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His influence over me became greater each succeeding day: I seemed to
live continually under his eyes; when they beamed on me in kindness, it
was as if a spring breeze passed through my soul; and if his glance was
graver than common, I became still, and out of spirits. It seemed to me
at times--and it is so even to this very day--that if this clear and
wonderfully penetrating glance were only once, and with its full power,
riveted upon me, my very heart would cease to beat. Yet after all, I am
not sure whether I loved him. I hardly think I did; for when he was
absent I then seemed to breathe so freely, yet at the same time, I would
have saved his life by the sacrifice of my own.

In several respects we had no sympathies in common. He had no taste for
music, which I loved passionately; and in reading too our feelings were
so different. He yawned over my favourite romances, nay he even
sometimes would laugh when I was at the point of bursting into tears; I,
on the contrary, yawned over his useful and learned books, and found
them more tedious than I could express. The world of imagination in
which my thoughts delighted to exercise themselves, he valued not in the
least, whilst the burdensome actuality which he always was seeking for
in life, had no charm for me. Nevertheless there were many points in
which we accorded--these especially were questions of morals--and
whenever this was the case, it afforded both of us great pleasure.

And now came the time, Cecilia, in which you left me; when our fates
separated themselves, although our hearts did not.

One day there were many strangers with us; and in the afternoon I played
at shuttlecock with young cousin Emil, to whom we were so kind, and who
deserved our kindness so well. How it happened I cannot tell, but before
long Ernst took his place, and was my partner in the game. He looked
unusually animated, and I felt myself more at ease with him than common.
He threw the shuttlecock excellently, and with a firm hand, but always
let it fly a little way beyond me, so that I was obliged to step back a
few paces each time to catch it, and thus unconsciously to myself was I
driven, in the merry sport, through a long suite of rooms, till we came
at last to one where we were quite alone, and a long way from the
company. All at once then Ernst left off his play, and a change was
visible in his whole countenance. I augured something amiss, and would
gladly have sprung far, far away, but I felt powerless; and then Ernst
spoke so from his heart, so fervently, and with such deep tenderness,
that he took my heart at once to himself. I laid my hand, although
tremblingly, in his, and, almost without knowing what I did, consented
to go through life by his side.

I had just then passed my nineteenth year; and my beloved parents
sanctioned the union of their daughter with a man so respectable and so
universally esteemed, and one, moreover, whom everybody prophesied would
one day rise to the highest eminences of the state--and Ernst, whose
nature it was to accomplish everything rapidly which he undertook,
managed it so that in a very short time our marriage was celebrated.

At the same time some members of my family thought that by this union I
had descended a step. I thought not; on the contrary, the very reverse.
I was of high birth, had several not undistinguished family connexions,
and was brought up in a brilliant circle, in all the superficial
accomplishments of the day, amid superfluity and thoughtlessness. He was
a man who had shaped out his own course in life, who, by his own honest
endeavours, and through many self-denials, had raised his father's house
from its depressed condition, and had made the future prospects of his
mother and sister comfortable and secure: he was a man self-dependent,
upright, and good--yes, GOOD, and that I discover more and more the
deeper knowledge I obtain of his true character, even though the outward
manner may be somewhat severe--in truth, I feel myself very inferior
beside him.

The first year of our marriage we passed, at their desire, in the house
of my parents; and if I could only have been less conscious of his
superiority, and could only have been more certain that he was satisfied
with me, nothing would have been wanting to my happiness. Everybody
waited upon me; and perhaps it was on this account that Ernst, in
comparison, seemed somewhat cold; I was the petted child of my too kind
parents; I was thankless and peevish, and ah, some little of this still
remains! Nevertheless, it was during this very time that, under the
influence of my husband, the true beauty and reality of life became more
and more perceptible to my soul. Married life and family ties, one's
country and the world, revealed their true relationships, and their holy
signification to my mind. Ernst was my teacher; I looked up to him with
love, but not without fear.

Many were the projects which we formed in these summer days, and which
floated brightly before my romantic fancy. Among these was a journey on
foot through the beautiful country west of Sweden, and this was one of
the favourite schemes of my Ernst. His mother--from whom our little
Petrea has derived her somewhat singular name--was of Norway, and many a
beloved thought of her seemed to have interwoven itself with the valleys
and mountains, which, as in a wonderfully-beautiful fairy tale, she had
described to him in the stories she told. All these recollections are a
sort of romantic region in Ernst's soul, and thither he betakes himself
whenever he would refresh his spirit, or lay out something delightful
for the future. "Next year," he would then exclaim, "will we take a
journey!" And then we laid out together our route on the map, and I
determined on the dress which I would wear as his travelling-companion
when we would go and visit "that sea-engarlanded Norway." Ah! there soon
came for me other journeys.

It was during these days also that my first-born saw the light; my
beautiful boy! who so fettered both my love and my thoughts that Ernst
grew almost jealous. How often did I steal out of bed at night in order
to watch him while he slept! He was a lively, restless child, and it
therefore was a peculiar pleasure for me to see him at rest; besides
which, he was so angelically lovely in sleep! I could have spent whole
nights bending over his cradle.

So far, Cecilia, all went with us as in the romances with which we in
our youth nourished heart and soul. But far other times came. In the
first place, the sad change in the circumstances of my parents, which
operated so severely on our position in life; and then for me so many
children--cares without end, grief and sickness! My body and mind must
both have given way under their burden, had Ernst not been the man he
is.

It suited his character to struggle against the stream; it was a sort of
pleasure to him to combat with it, to meet difficulties, and to overcome
them. With each succeeding year he imposed more business upon himself,
and by degrees, through the most resolute industry, he was enabled to
bring back prosperity to his house. And then how unwearingly kind he was
to me! How tenderly sustaining in those very moments, when without him I
must have found myself so utterly miserable! How many a sleepless night
has he passed on my account! How often has he soothed to sleep a sickly
child in his arms! And then, too, every child which came, as it were
only to multiply his cares, and increase the necessity for his labour,
was to him a delight--was received as a gift of God's mercy--and its
birth made a festival in the house. How my heart has thanked him, and
how has his strength and assurance nerved me!

When little Gabriele was born I was very near death; and it is my firm
belief that, without Ernst's care for me, I must then have parted from
my little ones. During the time of great weakness which succeeded this,
my foot scarcely ever touched the ground. I was carried by Ernst himself
wherever I would. He was unwearied in goodness and patience towards the
sick mother. Should she not now, that she is again in health, dedicate
her life to him? Ah, yes, that should she, and that will she! Alas, were
but my ability as strong as my will!

Do you know one thing, Cecilia, which often occasions me great trouble?
It is that I am not a clever housewife; that I can neither take pleasure
in all the little cares and details which the well-being of a house
really requires, nor that I have memory for these things; more
especially is the daily caring for dinner irksome to me. I myself have
but little appetite; and it is so unpleasing to me to go to sleep at
night, and to get up in the morning with my head full of schemes for
cooking. By this means, it happens that sometimes my husband's domestic
comforts are not such as he has a right to demand. Hitherto my weak
health, the necessary care of the children, and our rather narrow
circumstances, have furnished me with sufficient excuses; but these now
will avail me no longer; my health is again established, and our greater
prosperity furnishes the means for better household management.

On this account, I now exert myself to perform all my duties well; but,
ah! how pleasant it will be when the little Louise is sufficiently grown
up, that I may lay part of the housekeeping burdens on her shoulders. I
fancy to myself that she will have peculiar pleasure in all these
things.

I am to-day two-and-thirty years old. It seems to me that I have entered
a new period of my life: my youth lies behind me, I am advanced into
middle age, and I well know what both this and my husband have a right
to demand from me. May a new and stronger being awake in me! May God
support me, and Ernst be gentle towards his erring wife!

Ernst should have married a more energetic woman. My nervous weakness
makes my temper irritable, and I am so easily annoyed. His activity of
mind often disturbs me more than it is reasonable or right that it
should; for instance, I get regularly into a state of excitement, if he
only steadfastly fixes his eyes on a wall, or on any other object. I
immediately begin to fancy that we are going instantly to have a new
door opened, or some other change brought about. And oh! I have such a
great necessity for rest and quiet!

One change which is about to take place in our house I cannot anticipate
without uneasiness. It is the arrival of a candidate of Philosophy,
Jacob Jacobi, as tutor for my children. He will this summer take my wild
boy under his charge, and instruct the sisters in writing, drawing, and
arithmetic; and in the autumn conduct my first-born from the maternal
home to a great educational institution. I dread this new member in our
domestic circle; he may, if he be not amiable, so easily prove so
annoying; yet, if he be amiable and good, he will be so heartily welcome
to me, especially as assistant in the wearisome writing lessons, with
their eternal "Henrik, sit still!"--"Hold the pen properly,
Louise!"--"Look at the copy, Leonore!"--"Don't forget the points and
strokes, Eva!"--"Little Petrea, don't wipe out the letters with your
nose!" Besides this, my first-born begins to have less and less esteem
for my Latin knowledge; and Ernst is sadly discontented with his wild
pranks. Jacobi will give him instruction, together with Nils Gabriel,
the son of the District-Governor, Stjernhoek, a most industrious and
remarkably sensible boy, from whose influence on my Henrik I hope for
much good.

The Candidate is warmly recommended to us by a friend of my husband, the
excellent Bishop B.; yet, notwithstanding this, his actions at the
University did not particularly redound to his honour. Through credulity
and folly he has run through a nice little property which had been left
him by three old aunts, who had brought him up and spoiled him into the
bargain. Indeed, his career has hitherto not been quite a correct one.
Bishop B. conceals nothing of all this, but says that he is much
attached to the young man; praises his heart, and his excellent gifts as
a preceptor, and prays us to receive him cordially, with all parental
tenderness, into our family. We shall soon see whether he be deserving
of such hearty sympathy. For my part, I must confess that my motherly
tenderness for him is as yet fast asleep.

Yet, after all, this inmate does not terrify me half as much as a visit
with which I am shortly threatened. Of course you have heard of the lady
of the late Colonel S., the beautiful Emilie, my husband's "old flame,"
as I call her, out of a little malice for all the vexation her
perfections, which are so very opposite to mine, have occasioned me. She
has been now for several years a widow, has lived long abroad, and now
will pay us a visit on her return to her native land. Ernst and she have
always kept up the most friendly understanding with each other, although
she refused his hand; and it is a noble characteristic of my Ernst, and
one which, in his sex, is not often found, that this rejection did not
make him indifferent to the person who gave it. On the contrary, he
professes the most warm admiration of this Emilie, and has not ceased to
correspond with her; and I, for I read all their letters, cannot but
confess her extraordinary knowledge and acuteness. But to know all this
near is what I would indeed be very gladly excused, since I cannot help
thinking that my husband's "old flame" has something of cold-heartedness
in her, and my heart has no great inclination to become warm towards
her.

It strikes ten o'clock. Ernst will not come home before twelve. I shall
leave you now, Cecilia, that----shall I confess my secret to you? You
know that one of my greatest pleasures is the reading of a good novel,
but this pleasure I have almost entirely renounced, because whenever I
have a really interesting one in my hand, I find the most cruel
difficulty in laying it down before I reach the last page. That,
however, does not answer in my case; and since the time when through the
reading of Madame De Stael's Corinne, two dinners, one great wash, and
seventeen lesser domestic affairs all came to a stand-still, and my
domestic peace nearly suffered shipwreck, I have made a resolution to
give up all novel-reading, at least for the present. But still it is so
necessary for me to have some literary relaxation of the kind, that
since I read no more novels, I have myself--begun to write one. Yes,
Cecilia, my youthful habits will not leave me, even in the midst of the
employments and prosaic cares of every-day life; and the flowers which
in the morning-tide cast their fragrance so sweetly around me, will yet
once more bloom for me in remembrance, and encircle my drooping head
with a refreshing garland. The joyful days which I passed by your side;
the impressions and the agreeable scenes--now they seem doubly so--which
made our youth so beautiful, so lively, and so fresh,--all these I will
work out into one significant picture, before the regular flight of
years has made them perish from my soul. This employment enlivens and
strengthens me; and if, in an evening, my nervous toothache, which is
the certain result of over-exertion or of vexation, comes on, there is
nothing which will dissipate it like the going on with my little
romance. For this very reason, therefore, because this evening my old
enemy has plagued me more than common, I have recourse to my innocent
opiate.

But Ernst shall not find me awake when he returns: this I have promised
him. Good night, sweet Cecilia!

We will now, in this place, give a little description of the
letter-writer--of the mother of Henrik, Louise, Eva, Leonore, Petrea,
and Gabriele.

Beautiful she certainly was not, but nature had given to her a noble
growth, which was still as fine and delicate as that of a young girl.
The features were not regular, but the mouth was fresh and bewitching,
the lips of a lovely bright red, the complexion fair, and the clear blue
eyes soft and kind. All her actions were graceful: she had beautiful
hands--which is something particularly lovely in a lady--yet she was not
solicitous to keep them always in view, and this beautified them still
more. She dressed with much taste, almost always in light colours; this
and the soft rose scent which she loved, and which always accompanied
her, lent to her whole being a something especially mild and agreeable.
One might compare her to moonlight; she moved softly, and her voice was
low and sweet, which, as Shakspeare says, is "an excellent thing in
woman." Seeing her, as one often might do, reclining on a soft couch,
playing with a flower or caressing a child, one could scarcely fancy her
the superintendent of a large household, with all its appertaining
work-people and servants; and beyond this, as the instructor of many
children: yet love and sense of duty had led her to the performance of
all this, had reconciled her to that which her natural inclinations were
so averse to; nay, by degrees indeed, had made these very cares dear to
her--whatever concerned the children lay near to her heart, whilst
order, pleasantness, and peace, regulated the house. The contents of the
linen-press were dear to her; a snow-white tablecloth was her delight;
grey linen, dust, and flies, were hated by her, as far as she could hate
anything.

But let us now proceed with our historical sketches.

We left Elise at her manuscript, by which she became soon so deeply
occupied that the clock struck twelve unperceived by her; nor was she
aware of the flight of time till a sudden terror thrilled her as she
heard her husband return. To throw her manuscript into her drawer, and
quickly undress, had been an easy thing for her, and she was about to do
so, when the thought occurred, "I have never hitherto kept my
proceedings secret from Ernst, and to-day I will not begin to do so;"
and she remained at her writing-table till he entered the room.

"What! yet up, and writing?" said he, with a displeased glance. "Is it
thus you keep your promise, Elise?"

"Pardon me, Ernst," said she; "I had forgotten myself."

"And for what?" asked he. "What are you writing? No, let me see! What! a
novel, as I live! Now, what use is this?"

"What use is it?" returned Elise. "Ah, to give me pleasure."

"But people should have sense and reason in their pleasures," said the
Judge. "Now it gives me no pleasure at all that you should sit up at
night ruining your eyes on account of a miserable novel;--if there were
a fire here I would burn the rubbish!"

"It would be a great deal better," returned Elise, mildly, "if you went
to bed and said your prayers piously, rather than thought about such an
_auto-da-fe_. How have you amused yourself at the Governor's?"

"You want now to be mixing the cards," said he. "Look at me, Elise; you
are pale; your pulse is excited! Say my prayers, indeed! I have a great
mind to give you a lecture, that I have! Is it reasonable--is it
prudent--to sit up at night and become pale and sleepless, in order to
write what is good for nothing? It really makes me quite angry that you
can be so foolish, so childish! It certainly is worth while your going
to baths, sending to the east and to the west to consult physicians, and
giving oneself all kind of trouble to regain your health, when you go
and do every possible thing you can in the world to destroy it!"

"Do not be angry, Ernst," besought Elise; "do not look so stern on me
to-night, Ernst; no, not to-night."

"Yes, indeed!" replied he, but in a tone which had become at once
milder, "because it is two-and-thirty years to-day since you came into
the world, do you think that you have a right to be absolutely
childish?"

"Put that down to my account," said Elise, smiling, yet with a tear in
her eye.

"Put it down! put it down!" repeated the Judge. "Yes, I suppose so.
People go on putting down neck or nothing till it's a pretty fool's
business. I should like to pack all novels and novel-writers out of the
world together! The world never will be wise till that is done; nor will
you either. In the mean time, however, it is as well that I have found
you awake, else I must have woke you to prove that you cannot conceal
from me, not even for once, how old you are. Here then is the punishment
for your bad intention."

"Ah! Walter Scott's romances!" exclaimed Elise, receiving a set of
volumes from her husband; "and such a magnificent edition! Thanks!
thanks! you good, best Ernst! But you are a beautiful lawgiver; you
promote the very things which you condemn!"

"Promise me, only," returned he, "not to spend the night in reading or
writing novels. Think only how precious your health is to so many of us!
Do you think I should be so provoked, if you were less dear to me? Do
you comprehend that? In a few years, Elise," added he, "when the
children are older, and you are stronger, we will turn a summer to
really good account, and take our Norwegian journey. You shall breathe
the fresh mountain air, and see the beautiful valleys and the sea, and
that will do you much more good than all the mineral waters in the
world. But come now, let us go and see the children; we will not wake
them, however, although I have brought with me some confectionery from
the lady hostess, which I can lay on their pillows. There is a rennet
for you."

The married pair went into the children's room, where the faithful old
Fin-woman, Brigitta, lay and guarded, like the dragon, her treasures.
The children slept as children sleep. The father stroked the beautiful
curling hair of the boy, but impressed a kiss on the rosy cheek of each
girl. After this the parents returned to their own chamber. Elise lay
down to rest; her husband sate down to his desk, but so as to shade the
light from his wife. The low sounds of a pen moving on paper came to her
ear as if in sleep. As the clock struck two she awoke, and he was still
writing.

Few men required and allowed themselves so little rest as Ernst Frank.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A kind of fine curled cake.

CHAPTER II.

THE CANDIDATE.

It was in the twilight. The children were playing at "lana eld"[2] in
the great hall, swarming about in holes and corners, when the sudden
stopping of a travelling carriage before the door operated upon the wild
little flock much as a stream of cold water on a swarm of Lees. The
Queen-bee of the children-swarm, the wise little Louise, sate herself
down at the window, and four other little heads clustered themselves
about her, fervent and inquisitive, and almost pushing her away in their
impatient zeal to get a peep at the arrival.

It was a gentleman who stepped lightly out of that travelling carriage,
but whether young or old, the children could not see; this, however,
they saw, that their father came quickly to the door, shook the
traveller by the hand, and conducted him into the house; whilst a very
small portmanteau was carried after him. Seeing this, the little swarm
hastened to their mother; to whom they gave, in all possible degrees of
tone, from a low whisper to a loud annunciation, the information that
for certain "the tutor was come."

Elise, who had company with her, calmed with a "yes, yes!" and "so,
indeed!" the excited state of the children. The Queen-bee composed
herself quickly; and with mildly silencing looks seemed to observe that
she had somewhat forgotten her own dignity, and seated herself quietly
and becomingly among the "grown people," as one of them, whilst the
other children gathered themselves in a little group in one corner of
the room, whispering and wondering; and whoever had looked at them might
have seen many a time Petrea's nose peering forth from the little group.

Judge Frank sent to announce to his wife the arrival of the expected
guest, who would be introduced to her as soon as he had completed his
toilet. Presently afterwards another messenger came, desiring
curling-irons for the Candidate.

"It is a blessed long toilet!" thought Elise, many a time during a full
hour which elapsed in waiting; and it must be confessed that her nose
more than once during the hour took the same direction as Petrea's.

At last the steps of two gentlemen were heard on the hall floor, and
there advanced through the parlour door a well-shod foot and a handsome
leg, belonging to a well-formed though somewhat compressed figure, which
carried gracefully a twenty-year-old head, of a jovial, comely
appearance, with the hair dressed after the newest mode. It was the
Candidate. He cast a glance first at his foot, and then at the lady of
the house, whom he approached with the most unconstrained
self-possession, exhibiting the while a row of dazzlingly white teeth.
Odour of _eau de Portugal_ diffused itself though the room.

The Judge, who followed, and whose bearing and simple demeanour
contrasted with those of the new guest, introduced the Candidate Jacobi.
Various unimportant polite speeches were made by everybody, and then
they all took their seats. The children then came forward, and made
their bows and curtseys. Henrik eyed his future preceptor with a joyous,
confiding glance; the Queen-bee curtseyed very becomingly, and then made
several steps backward as the young man seemed inclined to take the
great liberty of kissing her; whilst Petrea turned up her nose with an
inquisitive saucy air. The Candidate took the kindest notice of them
all; shook all of them by the hand; inquired all their names; looked at
himself in the glass, and arranged his curls.

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