LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 328, 1 July 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE FLYING POST.

From the Danish,

(Temple Bar.)

Fritz Bagger had that very day passed his juridical examination, and was sitting in his lodgings in street, Copenhagen, in a very happy frame of mind. Life lay before him. ‘Yes,’ he soliloquised, after a deep reverie, during which he had built up many magnificent castles—* and after that .... why—one must marry ! Yes,’ he continued, after a pause ; ‘ hut whom ? ’ Again, the horizon of the future seemed tinged with a rosy hue, and beautiful angel heads peeped down at him (not such, be lt mentioned, as are represented to us in good books, as belonging to neither sex, but real, living, youthful angels of the feminine gender, and lovely bey ond description). ‘What an ass I am!’ growled Bagger, leaning out of the window—his room was high up under the roof. ‘ What an ass 1 am ! ’ he repeated, as he looked down at the crowded street. But, somehow or other, the sight of the passers-by afforded his imaginative powers fresh food. ‘All!’ he continued, ‘what loveliness that pretty ankle may support! what bright eyes may be beaming beneath yonder jaunty hat! what a warm heart he beating within the folds of that graceful mantle ! . - . But supposing Destiny were to bring one face to face with one of them ’ and granted that she he disengaged of course—amiable, well educated, of good family, and ... yes . . . say of some means—how would a fellow know that in choosing her he did not give up his chance of his ideal—of her, for instance, whose glory has been shining down on him from the clouds ? Oh Life ! what a lottery thou art!’ Bagger now became rather melancholy, and the future, which but just now had appeared so bright and full of promise, became overcast and dark.

Just at this moment, a sudden whirlwind might be seen racing down the middle of the street. Nearer and nearer, the spiral cloud of dust it raised approached his window. Fritz was in the act of drawing back to escape the dust, when his attention was arrested by a scrap of paper that was eddying round and round, almost within his reacn.

After many futile attempts, he at last succeeded in securing it. The next moment the whirlwind had passed away, and the sky was bright and clear once more. On examining his prize, he found that one side was a blank, while on the other, far down in the left-hand corner, was the word ‘ loving,’ and a little below it the letters ‘geb.’ ‘ Geb ! ’ what does ‘ geh ’ mean ? ’he asked. ‘ Had it been ‘ gowk ’ there would have been some meaning in it. Geb! algebra ! gebriider; —pooh ! what an ass I am !_ Anyhow, she must have an answer,’ he cried out, as he sat down to write a long effusion, which he had no sooner finished than he tore up, ‘No!’ said he; ‘if Destiny means anything by making the wind act the postman, I ought to be rational. Thereupon he wrote as follows : ‘ Like the Northmen of old who, when they set out for Iceland, cast the props of their high seats into the sea with the firm determination of settling wheresoyer they were driven on shore, so do 1 commit this to the winds. My faith follows with it, and it is my firm conviction that where this alights there shall I some day salute thee as the object of my choice, as my ‘ Yes —what shall 1 put ?—as my —ah!—as my geb,’ he added laughingly. Thereupon he went to the window and threw the paper out. For a long time it hovered about in the air, as if uncertain whither to proceed. Then it nearly settled in the waterpipe. Next, it was within an ace of going down a chimney opposite ; but at length a favouring breeze carried it up higher and higher. Fritz could see it whirling round and round far above the houses. It had evidently started in good earnest now. Watching it intently, till at last it quite disappeared from view, Fritz heaved a sigh of relief, as he said, ‘ There ! lam an engaged man to-day,’ and proceeded to dress for dinner.

Six years had elapsed since the events recorded above ; and in the meantime Bagger had achieved considerable success in his proiession, for he had been made Assessor of the Criminal and Police Court, offices to which good salaried were attached. He was still a bachelor, and being of a cheerful disposition, and fond of gaiety, was greatly sought after in the social circles of the Danish capital. The Assessor, or as we still call him, Fritz Bagger, was then, about six years • from the time when we first made his acquaintance, invited to a wedding party. It was a merry party, and the rare and excellent wines provided by the bride’s father contributed not a little to promote the general hilarity of the company, and Bagger’s love of humour in particular. Accordingly, though the health of the happy pair had had been officially proposed, our friend found an opportunity of making a humorous address on the advantages of the married state. As he sat down, a prosaic individual asked leave to propose a toast, in the course of which he said that ‘ he was sure that lie was but expressing the feelings of the company when he stated that if so talented a personage as the Assessor would put his charming theories about marriage into practice, it would be an excellent thing for him,’ The toast was drunk with immense applause. But it chanced that just at the moment when Bagger was rising to reply, a violent gust of wind burst the door of the room open, and nearly extinguished the lights. Now whether it was owing to the wine, or the company, or to the wind, or to all three combined, certain it is that Bagger felt at that moment six years younger. Involuntarily his mind reverted to that scene in the garret six years back, when, like the old Northmen, he had entrusted his plighted faith to the winds. With a mingled air of seriousness and humour he concluded a witty speech with the words, ‘ I am already plighted!’ ‘ What ? —you engaged ? Let mo congratulate you,’ sounded from all sides. * That gust of wind,’ he continued, “that so nearly left us in the dark has just brought me a message from my betrothed.’ ‘ Do you mean, Assessor, that you have plighted yourself to the sea, or the storm, like the Doge of Venice ?’ cried the bridegroom, treating it as a joke. ‘Yes,’ replied Bagger. ‘I am like the Doge of Venice, though not so exalted in rank. Listen ! Six years ago I was sitting in, my lodgings ; it was the day I had passed

my examination. Suddenly I was inspired by Eros. I will not enter into details, but will merely tell you that, acting on the impulse of that inspiration, I entrusted my plighted faith to a whirlwind. Any moment the object of my affections may appear to demand the fulfilment of my vow.’ ‘ But who is she ? ’ inquired the bride, with a smile. ‘Ah ! that I cannot tell. Do I know the course of the whirlwind ? ’ w r as the enigmatical reply. ‘ But did you sign your name to it ? ’ asked the bridegroom. ‘ No ; but I hope you don’t think I would repudiate my handwriting, ’ said Bagger. The seriousness with which the company listened to his concluding words, caused doubtless by the serious manner he had involuntarily assumed, brought Bagger quickly to his senses. ‘ Are we not all engaged ? ’ he continued, in a humorous strain. ‘ Would not the bride and bridegroom confess that long before they had even scon each other they were virtually betrothed ? Are not marriages made in . . . ? ’ ‘Bravo ! bravo ! ’ shouted the bridegroom. * And the whirlwind, that is Destiny—that unknown power brought them together, aud fulfilled their troth.’ ‘Yes; yes.’ ‘ Let us, then, drink a glass to the wind ; to Destiny, the unknown but ruling force of the universe. To those who have not yet seen forty years it will surely some day bring a bride ; or are we already provided for in this respect, be sure the prorais c will be fulfilled in some other way. A toast, then, to the wind, to the unknown ; may it bring us the object of our desire ; and may we be prepared to accept our good fortune whenever it comes !’ ‘ Bravo !’ cried the bridegroom, looking at his bride. ‘ Ugh !’ thought Bagger, at he sat down. I flatter myself I got out of that pretty well. Catch me if ever I give vent to my rapturous feelings again.’ Perhaps it was a fortunate thing for Bagger when, on his return home that night, he found a bundle of papers on his table requiring his immediate attention, It was an interesting case of larceny. Accordingly, he sat down to peruse them, and day had already begun to dawn before he had completed his task. ‘ Two years with hard labor in the House of Correction, ’ were his last words before he fell asleep. * * *r * * About a month later, two young ladies were walking in a garden a few miles from Copenhagen. One of them evidently was at home at the place, as might have been noticed partly from her attire, which, though elegant, wore an air of homeliness about it; partly Iccause she walked a stop or two in advance to hold back any obtrusive branch or twig that threatened to commit havoc on the dress of her fashionably-attired companion. An attentive observer might furthermore have come to the conclusion, after studying the features of the turn la-lies, that, though apparently on intimate terms, there did not yet exist any great degree of cordiality between them. ‘ Did you hear about Emmy Ibsen’s wedding, Miss Hjelm?’ asked Miss Brandt of her companion. ‘ Yes ! it took 'place a month ago, did it not ? ’ ‘Yes. I was bridesmaid, you know.’ ‘lndeed!’ replied Miss Hjelm, rather coldly. ‘lt was such a charming party, dear; so different to wedding parties generally; but that was all owing to Assessor Bagger,’ she added. ‘ Oh, indeed ! was the curt rejoinder. ‘ Yes ; he was so amusing. He took me in to breakfast; and, what do you think 1 when he was returning thanks for his healthbeing drunk, he told us he was engaged to be married ? ’ To lo continued.