We do not require alone from the portrait-painter that he should represent the person, but that he should represent him in his happiest moment. To the plain as well as to the inexpressive countenance must the painter give every beauty which it possesses. Every human being has moments in which something intellectual or characteristic presents itself. Nature, too, when we are presented only with the most barren landscape, has the same moments; light and shadow produce these effects. The poet must be like the painter; he must seize upon these moments in human life as the other in nature.
If the reader were a child who lived in Odense, it would require nothing more from him than that he should say the words, “St. Knud’s fair;” and this, illumined by the beams of the imagination of childhood, would stand before him in the most brilliant colors. Our description will be only a shadow; it will be that, perhaps, which the many will find it to be.
Already in the suburbs the crowd of people, and the outspread earthenware of the potters, which entirely covered the trottoir, announced that the fair was in full operation.
The carriage drove down from the bridge across the Odense River.
“See, how beautiful it is here!” exclaimed Wilhelm.
Between the gardens of the city and a space occupied as a bleaching ground lay the river. The magnificent church of St. Knud, with its lofty tower, terminated the view.
“What red house was that?” inquired Otto, when they had lost sight of it.
“That is the nunnery!” replied Louise, knowing what thought it was which had arisen in his mind.
“There stood in the ancient times the old bishop’s palace, where Beldenak lived!” said Sophie. “Just opposite to the river is the bell-well, where a bell flew out of St. Albani’s tower. The well is unfathomable. Whenever rich people in Odense die, it rings down below the water!”
“It is not a pleasant thought,” said Otto, “that it rings in the well when they must die.”