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"Tears bedewed the face which she bowed down to her father's knee. Never
had she looked so lovely, so attractive! Ernst was greatly affected; he
laid his hand as if in blessing upon her head, which he raised, and
said:

"'When you were born, Eva, you lay long as if dead; in my arms you first
opened your eyes to the light, and I thanked God. But I thank him
manifold more for you in this moment, in which I see in you the joy and
blessing of our age--in which you have been able to combat with your own
heart, and to do that which is right! God bless you! God reward you!'

"He held her for a long time to his bosom, and his tears wetted her
forehead. I also clasped her in my arms, and let her feel my love and my
gratitude, and then, with a look which beamed through tears, she left
us.

"We called her 'our blessed child' at that time, for she had blessed us
with a great consolation. She had raised again our sunken hearts.

"Ernst went to the window and looked silently into the star-lighted
night; I followed him, and my glance accompanied his, which in this
moment was so beautiful and bright, and laying his arm around me he
spoke thus, as if to himself:

"'It is good! It is so intended--and that is the essential thing! He is
gone! What more? We must all go; all, sooner or later. He might not
perfect his work; but he stood ready, ready in will and ability when he
was called to the higher work-place! Lord and Master, thou hast taken
the disciple to thyself. Well for him that he was ready! That is the
most important for us all!'

"Ernst's words and state of mind produced great effect upon me. Peace
returned to my spirit. In the stillness of the night I did not sleep,
but I rested on his bosom. It was calm around me and in me. And in the
secret of my soul I wished that it might ever remain so, that no more
day might dawn upon me, and no more sun shine upon my weary, painful
eyes.

"How the days creep on! On occasions of great grief it always appears as
if time stood still. All things appear to stand still, or slowly and
painfully to roll on, in dark circles; but it is not so! Hours and days
go on in an interminable chain; they rise and sink like the waves of the
sea; and carry along with them the vessel of our life: carry it from the
islands of joy it is true, but carry it also away from the rocky shores
of grief. Hours came for me in which no consolation would appease my
heart, in which I in vain combated with myself, and said--'Now I will
read, and then pray, and then sleep!' But yet anguish would not leave
me, but followed me still, when I read; prevented me from prayer, and
chased away sleep; yes, many such hours have been, but they too are
gone; some such may perhaps come yet, but I know also that they too will
go. The tenderness of my husband and of my children--the peace of
home--the many pleasures within it--the relief of tears--the eternal
consolation of the Eternal Word--all these have refreshed and
strengthened my soul. It is now much, much better. And then--he died
pure and spotless, the youth with the clear glance and the warm heart!
He stood, as his father said, ready to go into the higher world. Oh!
more than ever have I acknowledged, in the midst of my deep pain, that
there is pain more bitter than this; for many a living son is a greater
grief to his mother than mine--the good one there, under the green
mound!

"We have planted fir-trees and poplars around the grave, and often will
it be decorated with fresh flowers. No dark grief abides by the grave of
the friendly youth.--Henrik's sisters mourn for him deep and
still--perhaps Gabriele mourns him most of all. One sees it not by day,
for she is generally gay as formerly; a little song, a gay jest, a
little adornment of the house, all goes on just as before to enliven the
spirits of her parents. But in the night, when all rest in their beds,
she is heard weeping, often so painfully--it is a dew of love on the
grave of her brother; but then every morning is the eye again bright and
smiling.

"On the first tidings of our loss Jacobi hastened to us. He took from
Ernst and me, in this time of heavy grief, all care upon himself, and
was to us as the tenderest of sons. Alas! he was obliged very soon to
leave us, but the occasion for this was the most joyful. He is about to
be nominated to the living of T----; and his promotion, which puts him
in the condition soon to marry, affords him also a respectable income,
and a sphere of action agreeable to his wishes and accordant with his
abilities, and altogether makes him unspeakably happy. Louise also looks
forward towards this union and establishment for life with quiet
satisfaction, and that, I believe, as much on account of her family as
for herself.

"The family affection appears, through the late misfortune, to have
received a new accession: my daughters are more amiable than ever in
their quiet care to sweeten the lives of their parents. Mrs. Gunilla has
been like a mother to me and mine during this time; and many dear
evidences of sympathy, from several of the best and noblest in Sweden,
have been given to Henrik's parents;--the young poet's pure glory has
brightened their house of mourning. 'It is beautiful to have died as he
has died,' says our good Assessor, who does not very readily find any
thing beautiful in this world.

"And I, Cecilia, should I shut my heart against so many occasions for
joy and gratitude, and sit with my sorrow in darkness? Oh no! I will
gladden the human circle in which I live; I will open my heart to the
gospel of life and of nature; I will seize hold on the moments, and the
good which they bring. No friendly glance, no spring-breeze, shall pass
over me unenjoyed or unacknowledged; out of every flower will I suck a
drop of honey, and out of every passing hour a drop of eternal life.

"And then--I know it truly--be my life's day longer or shorter, bear it
a joyful or a gloomy colour,

The day will never endure so long
But at length the evening cometh.

The evening in which I may go home--home to my son, my summer-child! And
then--Oh then shall I perhaps acknowledge the truth of that prophetic
word which has so often animated my soul: 'For behold I create new
heavens and a new earth; and the former shall not be remembered nor come
into mind. But be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which I create.'

"I have wept much whilst I have written this, but my heart has peace. It
is now late. I will creep in to my Ernst, and I feel that I shall sleep
calmly by his side.

"Good-night, my Cecilia."

CHAPTER IX.

NEW ADVERSITIES.

It was afternoon. The sisters were busily quilting Louise's bridal
bed-cover; because at the end of May, as was determined in the family
council, that she was to be married. The coverlet was of green silk, and
a broad wreath of leafy oak branches formed its border. This pattern had
occasioned a great deal of care and deliberation; but now, also, what
joy did it not give rise to, and what ever-enduring admiration of the
tasteful, the distinguished, the indescribably good effect which it
produced, especially when seen from one side! Gabriele, to be sure,
would have made sundry little objections relative to the connexion of
the leaves, but Louise would not allow that there was any weight in
them: "The border," said she, "is altogether charming!"

Gabriele had placed a full-blown monthly rose in the light locks of the
bride, and had arranged with peculiar grace, around the plaited hair at
the back of her head, the green rose-leaves like a garland. The effect
was lovely, as at this time the sun-light fell upon her head, and her
countenance had more than ordinary charm; the cheeks a high colour; the
eyes a clearer blue, as they were often raised from the green
rose-wreath and directed towards the window. Jacobi, the new pastor, was
expected that evening.

Gabriele went up to her mother, and besought her to notice how well
Louise looked, and the rose, how becoming it was to her! The mother
kissed her, but forgot to notice Louise in looking at the lovely face of
"the little lady."

The industrious up-and-down picking of the needles accompanied the
joyful conversation of the sisters.

Now they talked about the management of the living; now about the
school; now about milk, and now about cheese. They settled about
household matters; about mealtimes; the arrangement of the table, and
such like. In many things Louise intended to follow the example of home;
in others, she should do differently. "People must advance with the
age." She intended that there should be great hospitality in the
parsonage-house--that was Jacobi's pleasure. Some one of her own family
she hoped to have always with her;--an especial wing should be built for
beloved guests. She would go every Sunday to church, to hear her husband
preach or sing the service. If the old wives came to the parsonage with
eggs, or other little presents, they should always be well entertained,
and encouraged to come again. All sick people should be regaled with
Louise's elixir, and all misdoers should be more or less reproved by
her. She would encourage all, to the very best of her power, to read, to
be industrious, to go to church, and to plant trees. Every Sunday
several worthy peasants should be invited with their wives to dine at
the parsonage. If the ladies of the Captain and the Steward came to
visit her, the coffee-pot should be immediately set on, and the
card-table prepared. Every young peasant girl should live in service a
whole year at the parsonage before she was married, in order to learn
how to work, and how to behave herself.--N. B. This would be wages
enough for her. At all marriages the Pastor and his wife would always be
present, the same at christenings; they would extend their hand in
sponsorship over the youth, that all might grow up in good-breeding and
the fear of God. At Midsummer and in harvest-time there should be a
dance, and great merry-making at the parsonage for the people--but
without brandy;--for the rest, nothing should be wanting:

None she forgets, the mistress of the feast,
The beer flows free, the bunch of keys it jingles,
And, without pause, goes on the stormy dance!

Work should be found for all beggars at the parsonage, and then food;
for lazy vagabonds a passing lecture, and then--march! And thus, by
degrees, would preparation be made for the Golden Age.

Ah! Ruin to the golden plans and to the golden age which they planned!
Two letters which were delivered to Louise put a sudden end to them all!
One of the letters was from Jacobi, was very short, and said only that
the parsonage was quite gone from him; but that Louise would not blame
him on that account, as soon as she understood the whole affair.

"I long for you inexpressibly," continued Jacobi, "but I must
postpone my arrival in X. in order to pay my respects to his
Excellency O----, who is detained in P. from an attack of gout,
which seized him on his journey from Copenhagen to Stockholm. But
by the 6th of May I hope certainly to be with you. I have new
plans, and I long to lay down all my feelings and all my thoughts
on your true breast. My Louise! I will no longer wait and seek.
Since fortune perpetually runs out of my way, I will now take a
leap and catch it, and in so doing trust in heaven, in you, and
lastly also--in myself. But you must give me your hand. If you
will do that, beloved, I shall soon be much happier than now, and
eternally,

"Your tenderly devoted, "J. Jacobi."

The other letter was from an unknown hand--evidently a woman's hand, and
was as follows:

"Do not hate me, although I have stood in the way of your happiness. Do
not hate me--for I bless you and the noble man with whom you have united
your fate. He is my benefactor, and the benefactor of my husband and my
children. Oh, these children whose future he has made sure, they will
now call on heaven to give a double measure of happiness to him and you
for that which he has so nobly renounced. The object of my writing is to
obtain your forgiveness, and to pour forth the feelings of a grateful
heart to those who can best reward my benefactor. Will you be pleased on
this account to listen to the short, but uninteresting relation of a
condition, which, at the same time, is as common as it is mournful?

"Perhaps Mr. Jacobi may at some time or other have mentioned my husband
to you. He was for several years Jacobi's teacher, and each was much
attached to the other. My husband held the office of schoolmaster in W.,
with honour, for twenty years. His small income, misfortunes which befel
us, a quick succession of children, made our condition more oppressive
from year to year, and increased the debt which from the very time when
we settled down first we were obliged to incur. My husband sought after
a pastoral cure, but he could have recourse to none of those arts which
are now so almost universally helpful, and which often conduct the
hunter after fortune, and the mean-spirited, rather than the deserving,
to the gaol of their wishes; he was too simple for that, too modest, and
perhaps also too proud.

"During the long course of years he had seen his just hopes deceived,
and from year to year the condition of his family become more and more
melancholy. Sickness had diminished his ability to work, and the fear of
not being able to pay his debts gnawed into his health, which was not
strong, and the prospect--of his nine unprovided-for children! I know I
should deeply affect your heart, if I were to paint to you the picture
of this family contending with want; but my tears would blot my writing.
Jacobi can do it--he has seen it, he has understood it; for this picture
which I have so carefully concealed from every other eye--this pale,
family misery I revealed to him, for I was in despair!

"The name of my husband stood on the list of candidates for the living
of T----. He had three-fold the legally-demanded requisites of Jacobi,
and was, over and above, known and beloved by the parish; all the
peasants capable of voting, openly declared their intention of choosing
him. Two great landed proprietors, however, had the ultimate decision:
Count D., and Mr. B. the proprietor of the mines, could, if they two
were agreed, they two alone, elect the pastor. They also acknowledged
the esteem in which they held my husband, and declared themselves
willing to unite in the general choice.

"For the first time in many years did we venture to look up to a
brighter future. Presently, however, we learnt that a powerful patron of
Mr. Jacobi had turned the whole scale in his favour, and that it would
be soon decided; the two great proprietors had promised their votes to
him, and our condition was more hopeless than ever.

"The day of nomination approached. I did not venture to speak with my
strictly conscientious husband of the design which I cherished. I had
heard much said of Jacobi's excellent character; I was a distracted wife
and mother. I sought out Jacobi, and spoke to him out of the depths of
my heart, spoke to his sense of right--to his sense of honour; I showed
him how the affair stood for us before he disturbed it, by means which
could not be justly called honourable. I feared that my words were
bitter, but all the more angel-like was it in Jacobi to hear me with
calmness. I pictured to him our present condition; told him how he might
save us from misery, and besought him to do it.

"My prayer at first was almost wild, and in the beginning Jacobi seemed
almost to think it so, but he heard me out; he let me conduct him to the
house of his former teacher, saw the consuming anxiety depicted on his
pale emaciated countenance; saw that I had exaggerated nothing; he wept,
pressed my hand with a word of consolation, and went out hastily.

"The day of nomination came. Jacobi renounced all claims. My husband was
elected to the living in T----. Good God! how it sounded in our ears and
in our hearts! For a long time we could not believe it. After fifteen
years of deceived hopes we hardly dared to believe in such happiness. I
longed to embrace the knees of my benefactor, but he was already far
distant from us. A few friendly lines came from him, which reconciled my
husband to his happiness, and Jacobi's renunciation, and which made the
measure of his noble behaviour full. I have not yet been able to thank
him; but you, his amiable bride, say to him----"

We omit the outpourings which closed this letter; they proceeded from a
warm, noble heart, overflowing with happiness and gratitude.

The needles fell from the fingers of the sisters as the mother, at
Louise's request, read this letter aloud, and astonishment, sympathy,
and a kind of admiring pleasure might be read in their looks. They all
gazed one on the other with silent and tearful eyes.

Gabriele was the first who broke silence: "So, then, we shall keep our
Louise with us yet longer," said she gaily, while she embraced her; and
all united cordially in the idea.

"But," sighed Leonore, "it is rather a pity, on account of our wedding
and our parsonage; we had got all so beautifully arranged."

Louise shed a few quiet tears, but evidently not merely over the
disappointed expectation. Later in the evening the mother talked with
her, and endeavoured to discover what were her feelings under these
adverse circumstances.

Louise replied, with all her customary candour, that at first it had
fallen very heavily upon her. "I had now," continued she, "fixed my
thoughts so much on an early union with Jacobi; I saw so much in my new
condition which would be good and joyful for us all. But though this is
now--and perhaps for ever, at an end, yet I do not exactly know if I
wish it otherwise; Jacobi has behaved so right, so nobly right, I feel
that I now prize him higher, and love him more than ever!"

It was difficult to the Judge not to be more cheerful than common this
evening. He was inexpressibly affectionate towards his eldest daughter;
he was charmed with the way in which she bore her fate, and it seemed to
him as if she had grown considerably.

On the following day they quietly went on again with the quilting of the
bed-cover, whilst Gabriele read aloud; and thus "the childhood of Eric
Menved" diverted with its refreshing magic power all thoughts from the
parsonage and its lost paradise to the rich middle age of Denmark, and
to its young king Eric.

CHAPTER X.

NEW VIEWS AND NEW SCHEMES.

Jacobi was come: Gabriele complained jestingly to her mother, "that the
brother-in-law-elect had almost overturned her, the little
sister-in-law-elect, in order to fly to his Louise."

Louise received Jacobi with more than customary cordiality; so did the
whole family. That which Jacobi had lost in worldly wealth he seemed to
have won in the esteem and love of his friends; and it was the secret
desire of all to indemnify him, as it were, for the loss of the
parsonage. Jacobi on this subject had also his own peculiar views; and
after he had refreshed himself both with the earthly and the "angels'
food," which Louise served up to him in abundance, and after he had had
a conference of probably three hours' length with her, the result of the
same was laid before the parents, who looked on the new views thus
opened to them not without surprise and disquiet.

It was Jacobi's wish and intention now immediately to celebrate his
marriage with Louise, and afterwards to go to Stockholm, where he
thought of commencing a school for boys. To those who knew that all
Jacobi's savings amounted to a very inconsiderable capital; that his
yearly income was only fifty crowns; that he had displeased his only
influential patron; that his bride brought him no dowry; and thus, that
he had nothing on which to calculate excepting his own ability to
work--to all those then who knew thus much, this sudden establishment
had some resemblance to one of those romances with their "_diner de man
coeur, et souper de mon ame_," which is considered in our days to be
so infinitely insipid.

But Jacobi, who had already arranged and well considered his plans, laid
them with decision and candour before the parents, and besought their
consent that he might as soon as possible be able to call Louise his
wife. Elise gasped for breath; the Judge made sundry objections, but for
every one of these Jacobi had a reasonable and well-devised refutation.

"Are Jacobi's plans yours also, Louise?" asked the Judge, after a
momentary silence; "are you both agreed?"

Louise and Jacobi extended a hand to each other; looked on each other,
and then on the father, with tearful, yet with calm and assured eyes.

"You are no longer children," continued the father; "you know what you
are undertaking. But have you well considered?"

Both assented that they had. Already, before there had been any
expectation of the living, they had thought on this plan.

"It is a fatiguing life that you are stepping into," continued the
Judge, seriously, "and not the least so for you, Louise. The result of
your husband's undertaking will depend for the greatest part on you.
Will you joyfully, and without complaint, endure that which it will
bring with it; will you, from your heart, take part in his day's work?"

"Yes, that I will!" replied Louise, with entire and hearty confidence.

"And you, Jacobi," continued he, with unsteady voice, "will you be
father and mother and sisters to her? Will you promise me that she
neither now, nor in the future, so far as in you lies, shall miss the
paternal home?"

"God help me! so certainly as I will exert myself to effect it, she
shall not!" answered Jacobi with emotion, and gave his hand to the
Judge.

"Go then, children," exclaimed he, "and ask the blessing of your
mother--mine you shall have," and with tearful eyes he clasped them in
his arms.

Elise followed the example of her husband. She felt now that Louise and
Jacobi's firm devotion to each other; their willingness to work; and
their characters, so excellent, and beyond this, so well suited to each
other, were more secure pledges of happiness than the greatest worldly
treasure. With respect to the time of the marriage, however, she made
serious objections. All that the parents could give to their daughter
was a tolerably handsome outfit; and this could not, by any possibility,
be so speedily prepared. Louise took her mother's view of the question,
and Jacobi saw himself, although reluctantly, compelled to agree that it
should remain as at first arranged, namely, for the second day in
Whitsuntide, which, in this year, fell at the end of May.

After this the betrothed hastened to the sisters to communicate to them
the new views and schemes. There was many an "Oh!" and "Ah!" of
astonishment; many a cordial embrace; and then, of course, what industry
in the oak-leaf garland!

But as the mother at the usual time came in, she saw plainly that "the
little lady" was somewhat impatient towards the brother-in-law-elect,
and but little edified by his plans.

From that kind of sympathy which exists between minds, even when not a
single word is spoken, especially between persons who are dear to each
other, the dissatisfaction of Gabriele took possession also of the
mother, who began to discover that Jacobi's plans were more and more
idle and dangerous. Thus when Jacobi, not long afterwards, sought to
have a _tete-a-tete_ with her, in order to talk about his and Louise's
plans, she could not help saying that the more she thought about the
undertaking the more foolish did it appear to be.

To which Jacobi answered gaily, "Heaven is the guardian of all fools!"

Elise recollected at that moment how it had fared with a person with
whom she was acquainted, who hoped for this guardianship in an
undertaking that in most respects resembled Jacobi's, yet nothing had
prevented all his affairs from going wrong altogether, and at length
ending in bankruptcy and misery. Elise related this to Jacobi.

"Have you not read, mother," replied he, "a wise observation which
stands at the end of a certain medical work?"

"No," said she; "what observation is it?"

"That what cured the shoemaker killed the tailor," said Jacobi.

Elise could not help laughing, and called him a conceited shoemaker.
Jacobi laughed too, kissed Elise's hand, and then hastened to mingle in
the group of young people, who assembled themselves round the tea-table
to see and to pass judgment on an extraordinary kind of tea-bread
wherewith Louise would welcome her bridegroom, and which, according to
her opinion, besides the freshest freshness, was possessed of many
wonderful qualities.

Whilst at tea, the mother whispered slyly into Louise's ear as Jacobi
put sugar into his tea, "My dear child, there will be a deal of sugar
used in your house--your husband will not be frugal."

Louise whispered back again, "But he will not grumble because too much
sugar is used in the house. So let him take it then, let him take it!"

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