Various - "Chatterbox, 1905."

Logan Marshall - "The True Story of Our National Calamity of Flood, Fire and Tornado"

Laura Lee Hope - "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Christmas Tree Cove"

Thomas Babington Macaulay - "The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. 5"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Home

F >> Fredrika Bremer >> The Home




Petrea understood his kindness; tears came into her eyes, and her heart
beat for joy at the thought of hastening to her mother after the
quadrille, and saying, "Mamma, I am engaged for the _anglaise_ after
supper."

But no thought, no feeling, could remain in tranquillity with the poor
little "Chaos;" so many others came rushing in, that the first were
quite effaced. Her first impression of the kindness of Lieutenant Y.
was, "how good he is!" the second was, "perhaps he may endure me!" And
hereupon a flood of imagined courtesy and courtship poured in, which
almost turned her head. But she would not marry, heaven forbid! yet
still it would be a divine thing to have a lover, and to be oneself "an
object" of passion, like Sara and Louise. Perhaps the young Lieutenant
Y. might be related to the Countess Solenstrale, and, oh heavens! how
well it would sound when it was said, "A nephew of the Countess
Solenstrale is a passionate admirer of Petrea Frank!" What a coming
forth that would be! A less thing than that might make one dizzy. Petrea
was highly excited by these imaginings, and was suddenly changed by them
into an actual coquette, who set herself at work by all possible means
to enslave "her object;" in which a little, and for the moment very
white, hand (for even hands have their moments), figuring about the
head, played a conspicuous part. Petrea's amazing animation and
talkativeness directed the eye-glass of her mother--for her mother was
somewhat short-sighted--often in this direction, and called forth
glances besides from Louise, which positively would have operated with a
very subduing effect, had not Petrea been too much excited to remark
them. The observations and smiles of her neighbours Petrea mistook for
tokens of applause; but she deceived herself, for they only amused
themselves with the little coquetting, but not very dangerous lady.
Lieutenant Y., nevertheless, seemed to find pleasure in her liveliness,
for when the quadrille was ended, he continued a dispute which had
commenced during it, and for this purpose conducted her into one of the
little side rooms, which strengthened her in the idea of having made a
conquest. Isabella Aftonstjerna was singing there a little French song,
the refrain of which was--

Hommage a la plus belle,
Honneur au plus vaillant!

The world was all brightness to Petrea: the song carried her back to the
beautiful days of knighthood: Lieutenant Y. appeared to her as the ideal
of knightly honour, and the glass opposite showed her own face and nose
in such an advantageous light, that she, meeting herself there all
beaming with joy, fancied herself almost handsome. A beautiful rose-tree
was blossoming in the window, and Petrea, breaking off a flower,
presented it to the Lieutenant, with the words--

Honneur au plus vaillant.

Petrea thought that this was remarkably striking and apropos, and
secretly expected that her knight would lay the myrtle-spray with which
he was playing at her feet, adding very appropriately--

Hommage a la plus belle.

"Most humble thanks!" said Lieutenant Y., taking the rose with
misfortune-promising indifference. But Fate delivered Petrea from the
unpleasantness of waiting in vain for a politeness she desired, for
suddenly there arose a disturbance in the ball-room, and voices were
heard which said, "She is fainting! Gracious heaven! Sara!"

Myrtle-spray, knight, conquest, all vanished now from Petrea's mind, and
with a cry of horror she rushed from Lieutenant Y. into the ball-room at
the very moment when Sara was carried out fainting. The violent dancing
had produced dizziness; but taken into a cool room, and sprinkled with
eau de Cologne and water, she soon recovered, and complained only of
horrible headache. This was a common ailment of Sara's, but was quickly
removed when a certain remedy was at hand.

"My drops!" prayed Sara, in a faint voice.

"Where? where?" asked Petrea, with a feeling as if she would run to
China.

"In the little box in our chamber," said Sara.

Quick as thought sped the kind Petrea across the court to the east wing.
She sought through the chamber where their things were, but the box was
not to be found. It must have been left in the carriage. But where was
the carriage? It was locked up in the coach-house. And where was the key
of the coach-house?

Great was Petrea's fatigue before she obtained this; before she reached
the coach-house; and then before, with a lantern in her hand, she had
found the missing box. Great also, on the other hand, was her joy, as
breathless, but triumphant, she hastened up to Sara with the little
bottle of medicine in her hand, and for reward she received the not less
agreeable commission of dropping out sixty drops for Sara. Scarcely,
however, was the medicine swallowed, when Sara exclaimed with violence:

"You have killed me, Petrea! You have given me poison! It is
unquestionably Louise's elixir!"

It was so! The wrong bottle had been brought, and great was the
perplexity.

"You do everything so left-handedly, Petrea!" exclaimed Sara, in
ill-humour; "you are like the ass in the fable, that would break the
head of his friend in driving away a fly!"

These were hard words for poor Petrea, who was just about to run off
again in order to redeem her error. This, added to other agitation of
mind, brought tears to her eyes, and blood to her head. Her nose began
violently to bleed. Louise, excited against Sara by her severity to
Petrea, and some little also by her calling her elixir poison, threw
upon her a look of great displeasure, and devoted herself to the weeping
and bleeding Petrea.

Whether it was the spirit of anger that dispersed Sara's headache, or
actually Louise's elixir (Louise was firmly persuaded that it was the
latter), we know not; but certain it was that Sara very soon recovered
and returned to the company, without saying one consoling word to
Petrea.

Petrea was in no condition to appear at the supper-table, and Louise
kindly remained with her. Aunt Evelina, Laura, Karin, and even the lady
of the War-Councillor herself, brought them delicacies. Amid so much
kindness, Petrea could not do otherwise than become again tranquil and
lively. She should, she thought, after all, dance the _anglaise_ after
supper with "le plus vaillant," as she called the Lieutenant, who had
truly captivated her evidently not steeled heart.

The _anglaise_ had already begun as the sisters entered the ball-room.
The Candidate hastened to meet them quite in an uneasy state of mind; he
had engaged Louise for this dance, and they now stood up together in the
crowd of dancers. Petrea expected, likewise, that "le plus vaillant"
would rush up to her and seize her hand; but as she cast a hasty glance
around, she perceived him, not rushing towards her, but dancing with
Sara, who was looking more beautiful and brilliant than ever. The rose
which Petrea had given him--faithless knight!--together with the
myrtle-sprig on which she had speculated, were both of them placed in
Sara's bosom. The eyes of "le plus vaillaut" were incessantly riveted
upon "la plus belle," as Sara was then unanimously declared to be. The
glory of the Aftonstjernas paled in the night, as they were too much
heated by dancing, but Sara's star burned brighter and brighter. She was
introduced to the Countess Solenstrale, who paid her charming
compliments, and called her "la reine du bal," at which the
Aftonstjernas looked displeased.

"Thousand devils, how handsome she is!" exclaimed the old gentleman who
had striven with Petrea about the tea-cup, and who now, without being
aware of it, trod upon her foot as he thrust himself before her to get a
better view of "la reine du bal."

Overlooked, humiliated, silent, and dejected, Petrea withdrew into
another room. The scenes of the evening passed in review before her
soul, and appeared now quite in an altered light. The mirror which a few
hours before had flattered her with the notion that she might be called
_la plus belle_, now showed her her face red and unsightly; she thought
herself the most ridiculous and unfortunate of human beings. She felt at
this moment a kind of hostility against herself. She thought on
something which she was preparing for Sara, and which was to be an
agreeable surprise to her, and which was to be made known to her in a
few days--she thought of this, and in that moment of trouble the thought
of it, like a sunbeam on dark clouds, brightened the night in her soul.
The thought of gratifying one, who on this evening had so deeply
wounded her, gave a mild and beneficial turn to her mind.

After supper, a balcony in the saloon adjoining the ball-room was
opened, in order somewhat to cool the heated atmosphere of the room.

Two persons, a lady and gentleman, stepped into the balcony; a light
white shawl was thrown over the lady's shoulders; stars garlanded her
dark hair; stars flashed in her black eyes, which glanced fiercely
around into free space.

There lay over the landscape the deliciously mysterious half-darkness of
a May-night, a magical veil which half hides and half reveals its
beauty, and which calls forth mysterious forebodings. A mighty and
entrancing revelation of the gloriousness of life seemed to sing in the
wind, which passed tranquilly murmuring through space, shone in the
stars, and wandered high above earth.

"Ah, life! life!" exclaimed she, and stretched forth her arms towards
space, as if she would embrace it.

"Enchanting girl!" said he, while he seized her hand, "my life belongs
to you!"

"Conduct me forth into free, fresh life," said she, without withdrawing
her hand, and looking haughtily at him all the while, "and my hand
belongs to you! But remember you this, that I will be free--free as the
wind which now kisses your forehead, and lifts those topmost branches of
the tree! I love freedom, power, and honour! Conduct me to these, help
me to obtain these, and my gratitude will secure to you my love; will
fetter me to you with stronger bonds than those of ceremony and
prejudice, to which I only submit out of regard to those who otherwise
would weep over me, and whom I would not willingly distress more than
there is need for. It shall not bind us more than we ourselves wish.
Freedom shall be the knitting and the loosening of our bond!"

"Beautiful woman!" answered he, "raised above the hypocrisy of
weakness--above the darkness of prejudice--I admire you and obey you!
Only to such a woman can my will submit! My beautiful scholar is become
my teacher! Well, then, let the hand of the priest unite us; my hand
shall conduct you up to that brilliant throne which your beauty and your
talents deserve! I will only elevate you in order, as now, to fall
before your feet the most devoted of your servants!"

He dropped upon one knee before her; and she, bending herself towards
him, let her lips touch his forehead. He threw his arms round her, and
held her for one moment bent towards him. A supercilious, scornful
expression, unobserved by her, played upon his lips.

"Release me, Hermann! some one comes," said she; he did so, and as she
raised her proud neck against his will, a dark flash of indignation
burned in her eyes.

They withdrew, and another couple stepped out into the balcony.

He. Wait, let me wrap my cloak better round you; the wind is cool.

She. Ah, how beautiful to feel how it wraps us both! Do you see how we
are here standing between heaven and earth, separated from all the
world?

He. I do not see it--I see my lovely world in my arms! I have you,
Laura! Laura, tell me, are you happy?

She. Ah, no!

He. How?

She. Ah, I am not happy because I am too happy! I fancy I never can have
deserved this happiness. I cannot conceive how it came to my share. Ah,
Arvid! to live thus with you, with my mother, my sister, all that I most
love--and then to be yours ever, ever!

He. Say eternally, my Laura! Our union belongs as much to heaven as to
earth, here as there; to all eternity I am yours, and you are mine!

She. Hush, my Arvid! I hear my mother's voice--she calls me. Let us go
to her.

They returned into the room, and presently another couple stepped on the
balcony.

He. Cousin Louise, do you like evening air? Cousin Louise, I fancy, is
rather romantic. Cousin, do you like the stars? I am a great friend of
the stars too; I think on what the poet sings:

----silently as Egypt's priests
They move.

Look, Cousin Louise, towards the corner, in the west there lies
Oestanvik. If it would give you any pleasure to make a little tour
there, I would beg that I might drive you there in my new landau. I
really think, Cousin Louise, that Oestanvik would please you: the
peaches and the vines are just now in full bloom; it is a beautiful
sight.

A deep sigh is heard.

She. Who sighs so?

A Voice. Somebody who is poor, and who now, for the first time, envies
the rich.

He. Oh rich! rich! God forbid! rich I am not exactly. One has one's
competency, thank God! One has wherewith to live. I can honestly
maintain myself and a family. I sow two hundred bushels of wheat; and
what do you think, Cousin Louise--but where is Cousin Louise?

A Voice. It seemed to her, no doubt, as if a cold wind came over here
from Oestanvik.

At the moment when the gentlemen returned to the room, a girl came into
the balcony. She was alone. The misfortunes of the evening depressed her
heart, and were felt to be so much more humiliating because they were of
such a mean kind. Some burning tears stole quickly and silently over her
cheeks. The evening wind kissed them gently away. She looked up to
heaven; never had it seemed to her so high and glorious. Her soul raised
itself, mounted even higher than her glance, up to the mighty friend of
human hearts; and He gave to hers a presentiment that a time would come,
when, in his love, she would be reconciled to and forget all adversities
of earth.

* * * * *

The days at Axelholm wore on merrily amid ever-varying delights. Petrea
wrote long letters, in prose and in verse, to her sisters at home, and
imparted to them all that occurred here. Her own misfortunes, which she
even exaggerated, she described in such a comic manner that those very
things which were at first distressing to her, were made a spring of
hearty merriment both to herself and to her family.

She received one day a letter from her father, which contained the
following words:

"My good Child,

"Your letters, my dear child, give me and your sisters great
pleasure; not merely on account of the lively things which they
contain, but more especially on account of your way of bearing
that which is anything but lively. Continue to do thus, my child,
and you--my heart rejoices in the thought--will advance on the way
to wisdom and happiness, and you will have joyfully to acknowledge
the blessed truth which the history of great things, as well as of
small, establishes, that there is nothing evil which may not be
made conducive to good; and thus our own errors may be made steps
on our way to improvement.

"Greet your sisters cordially from their and your tenderly devoted

"Father."

Petrea kissed these lines with tears of grateful joy. She wore them for
several days near her heart; she preserved them through her whole life
as one of the endeared means by which she had gone happily through the
chromatic scale of existence.

Louise was joked much about Cousin Thure; Cousin Thure was joked much
about Louise; it pleased him very much to be joked about her, to be told
that Oestanvik wanted a mistress, that he himself wanted a pretty wife,
and that without doubt Louise Frank was one of the most sensible as well
as one of the prettiest girls in the country; and more than this, was
besides of such a respectable family! The Landed-proprietor received
already felicitations on his betrothal.

What the bride-elect, however, thought on the matter was more difficult
to fathom. She was certainly always polite to Cousin Thure; still this
politeness seemed expressive rather of indifference than friendship; and
she declined, with a decision amazing to many people, his pressing and
often repeated solicitations to make an excursion to Oestanvik in his
new landau, drawn by what he styled "his foxes--his four horses in one
rein." Many people asserted that the agreeable and cordial Jacobi was
much nearer to Louise's heart than the rich Landed-proprietor! but even
towards Jacobi her conduct was so equal, so tranquil, so unconstrained,
that nobody could exactly tell how it might be. Nobody knew so well as
we do, that Louise considered it consistent with the dignity of woman to
show only perfect indifference to the attentions or _doux-propos_ of
men, until they had been openly and fully declared. Louise despised
coquetry so far as to dread anything which bordered on the very limits
of it. Her young female friends joked with her upon her strict notions
on this head, and fancied that she would remain unmarried.

"That may be," said Louise, calmly.

They told her one day of a gentleman who said "I will not stand up
before any girl who is not some little of a coquette."

"Then he may remain sitting," answered Louise, with much dignity.

Louise's views of the dignity of woman, her grave and decided
principles, and her manner of expressing them, amused her young friends,
whilst at the same time they inspired for her a true esteem, and gave
occasion for many little contentions and discussions, in which Louise
intrepidly, though not without some little warmth, maintained the rights
of the cause. These contentions, however, which began in merriment, did
not always terminate so.

A young and rather coquettish lady was one day wounded by the severity
with which Louise spoke of the coquetry of her sex, and particularly of
married ladies, and in revenge she used an expression which excited
Louise's astonishment and anger. An explanation followed between the
two, the result of which was not only their perfect estrangement, but an
altered state of mind in Louise which she in vain endeavoured to
conceal.

During the first days of her stay at Axelholm she had been uncommonly
joyous and lively; now she was quiet, thoughtful, often absent, and
towards the Candidate, as it seemed, less friendly than formerly, whilst
she lent a more willing ear to the Landed-proprietor, although she still
resolutely withstood his proposal of a drive to Oestanvik.

On the evening of the day after this explanation, Elise was engaged in a
lively conversation with Jacobi on the balcony.

"And if," said he, "I endeavour to win her heart, would her
parents--would her mother see it without displeasure? Ah, speak candidly
with me; the well-being of my life depends upon it."

"You have my accordance, my good wishes, Jacobi," returned Elise. "I say
to you what I have already said to my husband, that I should willingly
call you son."

"Oh!" exclaimed Jacobi, deeply moved, and falling on one knee, whilst he
pressed her hand to his lips--"oh that my whole life might evidence to
you my gratitude and my love--!"

At this very moment, Louise, who had been seeking her mother, approached
the balcony; she saw Jacobi's action, and heard his words: she withdrew
quickly, as if she had been stung by a snake.

From this time a great change was more and more perceptible in her.
Still, reserved, and very pale, she moved about like one in a dream,
amid the lively circles of Axelholm, and agreed willingly to the
proposition which her mother, who was uneasy on her account, made of
their stay being shortened. Jacobi, as much astonished as distressed by
the sudden unfriendliness of Louise towards him, began to think that the
place must in some kind of way be bewitched, and desired more than
anybody else to get away from it.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] A mile Swedish is equal to six English miles.

[11] Merry, in Swedish.




CHAPTER IX.

THE RETURN HOME.


What was it that Jacobi and Henrik had so much to arrange together
before their departure from Axelholm, and even whilst they were there?
Petrea's curiosity was terribly excited, but she could not come at any
clue by which to satisfy it. Some kind of plot which concerned the
family, seemed to be in agitation.

Henrik and his friend had long intended to give a little entertainment
to the family, and the opportunity to do so now seemed favourable, as
well as also to combine it with an agreeable surprise; the scene of
which should be a pretty and good Inn, half way between Axelholm and the
city. Here, on their return, they would halt under pretence of some
repair being necessary to one of the carriages, and the ladies should be
persuaded to enter the house, where, in the mean time, all should be
prepared.

The two friends had greatly delighted themselves over this scheme, and
in order to obtain for Louise her favourite luxury of ices, Jacobi had
drained his already reduced purse.

In going to Axelholm the family had so divided themselves that Louise
with Petrea went in what is called a Medewi-carriage, the Judge's own
equipage, which was driven by Jacobi, with whom Henrik sate on the
driving-box, whilst the mother and the other daughters went in a covered
hired carriage, driven by the Judge himself. On the return, the same
arrangement was to be observed, with the difference of Jacobi driving
the large carriage, and Henrik driving his sisters.

The mother, and even the young gentlemen, declared with becoming
discretion that they would not confide the reins to less skilful hands,
because the road was rough and hilly, and moreover bad from rain.
Notwithstanding all this, however, Jacobi intrigued so that, contrary to
the established arrangement, he mounted the coach-box of the young
ladies, and Henrik that of his mother. But the Candidate had not much
pleasure from so doing, since "the object" was no longer such as she was
during the drive thither. At that time she was more cheerful than
common; rejoiced so heartily over the spring air, over the song of the
lark; over fields, and cows, and cottages, and over everything that she
saw, communicating all her delight to Jacobi, who sate all the way on
the driving-box with his face turned towards the carriage (Henrik
solemnly advised him to fix himself in this reversed position), and
their blue eyes then rested on each other with a spring of pure
devotion. Now, everything was otherwise: "the object" appeared to give
attention to nothing. She leaned back in the carriage with her veil over
her face, and a cathedral is far more conversable than she; for it
speaks through the tongue in its tower, but Louise's tongue was
perfectly dumb, and Petrea's, which once never ceased, enlivened her
not. In vain Jacobi sought to catch Louise's eye. She avoided him, and
he was quite cast down.

After having been many times most properly jogged and shaken, they
arrived fortunately at the wayside inn; yet no! not so fortunately
either, one of the carriage-wheels was discovered to be somewhat broken:
it was not dangerously so, oh no, heaven forbid that! but it must of
necessity be mended before they could proceed further. Henrik prayed his
mother and sisters while this was doing to alight and enter the inn, the
host and hostess of which now stood at the door, and with bows and
curtseys besought the travellers to enter. The host came himself and
opened the carriage-doors. Elise was startled, and uttered an
exclamation of surprise;--the host really and truly must be her husband;
and the hostess, the very prettiest hostess in the world, was bodily her
daughter Eva! The travelling daughters, too, were as much astonished,
made all kinds of exclamations, and recognised in host and hostess
father and sister. But neither host nor hostess were confounded, nor
allowed themselves to be confused by the confusion of the travellers;
they knew themselves too well who they were, and knew, too, how to
conduct themselves in their office. They led their guests, with many
apologies and politenesses, up to two large and handsome rooms, and here
the host, quite in despair, began to bustle about, and to summon both
maid and waiter. At last the waiter came in his blue apron. A new
miracle! He was a living image of the Candidate! And now came the maid.
A new amazement! A handsomer person, or one that more nearly resembled
Henrik it would have been impossible to find! But she went about
clumsily, and had nearly fallen down, stumbling first with this, and
then with that. The host scolded her vehemently on account of her
clumsiness, and scolded the waiter also till he made them both cry, at
least so it seemed; whereupon he chased them both out with the order to
return instantly with refreshments. The host, now again in brilliant,
excellent, polite humour, let fly with his own hand the corks of two
champagne bottles, poured out, and drank with the ladies. After they had
refreshed themselves with all kinds of delicious eating, amid the most
lively conversation, some person, who called himself Noah's grandson,
was announced, requesting permission to exhibit to the company various
strange animals and other beautiful curiosities, which had been found in
the ark. The grandson of Noah was called in by a great majority of
voices, and a face presented itself at the door which, with the
exception of a certain grey beard, bore a great resemblance to Jeremias
Munter. His menagerie, and his cabinet of art, were set out in another
room, into which the company were conducted; and there many
strangely-formed creatures were exhibited, and little scenes
represented, to which Noah's grandson gave explanations and made
speeches which were almost as humorous and witty (to be quite so was
impossible) as those of Japhet, in that wonderful and exquisite book,
"Noah's Ark."[12] Two other grandsons of Noah, who bore no resemblance to
any acquaintance of the family, assisted at this exhibition, at the end
of which Noah's learned grandson gave to each of the spectators a little
souvenir from the contents of the ark, and that with so much tact, that
every one received precisely the thing which gave him pleasure. Louise,
moreover, received a remarkable sermon, which was preached by Father
Noah himself on the first Sunday of his abode in the ark. But near the
title-page of this same sermon she found a piece of poetry which
evidently bore a later date. Louise did not, however, read it then, but
blushing very deeply, put it carefully by.

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