Robert Bloomfield - "The Farmer's Boy"

Unknown - "Pages for Laughing Eyes"

Paul Heyse - "Gedichte"

Archibald Forbes - "Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places"

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




After breakfast Jacobi hastened to arrange his toilet, and then they all
went to church. The weather was uncommonly beautiful, and crowds of
festally-dressed people thronged about, in part to hear the Provost, who
was to preach that day, but principally to see the bridal pair.

It was an agreeable surprise to the family when at the entrance of the
churchyard many young girls began to strew flowers before the bridal
couple the whole way to the church-door. The church also was decorated
with flowers and foliage.

When the Judge took the hand of his daughter in the church, she
perceived that his was cold, and that it trembled. She looked at him,
and read in his countenance the disquiet with which his soul laboured.

"My father," said she to him, "I feel so calm, so happy!"

"Then I am so too, my child," said he, pressing her hand; and after this
moment his demeanour was calm and decided as usual.

Jacobi, both before and after the ceremony, was excited in the highest
degree; he wept much. Louise, on the contrary, was externally quite
calm. She looked rather pale, but her eyes were bright and almost
joyous; an altogether unusual contrast in a bridal pair.

On their return from the church a little circumstance occurred which
gave pleasure to all, but more especially to the Judge. As they went
past the remains of the burnt-down house, they saw a great swarm of bees
suddenly mount up from the trees of the garden; it flew several times
round the market-place as if seeking for a habitation, and at last
turning back, struck directly down among the ruins of the former kitchen
fireplace; it seemed as if it had selected the hearth for its abiding
home. This was regarded as the happiest omen, and no sooner had the
Judge conducted his daughter home, than he returned in order to remove
his bees to a convenient resting-place; Gabriele following him with
Baron L----'s treatise on the management of bees in her hand.

When Louise was again locked in the arms of her mother--the mother and
Eva had remained at home--she was seized by a slight trembling fit which
lasted several hours, but which was unobserved by all excepting her
mother; and through the whole of the day she continued graver than
common. Jacobi, on the contrary, after his fit of weeping was over, and
he had embraced everybody, and kissed his bride on lips, hair, hand, and
foot, was seized with a real desire of dancing with the whole world. He
was so wildly joyous and happy, and at the same time so amiable, that he
imparted his state of mind to everybody else.

At half-past four in the afternoon they assembled themselves in the
S---- garden, where the time was passed in the most agreeable manner,
with music, walking about, entertainment, and eating of ices and fruit,
to which also the Almighty added the brightest heaven and the calmest
air. Later in the evening they danced in the great saloon; no lady could
sit still, and scarcely a gentleman stand; all must dance! We have
nothing more to say of the ball, but we must not pass over in silence
that which occurred afterwards. When the company wished to go across the
garden to the eating-room, they perceived that it had rained
considerably, and that it still dropped; this occasioned a great
commotion among the ladies, because all the wrapping shawls and cloaks
were on the other side; they had quite forgotten to bring them over in
the fine weather. But it was, according to popular belief in Sweden,
fortunate, and quite according to the order of things, that rain-drops
should fall on the crown of the bride; but at the same time it was also
against all sense of prudence and propriety that she should wet her
silken shoes. And then all the other ladies! They must have the wrapping
things fetched to this side!

"I will provide for it!" exclaimed Jacobi, and with these words seized
his astonished bride in his arms and carried her across the garden. What
he whispered in her ear during this journey we know not, but thus far we
can say, that this action set Jacobi very high in the favour of the
ladies.

* * * * *

The new-married pair spent several days after the wedding under the
paternal roof, and joyful days they were, only rather too much given up
to dissipation, for all friends and acquaintance would see and entertain
the two young people. Mrs. Gunilla gave them a dinner, in which she
communicated to them that she should, at the same time with them,
journey to Stockholm, where important affairs would oblige her to stay a
considerable time. However much it grieved Elise to lose so excellent
and almost motherly a friend, she rejoiced very much over what Louise
and Jacobi would win thereby. Louise and Mrs. Gunilla, it is true, had
not perfectly harmonised together, because each would instruct the
other; but Jacobi and she agreed all the better, and she had already
invited the young people to dine with her as often as they would in
Stockholm.

In the hour of parting she spoke thus to Elise and her husband with
tears in her eyes: "Who knows when we may meet again? The old woman is
in years--is not of much more use in the world--na, na! Our Lord will
care for her as he has hitherto done! And listen," continued she with an
arch, roguish air, "don't be uneasy on account of the young folks;--I
shall see that it all goes on right there. I invite myself as sponsor to
the first child. Perhaps we shall meet then! Yes, yes, I have a
presentiment that we shall see one another again in Stockholm! Nay! now
farewell, dear Elise! God bless you, my kind friends, and make all go
well with you! Think of the old woman sometimes! Adieu!"

* * * * *

After the trouble of the packing was over--we mean packing Louise's
things, of course--and the still sorrow of parting, quiet returned back
into the house, and was only agreeably interrupted by preparations for
the journey to the West. The Judge seemed at this time to be young
again, and an increased union of heart showed itself between him and his
wife. So wear away, sometimes, the most beautiful summer days, even
after the autumn has made advances into the year. From what cause is
this? God knows.

The invisible genius of our history leads us at this moment far from the
home of peace to a distant shore, in order to give us a glimpse
into--the subject of our next chapter.




CHAPTER XVI.

A SICK CHAMBER.


If the sun shine on the head of the crucified, if a bird lift up its
joyous song in presence of a broken heart, it seems to us cruel. But
beautiful is the unconscious irony of nature in comparison with that
which exists in human circumstances. We have here an example of this
before us. See these sparkling false diamonds, this red gauze finery,
these ruins of theatrical ornament. They seem to mock the misery of the
room about which they are strewn. In that wretched room is want of
light; want, not only of all the comforts of life, but also of its most
necessary things. And yet--where could they be more useful than here?

Forlorn, upon a miserable bed lay a woman, who appeared to have seen
better days; still is she handsome, although passion and suffering seem
early to have wasted her yet young countenance. Fever burned on the
sunken cheek and in the dark eye, and her lips moved themselves wildly;
but no one was there to refresh with friendly hand the dry lips and the
hot brow; no cooling fever-draught stood near her bed. Two new-born
babes lay weeping near the mother. Uneasy phantoms seemed to agitate the
unhappy one: sometimes she raised herself in the bed with wild gestures,
but sunk back again powerless; whilst her pale, convulsed, and wandering
lips spoke from the depths of her torn heart the following incoherent
words:

"It is a bitter, bitter path! but I must, must fly for help! My strength
is broken--I can do nothing--the children cry to be heard, hungry,
half-naked! Parents! sisters! help!

* * * * *

"It is night--the wind is cold--I freeze! The waves swell and
swell--they drive a wreck ashore--they strike on the rocks--ah!
wherefore did it not go down in the storm on the open sea? How dreadful
in full consciousness to be dashed to pieces! And thou, thou who art the
cause of all, thou sittest by and lookest coldly on me! Miserable
egotist! Dost thou bear a heart in thy breast? The temple is dashed to
pieces, and thou that has ruined it treadest upon its ruins! I knew not
how misfortune looked--I knew not what it really is! Misery! But thou
miserable one who----

"Hush! is it she? Is it my foster-mother who comes here so lightly, so
gently, so softly? It becomes bright! She will lay her warm hands on my
little children, and wrap them in the warm coverlet which she made for
me--

There sits a dove so fair and white
All on the lily spray.

Is it she? No! it is the moon, which rises palely out of black clouds.
How coldly she looks on my misery! Away, away!

"Sisters, I thirst! Will no one give me a drop of water? Have you all,
all left me? I thought I saw you again. It is so strange in my head.
Perhaps I shall become mad if I thirst much longer. It is dark--I am
afraid! I am afraid of the dark bird! If it come again it will begin to
rend my heart; but if I am ever again strong, fresh and strong, I will
kill it--with my own hands will I murder it! Day and night a wick burns
in my heart; its name is Hate, and the oil that supplies it is
bitterness!

"When shall I be strong again? Do you see how he has misused me; has
fettered me to the sick-bed? Do you hear the children cry? the children
which, through the abuse of the father, have come into the world before
their time, and now will die? Give nourishment to the children, for the
mercy of God, sisters! Let me die, but help the children! Now they are
quiet! Thanks! thanks! Shall I die this morning? No, no, not yet!

* * * * *

"The gulf is so dark! Ah, what an abyss!

"Again comes the black bird; I had fled from him, but he followed me,
tore off my wings, so that I can fly no longer!

* * * * *

"Help me up, I must dress myself! Here, with my handsome attire! haste!
To-night I must appear anew before the public, and be admired; must hear
the clapping of hands and bravos; must see garlands showered before my
feet! See you, sisters; it is so glorious! It is an hour of life! It is
a real burst of joy! See how I glitter--how I beam forth! Listen to the
tempest of applause! How it thunders! But wherefore is it now again so
still?--still and dark as the grave? It was a short joy! Cursed be he
who made it so short!

"Do not look so sternly upon me, foster-father! Am I not already
sufficiently cast down! Your stern look penetrates me. Give me your
hand, that I may lay it on my burning brow. You turn from me! You go!
Oh!

* * * * *

"It is so desolate! The strand has such sharp stones! It is so dreadful
to be wounded against them!

"I will not die! I am so young, have so much strength of life in my
soul! I will not yet go down into eternity! No!

* * * * *

"Who saves me? There come foaming waves!--or are they your white arms,
sisters, which you stretch out towards me? Is it you whom I see like
grey misty ghosts wandering on the corpse coast! Are you then dead? Do
you hear the noise? It is death--it is the black bird which comes!--now
I must fly--fly--fly--or die!"

* * * * *

With a violent effort the delirious woman rose from the bed--took a few
steps, and then fell down as if lifeless. Her head struck against the
bedstead, and a stream of blood gushed forth from her temples.

At this moment a tall man habited in black entered the room softly;
light locks surrounded the noble but somewhat aged head; the mild,
serious expression of the countenance, and the affectionate look of the
blue eyes showed, still more than the dress, whose servant he was. A
lady, who was not handsome, but whose countenance bore the stamp of
beauty of the soul, like her husband's, followed him. With a look of the
deepest compassion this couple surveyed the room, and then drew near the
sick-bed.

"Merciful heaven!" whispered they, "we are come too late! The children
are dead--and so is the mother!"

* * * * *

Let us now turn our eyes away from this dark picture that they may rest
upon a brighter one.




CHAPTER XVII.

A LANDSCAPE.


On one of the heights of the Dofrine Mountains we see three
travellers--an elderly man and two young ladies. He seems neither afraid
of trouble for himself nor for them; he seems as if he were accustomed
to it and could play with it. But he does all so affectionately; he goes
before them so friendly and kind, reaches out his hand and encourages
them to yet another effort, and they would then enjoy the magnificent
view; they would then be able to rest, and obtain refreshment at the
"saeter-hut"[20] above them! The daughters follow him smiling, and
overcome weakness and weariness for his sake! Now they are above on the
heights--and well are they rewarded for all the labour of climbing up
there! The earth lies below so rich, with its hills and valleys, dark
woods, fruitful plains--and there, in the far distance, sea and heaven
unite themselves in majestic repose!

With an exclamation of rapture the father extended his arms towards the
magnificent prospect; and the mountain wind--not keen here, but mild
from the breath of spring, agreeably cooled the cheeks of the wanderers.

The father went to the hut to obtain milk for himself and his daughters,
and in the mean time one of the daughters rested upon a moss-covered
stone and supported herself against a rock. Almond-scented linnea formed
a garland around her feet, and the joyous singing-birds ascended from
the valley. The sister, who stood near her and against whom she leaned
her lovely head whilst the wind played in her brown tresses, looked on
the comfortable dwellings which gleamed forth below from amid green
trees and beside clear waters, and her affectionate but unimpassioned
heart rejoiced itself over the scene, which seemed to say to her, "Here
may one live calmly and happily!" At that moment she heard her name
spoken by a loving voice; it was Eva's, who, while she pointed with hand
and eye towards heaven, where the clouds began to divide themselves, and
stripes of blue light gleamed forth like friendly eyes, "Seest thou,
Leonore," said she, gently smiling, "it will be bright!"

"Will it be bright? Ah, thank God!" whispered Leonore in reply, with
eyes full of joyful tears, as she laid her cheek against the brow of her
sister.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] Saeter-huette among the mountains of Norway answer to the Senne of
the Swiss mountains. During the summer the inhabitants of many parts of
Norway withdraw from their villages to others, especially when situated
higher on the mountains, where they can fell wood and find better
pasturage for their cattle. They dwell with their herds in these saeters,
which are generally abandoned in winter.--M. H.




CHAPTER XVIII.

UPS AND DOWNS.


When a new swarm is ready in a hive to attempt its own flight, warning
voices may be heard on still evenings in the little state, calling
forth, "Out! out!"

People have interpreted it to be the old queen bee, which thus warns the
young ones forth into the world to fashion their own kingdom. I should
rather imagine it to be the young ones who in this manner sing forth
their longing. But let it be with them as it may, certain it is that in
the human hive, Home, a similar cry sometimes makes itself heard. Then
also there, when the young swarm is become strong with the honey and wax
of home, it finds the house too narrow and longs to get abroad. This is
common to all homes; but it is peculiar to the good and happy home, that
the same voice which exclaims, "Out! out!" exclaims afterwards yet more
animatedly, "In! in!"

So was it in the home of the Franks.

The period to which we must now cast our eyes conducts us several years
beyond the time when we saw father and daughters on the heights of the
Dofrine Mountains, and shows us our Petrea returned home after a long
absence.

The mother, Petrea, and Gabriele, are deep in a conversation which
appears to interest them all three in a very lively manner, and the mild
voice of the mother is heard saying--

"You may freely decide for yourself, my good child, that you know
perfectly well; but as you describe Mr. M., and with the feelings, or
more properly speaking, the want of feeling you have for him, I can
never believe that you will be happy with him, and I cannot therefore
advise this marriage. See, here are some almonds in the shell, my dear
girl! We have not forgotten so soon your love for them--I set the basket
before you."

"And the Countess Solenstrale," said the lively Gabriele, archly, "has
herself spoken for her nephew, and invited you to her house. Very polite
and handsome of her! And you, Petrea, no longer covet this exaltation?"

"Ah, no, Gabriele!" answered Petrea, "this childish desire is long past;
it is another kind of exaltation than this, that I pine for."

"And this is called?" asked Gabriele, with a light in her lovely eyes,
which showed her that she very well knew that, which however she had not
pronounced in words.

"I do not know what I should call it; but there lives and moves here a
longing difficult to describe," said Petrea, laying her hand upon her
breast, and with eyes full of tears; "oh, if I could only rise upwards
to light--to a higher, freer life!"

"You do not wish to die!" said Gabriele, warmly; "not that I now fear
death. Since Henrik has trod this path, I feel so entirely different to
what I used to do. Heaven is come quite near to the grave. To die is to
me to go to him, and to his home. But I am yet so happy to be living
here with my family, and you, my Petrea, must feel so too. Ah! life on
earth, with those that we love, may indeed be so beautiful!"

"So I think, and so I feel, Gabriele," replied Petrea, "and more so than
ever when I am at home, and with my own family. On that account I will
gladly live on the earth, at least till I am more perfect. But I must
have a sense of this life having in it a certain activity, by which I
may arrive at the consciousness of that which lives within me--there
moves in me a fettered spirit, which longs after freedom!"

"Extraordinary!" said Gabriele, half displeased, "how unlike people are
one to another. I, for my part, feel, not the least desire for activity.
I, unworthy mortal, would much rather do nothing." And so saying she
leaned her pretty head with half-shut eyes against her mother, who
looked on her with an expression that seemed to say, "live only; that is
enough for thee!"

Petrea continued: "When I have read or heard of people who have lived
and laboured for some great object, for some development of human
nature, who have dedicated all their thoughts and powers to this
purpose, and have been able to suffer and to die for it; oh! then I have
wept for burning desire that it also might be granted to me to spend and
to sacrifice my life. I have looked around me, have listened after such
an occasion, have waited and called upon it; but ah! the world goes past
me on its own way--nobody and nothing has need of me."

Petrea both wept and laughed as she spoke, and with smiles and tears
also did both Gabriele and the mother listen to her, and she continued--

"As there was now an opportunity for my marrying, I thought that here
was a sphere in which I might be active--But, ah! I feel clearly that it
is not the right one for me, neither is it the one for which I am
suitable--especially with a husband whose tastes and feelings are so
different to mine."

"But, my good girl," said the mother, disconcerted, "how came it then,
that he could imagine you sympathised so well together; it seems from
his letter that he makes himself quite sure of your consent, and that
you are very well suited to each other."

"Ah!" replied Petrea, blushing, and not without embarrassment, "there
are probably two causes for that, and it was partly his fault and partly
mine. In the country, where I met him, he was quite left to himself;
nobody troubled themselves about him; he had _ennui_, and for that
reason I began to find pleasure for him."

"Very noble," said Gabriele, smiling.

"Not quite so much so as you think," replied Petrea, again blushing,
"because--at first I wished really to find pleasure for _him_, and then
also a little for myself. Yes, the truth is this--that--I--had nothing
to do, and while I busied myself about Mr. M., I did not think it so
very much amiss to busy him a little about me; and for this reason I
entered into his amusements, which turned upon all sorts of petty
social tittle-tattle; for this reason I preserved apricots for him, I
told stories to him, and sang to him in an evening in the
twilight--'Welcome, O Moon!' and let him think if he would, that he was
the moon. Mother, Gabriele, forgive me, I know how little edification
there is in all this, it is quite too----but you cannot believe how
dangerous it is to be idle, when one has an active spirit within one,
and an object before one that----You laugh! God bless you for it! the
affair is not worth anything more, for it is anything but tragic--yet it
might become so, if on account of my sins I were to punish myself by
marrying Mr. M. I should be of no worth to him, excepting as housekeeper
and plaything, and this would not succeed in the long run; for the rest
he does not love me, cannot love me seriously, and would certainly
easily console himself for my refusal."

"Then let him console himself, and do not think any further on the
affair," cried Gabriele, with animation.

"I am of Gabriele's opinion," said the mother; "for to marry merely to
be married; merely to obtain a settlement, an establishment, and all
that, is wrong; and, moreover, with your family relationships, the most
unnecessary thing in the world. You know, my dear child, that we have
enough for ourselves and for you, and a sphere of action suitable for
you will present itself in time. Your father will soon return home, and
then we can talk with him on the subject. He will assist us directly in
the best way."

"I had, indeed, presentiments," said Petrea, with a sigh, "and hopes,
and dreams, perhaps--of a way, of an activity, which would have made me
useful and happy according to my own abilities. I make now much humbler
demands on life than formerly; I have a much less opinion of myself than
I had--but, oh! if I might only ally myself, as the least atom of light,
to the beams which penetrate humanity at the same time that they animate
the soul of man, I would thank God and esteem myself happy! I have made
an attempt--you know, mother, and Gabriele--to express in a book
somewhat of that which has lived in me and which still lives; you know
that I have sent the manuscript to an enlightened printer for his
judgment, and also--if his judgment be favourable--that he should
publish it. If this should succeed, if a sphere of action should open
itself to me in this way, oh! then some time or other I might become a
more useful and happy being; should give pleasure to my connexions,
and----"

Petrea was here interrupted by the arrival of a large packet directed to
herself. A shuddering apprehension went through her; her heart beat
violently as she broke the seal, and--recognised her own manuscripts.
The enlightened, intelligent printer sent them back to her, accompanied
by a little note, containing the pleasant tidings that he would not
offer the merest trifle for the book, neither could he undertake the
printing of it at his own cost.

"Then this path is also closed against me!" said Petrea, bowing her head
to her hand that nobody might see how deeply she felt this. Thus then
she had deceived herself regarding her talents and her ability. But now
that this way also was closed against her--what should she undertake?
Marriage with Mr. M. began again to haunt her brain. She stumbled about
in the dark.

Gabriele would not allow, however, that the path of literature was
closed against her; she was extremely excited against the printer. "He
was certainly," she said, "a man without any taste."

"Ah!" said Petrea, readily smiling, "I also will gladly flatter myself
with that belief, and that if the book could only be printed, then we
soon--but that is not to be thought of!"

Gabriele thought it was quite worth while to think about it, and did not
doubt but that means might be found, some time or other, to make the
gentleman printer make a long face about it.

The mother agreed; spoke of the return of her husband, who, she said,
would set all right. "Keep only quietly with us, Petrea, calmly, and
don't be uneasy about the means for bringing out your book; they will be
found without difficulty, if we only give ourselves time."

"And here," added Gabriele, "you shall have as much quiet as you desire.
If you would like to spend the whole day in reading and writing, I will
take care that nobody disturbs you. I will attend to all your friends
and acquaintance, if it be needful, to insure your quiet. I will only
come in to you to tell you when breakfast is ready and when dinner; and
on the post-day, I'll only come at the post-hour and knock at your
door, and take your letters and send them off. And in the evening,
then--then we may see you amongst us--you cannot believe how welcome you
will be! Ah! certainly you will feel yourself happy among those who love
you so much! And your book! we will send it out into the world, and it
too shall succeed one of these days!"

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