The Home
F >>
Fredrika Bremer >> The Home
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24 |
25 |
26 |
27 |
28 |
29 |
30 |
31 |
32 | 33 |
34
"I have drunk it. I have loved her for twenty years without pretension
and without hope.
"To-day I have passed my three-and-sixtieth year; the increasing pain in
my side commands me to leave the steps of the patients, and tells me
that I have not many more paces to count till I reach my grave. May it
be permitted to me to live the remainder of my days more exclusively for
her!
"At the 'Old Man's Rose' will I live for her--for it stands in my will
that it belongs to her, it belongs to Eva Frank.
"I will beautify it for her. I will cultivate there beautiful trees and
flowers for her; vines and roses will I bring there. Old age will some
time seize on her, wither her, and consume her. But then 'the rose of
age' will bloom for her, and the odour of my love bless her, when the
ugly old man wanders on the earth no more. She will take her dear
sisters to her there; there hear the songs of the birds, and see the
glory of the sun upon the lovely objects of nature.
"I will repose on these thoughts during the solitary months or years
that I must pass there. Truly, many a day will be heavy to me; and the
long solitary evenings; truly, it were good to have there a beloved and
gentle companion, to whom one might say each day, 'Good morning, the sun
is beautiful;' or in whose eyes--if it were not so--one could see a
better sun;--a companion with whom one could enjoy books, nature--all
that God has given us of good; whose hand, in the last heavy hour one
could press, and to whom one could say, 'Good night! we meet
again--to-morrow--with love itself--with God!'
"But--but--the foundling shall find no home upon earth!
"Now he will soon find another home, and will say to the master there,
'Father, have mercy on my rose!' and to the habitation of men will he
say, 'Wearisome wast thou to me, O world! but yet receive my thanks for
the good which thou hast given me!'"
* * * * *
When the sisters had ceased to read, several bright tears lay upon the
paper, and shone in the light of the sun. Leonore dried her tears, and
turning herself to Petrea, inquired, "But, Petrea, how came this paper
into your hands?"
"Did I not think that would come?" said Petrea. "You should not ask such
difficult questions, Leonore. Nay, now Eva's eyes are inquiring too--and
so grave. Do you think that the Assessor has put it into my hands? Nay,
he must be freed from that suspicion even at my expense. You want to
know how I came by this paper? Well then--I stole it, sisters--stole it
on our journey--on the very morning after it was written."
"But, Petrea!"
"But, Petrea! yes, you good ones! it is too late now to cry, 'but,
Petrea!' now you know the Assessor's secret; you now may do what your
consciences command, mine is hardened--you may start before my act, and
be horrified; I don't ask about it. The whole world may excommunicate
me--I don't trouble myself!--Eva! Leonore! Sisters!"
Petrea laid an arm round the neck of each sister, kissed them, smiling
with a tear in her eye, and vanished.
* * * * *
Somewhat later in the morning we find Eva and Gabriele on a visit at the
beautiful parsonage-house immediately in the vicinity of the town, where
Mrs. Louise is in full commotion with all her goods and chattels, whilst
the little Jacobis riot with father and grandfather over fields and
meadows. The little four-years-old Alfred, an uncommonly lively and
amiable child, is alone with the mother at home; he pays especial court
to Gabriele, and believing that he must entertain her, he brings out his
Noah's Ark to introduce to her, in his low, clear, young voice, Ham and
Hamina, Shem and Shemina, Japhet and Japhetina.
After all how-do-ye-do's between the sisters had been answered, Gabriele
loosened the paper from a basket which Ulla had brought in, and asked
Louise to be pleased to accept some roast veal and patties. "We
thought," said she, "that you would need something fresh after the
journey, before you get your store-room in order. Just taste a patty!
they are filled with mince-meat, and I assure you are baked since the
Flood."
"Really!" replied Louise, laughing, "they are delicate too! See, there's
one for you, my little manikin; but another time don't come and set
yourself forward and look so hungry! Thanks! thanks, dear sister! Ah,
how charming that we are come again into your neighbourhood! How fresh
and happy you all look! And Petrea! how advantageously she has altered;
she is come to have something quiet and sensible about her; she has
outgrown her nose, and dresses herself neatly; she is just like other
people now. And see--here I have a warm, wadded morning-dress for her,
that will keep her warm up in her garret; is it not superb? And it cost
only ten thalers courant."
"Oh, extraordinary!--out of the common way!--quite unheard of!" said
they, "is it not so?--why it is a piece of clothing for a whole life!"
"What a beautiful collar Eva has on! I really believe she is grown
handsomer," said Louise. "You were and are still the rose of the family,
Eva; you look quite young, and are grown stout. I, for my part, cannot
boast of that; but how can anybody grow stout when they have eight
children to work for! Do you know sisters, that in the last week before
I left Stockholm, I cut out a hundred and six shirts! I hope I can meet
with a good sempstress here; at home; look at my finger, it is quite
hard and horny with sewing. God bless the children! one has one's
trouble with them. But tell me, how is it with our mother? They have
always been writing to me that she was better--and yet I find her
terribly gone off; it really grieves me to see her. What does the
Assessor say?"
"Oh," replied Gabriele warmly, "he says that she will recover. There is
really no danger; she improves every day."
Eva did not look so hopeful as Gabriele, and her eyes were filled with
tears as she said, "When autumn and winter are only over, I hope that
the spring----"
"And do you know," interrupted Louise, with animation, "what I have been
thinking of? In the spring she shall come to us and try the milk cure:
she shall occupy this room, with the view towards the beautiful birch
grove, and shall enjoy the country air, and all the good things which
the country affords and which I can obtain for her--certainly this will
do her good. Don't you think that then she will recover? Don't you think
that it is a bright idea of mine?"
The sisters thought that really it was bright, and Louise continued:
"Now I must show you what I have brought for her. Do you see these two
damask breakfast cloths, and these six breakfast napkins?--all spun in
the house. I have had merely to pay for the weaving. Now, how do they
please you?"
"Oh, excellently! excellently!" said one sister.
"How very handsome! How welcome they will be!" said the other.
"And you must see what I have bought for my father--ah! Jacobi has it in
his carpet-bag--one thing lies here and another there--but you will see
it, you will see it."
"What an inundation of things!" said Gabriele, laughing. "One can see,
however, that there is no shortness of money."
"Thank God!" said Louise, "all is comfortable in that respect, though
you may very well believe that it was difficult at first; but we began
by regulating the mouths according to the dishes. Ever since I married I
have had the management of the money. I am my husband's treasurer; he
gives over to me whatever comes in, and he receives from me what he
wants, and in this way all has gone right. Thank God, when people love
one another all does go right! I am happier than I deserve to be, with
such a good, excellent husband, and such well-disposed children. If our
little girl, our little Louise, had but lived! Ah! it was a happiness
when she was born, after the eight boys; and then for two years she was
our greatest delight. Jacobi almost worshipped her; he would sit for
whole hours beside her cradle, and was perfectly happy if he only had
her on his knee. But she was inexpressibly amiable--so good, so clever,
so quiet; an actual little angel! Ah! it was hard to lose her. Jacobi
grieved as I have never seen a man grieve; but his happy temperament and
his piety came to his help. She has now been dead above a year. Ah!
never shall I forget my little girl!"
Louise's tears flowed abundantly; the sisters could not help weeping
with her. But Louise soon collected herself again, and said, whilst she
wiped her eyes, "Now we have also anxiety with little David's ankles;
but there is no perfect happiness in this world, and we have no right to
expect it. Pardon me that I have troubled you; and now let us speak of
something else, whilst I get my things a little in order. Tell me
something about our acquaintance--Aunt Evelina is well?"
"Yes, and sits as grandmother of five nephews at Axelholm, beloved and
honoured by all. It is a very sweet family that she sees about her, and
she has the happiest old age."
"That is pleasant to hear. But she really deserved to be loved and
honoured. Is her Karin also married?"
"Ah, no! Karin is dead! and this has been her greatest sorrow; they were
so happy together."
"Ah, thou heaven! Is she dead? Ah, yes, now I remember you wrote to me
that she was dead----Look at this dress, sisters--a present from my dear
husband; is it not handsome? and then quite modern. Yes, yes, dear
Gabriele, you need not make such an ambiguous face; it is very handsome,
and quite in the fashion, that I can assure you. But, _a propos_, how is
the Court-preacher? Exists still in a new form, does it? Now that is
good! I'll put it on this afternoon on purpose to horrify Jacobi, and
tell him that for the future I intend to wear it in honour of his
nomination to the office of court-preacher."
All laughed.
"But tell me," continued Louise, "how will our 'great astonishment' go
on? how have you arranged it?"
"In this manner," returned one of the sisters. "We shall all meet for a
great coffee-drinking in the garden, and during this we shall lead the
conversation in a natural sort of way to the piece of ground on the
other side the fence, and then peep through the cracks in it, and then
express that usual wish that this fence might come down. And then, at
this signal, your eight boys, Louise, are to fall on the fence and----"
"How can you think," said Louise--"to be sure my boys are nimble and
strong, but it would require the power of Berserkers to----"
"Don't be alarmed," answered the sisters, laughing, "the fence is sawn
underneath, and stands only so firm that a few pushes will produce the
effect--the thing is not difficult. Besides, we'll all run to the
attack, if it be needful."
"Oh, heaven help us! if it be only so, my young ones will soon manage
the business--and _a propos_! I have a few bottles of select white
sugar-beer with me, which would certainly please my father, and which
will be exactly the right thing if we, as is customary on such
occasions, have to drink healths."
During this conversation little Alfred had gone round ineffectually
offering two kisses, and was just on the point of growing angry because
his wares found no demand, when all at once, summoning resolution, he
threw his arms round Gabriele's neck, and exclaimed, "Now I see really
and thoroughly, that Aunt Gabriele has need of a kiss!" And it was not
Aunt Gabriele's fault if the dear child was not convinced how wholly
indispensable his gift was.
But Louise still turned over her things. "Here," said she, "I have a
waistcoat-piece for Bergstroem, and here a neck-kerchief for Ulla, as
well as this little brush with which to dust mirrors and tables. Is it
not superb? And see, a little pair of bellows, and these trifles for
Brigitta."
"Now the old woman," said the sisters, "will be happy! She is now and
then out of humour, but a feast of coffee, and some little present,
reconcile her with all the world; and to-day she will get both."
"And see," continued Louise, "how capitally these bellows blow: they can
make the very worst wood burn--see how the dust flies!"
"Uh! one can be blown away oneself," said Gabriele, laughing.
While the sisters were still occupied with cleaning and dusting, and
Louise was admiring her own discoveries, the Judge came in, happy and
warm.
"What a deal of business is going forward!" exclaimed he, laughing. "I
must congratulate you," said he, "Louise; your boys please me entirely.
They are animated boys, with, intellects all alive--but, at the same
time, obedient and polite. Little David is a regular hairbrain, and a
magnificent lad--what a pity it is that he will be lame!"
Louise crimsoned from heartfelt joy over the praise of her boys, and
answered quickly to the lamentation over the little David, "You should
hear, father, what a talent he has for the violoncello; he will be a
second Gehrman."
"Nay, that is good," returned the Judge; "such a talent as that is worth
his two feet. But I have hardly had time to notice you properly yet,
Louise. Heavens! it's glorious that you are come again into our
neighbourhood; now I think I shall be able to see you every day! and you
can also enjoy here the fresh air of the country. You have got thin, but
I really think you have grown!"
Louise said laughingly, that the time for that was over with her.
The sisters also, among themselves, made their observations on Louise.
They were rejoiced to see her, among all her things, so exactly herself
again.
Handsomer she certainly had not become--but people cannot grow handsomer
to all eternity. She looked well and she looked good, had no more of the
cathedral about her; she was an excellent Archdeacon's lady.
* * * * *
We transport ourselves now to Sara's chamber.
When a beloved and guiltless child returns, after sufferings overcome,
to the bosom of parents into a beloved home, who can describe the sweet
delight of its situation? The pure enjoyment of all the charms of home;
the tenderness of the family; the resigning themselves to the heavenly
feeling of being again at home? But the guilty----
We have seen a picture of the prodigal son which we shall never forget!
It is the moment of reconciliation: the father opens his arms to the
son; the son falls into them and hides his face. Deep compunction of the
heart bows down his head, and over his pale cheek--the only part of his
countenance which is visible, runs a tear--a tear of penitence and pain,
which says everything. The golden ring may be placed upon his hand; the
fatted calf may be killed and served up before him--he cannot feel gay
or happy--embittering tears gush forth from the fountains of memory.
Thus was it with Sara, and exactly to that degree in which her heart was
really purified and ennobled. As she woke out of a refreshing sleep in
her new home, and saw near her her child sleeping on the soft snow-white
bed; as she saw all, by the streaming in light of the morning sun, so
festally pure and fresh; as she saw how the faithful memory of affection
had treasured up all her youthful predilections; as she saw her
favourite flowers, the asters, beaming upon the stove, in an alabaster
vase; and as she thought how all this had been--and how it now was--she
wept bitterly.
Petrea, who was reading in the window of Sara's room waiting for her
awaking, stood now with cordial and consoling words near her bed.
"Oh, Petrea!" said Sara, taking her hand and pressing it to her breast,
"let me speak with you. My heart is full. I feel as if I could tell you
all, and you would understand me. I did not come here of my own
will--your father brought me. He did not ask me--he took me like a
child, and I obeyed like a child. I was weak; I thought soon to die; but
this night under this roof has given me strength. I feel now that I
shall live. Listen, to me, Petrea, and stand by me, for as soon as my
feet will carry me I must go away from here. I will not be a burden to
this house. Stained and despised by the world, as I am, I will not
pollute this sanctuary! Already have I read aversion towards me in
Gabriele's look. Oh, my abode here would be a pain to myself! Might my
innocent little one only remain in this blessed house. I must away from
here! These charms of life; this abundance, they are not for me--they
would wake anguish in my soul! Poverty and labour beseem me! I will
away hence. I must!--but I will trouble nobody: I will not appear
ungrateful. Help me, Petrea--think for me; what I should do and where I
should go!"
"I have already thought," replied Petrea.
"Have you?" said Sara, joyfully surprised, and fixed upon her
searchingly her large eyes.
"Come and divide my solitude," continued Petrea, in a cordial voice.
"You know that I, although in the house of my parents, yet live for
myself alone, and have the most perfect freedom. Next to my room is
another, a very simple but quiet room, which might be exactly according
to your wishes. Come and dwell there! There you can live perfectly as
you please; be alone, or see only me, till the quiet influence of calm
days draw you into the innocent life of the family circle."
"Ah, Petrea," returned Sara, "you are good--but you cannot approach a
person of ill-report--and you do not know----"
"Hush! hush!" interrupted Petrea; "I know very well--because I see and
hear you again! Oh, Sara! who am I that I should turn away from you? God
sees into the heart, and he knows how weak and erring mine is, even if
my outward life remain pure, and if circumstances and that which
surrounds me have protected me, and have caused my conduct to be
blameless. But I know myself, and I have no more earnest prayer to God
than that: 'Forgive me my trespasses!' May I not pray by your side?
Cannot we tread together the path which lies before us? Both of us have
seen into many depths of life--both of us now look up humbly to the
cheerful heaven! Give me your hand--you were always dear to me, and now,
even as in the years of childhood do I feel drawn to you! Let us go; let
us try together the path of life. My heart longs after you; and does not
yours say to you that we are fit for one another, and that we can be
happy together?"
"Should I be a burden to you?" said Sara: "were I but stronger, I would
wait upon you; could I only win my bread by my hands, as in the latter
years I have done--but now!"
"Now give yourself up to me blindly," said Petrea. "I have enough for
us both. In a while, when you are stronger, we will help one another."
"Will not my wasted life--my bitter remembrances make my temper gloomy
and me a burden?" asked Sara; "and do not dark spirits master those who
have been so long in their power?"
"Penitence," said Petrea, "is a goddess--she protects the erring. And if
a heathen can say this, how much more a Christian!--Oh, Sara!
annihilating repentance itself--I know it--can become a strength for
him, by which he can erect himself. It can raise up to new life; it can
arouse a will which can conquer all things--it has raised me erect--it
will do the same for you! You stand now in middle life--a long future is
before you--you have an amiable child; have friends; have to live for
eternal life! Live for these! and you will see how, by degrees, the
night vanishes, the day ascends, and all arranges itself and becomes
clear. Come, and let us two unitedly work at the most important business
of life--improvement!"
Sara, at these words, raised herself in the bed, and new beams were
kindled in her eyes. "I will," said she, "Petrea; an angel speaks
through you; your words strengthen and calm me wonderfully--I will begin
anew----"
Petrea pressed Sara to her breast, and spoke warm and heartfelt
"thanks," and then added softly, "and now be a good child, Sara!--all
weak and sick people are children. Now submit, calmly and resignedly, to
be treated and guided like such a one; gladden by so doing those who are
around you, and who all wish you well! We cannot think of any change
before you are considerably better--it would trouble every one."
At this moment the door was opened, and the mother looked in
inquiringly; she smiled so affectionately as she locked Sara in her
arms. Leonore followed her; but as she saw Sara's excited state, she
went quickly back and returned with a breakfast-tray covered with all
kinds of good things; and now cheerful and merry words emulated one
another to divert the again-found-one, old modes of speech were again
reverted to, and old acquaintances renewed.
"Do you know Madame Folette again? She has been lately repaired. Can she
have the honour of giving you a cup of coffee? There is your old cup
with the stars; it was saved with Madame Folette from the fire, and the
little one here with the rose-buds is allotted to our little Elise. You
must really taste these rusks--they never were in the Ark--they came
with the blushing morning out of the oven. Our 'little lady' has herself
selected and filled the basket with the very best for you; you shall see
whether these home-baked would not please even the Assessor;"--and so
on.
In the mean time the little Elise had awoke, and looked with bright blue
eyes up to great Elise, who bent down to her. They were really like each
other, as often daughter's daughters and grandmothers are, and appeared
to feel related already. When Sara saw her child in Elise's arms, tears
of pure joy filled her eyes for the first time.
* * * * *
I do not know whether my lady-readers have nerves to stand by while "the
Berserkers" overthrow the garden-fence. I fancy not; and therefore, with
my reader's permission, I make a little leap over the great event of the
day--the thrown-down wooden fence, which fell so hastily that the
Berserkers themselves tumbled all together over it,--and go into the new
piece of land, where we shall find the family-party assembled, sitting
on a flower-decorated moss-seat, under a tall birch-tree, which waved
over them its crown, tinged already with autumnal yellow. The September
sun, which was approaching its setting, illuminated the group, and
gleamed through the alders on the brook, which softly murmuring among
blue creeks, flowed around the new piece of land, and at once beautified
and bounded it.
Tears shone in the eyes of the family-father; but he spoke not. To see
himself the object of so much love; the thoughts on the future; on his
favourite plan; fatherly joy and pride; gratitude towards his
children--towards heaven, all united themselves to fill his heart with
the most pleasurable sensations which can bless a human bosom.
The mother, immediately after the great surprise, and the explosion of
joy which followed it, had gone into the house with Eva and Leonore.
Among those who remained behind, we see the friend of the family
Jeremias Munter, who wore on the occasion the grimmest countenance in
the world; the Baron L., who was no more the wild extravagant youth,
but a man, and beyond this, a landed-proprietor, whose grave demeanour
was beautified by a certain, agreeable sobriety, particularly visible
when he spoke with "our little lady," at whose feet he was seated.
Louise handed about white-sugar beer, which nobody praised more highly
than herself. She found that it had something unearthly in it, something
positively exalting; but when Gabriele, immediately after she had drank
a half glass, gave a spring upwards, "our eldest" became terrified, for
such a strong working of her effervescing white-beer she had by no means
expected. Nevertheless she was soon surrounded by the eight, who cried
altogether, "Mamma, may I have some beer?" "And I too?" "And I?" "And I
too?" "And I?" "And I?" "Send a deal of foam for me, mamma dear!"
"Nay, nay, nay, dear boys! people must not come clamouring and storming
thus--you don't see that I or the father do so. Solomon must wait to the
very last now. Patience is a good herb. There, you have it; now drink,
but don't wet yourselves!"
After the little Jacobis had all enjoyed the foaming, elevating liquor,
they became possessed by such a buoyant spirit of life, that Louise was
obliged to command them to exhibit their mighty deeds at a distance.
Hereupon they swarmed forth on journeys of discovery, and began to
tumble head over heels round the place. David hobbled along with his
little crutch over stock and stone, whilst Jonathan gathered for him all
sorts of flowers, and plucked the bilberry plants, to which he pointed
with his finger; little nosegays were then made out of them, with which
they overwhelmed their aunts, especially Gabriele, their chosen friend
and patron. The serious Adam, the eldest of the eight, a boy of
exceedingly staid demeanour, sate quietly by the side of his
grandfather, and appeared to consider himself one of the elderly people;
the little Alfred hopped about his mother.
The Judge looked around him with an animated countenance; he planted
alleys and hedges; set down benches and saw them filled with happy
people, and communicated his plans to Jacobi.
Jeremias observed the scene with a bitter, melancholy, and, to him,
peculiar smile. As little David came limping up to him with the
fragrant wood-flowers, he exclaimed suddenly, "Why not rather make here
a botanic garden than a common park? Flowers are indeed the only
pleasant thing here in the world, and because people go all about
snuffing with the nose, it might be as well to provide them with
something to smell at. A water-establishment also could be united with
it, and thus something miserable might get washed away from the pitiable
wretches here in this world."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24 |
25 |
26 |
27 |
28 |
29 |
30 |
31 |
32 | 33 |
34