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The reading, likewise, which at first he had so zealously recommended,
became now to him another cause of vexation. Precisely at this very time
he wished to have more of the society of his wife of an evening, and
wished her to take more interest in his undertakings and his annoyances;
but whenever he came into the parlour he found them reading, or occupied
by music; and if these ceased at his entrance, there was still an
evident damp on the spirits of all--the entertainment could not proceed;
and if, on the contrary, he said, "Go on with your music (or reading),
go on," and they did so, he was still dissatisfied; and if he did not
very soon return to his own room, he walked up and down like a
snowstorm.

It was precisely this fate, of which we have just now spoken, which
managed it so, that one evening as Judge Frank, the prey of ill humour,
was walking up and down the room, a letter was put into his hand, at
sight of which he burst into an exclamation of joyful surprise. "Nay,
that is indeed delightful," said he, in a very cheerful voice, as soon
as he had read the letter. "Elise! Mrs. S----, Emelie, is here. She is
only just this evening arrived; I must hasten to her directly. Sweet
Elise, will you not come with me? It would be polite."

"Oh, it is so late!" said Elise, much less pleased than her husband;
"and I fancy it rains. Cannot you go alone to-night? to-morrow morning I
will----"

"Well, well, then," said the Judge, suddenly breaking off; and somewhat
offended at her refusal, hastening away.

It was rather late when he returned from his visit, but he was in high
spirits. "She is a most interesting lady," said he; "my best Elise, it
certainly would give you great pleasure to know her intimately."

"Ah! I question that," thought Elise.

"She talks," continued he, "of locating herself here in the city. I hope
we shall decide her to do so."

"I hope not," thought Elise.

"We will do all that we possibly can," said he, "to make her residence
here agreeable. I have invited her to dinner to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" exclaimed Elise, half terrified.

"Yes, to-morrow," answered her husband, peremptorily. "I told her that
to-morrow morning you would pay her a visit, but she insists on first
coming to you. You need not trouble yourself much about the dinner
to-morrow. Emelie will not expect much from an improvised dinner. At all
events, it may be just as good as there is any need for, if people will
only give themselves a little trouble. I hope Emelie will often come and
take up with our simple way of living."

Elise went to rest that night with a depressed heart, and with an
indefinite but most unpleasant feeling, thought of the next day's
dinner, and then dreamed that her husband's "old flame" had set the
house on fire, and robbed the whole family of its shelter.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE IMPROVISED DINNER.

You housewives who know the important meaning of a roast, who know the
difficulties which sometimes overwhelm you, especially when you must
improvise a dinner; you who know that notwithstanding all inspiration,
both of understanding and inclination--yet inspiration is necessary to
all improvisation--one cannot inspire either chickens or heath-cocks to
come flying into the important dish, when the crust is ready to put on
it;--you housewives who have spent many a long morning in thoughts of
cookery and in anguish, without daring to pray the Lord for help,
although continually tempted to do so; you can sympathise in Elise's
troubles, as she, on the morning of this important dinner, saw the
finger of the clock approach twelve without having been able to
improvise a roast.

It is true that an improvised dinner might do without a roast: this we
grant as a general law; but in the case of this particular dinner, we
deny it altogether, in proof of which we might easily give the
arrangement of the whole dinner, did we not flatter ourselves that we
are believed on our bare word. Beyond this, the Judge was a declared
lover of a roast, and of all kinds of animal food, which circumstance
increased still more Elise's difficulty; and as if to make difficulty
still greater, Elise, on this very day, was remarkably in want of
assistants, for her husband had sent out, on his own business, those
servants who, on extraordinary occasions, Elise found very good help.
The cook, too, was confused to-day in a remarkable manner; the children
were in a fermentation; Eva and Leonore quarrelled; Petrea tore a hole
in her new frock; Henrik broke a water-bottle and six glasses; the baby
cried and screamed for nothing; the clock was on the stroke of twelve,
and no roast would come!

Elise was just on the point of falling into despair over roasts, cooks,
the dinner, the child, nay, over the whole world, when the door opened,
and the words, "your most devoted servant," were spoken out shrilly and
joyously, and the widow of the Court Chamberlain--to Elise she seemed an
angel of light from heaven--stood in the room, with her beaming friendly
countenance, took out of her monstrous reticule one chicken after
another, and laid them upon the table, fixing her eye on Elise, and
making with each one a little curtsey to her, upon which she laughed
heartily. Enraptured by the sight, Elise embraced first the lady
Chamberlain, then the chickens, with which she hastily sprang into the
kitchen, and returning, poured forth her thanks and all her cares to
this friend in need.

"Well, well, patience!" exhorted Mrs. Gunilla, kindly and full of
cordial sympathy, and somewhat touched by Elise's communication.
"Best-beloved, one should not take it so much to heart--such troubles as
these soon pass away--yes, indeed, they soon pass. Now listen, and I'll
tell you something, 'when need is greatest, help is nearest.' Yes, yes,
remember that! As for the chickens, I saw them in a peasant's cart, as I
crossed the market, and as I knew what was going on here, I lost no time
in buying them and bringing them, under my cloak, and I have nearly run
myself out of breath, in my haste. He, he, he! And so now I must go,
for the dear lady must dress herself nicely, and so must I too. Adieu,
dear Elise; I wish you the happiness of getting both the dinner and the
young folks in order. He, he, he!"

Gunilla went, dinner-time came, and with it the guests and the Judge,
who had spent the whole morning in the business of his own office, out
of the house.

Emelie, the Colonel's widow, was elegant in the highest degree; looked
handsome, and distinguished, and almost outdid herself in politeness;
but still Elise, spite even of herself, felt stiff and stupid by the
side of her husband's "old flame." Beyond this, she had now a great
distraction.

"Oh, that the chickens may be nicely done!" was the incessant
master-thought of Elise's soul; and it prevailed over the Pope, the
Church of St. Peter's, Thorwaldsen and Pasta, and over every subject on
which they talked.

The hour of dinner was come, and yet the dinner kept the company
waiting. The Judge, who expected from everybody else the punctuality
which he himself practised, began to suffer from what Elise called his
"dinner-fever," and threw uneasy glances first at the dining-room door,
and then at his wife, whose situation, it must be confessed, was not a
very enviable one. She endeavoured to look quite calm, but often
whispered something to the little Louise, which sent her very
importantly in and out of the room. Elise's entertainment, both that
part which was audible, and that which was inaudible, was probably at
the moment carried on something after the following fashion:

"It must be inexpressibly pleasant to know," (ah, how unbearably long it
is!) "it must be very interesting." (I wish Ernst would fire again on
his "old flame," and forget dinner.) "Yes, indeed, that was very
remarkable." (Now are those chickens not roasted!) "Poor Spain!" (Now,
thank goodness, dinner is ready at last--if the chickens are only well
done!)

And now to dinner! A word which brightens all countenances, and enlivens
all tempers. Elise began to esteem the Colonel's widow very highly,
because she kept up such a lively conversation, and she hoped this would
divert attention from any of the dishes which were not particularly
successful. The Judge was a polite and agreeable host, and he was
particularly fond of dinner-time, when he would willingly have made all
men partakers of his good appetite, good humour, and even of his good
eating--N. B. if this really was good--but if the contrary happened to
be the case, his temper could not well sustain it.

During the dinner Elise saw now and then little clouds come over her
husband's brow, but he himself appeared anxious to disperse them, and
all went on tolerably till the chickens came. As the Judge, who adhered
to all old customs, was cutting them up, he evidently found them tough,
whereupon a glance was sent across the table to his wife which went to
her heart like the stab of a knife; but no sooner was the first pang
over than this reproachful glance aroused a degree of indignation in her
which determined her to steel herself against a misfortune which in no
case was her fault; she, therefore, grew quite lively and talkative, and
never once turned her eyes to her husband, who, angry and silent, sate
there with a very hot brow, and the knife sticking still in the fowls.

But, after all, she felt as if she could again breathe freely when the
dinner was over, and on that very account longed just to speak one word
of reconciliation with her husband; but he now seemed to have only eyes
and ears for Emelie; nor was it long before the two fell into a lively
and most interesting conversation, which certainly would have given
Elise pleasure, and in which she might have taken part, had not a
feeling of depression stolen over her, as she fancied she perceived a
something cold and depreciating in the manners of her husband towards
her. She grew stiller and paler; all gathered themselves round the
brilliant Emelie; even the children seemed enchanted by her. Henrik
presented her with a beautiful flower, which he had obtained from Louise
by flattery. Petrea seemed to have got up a passion for her father's
"old flame," took a footstool and sat near her, and kissed her hand as
soon as she could possess herself of it.

The lady devoted herself exclusively to her old worshipper, cast the
beams of her beautiful eyes upon him, and smiled bewitchingly.

"This is a great delight!" thought Elise, as she wiped away a traitorous
tear; "but I will keep a good face on it!"

The Candidate, who perceived all this, quickly withdrew from the lady's
enchanted circle, in which he also had been involved, and taking "the
baby" on his knee, began to relate a story which was calculated as much
to interest the mother as the child. The children were soon around him:
Petrea herself forsook her new flame to listen, and even Elise for the
moment was so amused by it that she forgot everything else. That was
precisely what Jacobi wanted, but it was not that which pleased the
Judge. He rose for a moment, in order to hear what it was which had so
riveted the attention of his wife.

"I cannot conceive," said he to her in a half-whisper, "how you can take
delight in such absurdity; nor do I think it good for the children that
they should be crammed with such nonsense!"

At length Emelie rose to take her leave, overwhelming Elise with a flood
of polite speeches, which she was obliged to answer as well as she
could, and the Judge, who had promised to show her the lions of the
place, accompanied her; on which the rest of the guests dispersed
themselves. The elder children accompanied the Candidate to the
school-room to spend an hour in drawing; the younger went to play;
Petrea wished to borrow Gabriele, who at the sight of a gingerbread
heart could not resist, and as a reward received a bit of it; Elise
retired to her own chamber.

Poor Elise! she dared not at this moment descend into her own heart; she
felt a necessity to abstain from thought--a necessity entirely to forget
herself and the troubling impressions with which to-day had overwhelmed
her soul. A full hour was before her, an hour of undisturbed repose, and
she hastened to her manuscript, in order to busy herself with those rich
moments of life which her pen could call up at pleasure, and to forget
the poor and weary present--in one word, to lose the lesser in the
higher reality. The sense of suffering, of which the little annoyances
of life gave her experience, made her alive to the sweet impressions of
that beauty and that harmonious state of existence which was so dear to
her soul.

She wrote and wrote and wrote, her heart was warm, her eyes filled with
tears, the words glowed upon her page, life became bright, the moments
flew. An hour and a half passed. Her husband's tea-time came; he had
such delight in coming home at this hour to find his wife and his
children all assembled round the tea-table in the family room. It very
rarely happened that Elise had not all in readiness for him; but now the
striking of seven o'clock roused her suddenly from her writing; she laid
down her pen, and was in the act of rising when her husband entered.

A strong expression of displeasure diffused itself over his countenance
as he saw her occupation.

"You gave us to-day a very bad dinner, Elise," said he, going up to her
and speaking with severity; "but when this novel-writing occupies so
much of your time, it is no wonder that you neglect your domestic
duties; you get to care really just as little about these, as you
trouble yourself about my wishes."

It would have been easy for Elise to excuse herself, and make all right
and straight; but the severe tone in which her husband spoke, and his
scornful glance, wounded her deeply. "You must have patience with me,
Ernst," said she, not without pride and some degree of vexation; "I am
not accustomed to renounce all innocent pleasures; my education, my
earlier connexions, have not prepared me for this."

This was like pricking the Judge in the eye, and with more bitterness
and severity than usual he replied:

"You should have thought about that before you gave me your hand; before
you had descended into so humble and care-full a circle. It is too late
now. Now I will----" but he did not finish his sentence, for he himself
perceived a storm rising within him, before which he yielded. He went to
the door, opened it, and said in a calm voice, yet still with an
agitated tone and glance, "I would just tell you that I have taken
tickets for the concert to-morrow, if you would wish to go. I hoped to
have found you at the tea-table; but I see that is not at all thought
of--it is just as desolate and deserted there as if the plague were in
the house. Don't give yourself any trouble, I shall drink my tea at the
club!" and thus saying he banged the door and went away.

Elise seated herself--she really could not stand--and hid her face in
her trembling hands. "Good heavens! is it come to this? Ernst, Ernst!
What words! what looks! And I, wretched being, what have I said?"

Such were Elise's broken and only half-defined thoughts, whilst tears
streamed down her cheeks.

"Words, words, words!" says Hamlet, disparagingly. But God preserve us
from the destructive power of words! There are words which can separate
hearts sooner than sharp swords--there are words whose sting can remain
in the heart through a whole life!

Elise wept long and violently; her whole soul was in excitement.

In moments of violent struggle, bad and good spirits are at hand; they
surrounded Elise and spoke to her thus:

Bad Spirits.--"Think on that which thou hast given up! think on thy own
merits! Recollect the many little acts of injustice which thou hast had
to bear, the bitter moments which the severity of thy husband has
occasioned thee! Why shouldst thou humbly crawl in the dust? Raise
thyself, depressed one! raise thyself, offended wife! think of thy own
worth, of thy own rights! Do not allow thyself to be subjected; show
some character. Requite that which thou hast endured. Thou also canst
annoy; thou also canst punish! Take refuge in thy nerves, in unkindness;
make use of thy power, and enjoy the pleasure of revenge!"

Good Spirits.--"Think on thy wants, on thy faults! Recollect all the
patience, all the kindness, all the tenderness which has been shown
thee! Think on the many beautiful moments! Think on thy husband's worth,
on his beautiful noble qualities! Think also on life, how short it is;
how much unavoidable bitterness it possesses; how much which it is easy
either to bear or to chase away; and think on the all-rectifying power
of affection. Tremble before the chains of selfish feeling; free thyself
from them by a new sacrifice of love, and purify the heaven of home.
Ascending clouds can easily expand into a destructive tempest, or can
disperse and leave not a trace in the air. Oh, chase them hence with the
powerful breath of love!"

The happiness of a long life depends, not unfrequently, upon which of
these invisible counsellors in such moments we give ear to. On this it
depends whether the gates of heaven or of hell shall be opened upon
earth to men. Elise listened to the good counsellors; she conversed long
with them, and the more pure recollections they sent into her soul the
lighter it became therein. The light of love was kindled in her, and in
its light she became clear-sighted in many directions. She saw now what
it was right for her to do respecting her novel, and this revelation
warmed her heart. She knew also that this was the only one she should
ever write, and that her husband should never again miss her from the
tea-table, and therefore be obliged to drink his tea at the club (but he
should be reconciled sometime with the sinner--the novel); and she
would, moreover, prepare a dinner for the Colonel's widow, which should
compensate for the unlucky one of this day; and--"Would that Ernst would
but come home soon," thought she, "I would endeavour to banish all his
displeasure, and make all right between us."

It was the bathing-day of the children, and the message that the hour of
bathing was come interrupted Elise's solitude. She ordered Brigitta to
commence her preparations, and when she had somewhat composed herself,
and washed away the traces of her tears with rose-water, she herself
went down into the chamber.

"God be praised for water!" thought Elise, at the first view of the
scene which presented itself. The soft glowing young forms in the clear
warm water, the glimmering of the open fire, the splashing and
jubileering of the children in their unspeakable comfort, their innocent
sport one with another in the peaceful little lake of the bath, in which
they had no fear of raising stormy waves; nay, even Brigitta's happy
face, under her white cap, her lively activity, amid the continual
phrases of "best-beloved," "little alabaster arm," "alabaster foot,"
"lily-of-the-valley bosom," and such like, whilst over the
lily-of-the-valley bosom, and the alabaster arm, she spread soap-foam
scarcely less white, or wrapped them in snowy cloths, out of which
nothing but little lively, glowing, merry faces peeped and played with
one another at bo-peep--all this united to present a picture full of
life and pleasure.

Elise, however, could not fully enjoy it; the thought of what had just
occurred, longings for reconciliation with her husband, fear that he
might remain long, that he might return too much displeased for her
easily to make all straight again--these thoughts occupied her mind; yet
still she could not help smiling as Gabriele, who had sunk down into the
bath alone, exclaimed, almost beside herself for fright, "I am drowning!
I am drowning!" In order to re-assure her, her mother stretched out her
white hands to her, and under their protection she laughed and splashed
about like a little fish in water.

A shower of flowers streamed suddenly over both mother and child, and
Gabriele screamed aloud for joy, and stretched forth her little arms to
catch gilly-flowers, roses, and carnations, which fell upon and around
her. Elise turned herself round in surprise, and her surprise changed
itself into the most delightful sensation of joy, as the lips of her
husband were pressed to her forehead.

"Ah, you!" exclaimed Elise, and threw her arms round his neck, and
caressingly stroked his cheek.

"I shall get wet through with all this," said he, laughing, yet without
leaving the bath, nay, he even stooped down his head to little Gabriele,
kissed her, and allowed her to splash him with water.

"Thank God! all is right again! and perhaps it will be best to take no
further notice of this unpleasant affair!" thought she, and prepared to
follow her husband into the parlour.

The Judge had, probably, during his bad tea at the club, held with the
invisible speakers the same conversation, with some variations, as his
wife during his absence, the consequence whereof was his visit to the
bathing-room, and the shower of flowers from the nosegay he had brought
with him for her, and the kiss of reconciliation which effaced every
thoughtless and wounding word. He felt now quite pleased that everything
was as it should be, and that the gentle and yielding temper of his wife
would require nothing further. But, perhaps, on that very account, he
was dissatisfied with himself, her eyes red with weeping grieved him,
especially as they beamed so kindly upon him, he felt that he misused
the power which circumstances had given him over his wife; he felt that
he had behaved harshly to her, and therefore he had no peace with
himself, therefore he felt a necessity to pronounce one word--one word,
which it is so hard for the lips of a man to pronounce, yet, which Ernst
Frank was too manly, too firm to shrink from.

When, therefore, his wife entered, he offered her his hand; "Forgive me,
Elise," said he, with the deepest feeling; "I have behaved severely,
nay, absurdly to-day!"

"Oh, forgive me, Ernst!" said Elise, deeply affected, whilst she pressed
his hand to her heart and----

Accursed be all disturbers of peace in this world! Such a one entered at
that moment, and undid that which would otherwise have bound them so
closely to each other. It was a messenger from the Colonel's widow with
a note, together with a book for the Judge, and two little bottles of
select Eau de rose for Elise, "of which, I know," said the note, "she is
very fond."

The Judge's cheek grew crimson as he read the note, which he did not
show to his wife.

"An extremely polite and interesting person," said he; "I will
immediately answer it."

"Ernst," said Elise, "should we not invite her to dinner to-morrow? I
thought of something very nice, which is sure to succeed; then we could
go altogether to the concert, and afterwards she might sup with us."

"Now that is a good idea, and I thank you for it, my sweet Elise," said
he, extremely pleased.

Yes, if the Colonel's widow had not been there--if the Candidate had not
been there--and if there had been no _if_ in the case, all might have
gone on quite smoothly. But it was quite otherwise.

CHAPTER IX.

ONE SWALLOW MAKES NO SUMMER.

Too many chaotic elements had collected together in the family of the
Franks for one sun-gleam to dissipate. Even the married pair did not
clearly understand their own actions.

The Judge, truly, was too much enchanted by his former beloved one; and
the beautiful Emelie did all that was in her power to enslave again her
early adorer.

Judge Frank, who would have been as cold and proud as possible, if he
had been assailed by coarse and direct flattery, was yet by no means
steeled against the refined and almost imperceptible flattery of Emelie,
who, with all her peculiar gifts of soul and understanding, made herself
subordinate to him, in order to be enlightened and instructed by him.

"An extraordinarily amiable and interesting lady," thought he still with
greater animation, although he seldom asserted so much; and exactly in
the proportion in which he found Emelie interesting, it was natural that
he should find Elise less so, especially as he found in Emelie precisely
those very qualities, the want of which he had so much regretted in his
wife; namely, an interest in his activity as a citizen, and in general
for the objects connected with which he occupied himself in the
liveliest manner.

Elise, on her part, was neither calm nor clear. The connexion between
her husband and Emelie was painful to her; and she felt a sort of
consolation from the devotion of Jacobi, even when it was beginning to
assume that passionate character which made her seriously uneasy.

A letter, which she wrote to her sister about this time, exhibits her
state of feeling:

"It is long since I wrote to you, Cecilia--I hardly know why; I hardly
know, indeed, my own feelings--all is so unquiet, so undefined. I wish
it were clear!

"Do you know she is very lovely, this 'old flame' of my husband's, and
very brilliant. I fancy I am jealous of her. Last evening I went out to
a supper-party--the first for several years. I dressed myself with great
care, for I wished to please Ernst, and had flowers in my hair. I was
greatly satisfied with my appearance when I went. My husband was to come
later. I found Emelie already there; she was beautiful, and looked most
elegant. They placed me beside her; a looking-glass was before us, on
which I threw stolen glances, and saw opposite to me--a shadow! I
thought at first it was some illusion, and looked again: but again it
revealed unmercifully to me a pale ghost beside the beautiful and
dazzling Emelie. 'It is all over, irremediably over,' thought I, 'with
my youth and my bloom! But if my husband and children only can love me,
I can then resign youth and beauty.'

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