O. T., A Danish Romance | Page 9

seated himself at the piano-forte, and played some of his own
compositions. "That is difficult," said he; "every one cannot play that."
"The simpler the sweeter!" replied Otto.
"You must not speak about music!" returned the friend "upon that you
know not how to pass judgment. Light Italian operas are not difficult to
write."
In the evening the friends separated. Whilst Otto took his hat, there was
a low knock at the door. Wilhelm opened it. Without stood a poor old
woman, with pale sharp features; by the hand she led a little boy--it was

Jonas: thus then it was a visit from him and his grandmother.
The other boys had sold the boots and shoes which had been given him.
They ought to have a share, they maintained. This atrocious injustice
had induced the old grandmother to go immediately with little Jonas to
the two good gentlemen, and relate how little the poor lad had received
of flint which they had assigned to him alone.
Wilhelm spoke of the boy's sweet voice, and thought that by might
make his fortune at the theatre; but then he ought not now to be left
running about with bare feet in the wind and rain.
"But by this means he brings a skilling home," said the old woman.
"That's what his father and mother look to, and the skilling they can
always employ. Nevertheless she had herself already thought of
bringing him out at the theatre,--but that was to have been in dancing,
for they got shoes and stockings to dance in, and with these they might
also run home; and that would be an advantage."
"I will teach the boy music!" said Wilhelm; "he can come to me
sometimes."
"And then he will, perhaps, get a little cast-off clothing, good sir," said
the grandmother; "a shirt, or a waistcoat, just as it happens?"
"Become a tailor, or shoemaker," said Otto, gravely, and laid his hand
upon the boy's head.
"He shall be a genius!" said Wilhelm.
CHAPTER IV
"Christmas-tide, When in the wood the snow shines bright."
OEHLENSCHLÄGER'S Helge
We again let several weeks pass by; it was Christmas Eve, which
brings us the beautiful Christmas festival. We find the two friends
taking a walk.

Describe to an inhabitant of the south a country where the earth appears
covered with the purest Carrara marble, where the tree twigs resemble
white branches of coral sprinkled with diamonds, and above a sky as
blue as that belonging to the south, and he will say that is a fairy land.
Couldst thou suddenly remove him from his dark cypresses and
olive-trees to the north, where the fresh snow lies upon the earth, where
the white hoar-frost has powdered the trees over, and the sun shines
down from the blue heaven, then would he recognize the description
and call the north a fairy land.
This was the splendor which the friends admired. The large trees upon
the fortification-walls appeared crystallized when seen against the blue
sky. The Sound was not yet frozen over; vessels, illuminated by the red
evening sun, glided past with spread sails. The Swedish coast seemed
to have approached nearer; one might see individual houses in
Landskrona. It was lovely, and on this account there were many
promenaders upon the walls and the Langelinie.
"Sweden seems so near that one might swim over to it!" said Wilhelm.
"The distance would be too far," answered Otto; "but I should love to
plunge among the deep blue waters yonder."
"How refreshing it is," said Wilhelm, "when the water plays about one's
cheeks! Whilst I was at home, I always swam in the Great Belt. Yes,
you are certainly half a fish when you come into the water."
"I!" repeated Otto, and was silent; but immediately added, with a kind
of embarrassment which was at other times quite foreign to him, and
from which one might infer how unpleasant confessing any
imperfection was to him, "I do not swim."
"That must be learned in summer!" said Wilhelm.
"There is so much to learn," answered Otto; "swimming will certainly
be the last thing." He now suddenly turned toward the fortress, and
stood still. "Only see how melancholy and quiet!" said he, and led the
conversation again to the surrounding scenery. "The sentinel before the

prison paces so quietly up and down, the sun shines upon his bayonet!
How this reminds me of a sweet little poem of Heine's; it is just as
though he described this fortress and this soldier, but in the warmth of
summer: one sees the picture livingly before one, as here; the weapon
glances in the sun, and the part ends so touchingly,--'Ich wollt', er
schösse mich todt!' It is here so romantically beautiful! on the right the
animated promenade, and the view over the