The ladies now entered. Before paying any visits they determined upon making the round of the market. The Kammerjunker offered his arm to the mother. Otto saw this with secret gladness, and approached Sophie. She accepted him willingly as an attendant; they must indeed get into the throng.
As in the Middle Ages the various professions had their distinct streets and quarters, so had they also here. The street which led to the market place, and which in every-day life was called the “Shoemaker Street,” answered perfectly to its name. The shoemakers had ranged their tables side by side. These, and the rails which had been erected for the purpose, were hung over with all kinds of articles for the feet; the tables themselves were laden with heavy shoes and thick-soled boots. Behind these stood the skillful workman in his long Sunday coat, and with his well-brushed felt-hat upon his head.
Where the shoemakers’ quarter ended that of the hatters’ began, and with this one was in the middle of the great market-place, where tents and booths formed many parallel streets. The booth of galanterie wares, the goldsmith’s, and the confectioner’s, most of them constructed of canvas, some few of them of wood, were points of great attraction. Round about fluttered ribbons and handkerchiefs; round about were noise and bustle. Peasant-girls out of the same village went always in a row, seven or eight inseparables, with their hands fast locked in each other; it was impossible to break the chain; and if people tried to press through them, the whole flock rolled together in a heap.
Behind the booths there lay a great space filled with wooden shoes, coarse earthenware, turners’ and saddlers’ work. Upon tables were spread out toys, generally rudely made and coarsely painted. All around the children assayed their little trumpets, and turned about their playthings. The peasant-girls twirled and twisted both the work-boxes and themselves many a time before the bargain was completed. The air was heavy with all kinds of odors, and was spiced with the fragrance of honey-cake.
Here acquaintances met each other-some peasant-maidens, perhaps, who had been born in the same village, but since then had been separated.
“Good day!” exclaimed they, took each other by the hand, gave their arms a swing, and laughed.
“Farewell!”
That was the whole conversation: such a one went on in many places.
“That is the heather!” exclaimed Otto, as he approached the quarter where the Jutland potters had their station; “how refreshing is the odor!” said he, and stooping down seized a twig fresh and green, as if it had been plucked only yesterday.
“Aye, my Jesus though! is not that Mr. Otto!” exclaimed a female voice just beside him, and a young Jutland peasantwoman skipped across the pottery toward him. Otto knew her. It was the little Maria, the eelman’s daughter, who, as we may remember at Otto’s visit to the fisher’s, had removed to Ringkjoebing, and had hired herself for the hay and cornharvest—the brisk Maria, “the girl,” as her father called her. She had been betrothed in Ringkjoebing, and married to the rich earthenware dealer, and now had come across the salt-water to Odense fair, where she should meet with Mr. Otto.