whilst we have been lingering on the past. Otto and Wilhelm have been two months away. It is the autumn of 1832.

The marriage of the Kammerjunker and Sophie was deferred, according to her wish, until the second of April, because this day is immortal in the annals of Denmark. In the house, where there now were only the mother, Louise, and Eva, all was quiet. Through the whole winter Eva had become weaker; yet she did not resemble the flowers which wither; there was no expression of illness about her--it was much more as if the spiritual nature overpowered the bodily; she resembled an astral lamp which, filled with light, seems almost resembled be an ethereal existence. The dark-blue eyes had an expression of soul and feeling which attracted even the simple domestics at the hall. The physician a.s.sured them that her chest was sound, and that her malady was to him a riddle. A beautiful summer, he thought, would work beneficially upon her.

Wilhelm and Otto wrote alternately. It was a festival-day whenever a letter came; then were maps and plans of the great cities fetched out, and Louise and Eva made the journey with them.

"To-day they are here, to-morrow they will be there," cried they.

"How I envy them both, to see all these glorious things!" said Louise.

"The charming Switzerland!" sighed Eva. "How refres.h.i.+ng the air must be to breathe! How well one must feel one's self there!"

"If you could only go there, Eva," said Louise, "then you would certainly get better."

"Here all are so kind to me; here I am so happy!" answered she. "I am right thankful to G.o.d for it. How could I have hoped for such a home as this? G.o.d reward you and your good mother for your kindness to me.

Once I was so unhappy; but now I have had a double repayment for all my sorrow, and all the neglect I have suffered. I am so happy, and therefore I would so willingly live!"

"Yes, and you shall live!" said Louise. "How came you now to think about dying? In the summer you will perfectly recover, the physician says. Can you hide from me any sorrow? Eva, I know that my brother loves you!"

"He will forget that abroad!" said Eva. "He must forget it! Could I be ungrateful? But we are not suited for each other!" She spoke of her childhood, of long-pa.s.sed, sorrowful days. Louise laid her arm upon her shoulder: they talked till late in the evening, and tears stood in Louise's eyes.

"Only to you could I tell it!" said Eva. "It is to me like a sin, and yet I am innocent. My mother was so too--my poor mother! Her sin was love. She sacrificed all; more than a woman should sacrifice. The old Colonel was stern and violent. His wrath often became a sort of frenzy, in which he knew not what he did. The son was young and dissipated; my mother a poor girl, but very handsome, I have heard. He seduced her.

She had become an unfortunate being, and that she herself felt. The Colonel's son robbed his father and an old woman who lived in the family: that which had been taken was missed. The father would have murdered the son, had he discovered the truth; the son, therefore, sought in his need help from my poor mother. He persuaded her to save him by taking the guilt on herself. The whole affair as regarded her was, he intended, only to come from the domestics. She thought that with her honor all was lost. She, indeed, had already given him the best of which she was possessed. In anguish of heart, and overpowered by his prayers, she said, 'Yes; my father has been angry and undone already.'"

Eva burst into tears.

"Thou dear, good girl!" said Louise, and kissed her forehead.

"My poor mother," continued Eva, "was condemned to an undeserved punishment. I cannot mention it. For that reason I have never had a desire to go to Odense. The old lady in the Colonel's family concealed, out of kindness, her loss; but by accident it was discovered. The Colonel was greatly embittered. My mother was overwhelmed by shame and misfortune: the first error had plunged her into all this. She was taken to the House of Correction in Odense. The Colonel's son shortly afterward went away in a vessel. My unhappy mother was dispirited: n.o.body knew that she had endured, out of despair and love, a disgrace which she had not deserved. It was not until she lay upon her death-bed, when I and my brother were born, that she told a relation that she was innocent. Like a criminal, in the early morning she was carried to the grave in a coffin of plaited straw. A great and a n.o.ble heart was carried unacknowledged to the dead!"

"You had a brother?" inquired Louise, and her heart beat violently. "Did he die? and where did you, poor children, remain?"

"The cook in the house kept us with her. I was small and weak; my brother, on the contrary, was strong, and full of life. He lived mostly among the prisoners. I sat in a little room with my doll. When we were in our seventh year, we were sent for to the old Colonel. His son died abroad; but before his death he had written to the old man, confessing to him his crime, my mother's innocence, and that we were his children!

I resembled my father greatly. The old gentleman, as soon as he saw me, was very angry, and said, 'I will not have her!' I remained with my foster-mother. I never saw my brother after that time. The Colonel left the city, and took him with him."

"O G.o.d!" cried Louise; "you have still some papers on this subject? Do you not know your brother? It is impossible that it should be otherwise!

You are Otto's sister!"

"O Heavens!" exclaimed Eva; her hands trembled, and she became as pale as a corpse.

"You are fainting!" cried Louise, throwing her arm around her waist and kissing her eyes and her cheeks. "Eva! he is your brother! the dear, good Otto! O, he will be so happy with you! Yes, your eyes are like his!

Eva, you beloved girl!"

Louise related to her all that Otto had confided to her. She told her about German Heinrich, and how Otto had a.s.sisted Sidsel away, and how they had met.

Eva burst into tears. "My brother! O Father in heaven, that I may but live! live and see him! Life is so beautiful! I must not die!"

"Happiness will make you strong! There is no doubt but that he is your brother! We must tell it to mamma. O Heavens! how delighted she will be!

and Otto will no longer suffer and be unhappy! He may be proud of you, and happy in you! O, come, come!"

She led Eva out with her to her mother, who was already in bed; but how could Louise wait till next morning?