The Bride of Dreams

The Bride of Dreams

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Title: The Bride of Dreams
Author: Frederik van Eeden
Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #9111] [This file was first
posted on September 1, 2003]
Edition: 10

Language: English
Character set encoding: Latin-1
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THE BRIDE OF DREAMS
BY FREDERIK VAN EEDEN
AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION BY MELLIE VON AUW
THE-PLIMPTON-PRESS NORWOOD-MASS-U-S-A
I
As one approaches my little city from the sea on a summer's day, one
sees only the tall, round clump of trees on the ramparts and,
overtopping it, the old bell-tower with its fantastically shaped and
ornamented stories and dome-top of deep cobalt blue. The land to
either side is barely visible, and the green foliage flooded with pale
sunshine seems to drift in the sun-mist on the grayish yellow waters. It
is a dreamy little town, that once in Holland's prime had a short-lived
illusion of worldly grandeur. Then gaily-rigged vessels embellished
with gilded carvings and flaunting flags entered the little harbor,
fishing boats, merchant vessels and battleships. The inhabitants built
fine houses with crow-stepped gables and sculptured façades and
collected in them exotic treasures, furniture, plate and china. Cannon
stood on the ramparts and the citizens were filled with a sense of their
importance and power as people of some authority in the world. They
bore an escutcheon and were proud of it, they had their portraits painted
in gorgeous attire, they gave the things their terse and pretty names, and

they spoke picturesquely and gallantly as befits people leading a
flourishing elemental life.
Now all this is long past. The little city no longer lives a life of its own,
but quietly follows in the wake of the great world-ship. In the harbor a
few fishing smacks, a market ship, a couple of sailing yachts and the
steamboat are still anchored. The fine houses are curiosities for the
strangers, and the china, the furniture and paintings may be viewed in
the museum for a fee.
There is order, and peace, and prosperity too; the streets and houses
look clean and well kept. But it is no longer a vigorous personal life;
the color and the bloom have faded, the splendor and pageant are gone.
It still lives, but as an unimportant part of a greater life. Its charm lies
only in the memory of former days. It is lovely through its dream life,
through the unreal phantasy of its past. All that constitutes its charm -
the dark shadowy canals reflecting the light drawbridges, the pretty
quaintly-lighted streets with the red brick gables, bluish gray stoops,
chains and palings, the harbor with the little old tar and rope shops, the
tall sombre elm trees on the ramparts - it all possesses only the
accidental beauty of the faded. It can no longer, like a young and
blooming creature, will to be beautiful. It is beautiful involuntarily, no
longer as a piece of human life, but as a piece of nature. And its
loveliness is pathetic through the afterglow of a brief blazing up of
individual vivid splendor of life.
In this quite sphere, where life now flows on but lazily and reflectively
as in a small tributary stream of, the great river, - I live, an old man, for
the accomplishment of my last task.
I live obscurely amid the obscure. I do my best to escape notice, and
have no notoriety whatsoever, not even as an eccentric.
I associate with the doctor and the notary is expected of me, and I also
go to the club. It is known that I have an income and, besides, earn
some money from a small nursery on the outskirts of the town, and by
giving Italian lessons.

The rumors regarding my past have all quieted down, and people have
grown accustomed