Oliver Fleming - "Ambrotox and Limping Dick"

Walter Lippmann - "A Preface to Politics"

Huguette Bertrand - "Entre la chair et l'ame, poesie"

Agnes C. Laut - "Canada: the Empire of the North"

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 read the "Magic King." She ought properly to have read it aloud
to the family circle in an evening, and then its dangerous magic would
have been decreased; but she read it beforehand, privately to herself
during the night, and it drew her into the bewildering magic circle. She
thought of nothing, dreamed of nothing, but wonderful adventure;
wonderfully beautiful ladies, and wonderfully brave heroes! She was
herself always one of them, worshipped or worshipping; now combating,
cross in hand, against witches and dragons; now wandering in dreamy
moonlight among lilies in the Lady Minnetrost's Castle. It seemed as if
the chaotic confusion of Petrea's brain had here taken shape and
stature, and she now took possession with redoubled force of the
phantasy world, which once before, under the guise of the Wood-god, had
carried away her childish mind and conducted her into false tracks; and
it was so even now; for while she moved night and day in a dream-world
in which she luxuriated to exultation, in magnificent and wonderful
scenes, in which she herself always played a part, she got on but
lamentably in real and every-day life. The head in which so many
splendid pictures and grand schemes were agitating, looked generally
something like a bundle of flax; she never noticed the holes and specks
in her dress, nor her ragged stockings and trodden-down shoes; she
forgot all her little, every-day business, and whatever she had in her
hand she either lost or dropped.

She had, besides, a passion for cracking almonds. "A passion," Louise
said, "as expensive as it was noisy, and which never was stronger than
when she went about under the influence of the magic ring; and that
perpetual crack! crack! which was heard wherever she went, and the
almond shells on which people trod, or which hung to the sleeve of
whoever came to the window, were anything but agreeable."

Whenever Petrea was deservedly reproved or admonished for these things,
she fell out of the clouds, or rather out of her heaven, down to the
earth, which seemed to her scarcely anything else than a heap of nettles
and brambles, and very gladly indeed would she have bought with ten
years of her life one year of the magic power of the "Magic Ring,"
together with beauty, magic charms, power, and such-like things, which
she did not possess, except in her dreams.

Petrea's life was a cleft between an ideal and a real world, of both of
which she knew nothing truly, and which, therefore, could not become
amalgamated in her soul. Rivers of tears flowed into the separating
gulf, without being able to fill it or to clear her vision, while she
now complained of circumstances, and now of her own self, as being the
cause of what she endured.

It was at this time that, partly at the wish of the parents, and partly
also out of his own kind-heartedness, Jacobi began seriously to occupy
himself with Petrea; and he occupied her mind in such a manner as
strengthened and practised her thinking powers, whereby the fermentation
in her feelings and imagination was in some measure abated. All this was
indescribably beneficial to her, and it would have been still more so
had not the teacher been too----but we will leave the secret to future
years.

* * * * *

The Judge received one day a large letter from Stockholm, which, after
he had read, he silently laid before his wife. It came from the highest
quarter, contained most honourable and flattering praise of the services
of Judge Frank, of which the government had long been observant, and now
offered him elevation to the highest regal court of justice.

When Elise had finished the letter she looked up inquiringly to her
husband, who stood beside her. "What think you of it, Ernst?" asked she,
with a constrained and uneasy glance.

The Judge walked more quickly up and down the room, as was his custom
when anything excited him. "I cannot feel indifferent," said he; "I am
affected by this mark of confidence in my sovereign. I have long
expected this occurrence; but I feel, I see that I cannot leave my
present sphere of operation. My activity is suited to it; I know that I
am of service here, and the confidence of the Governor gives me
unrestrained power to work according to my ability and views. It is
possible that he, instead of me, may get the credit of the good which is
done in the province; but, in God's name, let it be so! I know that what
is good and beneficial is actually done, and that is enough; but there
is a great deal which is only begun which must be completed, and a great
deal, an infinite great deal, remains yet to be done. I cannot leave a
half-finished work--I cannot and I will not! One must complete one's
work, else it is good for nothing! And I know that here I am--but I am
talking only of myself. Tell me, Elise, what you wish--what you would
like."

"Let us remain here!" said Elise, giving her hand to her husband, and
seating herself beside him. "I know that you would have no pleasure in a
higher rank, in a larger income, if you on that account must leave a
sphere where you feel yourself in your place, and where you can work
according to the desire of your own heart, and where you are surrounded
by persons who esteem and love you! No; let us remain here!"

"But you, you Elise," said he; "speak of yourself, not of me."

"Yes, you!" answered she, with the smile of a happy heart, "that is not
so easy to do--for you see all that belongs to the one is so interwoven
with what belongs to the other. But I will tell you something about
myself. I looked at myself this morning in the glass--no satirical
looks, my love!--and it seemed to me as if I appeared strong and
healthy. I thought of you, thought how good and kind you were, and how,
whilst I had walked by your side, I had been strengthened both in body
and mind; how I must still love you more and more, and how we had become
happier and happier together. I thought of your activity, so rich in
blessing both for home and for the general good; thought on the
children, how healthy and good they are, and how their characters have
unfolded so happily under our hands. I thought of our new house which
you have built so comfortable and convenient for us all, and just then
the sun shone cheerfully into my little, beloved boudoir, and I felt
myself so fortunate in my lot! I thanked God both for it and for you! I
would willingly live and die in this sphere--in this house. Let us then
remain here."

"God bless you for these words, Elise!" said he. "But the children--the
children! Our decision will influence their future; we must also hear
what they have to say; we must lay the matter before them: not that I
fear their having, if they were aware of our mode of reasoning, any wish
different to ours, but at all events they must have a voice in the
business. Come, Elise! I shall have no rest till it is all talked over
and decided."

* * * * *

When the Judge laid the affair before the family council, it occasioned
a great surprise; on which a general silence ensued, and attractive
visions began to swarm before the eyes of the young people, not exactly
of the highest Court of Judicature, but of the seat of the same--of the
Capital. Louise looked almost like a Counsellor of Justice herself. But
when her father had made known his and his wife's feelings on the
subject, he read in their tearful eyes gratitude for the confidence he
had placed in them, and the most entire acquiescence with his will.

No one spoke, however, till "the little one"--the father had not said to
her, "Go out for awhile, Gabriele dear;" "Let her stop with us," he
said, on the contrary, "she is a prudent little girl!"--no, none spoke
till Gabriele threw her arms about her mother's neck, and exclaimed,
"Ah, don't let us go away from here--here we are so happy!"

This exclamation was echoed by all.

"Well, then, here we remain, in God's name!" said the Judge, rising up
and extending his arms, with tears in his eyes, towards the beloved
circle. "Here we remain, children! But this shall not prevent your
seeing Stockholm, and enjoying its pleasures and beauties! I thank God,
my children, that you are happy here; it makes me so, too. Do you
understand that?"

* * * * *

On this day, for the first time after a long interval, Leonore dined
with the family. Everybody rejoiced on that account; and as her
countenance had a brighter and more kindly expression than common,
everybody thought her pretty. Eva, who had directed and assisted her
toilet, rejoiced over her from the bottom of her heart.

"Don't you see, Leonore," said she, pointing up to heaven, where light
blue openings were visible between clouds, which for the greater part of
the day had poured down rain--"don't you see it is clearing up, Leonore?
and then we will go out together, and gather flowers and fruit." And as
she said this her blue eyes beamed with kindness and the enjoyment of
life.

* * * * *

"What, in all the world, are these doing here?" asked Henrik, as he saw
his mother's shoes standing in the window in the pale sunshine; "they
ought to be warmed, I fancy, and the sun has no desire to come out and
do his duty. No, in this case, I shall undertake to be sun!"

"That you are to me, my summer-child!" said the mother, smiling
affectionately as she saw Henrik had placed her shoes under his
waistcoat, to warm them on his breast.

* * * * *

"My sweet Louise!" exclaimed Jacobi, "you can't think what lovely
weather it is! Should we not take a little walk? You come with us? You
look most charming--but, in heaven's name, not in the Court-preacher!"

FOOTNOTES:

[15] Thomas Thorild, born 1759, died 1808, an eminent Swedish poet.




PART III.

CHAPTER I.

LEONORE TO EVA.


"And so you are coming home? Coming really home soon, sweet Eva? Ah! I
am so happy, so joyful on that account, and yet a little anxious: but
don't mind that; come, only come, and all will be right! When I can only
look into your eyes, I feel that all will be clear. Your good
eyes!--Gabriele and I call them 'our blue ones'--how long it is that I
have not seen you--two long years! I cannot conceive, dear Eva, how I
have lived so long without you; but then it is true that we have not
been in reality separated. I have accompanied you into the great world;
I have been with you to balls and concerts; I have enjoyed with you your
pleasures and the homage which has been paid to you. Ah! what joy for me
that I have learned to love you! Since then I have lived twofold, and
felt myself so rich in you! And now you are coming back; and then, shall
we be as happy as before?

"Forgive, forgive this note of interrogation! But sometimes a disquiet
comes over me. You speak so much of the great world, of joys and
enjoyments, which--it is not in home to afford you. And your grand new
acquaintance--ah, Eva! let them be ever so agreeable and interesting,
they would not love you as we do, as I do! And then this Major R----! I
am afraid of him, Eva. It appears to me the most natural thing in the
world that he should love you, but--ah, Eva! it grieves me that you
should feel such affection for him. My dear, good Eva, attach yourself
not too closely to him before--but I distress you, and that I will not.
Come, only come to us; we have so much to talk to you about, so much to
hear from you, so much to say to you!

"I fancy you will find the house yet more agreeable than formerly; we
have added many little decorations to it. You will again take breakfast
with us--that comfortable meal, and my best-beloved time; and tea with
us--your favourite hour, in which we were assembled for a merry evening,
and were often quite wild. This morning I took out your breakfast-cup,
and kissed that part of the edge on which the gold was worn off.

"We will again read books together, and think about and talk about them
together. We will again go out together and enjoy all the freshness and
quiet of the woods. And would it not be a blessed thing to wander thus
calmly through life, endeavouring to improve ourselves, and to make all
those around us happier; to admire the works of God, and humbly to thank
Him for all that he has given to us and others? Should we not then have
lived and flourished enough on earth? Truly I know that a life quiet as
this might not satisfy every one; neither can it accord with all seasons
of life. Storms will come;--even I have had my time of unrest, of
suffering, and of combat. But, thank God! that is now past, and the
sensibility which destroyed my peace is now become as a light to my
path; it has extended my world; it has made me better: and now that I no
longer covet to enjoy the greater and stronger pleasures of life, I
learn now, each passing day, to prize yet higher the treasures which
surround me in this quiet every-day life. Oh, no one can be happy on
earth till he has learned the worth of little things, and to attend to
them! When once he has learned this, he may make each day not only
happy, but find in it cause of thankfulness. But he must have
peace--peace both within himself and without himself; for peace is the
sun in which every dewdrop of life glitters!

"Would that I could but call back peace into a heart which--but I must
prepare you for a change, for a great void in the house. You will not
find Petrea here. You know the state of things which so much distressed
me for some time. It would not do to let it go on any longer either for
Louise or Jacobi's sake, or yet for her own, and therefore Petrea must
go, otherwise they all would have become unhappy. She herself saw it;
and as we had tidings of Jacobi's speedy arrival here, she opened her
heart to her parents. It was noble and right of her, and they were as
good and prudent as ever; and now our father has gone with her to his
friend Bishop B. May God preserve her, and give her peace! I shed many
tears over her; but I hope all may turn out well. Her lively heart has a
fresh-flowing fountain of health in it; and certainly her residence in
the country, which she likes so much, new circumstances, new
interests----

"I was interrupted: Jacobi is come! It is a good thing that Petrea is
now whiling away her time in the shades of Furudal; good for her poor
heart, and good too for the betrothed pair, who otherwise could not have
ventured to have been happy in her presence. But now they are entirely
so.

"Now, after six years' long waiting, sighing, and hoping, Jacobi sees
himself approaching the goal of his wishes--marriage and a parsonage!
And the person who helps him to all this, to say nothing of his own
individual deserts, is his beloved patron the excellent Excellency
O----. Through his influence two important landed-proprietors in the
parish of Great T. have been induced to give their votes to Jacobi, who,
though yet young, has been proposed; and thus he will receive one of the
largest and most beautiful livings in the bishopric, and Louise will
become a greatly honoured pastor's wife--'provost's wife' she herself
says prophetically.

"The only _but_ in this happiness is, that it will remove Jacobi and
Louise so far from us. Their highest wish had been to obtain the rural
appointment near this city; and thus we might in that case have
maintained our family unbroken, even though Louise had left her home;
but--'but,' says our good, sensible 'eldest,' with a sigh, 'all things
cannot be perfect here on earth.'

"The day of nomination falls early in the spring; and Jacobi, who must
enter upon his office immediately after his appointment, wishes to
celebrate his marriage at Whitsuntide, in order that he may conduct his
young wife into his shepherd's hut along flower-bestrewn paths, and by
the song of the lark. Mrs. Gunilla jestingly beseeches of him not to
become too nomadic: however, this is certain, that no living being has
more interest about cows and calves, sheep and poultry, than Louise.

"The future married couple are getting their whole household in order
beforehand; and Gabriele heartily amuses herself with such fragments of
their entertaining conversation as reach her ear, while they sit on the
sofa in the library talking of love and economy. But it is not talking
_alone_ that they do, for Jacobi's heart is full of warm human love; and
our father has not the less imparted to all his children somewhat of his
love for the general good, although Gabriele maintains that her portion
thereof is as yet very small.

"It gives one great pleasure to see the betrothed go out to make
purchases, and then to see them return so cordially well pleased with
all they have bought. Louise discovers something so unsurpassably
excellent in everything with which she furnishes herself, whether it be
an earthen or a silver vessel. When I look at these two, like a pair of
birds carrying together straws to their nest, and twittering over them,
I cannot help thinking that it must be a greater piece of good fortune
to come to the possession of a humbly supplied habitation which one has
furnished oneself, than to that of a great and rich one for which other
people have cared. One is, in the first place, so well acquainted with,
so on thee-and-thou terms with one's things; and certainly nobody in
this world can be more so than Louise with hers.

"We are all of us now working most actively for the wedding, but still
our father does not look with altogether friendly eyes on an occasion
which will withdraw a daughter from his beloved circle. He would so
gladly keep us all with him, for which I rejoice and am grateful.
Apropos! we have a scheme for him which will make him happy in his old
age, and our mother also. You remember the great piece of building-land
overgrown with bushes, which the people had not understanding enough
either to build upon or to give up to us, this we intend--but we will
talk about it mouth to mouth. Petrea has infected us all, even 'our
eldest,' with her desire for great undertakings; and then--truly it is a
joy to be able to labour for the happiness of those who have laboured
for us so affectionately and unweariedly.

"Now something about friends and acquaintance.

"All friends and acquaintance ask much after you. Uncle Jeremias
wrangles because you do not come, all the time he breakfasts with us
(generally on Wednesday and Saturday mornings), and while he abuses our
rusks, but notwithstanding devours a great quantity of them. For some
time he has appeared to me to have become more amiable than formerly;
his temper is milder, his heart always was mild. He is the friend and
physician of all the poor. A short time ago he bought a little villa, a
mile distant from the city; it is to be the comfort of his age, and is
to be called 'The Old Man's Rose,'--does not that sound comfortable?

"Annette P. is very unhappy with her coarse sister-in-law. She does not
complain; but look, complexion, nay, even her whole being, indicate the
deepest discontent with life; we must attract her to us, and endeavour
to make her happier.

"Here comes Gabriele, and insists upon it that I should leave some room
for her scrawl. A bold request! But then who says no to her? Not I, and
therefore I must make a short ending.

"If a certain Baron Rutger L. be introduced to you when you return, do
not imagine that he is deranged, although he sometimes seems as if he
were so. He is the son of one of my father's friends; and as he is to be
educated by my father for a civil post, he is boarded in our family. He
is a kind of '_diamant brute_,' and requires polishing in more senses
than one; in the mean time I fancy his wild temper is in a fair way of
being tamed. One word from our mother makes impression upon him; and he
is actually more regardful of the ungracious demeanour of our little
lady, than of the moral preaching of our eldest. He is just nineteen.
Old Brigitta is quite afraid of him, and will hardly trust herself to
pass him lest he should leap over her. Oh, how happy she, like everybody
else, will be to see you back again! She fears lest you should get
married, and stop in 'the hole,' as she calls Stockholm.

"Henrik will remain with us over Christmas, but you must come and help
to enliven him; he is not so joyous as formerly. I fancy that the
misunderstanding between him and Stjernhoek distresses him. Ah! why would
not these two understand one another! For the rest, many things are now
at stake for Henrik; God grant that all may go well, both on his account
and mamma's!

"We shall not see Petrea again till after Louise's marriage. When shall
we all be again all together at home? Sara! ah? it is now above four
years since we heard anything of her, and all inquiry and search after
her has been in vain. Perhaps she lives no longer! I have wept many
tears over her; oh! if she should return! I feel that we should be
happier together than formerly; there was much that was good and noble
in her, but she was misled--I hear my mother's light steps, and that
predicts that she has something good for me----

"Ah, yes! she has! she has a letter from you, my Eva! You cannot fix the
day of your return, and that is very sad--but you come soon! You love
Stockholm; so do I also; I could embrace Stockholm for that reason.

"I am now at the very edge of my paper. Gabriele has bespoken the other
side. I leave you now, in order to write to _her_ who left us with
tears, but who, as I cordially hope, will return to us with smiles."

FROM GABRIELE.

In the Morning.

"I could not write last evening, and am now up before the sun in
order to tell you that nothing can console me for Petrea's
absence, excepting your return. We are all of us terribly longing
after 'our Rose.' I know very well who beside your own family
longs for this same thing.

"I must tell you that a little friendship has been got up between
Uncle Jeremias and me. All this came about in the fields, for he
is never particularly polite within doors; whilst in a walk, the
beautiful side of his character always comes out. Petrea and I
have taken such long excursions with him, and then he was mild and
lively; then he botanised with us, told us of the natural families
in the vegetable kingdom, and related the particular life and
history of many plants. Do you know it is the most agreeable
thing in the world to know something of all this; one feels
oneself on such familiar terms with these vegetable families. Ah!
how often when I feel thus am I made aware how indescribably rich
and glorious life is, and I fancy that every one must live happily
on earth who has only eyes and sense awakened to all that is
glorious therein, and then I can sing like a bird for pure
life-enjoyment. In the mean time, Uncle Jeremias and I cultivate
flowers in the house quite enthusiastically, and intend at
Christmas to make presents of both red and white lilacs; but,
indeed, I have almost a mind to cry that the nose of my Petrea
cannot smell them.

"But I must come to an end, for you must know that occasionally I
have undertaken to have a watchful eye over the breakfast-table,
and therefore I go now to look after it. Bergstroem has fortunately
done all this, so that I have nothing now to do; next I must go
and look after my moss-rose, and see whether a new bud has yet
made its appearance; then I shall go and see after mamma; one
glance must I give through the window to the leaves in the garden,
which nod a farewell to me before they fall from the twigs; and to
the sun also, which now rises bright and beaming, must I send a
glance--a beam from the sun of my eyes and out of the depth of my
thankful heart; and therefore that I may be able, for the best
well-being of the community, to attend to all these important
matters, I must say to you, farewell! to you who are so dear to
me."




CHAPTER II.

PETREA TO LEONORE.


From the Inn at D----.

"It is evening, and my father is gone out in order to make
arrangements for our to-morrow's voyage. I am alone: the mist
rises thick without, before the dirty inn-windows; my eyes also
are misty; my heart is heavy and full, I must converse with you.

"Oh, Leonore! the bitter step has thus been taken--I am separated
from my own family, from my own home; and not soon shall I see
again their mild glances, or hear your consoling voice! and all
this--because I have not deserved--because I have destroyed the
peace of my home! Yes, Leonore! in vain will you endeavour to
excuse me, and reconcile me with myself! I know that I am
criminal--that I have desired, that I have wished, at least, for a
moment--oh, I would now press the hem of Louise's garment to my
lips and exclaim 'Forgive, forgive! I have passed judgment on
myself--I have banished myself; I fly--fly in order no more to
disturb your happiness or his!'

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