Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1852-03-05
Thorvaidsen,s First Love.

room of a house in Copenhagen, weeping bitterly
In her Ian Law few trinkets and other small articles
evidently keepsakes which she had received from
time to time She took up after the other, and
tnrned them over and over; but she could scarcely
distn guish them through her binding tears. Then
she buried her face in her hands, and rocked to and
fro in agony.
uOh +, moaned she &c and has it come to this 3
All my dreams of happiness are vanished-all my
homes are dead He will even go without bidding
me- farewell. All, Himlen! that have lived to see
this bitter day Luret care Gudn'
At this moment hasty tap at the door was fol-
lowed by the entrance of the object of her grief He
was Young man about twenty-five years Of age, his
person middle sized and strongly built, his features
massive regular and attractive-hs long hair flax
en-. his ewes blue. This Bertel Thorvaldsen-a
name which has since sounded throughout the world
as that of the most iustrious sculptor of modern
times His step was firm and quick his eyes bright:
and his features glowing as he entered the room
but when he beheld the attitude of the weeping fe
male a shade passed his countenance he
gently walked up to her: and laying his hand on her
shoulder murmured-'' Amalie ~
! Rertel l. answered smothered voice.
| The Young Dane drew chair to her side, and 81
lentIv took her tear believed hands Amalie,' said
he after pause broken only by her quvering sobs,
am come to bid thee farewell. go in the morn
ing"
She ceased weeping raised her face and releasing
her hands, pushed back her dsheyelled hair Then
she wiped her eyes, and gazed on him in way that
made his own droop Bertel,' said she in solemn
tone, but void of all reproach-' Bertel, why did
you win my young heart why did you lead me to
hope that should become the wife of your bosom 2"
I'll always meant it: | mean it now"
She shook her head mournfully and taking up the
trinkets, continued: " Do you remember what you
said when you gave me this-and this-and this g!
'What would you have AmaIie? | said loved
you | love you still--but-'
But you love ambition, fame, the praise OF men,
far better" added She bitterly
Thoryaldsen started, and his features flushed; for
he felt acutely the truth of her words.
Yes, you will leave gamle Danmark-you will
leave your poor fond old father and mother, whose
only hope and only earthly joy is in you-you will
leave me, and all who love the sound of your foot
step and go to the distant land, and forget us all
= MIN Pige! you are cruel and unjust shall
come back to my old father and mother--come back
to thee, and we shall be happy again"
Never Bertel never! When once you have
gone, there is happiness for us. In heaven
we may meet again on earth, never! Oh, no: new
er will you in this life either your parents
or your poor broken hearted Amalie !'-and again
her sobs burst forth.
Thorvaldsen abruptly arose from his chair and
paced the room in agitation He was much distress
ed. and once twice he glanced at Amalie with ev-
ident hesitation. His past life, the pleasure of his
youth the endeared and friends of his child
hood the affection of Amale, the anguish of his pa
rents at the approaching separations all wildly pass
ed in review and whispered him to stay and be hap
py in the city of his birth. But vision of Rome
rose also, and beckoned him thither to renown,
wealth and earthly Immortality. The pride of con-
scious genius sWeled his soul, and he telt that the
die cast forever.
He reseated himself by the side of Amalie, and
once more took her hand She looked up. and at
one glance read his Utmost thoughts. Go" said
she 90 and fulfil your destiny. Gods will be done
You will become great man-you will be the COM
panion of princes and of kings and your name will
extend the fame of your country to the uttermost
parts of the earth. see it all let my selfish love
perish Only promise this when you are hereafter
in the full blaze of your triumph sometimes turn a.
side from the Ugh born lovely danes who throng
ing around and drop one tear to the memory of the
lowly Danish girl who loved you better than myself.
Bertel. farrell %
The next day Thorvaldsen quilted Copenhagen for
Rome, where he resided nearly the whole remainder
of his long life and than realized his wild
estas piratons of fame. But the prophecy of poor
Amale was literally fulflled-he never more be-
held his parents, nor her, his first true love
Nearly half century had elapsed, and again the
scene Copenhagen The streets were densely
crowded with eager, sorrowng spectators, and every
win dow of every house filed with sady-expect-
ant faces At length the cry They come !' was
ech oed from group to group, and the crowd swayed
mon people
| withered old woman seated at the upper
window of house and when the cry taken up,
che raised her wrnkled countenance and passed her
hands over her eyes, as though TO clear away the
mist of more than seventy winters An immense
procession drew nigh. Appropriate military music
preceded corpse being conveyed to its last earthly
abiding-pIace. The king of the land the royal fam
ily the nobility the clergy, the learned, the brave,
the gifted the renowned walked after it. The ban
ners of mourning were waved. the trumpets walled,
and ten thousand sobs broke forth alike from stern
and gentle breasts and tears from the eyes Of
riors as we'll as lovely women showered like rain
ltvas the funeral of Bertel Thorvaldsen, with the
Danish nation for mourners! And she the old wo-
man who gazed at it as it slowl y wound by-she
was Amalie his first love! Thorvaldsen had never
married, neither had she.
/ All H;mlen p murmured the old woman, wiping
away tears from source which for many long years
had been dry, q how marvellous is the will of God !!
To think should live to behold this sight Poor,
DOOR, Bertel All that predicted came to pass ::
but ah me who knows whether you might not have
enjoyed happier life after all, had you stayed with
your old father and mother, and married me. All,
Hmlin, there's only One can tell Poor Bertel II
Four years Sped and on one fine Sabbath morning
an aged and decrepid female painfully dragged her
weary limbs through the lower rooms of that Won
drous building known Thorvaldsen's Museum
She paused not to glance at the matcbless works Of
the sculptor but crept onward until she had reached
an open doorway leading into the inner quadrangle
in the centre of which low tomb of gray marble
ated the works which fill the edifce. Step by step
she drew close to the tomb, and sank on the pave
ment by its side. Then she laid down her crutch,
and pressed her bony hands tightly her skinny
brow. ga, ia ~ murmured she they told me he
lay here, and prayed to God to grant me strength
to crawl to the spot-and he has heard me. All,
> Himlen. | can die happy now"