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THE NEIGHBOURS 
 
 STORY OF EVERY-DAY LIFE 
 
 FREDERIKA BREMER 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 MARY HOWITT 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE BELL & SONS 
 1901 
 
REMOTE STORAGE 
 
 IReprinted from Stereotype plates.^ 
 
PREFACE BY THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 Op the rich treasure of intellect and literature in 
 Sweden, little or nothing is known in England. To 
 give a specimen of what exists there, even in the de- 
 partment of living story and scenes of society, I have 
 selected this work of Frederika Bremer, which is one of 
 a series. *' The Neighbours" has not been first chosen 
 on the principle of presenting the best first in order to 
 excite expectation, but as believing it a fair and average 
 example. Some of the others possess unquestionably a 
 stronger interest in the narrative, and perhaps more mas- 
 terly exposition of character. They are, m my opinion, 
 mgst admirable in their lessons of social wisdom ; in their 
 life of relation; in their playful humour; and in all those 
 qualities which can make writings acceptable to the fire- 
 side circle of the good and refined. Frederika Bremer 
 is, indeed, the Miss Austin of Sweden. Her father 
 was an eminent merchant, and since the death of her 
 parents she has resided alternately at Stockholm and 
 
 a2 
 
 141004 
 
PEEPACK. 
 
 with a female friend in the south of Sweden. She has 
 consequently seen much of the society and scenery of 
 her nativt? land, and no one can sketch these with more 
 graphic tiuth and vivacity. Since the writings of their 
 great poet Tegner, no productions have created such a 
 sensation in Sweden ; and abroad they have flown far 
 and wide ; have been read with avidity in various parts 
 of the Continent, and in Germany alone three editions 
 have appeared in rapid succession. 
 
 I take this opportunity to announce that if my own 
 countrymen, and especially countrywomen, give this work 
 an equal welcome, the others are ready for publication, 
 and will be issued as speedily as may be required. In 
 any case, I shall be grateful to the Author for the perusal 
 of them, for they have certainly both highly amused me 
 and done my heart good, 
 
 M H. 
 
 1852, 
 
THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 tBAl^SISKA. WERNEB TO MARIA M 
 
 Rosenvick, 1st June, 18— 
 
 Here I am now, dear Maria, in my own house and home, 
 at my own writing-table, and sitting by my own Bear. And 
 who is Bear ? you probably ask : who should it be but my 
 own husband, whom I call Bear because the name suits him 
 so well. 
 
 Here then I am, sitting by the window ; the sun is set- 
 ting; two swans swim on the lake, and furrow its clear 
 mirror ; three cows, my cows, stand on the green shore quite 
 sleek and reflective, thinking certainly upon nothing. How 
 handsome they are ! Now comes the maid with her stool 
 and milk-pail ; how rich and good is country milk ! but what, 
 in fact, is not good in the country ? air and men, food and 
 feeling, heaven and earth, all is fresh and animated. 
 
 But now I must conduct you into my dwelling — no, I will 
 begin yet further off. There, on that hill, in Smaland, several 
 miles off, whence I first looked into the valley where Eosen- 
 vik lies, behold a dust-covered carriage, within which sits the 
 Bear and his wife. That wife looks forth with curiosity, for 
 before her lies a valley beautiful in the light of evening. 
 Green woods stretch out below, and surround crystal lakes ; 
 corn-fields in silken waves encircle grey mountains ; and 
 white buildings gleam out with friendly aspects among the 
 trees. Here and there, from the wood-covered heights, pillarq 
 of smoke ascend to the clear evening heaven ; they might 
 have been mistaken for volcanoes, but they were only peaceful 
 
6 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 svedjor.* Truly it was beautiful, and I was charmed ; 1 
 bent myself forward, and was thinking on a certain happy 
 natural family in Paradise, one Adam and Eve, when suddenly 
 the Bear laid his great paws upon me, and held me so tight 
 that I was nearly giving up the ghost, while he kissed me 
 and besought me to find pleasure in what was here. I was 
 the least in the world angry, but as I knew the heart-impulse 
 of this embrace, I made myself tolerably contented. 
 
 Here then, in this valley, lay my stationary home, here 
 lived my new family, here lay Eosenvik, here should I live 
 with my Bear. We descended the hill, and the carriage 
 rolled rapidly along the level road, while as we advanced he 
 told whose property was this and w^hose was that, whether 
 near or remote. All was to me like a dream, out of which I 
 was suddenly awoke by his saying with a peculiar accent, 
 " Here lives Ma chere mere and at the same moment the 
 carriage drove into a court-yard, and drew up at the door 
 of a large, handsome, stone house. 
 
 " What, must we alight here ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, my love," was his reply. 
 
 This was to me by no means an agreeable surprise; I 
 would much rather have gone on to my own house ; much 
 rather have made some preparation for this first meeting 
 with my husband's step-mother, of whom I stood in great 
 awe from the anecdotes I had heard of her, and the respect 
 which I saw that Bear had for her. This visit seemed to 
 me quite mal-a-propos, but Bear had his own ideas, and as I 
 glanced at him I saw that it was no time for opposition. 
 
 It was Sunday, and as the carriage drew up I heard the 
 sound of a violin. 
 
 " Aha," said Bear, "so much the better!" leaped heavily 
 from the carriage, and helped me out also. There was no 
 time to think about boxes or packages ; he took my hand and 
 led me up the steps, along the entrance hall, and drew me 
 towards the door, whence proceeded the sounds of music and 
 dancing. 
 
 " Only see," thought I, " now I shall probably have even 
 to dance in this costume." 
 
 Oh, if I could only have gone in somewhere, just to wipe 
 
 • Svedjor, the burning of turf in the fields, which in many parts of Sweden is 
 ttsed for dressing the land. 
 
rBA^SISKA WERNEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 7 
 
 the dust from my face and my bonnet, where at the very 
 least I could just have seen myself in a looking-glass ! But 
 impossible ! Bear led me by the arm, insisting that I looked 
 most charmingly, and beseeching me to make a looking-glass 
 of his eyes. I was obliged to be so very uncourteous as to 
 reply that they were quite too small for that purpose ; on 
 which account he declared they were only the brighter, and 
 then opened the door of the ball-room, 
 
 " Now," exclaimed I, in a kind of lively despair, " if you 
 take me to a ball, you Bear, I'll make you dance with me." 
 
 " With a world of pleasure!" cried he; and in the same 
 moment we two stood in the hall, when my terror was con- 
 siderably abated by finding that the great room contained 
 merely a number of cleanly dressed servants, men and 
 women, who leapt about lustily with one another, and who 
 were so occupied with their dancing as scarcely to perceive 
 us. Bear led me to the upper end of the room, and there I 
 saw sitting upon a high seat a very tall and strong-built 
 gentlewoman, apparently fifty years of age, who was playing 
 with remarkable fervour upon a large violin, and beating time 
 to her music with great power. Upon her head was a tall 
 ind extraordinary cap of black velvet, which I may as well 
 call a helmet, because this idea came into my head at the first 
 glance, and after all I can find no better name for it. She 
 looked handsome but singular. This was the Generalska 
 (wife of the Greneral) Mansfelt, this was the step-mother of 
 my husband, this was Ma chere mere ! 
 
 She turned instantly her large dark-brown eyes upon us, 
 ceased playing, laid down her violin, and arose \\ ith a proud 
 bearing, but with, at the same time, a happy and open 
 countenance. Bear led me forward; I trembled a little, 
 made a deep curtsey, and kissed her hand; in return she 
 kissed my forehead, and for a moment looked on me so 
 keenly as compelled me to cast down my eyes, whereupon 
 she kissed me most cordially on mouth and forehead, and em- 
 braced me as warndy as her step-son. And now came his turn ; 
 he kissed her hand most reverentially, but she presented her 
 cheek ; they regarded each other with the moist friendly ex- 
 pression of countenance, she saying in a loud manly voice the 
 moment afterwards : " You are welcome, my dear friends ; it 
 ia very handsome of you to come here to me before you have 
 
8 
 
 THE NElOMBOtJES. 
 
 been to your own liouse ; I thank you for it. I might, it in 
 true, have received you better, if I could have made prepara- 
 tions ; but at all events, this I know, that * a welcome is the 
 best dish.' I hope, my friends, that you will remain till 
 evening with me." 
 
 Bear excused us, saying that he wished to reach home 
 soon ; that I was fatigued with the journey : but that we 
 could not pass Carlsfors without paying our respects to Ma 
 chere mere. 
 
 "Nay, good, good!" said she, apparently satisfied, "we 
 will soon have more talk within, but first I must speak a few 
 words with these people here. Listen, good friends !" and 
 Ma chere mere struck the back of the violin with the bow till 
 general silence prevailed through the hall. " My children," 
 continued she, in a solemn tone, " I have something to say to 
 you, — zounds ! wilt thou not be quiet there below, — I have 
 to tell you that my beloved son Lars Anders Werner takes 
 home his wife, this Fransiska Buren whom you see standing 
 by his side. Marriages are determined in heaven, my children, 
 and we will now pray heaven to bless its work in the persons 
 of this couple. This evening we will drink together a skal* 
 to their well-being. So now you can dance, my children ! 
 Olof, come here, take the violin and play thy very best." 
 
 While a murmur of exultation and good wishes ran through 
 the assembly. Ma chere mere took me by the hand and led 
 me, together with Bear, into another room, into which she 
 ordered punch and glasses to be brought ; then placing both 
 her elbows firmly upon the table and supporting her chin on 
 her closed fists, she looked at me with a gaze which was 
 rather dark than friendly. Bear, who saw that this review 
 was rather embarrassing to me, began to speak of the harvest, 
 and other country afiairs ; Ma chere mere, however, sighed 
 several times so deeply, that her sighs rather resembled 
 groans, and then, as it were constraining herself, answered to 
 his observations, and then as the punch came in she drank to 
 us, and said, with earnestness in tone and countenance, 
 " Son, and son's wife, your health !" 
 
 After this she became more friendly, and said in a jesting 
 tone, which suited her extremely well, " Lars Anders, I don't 
 
 • Dricka Skal ; to drink a health. Skal is pronounced skole, exactly w\th the 
 laQie sound as sole, pole, etc. 
 
rUAXSISKA WERi^ER TO iHAEIA M. 
 
 9 
 
 think tliat any one can say * that you have bought the pig in 
 the poke.' Tour w ife does not look amiss, and she * has a 
 pair of eyes to buy fish with.' She is little, very little, one 
 must confess, but ' little and bold often push the great ones 
 into the hold.' '* 
 
 I laughed, Ma chere mere did the same, and I began to 
 feel myself quite at home with her. We talked for some time 
 very merrily together, and I related several little travelling 
 adventures, which appeared to amuse her. In an hour's time 
 we rose to take our leave, and Ma chere mere said, with a 
 most friendly smile, " However agreeable it is to me to see 
 you, I will not detain you this evening. I can very well 
 understand how the ' at home ' draws you. Eemain at home 
 over to-morrow, if you will, but the day after come and eat 
 your dinner with me 5 for the rest, you very well know that 
 you will at all times be welcome. Now fill your glasses, and 
 come and drink to the people. Trouble man may keep to 
 himself, but pleasure he must enjoy in company." 
 
 We followed with full glasses Ma chere mere, who had 
 gone as herald into the dancing-room ; they were all standing 
 as we entered, and she spoke something after this manner : 
 " One must never triumph before one is over the brook ; but 
 if people sail in the ship of matrimony w^ith prudence and in 
 the fear of God, there is a proverb which says, ' Well begun 
 is half won,' and therefore, my friends, we will drink a skal 
 to the new-married couple whom you see before you, and 
 wish, not only for them, but for those who come after them, 
 that they may for ever have place in the garden of the 
 Lord!" 
 
 " Skal ! skal !" resounded on all sides. Eear and I emptied 
 our glasses, and then went round and shook hands with so 
 many people that my head was qnite dizzy. 
 
 All this over, we prepared for our departure, and then 
 came Ma chere mere to me on the steps with a packet, or 
 rather a bundle in her hand, saying, in the most friendly 
 manner, " Take these veal cutlets with you, children, for 
 breakfast to-morrow morning. In a while you will fatten 
 and eat your own veal ; but daughter-in-law don't forget one 
 thing, let me have my napkin back again ! Nay, you shall 
 not carry it, dear child, you have qnite enough to do with 
 vour bag and your cloak. Lars Anders "lust carry the vea 
 
THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 cutlets and then, as if he were a little boy still, she gave hira 
 the bundle and showed him how he must carry it, all which 
 he did as she bade him, and still her last words were " Don't 
 forget now, that I have my napkin back !" 
 
 I glanced full of amazement at my husband, but he only 
 smiled and helped me into the carriage. After all I was 
 quite satisfied to have made the acquaintance of Ma chere 
 mere in so impromptu a manner, for I felt that if it had 
 been more solemn and premeditated, her bearing and her 
 scrutiny would perhaps have had a more oppressive effect 
 upon me. 
 
 Right glad was I about the veal cutlets, for I could not tell 
 in what state I might find the provision-room finances at 
 Eosenvik. Right glad also was I to arrive at home," and 
 to see a maid-servant and a ready-prepared bed, for we had 
 travelled that day sixty English miles, and I was greatly 
 fatigued. I had slept a little on the mile and quarter way 
 between Carlsfors and E-osenvik, and the twilight had come 
 on so rapidly that, as about eleven o'clock at night we arrived 
 at home, I was unable to see what my Eden resembled. The 
 house seemed, however, to me, somewhat grey and small in 
 comparison of the one we had just left ; but that was of no 
 consequence. Bear was so cordially kind, and I was so 
 cordially sleepy. But all at once I was wide awake, for as I 
 entered it seemed to me like a fairy tale. I stepped into a 
 handsome well-lighted room, in the middle of which stood a 
 nicely arranged tea-table glittering with silver and china, 
 whilst beside the tea-table stood the very neatest of maid- 
 servants, in that pretty holiday dress which is peculiar to 
 the peasant girls of this country. 
 
 I uttered an exclamation of delight, and all sleep at once 
 was gone. In a quarter of an hour I was quite ready, and 
 sat down as hostess at the tea-table, admiring the beautiful 
 tablecloth, the teacups, the teapot, the teaspoons, upon which 
 were engraved our joint initials, and served tea to my Bear, 
 who seemed happy to his heart's core. 
 
 And thus the morning and the evening were the first day. 
 
 The next morning, as I opened my eyes, I saw that my 
 Adam was already wide awake, and was directing his eyes 
 with an expression of great devotion towards the window 
 where a ray of sunshine streamed in through a hole in the 
 
FBANCISKA WEliiSEll TO MARIA M. 
 
 11 
 
 blue-strfped window curtains, wliilat at the same time the 
 mewing of a eat might be heard. 
 
 " My beloved husband !" began I, solemnly, " I thank you 
 for the beautiful music which you have prepared for my 
 welcome. I conjecture you have a troop of country girls 
 all dressed in white to scatter twigs of fir before my feet. I 
 will soon be ready to receive them." 
 
 I have arranged something much better than this old- 
 fashioned pageantry," said he, merrily. " In association 
 with a great artist, I have prepared a panorama which will 
 show you how it looks in Arabia Deserta. You need only 
 to lift up these curtains." 
 
 Tou may imagine, Maria, that I was soon at the window 
 — with a sort of secret dread drew aside the curtains. Ah, 
 Maria ! there lay before me, in the full glory of the morning, 
 a crystal lake ; green meadows and groves lay around, and 
 in the middle of the lake a small island, upon which grew a 
 magnificent oak ; over all the sun shone brightly, and all 
 was so peaceful, so paradisiacal in its beauty, that I was 
 enchanted, and for the first moment could not speak, I could 
 only fold my hands whilst tears filled my eyes. 
 
 " May you be happy here!" whispered Bear, and clasped 
 me to his heart. 
 
 " I am happy, too happy!" said I, deeply moved, " and 
 grateful." 
 
 " Do you see the island, that little Svan-o?" asked he. 
 I will row you often there in summer ; we will take our 
 evening meal with us, and eat it there." 
 
 " Why not breakfast ?" inquired I, suddenly fired with 
 the idea — " why not to-day, in this beautiful morning, go 
 and drink our cofiee ? I will immediately " 
 
 " No, not this morning," interrupted he, laughing at my 
 earnestness; " I must be off to the town to visit my patient." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed I, in a tone of vexation, " what a thing 
 it is that people cannot remain in health 1" 
 
 " What then should I do ?" asked he, in a sort of comic 
 terror. 
 
 " Row me over to Svan-o," was my reply. 
 " I shall be back," said he, " for dinner about three o'clock, 
 and then we can — that cursed hole there above," said he, 
 
12 
 
 THE jiTEIGitBOUBS. 
 
 I could not have believed that the curtains had beeil gc 
 tor " 
 
 " That hole shall remain as long as I am here," exclaimed 
 I with enthusiasm, interrupting him ; " never would I forget 
 that through that hole I first sa w sunshine at Rosenvik ^ 
 But tell," inquired I, " what old fortress is that which one 
 sees across the lake there, so grey in the distance ? TherCj 
 where the wood is so black !" 
 
 That is E;amm," replied he, " a great country-seat." f 
 
 " And who lives there ?" I asked. ** 
 
 "Nobody, at this moment," he replied. "Fifteen yean 
 ago it belonged to Ma chere mere, but she did not find her* 
 self comfortable there, so she removed to Carlsfors and sold 
 Eamm. The estate was purchased by peasants, who now 
 cultivate the land, but let the fine house and park fall to 
 decay. People say that at present it is rented for the summer 
 by a foreigner, who wishes to hunt in the country ; and a 
 fine opportunity has he to do so in the park itself, which is 
 above six English miles in circuit, and in which, during their 
 long undisturbed rest, game of all kind has wonderfully in- 
 creased. Sometimes we will go and look about there ; but 
 now, my little wife, I must have my breakfast, and then say 
 farewell to thee for a few hours." 
 
 When coffee was ended, and he seated in his cabriolet, I 
 began to make observations on my own little world — but of 
 house and environs I will speak later, and first say something 
 of the master of the house himself, because you, Maria, as 
 yet know not my own Bear. 
 
 I have your letter before me, your dear letter, which I re- 
 ceived a few days after my marriage. Thanks, beloved, good 
 Maria, for all its cordial words — for all its good advice, which 
 is well preserved where it will never be forgotten ; and now 
 to your questions, which I will endeavour to answer fully. 
 First of all for Bear — here then you have his portrait. Of 
 a middle size, but proportionably, not disagreeably, stout 
 and broad; a handsome, well-curled peruke, made by the 
 Creator's own hand ; large couleur de rose ; light eyelashes ; 
 small, clear grey eyes, with a certain penetrating glance^ 
 under large bushy yellow-grey eyebrows; the nose good, 
 though somewhat thick ; the mouth large, with good teeth— 
 
rilA^fSlSK^ WJEKXEIi TO MARIA M, 
 
 13 
 
 iiit brown, alas ! from tobacco-smoking ; large hands, but 
 weD made and well kept ; large feet, the gait like a bear : 
 but this gives no idea of his exterior, if you do not take into 
 account an expression of open-hearted goodness and cheerful* 
 ness, which inspires a joyful confidence in the beholder. 
 This speaks when the mouth is silent, as is most frequently 
 the case ; the forehead is serene, and the bearing of the head 
 such as reminds one of an astronomer ; the voice is a deep 
 bass, which is not at all amiss in singing. Here then you 
 have his exterior. His inward self, best Maria, I have not yet 
 myself studied. Betrothed to him only within two months, 
 wife since fourteen days, I have not had great opportunity to 
 become acquainted with a man who is generally silent, and 
 whom I have not known more than half a year. But I trust 
 and hope all for good 1 
 
 You ask whether I feel love, actual love for him, and give, 
 half in jest, half in earnest, extraordinary signs by which I 
 may be able to prove this. Whether I am sensible of an in- 
 supportable want when he is absent P whether I, like Madam 
 L., become pale and embarrassed when he enters a company 
 in which I am already ? whether he has any fault, any bad 
 habit which in another would be unpleasant to me, but 
 which in him is agreeable ! No, Maria, of all this I experi- 
 ence nothing : but understand, dear Maria, I can very well 
 endure him ; I certainly liked him, and found him an excel- 
 lent man, otherwise I should not have married him; but 
 love — ^hm ! 
 
 In the first place, he is much older than I am ; he is nearly 
 fifty, and I want yet three years of thirty ; further, he has 
 been so long an old bachelor, has his good and his bad habits, 
 and these last I do not find at all agreeable ; but they shall 
 not destroy our domestic happiness ; of that I am determined. 
 Some of them I shall accustom myself to, some of them 1 
 shall wean him from. For example, first, he has a habit oi 
 spitting about everywhere, on handsome matting just the 
 same as on bare boards, — ^that habit he must leave off* ; but 
 I will have spittoons in every room. Secondly, he smokes a 
 great deal ; to this I shall accustom myself, because I know 
 how necessary and dear a pipe is to those who have made it 
 for long the companion of their way through life ; but we 
 wiU have a contract between us, thus ; I am quite willing to 
 
THE NEIGHBOUBS. 
 
 Bee the lighted pipe, yet it shall only seldom bo introduced 
 into the drawing-room, and never into our bedroom. Bear 
 can pulf away as much as he likes in his own room, and in 
 the hall, where the fumes pass away freely. Thirdly, he has 
 an extraordinary habit, whilst he is silent, of making most 
 horrible faces, often to his own thoughts, and often during 
 the conversation of others ; but here we will have a compro- 
 mise, — sometimes I shall say to him, " Bear, don't make 
 such horrible faces but most frequently I shall let him grin 
 in peace, because I know how painful it would be, how truly 
 impossible for him to counteract this working of the features, 
 which sometimes is so well introduced ; more especially as it 
 often furnishes a mode of speech which is very expressive, 
 and appears more merry than disagreeable. Fourthly, he has 
 a kind of carpenter mania, and would very willingly sit of an 
 evening and chisel and glue, and in so doing makes a litter 
 over tables, chairs, and floor ; to this I will accustom myself 
 with my whole heart, and merely every morning make all 
 carefully clean again. It always gives me pleasure when a 
 gentleman has some little favourite handicraft ; and after 
 Bear has been occupying himself all day till he is weary with 
 his medical profession, this is a cheerful diversion of mind to 
 him. Whilst he chisels I shall read novels aloud to him, 
 which particularly amuse him. Fifthly, he has a habit of 
 using certain coarse words ; this I will patiently, and by little 
 and Httle, get him to leave off" ; but that to which I am most 
 fully determined above all things to accustom him is, to feel 
 himself happy, and to find contentment and pleasure in hi^ 
 own house ; — for, Maria, I was poor, was obliged to get my 
 bread in the sweat of my own brow — for teaching music is no 
 light labour. I was not young any longer, had no beauty, 
 nor talent beyond that little bit of music — and he, from a 
 family of consequence, of a respectable station in life, and 
 universally esteemed on account of his character, knowledge, 
 and ability, selected me from among many richer, handsomer, 
 and better than I. He attended me during my severe fever 
 with the utmost kindness ; and when my mother would have 
 recompensed his trouble with the remains of our hoarded*up 
 money, he put it aside, and requested — my hand. Then he 
 was kind to all who belonged to me ; gave presents to my 
 brothers, and through him prosperity entered into out 
 
TEANSISKA WEBJSEB TO MABIA M. 
 
 15 
 
 formerly needy house. Should I not be grateful? sliould 1 
 not like him ? should I not endeavour with all my power, 
 with my utmost ability, to make him happy ? Ah, yes ! that 
 will I, that shall I ; with his virtues and his defects, in jest 
 and in earnest, in good and in evil, will I make him happy, 
 and a voice within me says that I shall succeed. 
 
 Tuesday Morning, 3rd of June. 
 
 "We poor mortals ! What are all our good intentions when 
 we have not power over ourselves. The day before yesterday 
 I sate and boasted with myself how happy I would make 
 my husband ; yesterday — but in order to punish myself, I 
 will tell you all. I must turn back to the evening before 
 yesterday, when I was so satisfied with myself. 
 
 Bear was on a visit to a sick person in the neighbourhood, 
 and I was writing ; he came back, and I put aside my writing. 
 I talked in grave raillery to him ; we drew up various do- 
 mestic regulations, and half in jest, half in earnest, the con- 
 tract respecting the tobacco-smoking was made and signed. 
 So far all was right, and so ended that day. The next day, 
 that was yesterday, we were to dine with Ma chere mere 
 I had a little headache ; and however I arranged my cap 
 and my hair, I could not satisfy myself ; it seemed to me that 
 I looked old and faded. I fancied my husband thought the 
 same, although he made no such remark. This put me out 
 of spirits, for I feared I should not please Ma chere mere, and 
 I knew how much Bear wished that I should do so. The 
 weather, too, was disagreeable, and I had the greatest desire 
 to stop at home, but when I gave the slightest hint of that, 
 he made such terrible grimaces that I gave up all attempts 
 of the kind. I was in fact more reluctant than ill. So we 
 mounted the cabriolet, and in drizzling rain drove off under 
 an umbrella. 
 
 Ma chere mere received us kindly, but she did not seem 
 to be in good humour herself. There were several old ladies 
 and gentlemen to dine, all strangers to me ; it was a heavy 
 affair ; and though the dinner was magnificent, spite of all 
 my attempts I could eat nothing. 
 
 In the afternoon, immediately after coffee, Bear went wit a 
 the gentlemen down into the billiard-room, leaving me with 
 Ma chere mere, the old ladies, who kept talking to themselves, 
 
18 
 
 THE NEIGIIBOUBS. 
 
 and a certain Lagman* Hok, an old and tried friend of Ma 
 ehere mere, who sate near her and took snuff. Ma chore 
 mere was silent, played patience, and looked grave. I said 
 now and then a word, but every moment grew stiller, for my 
 head ached sadly ; the rain beat against the window, and to 
 tell the truth I was out of humour with Bear, who it seemed 
 to me might have come for a short time during that long 
 afternoon to look after his little wife, and not have gone 
 thus indulging his old bachelor habits of playing billiards, 
 drinking and smoking ; and in this ill-humour the afternoon 
 wore by. 
 
 Towards tea-time, Ma chere mere requested me to play 
 something ; I sate down to the piano, made a prelude, and 
 began to sing that beautiful little thing, " Youth," but the 
 heat, my headache and my chagrin together put me quite out 
 of voice. I sung at first tremulously, then false, and at last 
 out of time, although I had sung that piece a hundred times 
 before. All was as still as death in the room, and I really 
 could have cried, only that at my age one cannot be so childish. 
 I struck a f^w closing notes and left the piano, with an 
 apology and a few words on my headache. Notwithstanding 
 all this. Ma chere mere seemed really kind towards me ; she 
 seated me by herself on the sofa, gave me a great cup of strong 
 tea, and treated me as people treat a sick child. I was now 
 really come to the crying point ; for all this, together with 
 the good Lagman Hok's politeness, overcame me. I thought 
 now truly this was the completion of the deplorable part I 
 had been playing the whole day, and that Ma chere mere 
 would think to herself, Lars Anders has made but a bad 
 choice ; he has brought home a wife, who is at the same time 
 old and childish, sickly and full of alFectation ! I was -down- 
 right miserable. 
 
 At last Bear came, and then it was time to leave ; the 
 weather had become fine, and the tea had done me good, but 
 the mischief had taken possession of my soul. I was out of 
 humour with myself, with my husband, with the whole world ; 
 and Bear sate all the time silent, and never troubled himself 
 about my headache, for after he had just asked how I was, 
 and I had answered "Better," he did not speak another 
 word. 
 
 • Judge. 
 
FEAXSISKA WERKE li TO MAEIA M. 
 
 17 
 
 Wlien I came home I had something in the kitchen to see 
 ifter, and when I returned to the drawing-room, there had 
 Bear settled himself into the sofa, and was blowing the to- 
 -bacco-smoke in long wreaths before him while he read the 
 newspaper. He had not exactly chosen the most suitable 
 time for the breach of our compact. I made a remonstrance, 
 and that truly in a lively tone, but in reality I was angry. 
 I took, as it were, a bad pleasure in making him pay for the 
 annoying day I had passed. 
 
 " Pardon !" exclaimed he, in a cheerful voice, and still con- 
 tinued to sit with the pipe in his mouth. I would not allow 
 that, for I thought the old bachelor might have indulged. him- 
 self freely enough the whole afternoon. 
 
 He prayed for permission " only this once" for pipe-peace 
 in the parlour ; but I would admit of no negotiation, and 
 threatened that if the pipe was not immediately taken away, 
 I would go and sit for the whole evening in the hall. In 
 the beginning, he besought me jokingly to grant him qui^t ; 
 then he became graver, and prayed earnestly, beseechingly ; 
 prayed me at last " out of regard to him." I saw that .]ie 
 wanted to try me ; saw that truly from his heart that" he 
 wished I would yield — and I, detestable creature, would 
 not. I remained steadfastly, although always cheerfully, by 
 my determination, and at last took up my work in order to 
 go out. Then Bear laid down his pipe : — oh, if he had been 
 only angry and spiteful ; if he only would not have laid down 
 his pipe, but would have marched out as proud as a nabob, 
 banged the door violently after him, and never come back 
 again the whole evening, then there would have been some 
 excuse for me, some comfort, something paid for and done 
 with ; and then I could have touched over this fatal history 
 so finely and so superficially. But he did none of all these : 
 he laid the pipe aside, and remained sitting silently ; and 
 with that I began immediately to endure the gnawings of 
 conscience : neither did he make any of his grimaces, but 
 remained looking on his newspaper, with a certain grave and 
 quiet mien that went to my very heart. I asked him to read 
 aloud ; he did so, but there was a something in his voice that 
 I could not bear to hear; in a sort of stifled bitterness 
 against myself, I must yet tyrannise over him. I snatched 
 the newspaper away from him — understand, this was in joke 
 
niE KEIGllBOITllS 
 
 — and said I would read it myself ; lie looked at me, and let 
 me have my way. I read, in a tolerably cheerful voice, of a 
 debate in the English House of Commons ; but I could not 
 hold out long. I burst into tears, flew to him, threw my 
 arms round his neck, and prayed him to forgive my bad 
 humour and my folly. Without answering, he held me 
 close to his breast so tenderly, so forgivingly, whilst a tear 
 slowly ran down his cheek. Never did I love him so much 
 as in this moment ; in this moment I felt for him real love ! 
 
 I would have begun an explanation, but he would not 
 permit it ; and now it was my turn to beg of him, that if he 
 loved me, to relight his pipe, and to smoke directly at my 
 very side. He refused; but I besought him so long and 
 earnestly, besought it as a token of continued forgiveness, 
 that he at last yielded. I held my face as much as possible 
 over the smoke — it was to me the incense of reconciliation ; 
 once I was nearly coughing, but I changed this into a sigh, 
 and said, " Ah, my own Bear, your wife would not have been 
 so angry if you had not forgotten her for the whole after- 
 noon ; she lost all patience while she was longing after you." 
 
 " I had not forgotten you, Eanny," said he, taking the 
 pipe from his mouth, and looking kindly but half reproach- 
 fully on me ; " but I was beside a peasant's painful death- 
 bed in the next hamlet : this prevented me from being with 
 you." 
 
 Ashamed to the very soul, I covered my face with -my 
 hands — I, I who had been fostering such wicked and false 
 mistrusts against him, and now in my vanity had been 
 revenging myself — I, unworthy one — I who wished to make 
 him so happy, what sweet refreshment had I prepared for the 
 WTary, troubled man ! 
 
 The thought of my folly distresses me even at this very 
 moment ; and the only thing that can give me any comfort, 
 is the feeling that he and I love one another better since 
 this occurrence than before. 
 
 Beloved, good Bear! before I will occasion you another 
 disagreeable moment, you may smoke every day, in parlour, 
 sleeping-room, yes, even in bed itself, if you will; only I 
 pray God that the desire to do so may not possess you ! 
 
 And now I return to your letter, and to a question which 
 it coiitains : " Whether I, as a married woman, shall v» rite 
 
FRANSISKA WERNER TO MARI L M. 
 
 19 
 
 to you as williDgly and as open-heartedly as I did before ?" 
 Yes, my Maria, of this be certain ; I cannot do otherwise. 
 It is now seven years since I first learned your value ; and 
 since that moment have you become to me my conscience, 
 my better self. You were the clear mirror in which I saw 
 myself as I was ; you were true, though ever gentle ; and 
 though it is now two years since you removed from me far 
 across the sea, still you remain towards me ever the same. 
 Oh, remam ever so, Maria ! otherwise I should fear to lose 
 myself. Under your eyes, and with your help, my moral 
 being developed itself ; under your eyes, and by your counsel, 
 will I also form myself into a good wife. It is pleasant to 
 me, it makes my life richer, to live, as one may say, in your 
 presence and with you, even though land and sea separate 
 us ; especially as my Bear does not belong to that class of 
 men who are jealous of their wives' friends. He is not of 
 the opinion, that one must renounce one's friends because one 
 has a husband or a wife ; he is not one to narrow the breast ; 
 he is too good, too rational for that. I believe he would 
 subscribe to the words of the beloved teacher who instructed 
 me in Christianity, " That there was a similarity betw^een 
 the human heart and heaven — the more angels the more 
 room for them." 
 
 Ah see ! there is my Bear ! Eead that which I have 
 written, and subscribe Bear. 
 
 Friday, 6th June. 
 
 Thank Grod ! all is right between Ma chere mere and me. 
 How unlike can one day be to another ! On Tuesday, so 
 out of tune ; yesterday, so cheerful. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I proposed to my husband to go and 
 visit Ma chere mere ; he assented with great pleasure. On 
 the way I related how foolishly I had behaved the last time, 
 and how willingly I would remove any unpleasant impression 
 which I might have made. He laughed, made faces, looked 
 very kind, and so we came to the place. 
 
 There was a great commotion and bustle in the whole 
 house : everybody was in motion. Ma chere mere herself as 
 wing and wheel in the whole movement. She was busy 
 preparing rooms for her two own step-sons (Bear is only lialf 
 Btep-son) and their young wives, who are shortly expected, 
 
 B 2 
 
20 
 
 THE ]S'EIGHBOriig, 
 
 and who will take up their quarters there, the one for a fe\f 
 weeks, the other for altogether. 
 
 Ma chere mere received us in the kindest manner : Bear 
 she provided with newspapers and Virginia tobacco ; and me 
 she bespoke as assistant for the whole afternoon. I was 
 cheerful and willing, and succeeded perfectly in pleasing her. 
 Furniture w^as removed, curtains rehung, and all went quickly 
 and well under her commands and with my assistance. We 
 despatched a world of work, and were right merry over it ; 
 many were the bon-mots w^hich I made, greatly to Ma chere 
 mere's amusement. She slapped me, pinched my ears, 
 laughed and replied merrily, and altogether alForded me a 
 deal of pleasure. 
 
 There is something quite original and fresh in her dis- 
 position and manners, and mode of thought, and she has 
 without doubt good understanding and great natural wit. 
 Her mode of managing her household appears to me strange ; 
 she treats them at once as slaves and children, with severity 
 and tenderness ; and they on their part appear to be mucli 
 attached to her, and obey her slightest hint. 
 
 One only time she and I were near coming to a misunder- 
 standing : it was about the toilet-tables of the young wives, 
 which I wished to have a little more luxuriously supplied ; 
 but Ma chere mere grew angry, excited herself over "the 
 cursed luxury" of our times, and over the pretensions of 
 young wives ; declaring that the toilet-tables should stand 
 exactly as she had placed them, with the same covers and the 
 same looking-glasses, as they were quite good enough. To 
 all this I remained silent, and therefore all was soon right 
 again ; yet after all I am not sure whether the toilet-covera 
 were not changed, as, soon after, Ma chere mere betook 
 herself to her linen-press. 
 
 To the arrangement of the chambers succeeded several 
 rougher pieces of house business, in which I was invited to 
 take part, " For," said Ma chere mere, " it will do you good, 
 little friend, to see how things are managed in a well-ordered 
 household. It will be necessary for you to learn this and 
 the other in domestic economy. * E-oasted sparrows do not 
 fly down people's throats ; and one must look if there be 
 anything in the cellar, if one expect anything on the table.' " 
 
 I followC'd Ma chere mere therefore into the cellar, where, 
 
FRAKSISKA WEROTIt TO MAEIA M. 
 
 21 
 
 with a large piece of red chalk in her hand, she made Tarious, 
 and to me cabalistical, signs and strokes upon sprat and 
 herring tubs, all which she explained to me, and then led me 
 into every corner of these subterraneous and well-super- 
 intended vaults. After this we went to the garret, where I 
 assisted in the examination of bread-safes ; delivered ana- 
 themas over rats, and weighed several flour sacks. Last of 
 all I must be weighed myself, and as I proved nOw to weigh 
 quite a hundred-weight. Ma chere mere laughed at me in the 
 most extraordinary manner, asserting that a woman had been 
 burnt as a vritch in the time of Charles XI. because she was 
 under a hundred-weight. All this I endured in the most 
 philosophical manner — but no philosophy whatever would 
 prevent my admiration of her housekeeping and domestic 
 arrangements. This admiration came from my heart ; for in 
 truth a house like this, so completely furnished and arranged 
 in small as well as in great, where everything has its ap- 
 pointed place and stands under its own number, such a little 
 world is worthy of observation and admiration ; and no leas 
 to be admired is the housewife, who is the living chronicle of 
 all this, and who knows her affairs as well as any general 
 knows his war-craffc. 
 
 When all this rummaging about, and this thorough house 
 inspection was brought to an end, we sate down on a sofa to 
 rest, and Ma chere mere addressed me in the following 
 manner: " It is only now and then, my dear Fransiska, that 
 I make such a house review, but it keeps everything m 
 order, and fills the domestics with respect. Set the clock 
 only to the right time, and it will go right of itself, and thus 
 one need not go about tick-tacking like a pendulum. Keep 
 this in mind, my dear Fransiska. Many ladies affect a great 
 deal, and make themselves very important with their bunch 
 of keys, running for ever into the kitchen and store-room ; — 
 all sluttishness, all bad management, Fransiska ; much better 
 is it for a lady to govern her house with her head than with 
 her heels ; the husband likes that best, or if he do not he is a 
 stupid fellow, and the wife ought then in Heaven's name to 
 box his ears with her bunch of keys ! Many ladies are for 
 ever scolding and treading on the heels of their sei vants ; 
 that does no good : servants must also have their libertj and 
 
22 
 
 THE KEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 rest ; one must not muzzle the ox that treads out the corn. 
 Let your people be answerable for all they do ; it is good for 
 them as well as for the mistress. Have a hold upon them 
 either by the heart or by honour, and give them ungrudgingly 
 whatever by right is theirs, for the labourer is worthy of his 
 hire. But then, three or four times a year, but not at any 
 regular time, come down upon them like the day of judg- 
 ment ; turn every stone and see into every corner, storm like 
 a thunder tempest, and strike down here and there at the 
 right time ; it will purify the house for many weeks ; — if 
 there were no thunder one could not live in peace for small 
 
 This was Ma chere mere's housekeeping doctrine. She 
 next turned the conversation on my husband, and said, " Yes, 
 you can say justly, my dear Fransiska, that you are married 
 to a husband who is a right good fellow, but still in his own 
 way he is very wilful, and you will have to manage him 
 pretty much in the same way as I have done. Come, we 
 shall see how you will do ! You are little, but you can bestir 
 yourself, and I will now tell you how you must conduct 
 yourself towards your husband. You will always find him an 
 honourable man, therefore I give you this one especial piece 
 of advice — never have recourse to untruths with him, be it 
 ever so small, or to help yourself out of ever so great a 
 difficulty, for untruth always leads into still greater difficulty, 
 and besides this it drives confidence out of the house.'* 
 
 In reply I told her that which I had sincerely determined 
 on these subjects ; and then contented with each other, we 
 went into the usual sitting-room, where we found Bear 
 sitting and yawning over his newspaper. 
 
 Mademoiselle Tuttin, who is called Adjutant Tuttin by Ma 
 chere mere, set the tea-table in order, and I, at the request 
 of Ma chere mere, sang (thus she had quite forgotten my 
 first essay) ; and as I myself felt, sung very well. She 
 laughed heartily at many merry little songs which I sang, 
 and I saw Bear's eyes full of delight glancing over to us from 
 above his newspaper. After tea we made up with Tuttin 
 Ma chero mere's Boston party, which was one of the most 
 amusing I was ever at. Ma chere mere and Bear were par- 
 ticularly Lively together, and made themselves very merry at 
 
FRANSISKA WEEKER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 23 
 
 my expense whenever I was stupid in the game, which pro- 
 duced much better effect than if I had played like a master ; 
 and we all laughed till we cried, like children. 
 
 After supper, as we took leave. Ma chere mere slapped me 
 heartily on the shoulder, kissed me, and thanked me for a 
 merry day. The weather was so fine when we came out on 
 the steps that we determined to walk part of the way, and to 
 send the cabriolet before us to a certain point. Our walk 
 was very lively, and after many mischievous pranks, I had 
 the luck to see Bear arrive at the bottom of a ditch. I can- 
 not help laughing when I think of it; he looked so like a 
 real bear lying there on four feet (between us two I am not 
 quite sure whether he did not allow himself to be rolled 
 over). The good Bear! 
 
 But I will not always be talking to you about Bear and 
 his Bearess. You must have some knowledge of the house 
 and family. It will be somewhat difficult on this last subject 
 to be quite lucid, but endeavour, good Maria, to understand 
 what I will endeavour to make clear. 
 
 Greneral Mansfelt married to his first wife, a widow lady 
 named Werner, with two sons, the eldest of which was my 
 husband ; the second, Adolf, who has been dead some years. 
 By this wife the General had two sons who yet live, Jean 
 Jacques and Peter Mansfelt. The mother of these two died 
 whilst they were yet children. A year afterwards the Gene- 
 ral married a rich and proud Miss Barbara B , our pre- 
 sent Ma chere mere. Bear, who was then thirteen years old, 
 was but little satisfied to receive a step-mother twenty years 
 of age. She, however, conducted herself most exemplarily, 
 and made an excellent although stern step-mother for the 
 four boys, from whom she won both reverence and love, 
 notwithstanding a certain rigour and economy which she 
 practised towards them. There was, however, reason for the 
 practice of this latter virtue ; for the General, who was him- 
 self a man of lavish expenditure, had brought his affairs into 
 great disorder, and his wife only succeeded in preserving her 
 own property by her deed of settlement. From her own 
 income she provided the cost of the four step-sons' education, 
 in which she spared nothing. 
 
 The boys were made to observe the most punctilious respect 
 in the paternal house; they were taught a certain precise 
 
24 
 
 THE KEtG2B0tTE8. 
 
 politeness, and a French style of manner. Every morning, at 
 a stated hour, they presented themselves before their parents, 
 kissed their hands, and said, " Bon jour, Mon eher pere ; 
 bonjour. Ma chere mere!" and every evening in the same 
 manner, at the appointed time, came the hand-kiss and the 
 " Bon soir, Mon cher pere ; bon soir, Ma chere mere !" 
 (Thus arose the appellation. Ma chere mere, which the sons 
 always apply to her.) This kissing of the hand still remains 
 whenever the sons and mother meet, although the French 
 greeting is discontinued. For the rest, the otherwise stern 
 step -mother allowed to her sons a deal of time and freedom 
 for games and bodily exercises, and the enjoyment of the 
 fresh air, for she thought to strengthen at the same time 
 both body and mind by these means, and they had on the 
 whole a happy youth. 
 
 G-eneral Mansfelt was a handsome man and a brave soldier, 
 but at the same time extravagant, domineering, and wilful. 
 He inquired but little after his children, and lavished away 
 his property. Ma chere mere's marriage with him was not 
 happy, and when he died, he left his sons nothing. Since his 
 death her behaviour to them has, without any ostentation, 
 been the most generous ; for, without making any difference 
 between the sons and step- sons of her husband, she bound 
 herself to allow each one of them, as soon as they came of 
 age, a certain annual sum, whilst she herself held the steward- 
 ship of her large but debt-burdened estate. My husband, 
 who had chosen his own path in life, and who by his own 
 ability and industry had w^on for himself an honourable 
 position in society, declined, though respectfully, this allow- 
 ance, because it was his wish to be dependent on no one, 
 and least of all on Ma chere mere, whose despotic will did 
 not always square with his independent feelings. This, 
 together with some stiff encounters which on various oc- 
 casions Bear and Ma chere mere have had together, has oc- 
 casioned him to be on a very independent and good footing 
 with her ; whilst the other sons more or less are obliged "^o 
 accommodate their wills to hers. Bear and she staad, as it 
 were, in fear of each other, but have at the same time the 
 highest mutual esteem ; yet she declares that she will never 
 see him beside her as physician. She sends all medicines and 
 all doctors whatever to the fiend; will have nothing to da 
 
FIftANSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 25 
 
 with any of them ; and supports her opinion by the proverb, 
 that " Nobody can be a good physician till he has filled a 
 churchyard." 
 
 Since I have undertaken to write the history of Ma chere 
 mere, I will also sketch her portrait. See, then, a tall lady, 
 of a large but handsome growth, whose figure still retains 
 the symmetry and roundness of youth ; very straight, some- 
 what stiff*, and almost with the mien and bearing of a general. 
 The countenance would be handsome, were not the features 
 so strongly marked and the complexion so grey ; the chin, 
 also, is somewhat too large and projecting. Eound the mouth, 
 which is furnished with large white teeth, a very friendly 
 pleasant smile often plays ; but when the sentiment is less 
 friendly, the under lip closes over the upper, and gives a 
 character of such stern determination as is not pleasing in a 
 woman. But Ma chere mere is a peculiar person. Her hair 
 is quite grey, and streams sometimes, but not in curls, forth 
 from the helmet, which I may now tell you is christened by 
 Ma chere mere her " slurka," and which slurka thrones itself 
 solitarily on the stern, high, often cloudy forehead. No 
 ornament nor jewel appears on her attire ; but instead, the 
 greatest cleanliness is attended to, and a something strikingly 
 accordant and appropriate. Ma chere mere never is tight 
 laced. (In parenthesis let it be remarked, that I should not 
 wonder if lacing up tight may not have something to do with 
 our often being less agreeable in company — the soul never 
 can move freely when the body is in fetters.) Her dress 
 generally is a brown or grey wadded silk gown ; in the morn- 
 ing the still handsome neck is covered by a white kerchief, 
 which towards noon is exchanged for a standing collar. 
 The hands are large, but well made and white, and are not 
 always used, as people say, in the most pacific work. Ma 
 chere mere has a rough voice, speaks loud and distinctly, 
 makes use sometimes of extraordinary words, and has 'a 
 vast many proverbs at her tongue's end. She walks with 
 great strides, often in boots, and swings her arms about ; still, 
 whenever it is her will to do so, she can assume a style of the 
 highest and mo&t perfect breeding. People accuse her of 
 being avaricious, of mixing herself in the affairs of others, 
 and with paying no regard to convenance ; many, indeed, are 
 the histories which are related of her ; nevertheless, everj 
 
26 
 
 THE NEIGHBOimS. 
 
 one througliout tlie whole country has the highest respect 
 for her, and her word is worth as much as a king's, for 
 the universal opinion respecting her is that she is prudent, 
 a person to be relied upon, and a steadfast friend. This is a 
 great deal, I think. She reminds me of Grotz von Berlich- 
 ingen ; and it sometimes appears to me as if deep and tender 
 feeling were hidden under this stern exterior, and then I feel 
 as if I might love her. 
 
 Hitherto, she has been the steward of her own estate, and 
 has managed her affairs admirably ; now, however, she wishes 
 that Jean Jacques should take part with her. This son has 
 studied agriculture abroad, has lately married, and will now 
 come and settle with his young wife at Carlsfors. Bear 
 shakes his head over this partnership — Ma chere mere and 
 Jean Jacques ! 
 
 It is impossible to speak fully of Ma chere mere without 
 mentioning her maid Elsa. These two have lived together 
 forty years, and appear as if it were impossible for the one 
 to live without the other. Elsa is towards her mistress at 
 once a slave and a tyrant. She is so avaricious that she 
 almost begrudges her mistress the wear of her own clothes, 
 and grumbles over every clean pocket-handkerchief she gives 
 her. But in fidelity, order, and cleanliness, she has not her 
 equal ; and on this account her mistress regards her with a 
 certain respect, and yields in many a little strife between 
 them the mastery to her. When there is occasion, Elsa 
 will work for her mistress night and day : Ma chere mere 
 is her fate ; Ma chere mere's room is her sphere of action ; 
 Ma chere mere's word her law ; Ma chere mere's person her 
 proper self ; without her lady, Elsa is nothing. Once she 
 received permission to visit her family, and to be away eight 
 days ; but Elsa was back with her mistress before two days 
 were over, because, as she said, she could not support herself 
 so long from her. It is said that the same evening, on ac- 
 count of some negligence in her toilet, she received a box on 
 the ear from her mistress ; she bore it in silence, and never 
 after this trial left her again. Elsa is dry and stiff ; her form 
 is all angles. People say that she knows more of Ma chere 
 mere than any other mortal ; but Elsa is silent as a mummy, 
 and deserves to be embalmed. 
 
 Tuttin, shadow of a shade, step forth ! Elsa is a Kern- 
 
rRA^SISKA ^YERT^EE TO MARIA M. 
 
 27 
 
 orandt-like shadow ; Tuttin, one of those indeterminate ones 
 which, without character itself, cannot take a determinate 
 form from another. The beauty of Elsa is her strong fidelity : 
 Tuttin says continually, " The G-eneralska says," " The 
 G-eneralska thinks," " The Greneralska commands ;" yet in 
 secret she calumniates her, and obeys her without devotion. 
 Humble at one moment to self-abasement, she is ready at 
 another to exalt herself above measure, if the strong arm of 
 Ma chere mere did not put on the restraining-rein, and com- 
 pel her to unfold her peculiar ability and to step forth from 
 her darkness, with all her excellent talents of housewifery. 
 
 After one glass of her excellent ale, I am ready to exclaim, 
 " Long life to Tuttin !" But how will Tuttin contrive to live 
 in that world where there will be neither baking nor brewing, 
 where no more ale will foam, and no bread will rise ? how 
 she will be able to collect together ideas there ? — but a truce 
 to Tuttin and the transmigration of souls, I will not go 
 rambling such a long way from home. 
 
 I must now give you a description of my own beloved 
 home, of my own little Rosen vik. Rosen vik belongs to the 
 estate of Carlsfors, and lies a good three miles from W., 
 where my husband is the principal and most beloved phy- 
 sician. He rents this little place from Ma chere mere, be- 
 cause he is, as well as I, so fond of the country. It is to us 
 a source of pleasure rather than profit, although I have my 
 own speculations about the garden, out of which I think 
 something may be made, though as yet it is no more than a 
 wilderness. The garden, a birch-grove, and a meadow in 
 wliich three cows and a horse have their living, is the whole 
 demesne of Eosenvik. "Why it has this name of Eosenvik or 
 Eose-Creek, I cannot imagine, as, although it lies on a creek 
 of the Helga Lake, no rose-bushes are to be found near it ; 
 nothing but a quantity of hyssop and elder. This w^e may 
 preserve, and not throw the other away ; but I hope that 
 Eosenvik may yet do honour to its name ; and in the mean 
 time, that the beautiful may not supplant the useful, I shall 
 plant gooseberry-bushes, peas, and beans, in plenty. On the 
 whole, I rejoice to find myself in a place where there is yet 
 something to do, and where all is not ready and complete. 
 My dinposition and my temperament require much employ- 
 ment, and I know how dear that is for which one has worked 
 
28 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 The house is small, but comfortably furnisbed ; wo have fo'ir 
 rooms and a kitcben on tbe ground-floor. Bear bas bad tbera 
 all very prettily furnisbed ; especially tbe drawing-room, wdtb 
 its blue-cbintz covered furniture and wbite muslin curtains, 
 is a sweetly pretty room. In tbe second story are two 
 handsome guest chambers. The kitcben and store-room 
 were, I must acknowledge, but indifferently supplied, but 
 that is a need, thank Grod ! soon remedied. 
 
 In respect to money, my husband bas made a regulation 
 which, at the same time that it gives me pleasure, bas occa- 
 sioned me some little uneasiness. He puts all bis money 
 into a strong box, to which he has bad two keys made, the 
 one he keeps and I tbe other, with full permission to take 
 out as much money as I will, and when I will, without ren- 
 dering any account to him. This proof of li. s perfect con- 
 fidence in my prudence delights me, and at tbe same time 
 that this confidence in me is a far stronger bond than any 
 avarice on his part could be. I always fear to take out too 
 much, and not to economise as I ought ; constantly avoiding 
 to indulge my heart or even my thoughts in any little extra- 
 ordinary expenditure, because I myself brought not a penny 
 into tliat coffer ; all that I find there belongs ti^ him, and is 
 tbe wages of bis labour. It seems to me as if I should be 
 more free, and that it would be better if be would allow me 
 monthly a stated sum to manage with. One day I made this 
 proposal to him, confessing all my scruples to him with tears 
 in my eyes, but he would not hear a word of it. " Are wo 
 not one ?" said be, " and I have seen already that you are a 
 skilful manager With respect to tbe scruples, be assured 
 me that I should lose them as we came to know each other 
 better, for that then I should find that there would be no mine 
 and thine between us two. I am greatly disposed to believe 
 in the good man's prophecy; but yet I intend, not only for 
 tbe peace of my own conscience, but for the sake of good 
 order, to keep an exact account of all my expenditure. 
 
 I am greatly pleased with the little maiden that Bear bas 
 provided for me, and who is to be my own maid : she is a 
 young peasant girl, with such a happy, innocent, pretty ap- 
 pearance, as does one good even to see. She is quiet and 
 industrious, has a good understanding and a good heart, so 
 that it will be a pleasure to me to instruct her. If God givu 
 
TEANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 29 
 
 me children, Sissa shall take care of them. I will model her 
 into a real Bonne for them, so that I may be easy on their 
 account when they are not in my own arms. The recollection 
 of my own childhood tells me how important first impressions 
 are ; therefore, purity, goodness, and good sense, shall watch 
 over the cradle of my child ; shall even then begin to esta- 
 blish themselves in the soul ; and one does not soon become 
 indifferent to the friends of one's childhood. I am speaking 
 all this time of educating my maid, but believe me, my Maria, 
 that I will not forget also to educate myself. How is it 
 that the flame is so soon extinguished on the altar of love ? 
 Because the married pair forget to supply materials for the 
 fire. One must unfold, and cultivate, and perfect oneself in 
 one's progress through life, and then life itself will become 
 an unfolding of love and happiness. 
 
 My first employment will be to arrange my house so that 
 contentment and peace may dwell in it. I will endeavour 
 to be a wise lawgiver in my small, but not mean world ; and 
 do you know what law I mean first of all to promulgate and 
 enforce with the most rigorous exactness ? A law for the 
 treatment of animals ; thus — 
 
 All domestic animals shall be kept with the utmost care, 
 and treated in a friendly and kindly manner. They shall 
 live happily, and shall be killed in that mode which shall 
 make death least painful to them. 
 
 No animal shall be tortured in the kitchen ; no fish shall 
 be cleaned while alive, nor struggle into the kettle ; no bird 
 shall, while half dead, be hung up on a nail ; a stroke with 
 the knife shall as soon as possible give them death, and free 
 t-hem from torture. 
 
 These, and several other commands shall be contained in 
 my laws. How much unnecessary cruelty is perpetrated 
 every day because people never think of what they do ; and 
 how uncalled for, how unworthy is cruelty tow^ards animals ! 
 Is it not enough that in the present arrangement of things 
 they are sentenced during their lives to be subject to us, 
 and after their deaths to serve us for food, w ithout our em- 
 bittering yet more this heavy lot ? We are compelled in 
 many cases to act hostilely towards them, but there is nc 
 reason why we need become cruel enemies. How unspeak- 
 ably less woiild they suffer, if in all those circumstances in 
 
THE KEIGMIBOITES. 
 
 which they resembled mankind, we acted humanely towards 
 til em ; and if we had compassion on them in the weakness 
 of their age, in the suffering of their sickness, and in death. 
 
 There were laws in the old world which made mildness 
 towards animals a sacred duty of mankind, whilst the viola- 
 tion of such laws were severely punished ; and we, Maria, 
 we who acknowledge a religion of love, shall we act worse 
 towards the animal creation than the heathen did ? Did 
 not He who established the kingdom of love on the earth, 
 say that not a sparrow fell to the ground without the know- 
 ledge of our Father which is in heaven ? Observe, Maria, 
 he said not that the sparrow should not fall, but that it 
 should not fall without being seen by the eye of the Uni- 
 versal Father. Yes, all the unnecessary suffering which the 
 intemperance, the folly, the cruelty of man, occasions to ani- 
 mals is observed, and heard also are their lamentable cries 
 and their complaints. On the other side the grave may not 
 an avenging echo of the same add yet one more pang to hell, 
 and trouble even the peace of the spirits in heaven ? 
 
 Oh, Maria! let not us women and housewives be de- 
 serving of this punishment. Let us, when we come before 
 the judgment-seat of the Universal Father, be pure from all 
 unthankfulness, and abuse of any creature which he has 
 made. Let us deserve in that better world to see around us 
 an ennobled race of animals, to live with them in a loving 
 relationship, even as we have already begun on earth ! 
 
 Here comes Bear! who announces to me that we must 
 soon go and pay visits to our neighbours : we have many of 
 them, and I am to understand that there are people among 
 them who are longing after my acquaintance — ^very good, 
 sensible people, so he assures me. 
 
 Hold yourself therefore in readiness to make new acquaint- 
 ance; brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law also I shall soon 
 have to introduce to you. I am glad to think of their arrival ; 
 especially will it delight me to become acquainted with my 
 husband's best-beloved brother, Peter Mansfelt, who is a very 
 amiable man and a distinguished lawyer. In a month we 
 also expect a guest at Eosenvik ; and with all these, and 
 c specially with Bear, I am anticipating a very cheerful and 
 happy life. 
 
 I could find pleasure in writing a romance on all this: 
 
^RA^"SISKA WERNER TO MARIA M 
 
 31 
 
 romances commonly end with a marriage, but do( s not the 
 proper romance of h-iiman life here have its beginning ? Seen 
 in the whole, the life of every man is a romance — a little 
 episode out of the great romance of the " Book of Life," 
 which is written by that grea?t original author, " The World." 
 
 Suppose, therefore, Maria, that I should write you a little 
 romance. Let it, my good, affectionate reader, hold a place 
 in your heart ; whether it be cheerful or sad, let me hope 
 that you will not cast it from you. 
 
 Farewell ! think kindly on your romantic and devoted 
 
 Fransiska. 
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 Rosenvik, June 9th. 
 
 It was cool and clear weather yesterday morning. I 
 seated myself in the cabriolet by the side of Bear, who, as 
 usual at eight o'clock, drove to the town. He left me at 
 Carlsfors, promising to call for me on his return, in case he 
 did not forget it — forget it ? — horrible Bear ! — and so pro- 
 ceeded he with these words as a passport. 
 
 As I advanced up the long beautiful walk which leads to 
 the principal front, I saw a tall, extraordinary figure standing 
 in the court, appareled in a long grey cloak and green cap, 
 who struck about her with something which seemed like a 
 witch's staff, while she cried with a strong voice, "Drive up 
 to the door, do you hear! drive up to the door with the 
 heaven-chariot !" 
 
 I glanced involuntarily towards heaven, filled with the idea 
 of the fiery chariot of the prophet Elisha ; but the idea 
 quickly vanished, as the moment afterwards I recognised in 
 the figure before me the person of Ma chere mere, whom, as 
 I came near, I found to be scolding her groom, because the 
 oats were already exhausted, and accompanying her moral 
 discourse by the powerful brandishing of her whip — but only 
 in the air. 
 
 The moment she became aware of my presence, her coun- 
 tenance changed ; she seized my hand cordially, and pressing 
 it, said in a friendly voice, " Nay, see ! good day, my dear 
 Fransiska, you come just in the right moment. I have put 
 on my Januarius to-day," added she, pointmg to her cloak, 
 
32 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 " because it seemed to me rather cold. My greys will be 
 here immediately with the heaven-chariot, and t'nen we will 
 have a drive together;" and at these words four horses 
 brought into the court an extraordinary vehicle, whose roof 
 rested on four tall pillars. This was the heaven-chariot. 
 
 Ma chere mere ordered me to mount, and then climbed up 
 afterwards and seized the reins, whilst a servant took his 
 seat behind. Ma chere mere gave a tremendous crack with 
 her whip, and we drove off. I was afraid at first, for we 
 went at full speed, and the heaven- chariot went anything 
 but in a heavenly manner. The horses for some time were 
 refractory; but Ma chere mere stood up and applied the 
 whip to such purpose that they became perfectly obedient. 
 With a pleasant " By my soul! won't I teach them!" she 
 seated herself again. She laughed to see how pale I was, 
 drove much slower, and began to talk cheerfully, desiring me 
 to tell her all about my housekeeping affairs at Eosenvik. 
 As soon as I was convinced that she was a most excellent 
 driver, I became calm and cheerful also, and gave myself up 
 to the pleasure which I involuntarily feel when I am with 
 her. 
 
 "We saw many labourers, hedgers and ditchers, and such 
 like people at their work. Ma chere mere spoke with many 
 of them, praised some, scolded others ; and one thing I could 
 not fail to observe, how good the understanding seemed to 
 be between her and her dependents, how perfectly they 
 seemed to know her, and how they gave each other proverb 
 for proverb. 
 
 During our drive we nearly overturned Lagman Hok, w^ho 
 came jogging on in a desobligeant, and whose coachman was 
 so startled by the appearance of the heaven-chariot that 
 he turned from right to left, and exactly in the direction 
 which w^e took. It would soon have been all over with the 
 desobligeant. 
 
 "The deuce! how you drive, Lagman!" exclaimed Ma 
 chere mere in a thundering voice, whilst her powerful arm 
 neldback the horses, and by a quick turn prevented any mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 Presently the heaven-chariot and the desobligeant stood 
 confidentially side by side ; and again in good humour, she 
 said laughingly and jestingly to Lagman Hok, who looked 
 
FEA>^STSKA VERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 33 
 
 out from his green curtains in consternation, " Dear Lagman, 
 you have so infected your coachman with your poetical 
 fancies that he has confounded the rule of the road." 
 
 Lagman Hok and poetical fancies ! that is quite impossible 
 thought I. 
 
 " When a chariot of heaven approaches," replied the Lag- 
 man, more poetically than I expected, " who can think about 
 the statutes of earthly roads ?" 
 
 So jested the two together for a while, and then the 
 heaven-chariot and the disobligeant went on their respective 
 ways. 
 
 On our return home Ma chere mere was in the liveliest 
 humour, and we fell into a very animated conversation on 
 men and women and marriage. Ma chere mere's doctrine 
 for women was, indeed, no doctrine for coquettes ; it might 
 be simimed up thus — " Act so that your husband and all 
 men may esteem you ; thus you will enjoy peace in your own 
 house and honour in your life." Esteem and reputation she 
 considers as the most valuable possessions of this world. 
 
 " The rules for the behaviour of young women towards 
 men," said she, " may be in general somewhat too rigid. 
 They remind me of an old song which I heard in my child- 
 hood, of the damsel Eegina, and of which I still remember 
 these words : 
 
 " Comes a fine young man to offer thee liis arm, 
 So make thy curtsey and answer, 
 
 * No, thank you most kindly, I go well alone !' 
 And comes a fine young man to ask thee to dance, 
 
 So make thy curtsey and answer, 
 
 * No, thank you most kindly, I dance well alone I' " 
 
 I took up the words of the old song with her. She 
 laughed, but remarked gravely, " That song is really not so 
 very foolish after all, little friend. I will not exactly say as 
 much as it, but this I will say, that to dance or to walk with 
 any man but your husband may have its doubtful side. A 
 young wife — lay my words to heart — cannot be too circum- 
 spect in her conduct, that she may not expose herself to 
 remark. She must take heed of herself, my dear Eransiska, 
 take heed of herself. I grant you that this our age is more 
 moral than that of my youth, when King Grustave III., of 
 blessed memory, introduced Erench manners and Erench 
 
 c 
 
THE ]?fEIGlI130TJRS. 
 
 fashions into our country ; and I believe now that there aro 
 mucli fewer Atheists and Asmodeuses in the world. But as 
 I said before, you must take heed to yourself, Transiska, for 
 the tempter may come to you, just as well as many another 
 one ; not because you are handsome — for you are not hand- 
 some, and you are very short — but your April-countenance 
 has its own little charm, and then you sing very prettily ; aa 
 one may say you have your own little attractions. And 
 some day or other a young coxcomb may come and figure 
 away before you ; now mind my advice, keep him at a 
 distance, keep him at a distance by your own proper beha- 
 viour. But if this should not suffice for him — should he 
 still make advances, and speak fulsome seductive words, then 
 you must look at him with a countenance of the highest pos- 
 sible astonishment, and say — ' Sir, you are under a great mis- 
 take. It cannot be me that you mean!' Should this not 
 answer the purpose, but he still continue to make advances, 
 then go you directly to your husband, and say — ' My friend, 
 so and so has occurred, and so and so have I acted ; now you 
 must act just as you think proper !' Then, my dear Fransiska, 
 depend upon it, the Corydon will soon discover that the 
 clock has struck, and, no little ashamed, he will go about his 
 own business ; whilst you will have no shame, but, on the 
 contrary, honour from the affair, and beyond this, will find 
 that a good conscience makes a happy countenance, and that 
 * a good conscience is the greatest luxury.' " 
 
 Ma chere mere's good counsel seemed to me indescribably 
 entertaining ; but, unfortunately, as she had invited two old 
 and poor maiden ladies, who are partly supported by her 
 bounty, to dinner, they entered whilst we were in the very 
 height of our discourse. One of them in a dress trimmed 
 with two rows of lace. The countenance of Ma chere mere 
 darkened the moment she saw this ; and scarcely had the un- 
 lucky maiden made her salutations and seated herself, than 
 she began a sharp tirade against the two lace trimmings. 
 
 " One row," said she, "would have been a superfluity, but 
 two are unpardonable!" 
 
 The poor lady endured the severe reprimand. In vain she 
 began to excuse herself by saying that the upper row was put 
 on to hide a join. 
 
 *'I must tell you what, my dear friend," exclaimed Ma 
 
FRANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 35 
 
 cliere mere, " when people are not above accepting alms, they 
 ought not to be above showing a join ! Yes, yes, this I must 
 tell you, poverty is no disgrace ; it is not every one who is 
 born with a silver spoon in his mouth ; but vanity in poverty 
 — that is the devil in boots ! Now, now do not weep on this 
 account ; reproofs are not millstones — reproofs don't bite to 
 the bone. Take off both rows of lace, and it shall be my care 
 that you possess a dress in which no one shall see a join." 
 
 The poor old maiden seemed consoled at once, and again 
 Ma chere mere was in good humour, and as I heard the 
 cabriolet drive up, I rose to take my leave. 
 
 "How, now," said Ma chere mere, cordially, "are you 
 going, my dear Fransiska ? I suppose it is no use inviting 
 you and your husband just now to stay dinner. Nay, away 
 with you in Heaven's name, only come again soon ; because 
 you see, my child, you suit me to a hair, and you cannot 
 come too often. See, indeed ! see, indeed ! go now ! I never 
 like people standing so long to take leave. Adieu ! adieu!" 
 
 I got away as soon as I could, and ran off laughing. And 
 now I say to you adieu, adieu, also, for I will bid good-day 
 to my returning Bear. I can now keep him a few days with 
 me. 
 
 llth June. 
 
 Here I am again sitting with pen in my hand, impelled 
 by a desire for writing, yet with nothing particular to write 
 about. Everything in the house and in the whole household 
 arrangement is in order. Little patties are baking in the 
 kitchen ; the weather is oppressively hot ; and every leaf and 
 bird seem as if deprived of motion. The hens lie outside in 
 the sand before the window ; the cock stands solitary on one 
 leg, and looks upon his harem with the countenance of a 
 sleepy sultan: Bear sits in his room writing letters. The 
 door is open between us. I hear him yawn. That infects 
 me — oh ! oh ! — I must go and have a little quarrel with Bear 
 on purpose to awaken us both. 
 
 I want at this moment a quire of writing-paper on which 
 to bake sugar-cakes. Bear is terribly miserly of his writing- 
 paper, and on that very account I must have some now. 
 
 Later, 
 
 All is done! A complete quarrel, and how completely 
 c 2 
 
THE NEIGHBOTJBS. 
 
 vride awake are we after it ! You, Maria, must hear all, thai 
 you may thus see how it goes on among married people. 
 
 I went to my husband, and said quite meekly, " My angel- 
 bear, you must be so very good as to give me a sheet of 
 writing-paper to bake sugar-cakes upon." 
 
 He (in consternation). A quire of my writing-paper? 
 
 She. Yes, my dear friend, of your very finest writing- 
 paper. 
 
 He. Einest writing-paper ! are you mad ? 
 She. Certainly not : but I believe you are a little out of 
 your senses. 
 
 He. You covetous sea-cat, leave off raging among my 
 papers ! You shall not have my paper ! 
 
 She. Miserly beast 1 I shall and I will have the paper. 
 
 He. "I shall!" Listen a moment. Let's see now how 
 you will accomplish your will. And the rough Bear held 
 both my small hands fast in his great paws. 
 
 She. You ugly Bear ! You are worse than any of those 
 that walk on four legs. Let me loose ! let me loose ! else I 
 shall bite you. And as he would not let me loose, I bit him 
 — yes, Maria, I bit him really on the hand ; at which he only 
 laughed scornfully, and said — 
 
 " Yes, yes, my little wife, that is always the way of those 
 who defy without the power to act. Take the paper ! now 
 take it !" 
 
 She. Ah ! let me loose, let me loose ! 
 
 He. Ask prettily. 
 
 She. Dear Bear ! 
 
 He. Acknowledge your weakness. 
 
 She. I do. 
 
 He. Pray for forgiveness. 
 She. Ah! forgiveness! 
 He. Promise amendment. 
 She. O yes, yes, amendment ! 
 
 He. Nay, I'll pardon you. But now, no sour faces, dear 
 wife, but throw your arms round my neck and kiss me. 
 
 I gave him — a little box on the ear, snatched a quire of 
 paper, and ran off with loud exultation. Bear followed into 
 the kitchen, growling horribly; but then I turned round 
 npon him armed with two delicious little patties, which 1 
 aimed at his mouth, and there they vanished. Bear all at 
 
FRANSISKA WEENEE TO MABIA M. 
 
 37 
 
 once was quite still, the paper was forgotten, and reconcilia- 
 tion concluded. 
 
 There is, Maria, no better way of stopping the mouths of 
 these lords of the creation than by putting into them some- 
 thing good to eat. 
 
 This afternoon we shall begin our visits to our neighbours. 
 I shall dress myself very nicely ; shall wear a little straw 
 bonnet with lilacs in it, which is right handsome ; and mark 
 only with what satisfaction Bear will present " my wife ! my 
 wife!" It is with a peculiar and a delighted tone that ho 
 says "my wife!" but at this moment " my wife " dare not 
 stop any longer talking, she must await her husband at the 
 dinner-table. 
 
 Evening. 
 
 Again a little strife! It is dangerous to wake the slum- 
 bering lion. The scene is over our dessert. 
 
 He. My dear friend, which bonnet do you think of wear- 
 ing this afternoon ? 
 
 She. My little straw bonnet with lilacs. 
 
 He. That ? O no, wear the white crape bonnet, it is so 
 pretty. 
 
 She. That ? My only state-and-gala bonnet ! What can 
 make you think of *that, my angel ? to sit in the cabriolet in 
 the dust — and it perhaps rain. 
 
 He. Then it would not get dusty. 
 
 She. How witty you are ! but then the rain would not 
 improve my bonnet. 
 
 He. My dear Fanny, you would give me great pleasure if 
 you wore that bonnet. 
 
 She. Then, dearest Bear, I will wear it, even though it 
 rained and were dusty at the same time. 
 
 And thus I now go to put on the white bonnet. "What 
 would Madame Polcker say if she saw me driving on a 
 '^ountry road in it? Our little gardener youth serves on this 
 extraordinary occasion as footman, in a grey jacket witli 
 green velvet collar. 
 
 Friday, 12tl3. 
 
 " But really," exclaimed Bear, as he saw his wife yester- 
 day in her visiting dress, " you look so lovely in that bonnet I 
 Positively JVIa chere mere must see you in it: we will just 
 
38 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 call and speak a word at Carlsfors before we go further. It 
 
 is really very pretty !" 
 
 " Do you think so ? Well just as you like, my love, if it 
 will not make us too late at the other places." 
 
 " Ah, that must take its chance : Ma chere mere must cee 
 my little wife to-day." 
 
 See now, therefore, the little wife in the little bonnet, 
 sitting shaking in the little cabriolet, and sending beseeching 
 glances up towards heaven, which seemed glooming over the 
 little bonnet. In the mean time we reach Carlsfors without 
 a drop of rain, and found visitors there. Ma chere mere 
 met us in the most joyful and friendly manner ; kissed me, 
 examined me from head to foot, patted me on the cheek, and 
 said I looked like a winter moon. 
 
 " You have a little wife, Lars Anders," said she, " but one 
 can say of her ' little and good.' " 
 
 Bear looked delighted ; for me, I must confess that it vexes 
 me that Ma chere mere thinks me so extremely little, — one 
 might fancy that she did not consider me a complete human 
 being, yet I am such. 
 
 Presently after our arrival, other visitors also made their 
 appearance, and I sat myself down to observe the company. 
 My eyes soon riveted themselves on a very small lady, really 
 less than I, who was still young, and whose whole being 
 exhibited an extraordinary sprightliness. She was of dark 
 complexion, had lively brown eyes, a somewhat large and 
 aquiline nose, and a somewhat projecting chin. She was 
 not handsome, yet there was a piquancy about her; and her 
 dress, which was fashionable and elegant, accorded extremely 
 well with her sprightly little figure. 
 
 Bear and she shook hands in the most friendly manner, 
 and her quick eyes were immediately directed to me. Bear 
 made a movement to introduce us to each other, but just at 
 that moment Ma chere mere came up, turned me round and 
 led me to the piano, insisting upon it that I should play 
 and sing something to the company. When I had fulfilled 
 this duty, the lively little lady came and seated herself near 
 me, looked penetratingly at me, yet in the manner of a 
 friendly old acquaintance, and asked how long I had been in 
 this place, and whether I did not find the people here " hor« 
 ribly behindhand in comparison with those of Stockholm.** 
 
FBAI^SISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 89 
 
 When I had gaily answered her, she said, looking con- 
 tinually at me with a searching glance, " you are very like 
 your mother ! — a superior woman — I often used to see her^ 
 and know^ you very well, Madame Werner, although I have 
 not seen you before." 
 
 I looked at her inquiringly, and the question was on my 
 lips, " With w^hom have I the honour, etc. but she was 
 beforehand with me, and asked w^hether I had already seen 
 many of my neighbours ? I answered that at that very 
 time we were on our way to make visits. 
 
 "Indeed!" said she; "but you will become acquainted 
 with a variety of curious personages ! Some of a water- 
 porridge, some of a horse-radish kind ! it would be a pity if 
 you had not a preparatory knowledge of that which you will 
 meet with. When you come for instance to the von P.'s, 
 the new nobility at Holma, you must talk of accomplishment 
 and the fine arts, and be heedful to mention en passant your 
 genteel acquaintance — that is, if you wish to stand well with 
 the von P.'s. Have you ever had the experience of feeling, 
 after you have been a few hours w-ith some people, as if you 
 were soaked with w^ater, or had all the new wine of life 
 pressed out of you, as one may say ?" 
 
 " O yes 1" I replied, laughing. 
 
 " Just observe then how you feelw'hen you come from the 
 von P.'s," said she. " But don't you talk of art with Major 
 Stalmark, of Adamsro, that is if you care to stand well 
 there. Nature, freedom, simplicity, are the w^atchwords 
 there. My good friend, the Major's lady, w^ill talk of nothing 
 but servants and housewifery; with the Major it is all sound 
 reason and vigorous strength. I shall be rather anxious to 
 know whether you find yourself really refreshed thereby, 
 for there are tribunals of strength which are not, after all, 
 strengthening. But take heed that the young Adamites 
 do not play you some unparadisiacal prank or other ; I fancy 
 the old ones are to be found in the stable." 
 
 " And as a good friend," continued she, " I counsel you 
 further not to pass by the old maiden Hellevi Husgafvel, who 
 has her Bird's Nest not far from the city, or she w^ould take 
 it amiss. With her angular figure and her keen tongue, she 
 will remind you, at one and the same time, of a woodpeckcJ 
 and of gingerbread — but perhaps you already know her ?" 
 
40 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUHS. 
 
 "No," replied I, "but I have heard that there is some* 
 fching about her both laughable and malicious." 
 
 " Laughable, malicious !" repeated my neighbour, hesi- 
 tatingly ; " hm — Grod knows if that be not saying rather too 
 much ! Malicious ! she speaks out her opinion of people 
 tolerably freely, but she does that openly, and not to the 
 disparagement of any one. Ridiculous ! why yes, that may 
 be true — she has her infirmities, as much and perhaps even 
 more than others. But my simile you will certainly find, at 
 all events, very striking." 
 
 " I should like to know," said I, amused by her observa- 
 tions, w^hich sounded much less malicious when spoken than 
 they do on paper, " I should like to know what you would 
 say of me and my husband, and to what you would compare 
 us." 
 
 " "Who," said she, " can look on the good Doctor Werner 
 without thinking of plum-pudding, and you, my good lady, ' 
 are a hot sweet sauce thereto, without which it would not 
 be half so savoury. But what I would add further regard- 
 ing your future acquaintance is, that you will never know 
 what is really venerable till you have seen the old Dahls ; 
 and you can gain no clear idea of amiability before you have 
 seen their granddaughter Serena, the flower of the dale, as 
 she is called in a double sense." 
 
 " Serena !" repeated I, " that is a strange name." 
 
 " You will not think so when you have seen her," replied 
 she ; " it seems as if the Almighty himself had baptized her. 
 But now I must leave you, and go farther; and if after this con- 
 versation you should say that I am either mad or ill-natured, 
 I shall not mind it. I can tolerate you in any case, and I 
 hope to see you soon again." 
 
 With this she pressed my hand most warmly, stood up 
 and took a hasty leave of all. As he left the room I per- 
 ceived that she was slightly crooked, and that she took no 
 care to conceal it. 
 
 " Who is she? who is she?" I asked, when she had left 
 the room. 
 
 " What, Fransiska!" said Ma chere mere, "don't you 
 know Miss Hellevi Husgafvel ? Now I have done a stupid 
 fching not to introduce you to each otlier !" 
 
 I stood as if a thunderbolt had struck me. " Miss Hcllevi 
 
PEANSISKA WEENEB TO MAllIA M. 
 
 41 
 
 Husgafvel!" exclaimed I at last; "but Miss Husgafvel ia 
 old!" 
 
 " That is her own history," returned Ma chere mere ; " she 
 /las her own peculiar oddities, and is at as much trouble to 
 make out that she is old, as other people that they are young. 
 1, for my part, do not think much about her ' Bird's Nest,' 
 \)ecause I understand nothing about all the snails and worms 
 and sponges that she has collected there ; but she herself is 
 a witty and estimable person, whom I like very much." 
 
 " But whatever will she think of me!" thought I, em- 
 barrassed by my want of circumspection, as I went back 
 with Bear to the cabriolet. My bonnet had made no great 
 figure — and what stupidity I had been guilty of\ The 
 beginning of our journey was not brilliant. 
 
 " Bah!" said I, comforting myself, "Miss Husgafvel is a 
 reasonable person. I have not after all been so very stupid, 
 and we can soon set all right again." La Bruyere says truly, 
 " Le sot ne se retire jamais du ridicule. C'est son caractere ; 
 Ton y entre quelquefois avec de 1' esprit mais Ton en sort." 
 And so the cabriolet rolled on merrily towards Adamsro, the 
 abode of Major Stalmark. 
 
 On the edge of the estate we met a young girl of perhaps 
 fourteen years old, riding without saddle on a pony ; her 
 hair was of a reddish colour, and, together with her dress, 
 was in a state of the greatest disorder. 
 
 " Good-day, Miss Malla!" exclaimed Bear to the young 
 Amazon ; " are your father and mother at home ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered she; "I am riding Putte to pasture." 
 She rode on and we drove forward. 
 
 " Bless my heart ! can that be a young lady ?" exclaimed I. 
 
 " Yes," replied Bear, laconically. 
 
 We arrived at the house. There was a prodigious com- 
 motion there. Three young men in hunting dresses were 
 lounging about with at least a half-score of dogs at their 
 /leels. No sooner had Bear and his Bearess made their ap- 
 pearance than the whole barking company assailed our 
 innocent equipage, but were called off by the young men, 
 much to the advantage of mine and the horse's heroism, and 
 the lively but unharmonious choir betook themselves to a 
 distance. 
 
 This place must be called Adams-unrest, thought 1 13 my 
 
12 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 self. As I went through the entrance-hall something conJng 
 between my feet had nearly thrown me down. I perceived 
 that it was a piece of wood, and looking round I soon dis- 
 covered two sly, young, grinning figures 'in one corner, who 
 w^ere preparing to bombard anew the peaceable guests. I 
 threatened them with the piece of wood, and had a great 
 inclination to make the wild young things nearer acquainted 
 with it. But Bear, who was already within the ante-room, 
 called me, and I followed in great haste, that I might escape 
 a something, Grod knows what ! which came with a great 
 rustling close to my heels. I was angry, and yet compelled 
 to laugh. Bear was quite enraged when he heard what I had 
 encountered. Bear opened again the door of the ante-room, 
 shook his fist at the Adamites, and promised them a troun- 
 cing if they did not let strangers alone. We waited till we 
 had composed ourselves — he, till he had grumbled himself' 
 quiet, and I, till I had satisfied myself with laughing ; and 
 then entering the room, which was handsome, we en- 
 countered two persons, whose appearance indicated the pos- 
 session of a certain rank and wealth ; — I might call this ap- 
 pearance reputable. These were the Major and his lady : he 
 an elderly though still good-lo >king man, of excellent gentle- 
 manly demeanour; she, very stout, still young, but not 
 - handsome, but with a something open and honest in her 
 exterior. 
 
 Bear presented " my wife," and " my wife" was received as 
 cordially as my Bear himself. 
 
 The gentlemen walked up and down the room and gossiped 
 together; the ladies seated themselves side by side on the 
 sofa, to make nearer acquaintance. The lady looked at me, 
 and I at her. Tier countenance seemed to me familiar, and 
 still more so seemed her voice ; the latter, which had a 
 Finnish accent, seemed to make an especial impression upon 
 me. I could not take my eyes from her ; I saw a little scar 
 upon her neck, and — all at once returned a little episode in 
 my far-passed life. I must take a review of this, in order 
 that you may understand that which follows. 
 
 In the first place then, you must accompany me to my 
 hero deeds in the Gymnastic Hall ; accompany me to that 
 time when I was yet very young, when the blood did not flow 
 so quietly as now in my veins, — although Bear asserts that 
 
FEANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 43 
 
 witlioiit mischief it might flow yet more quietly, — to a time 
 in which I became heartily weary of seeing always the same 
 sun and the same faces before me ; when I must have ad- 
 ventures, let it cost what it would; when a sedition or a 
 conflagration were a recreation ; when the battle of Prague 
 and the battle of Fleury were my favourite pieces of music ; 
 when I wept that I was not a man that I might go to the 
 war ; and when once, in a sort of necessity to enjoy an 
 excess, I drank at Kammerer Arbells five cups of weak tea 
 at one time, and the lady of the house, in a kind of frenzy of 
 benevolence, would yet afflict me with a sixth. 
 
 I was then sixteen years old; and fortunately for my rest- 
 less spirit, about this period my right shoulder began to grow 
 out. Gymnastics were at that time the fashion as a cure for 
 eveiy description of physical ailment, and my parents de- 
 termined that I should gymnasticize. Dressed, therefore, in 
 ornamental pantaloons and a bon-jour coat of green cloth, 
 and on my head a net-lace cap, trimmed with pink ribbons, I 
 went one fine day into an assembly of from thirty to forty 
 figures dressed sometliing like myself, who rioted merrily 
 about in a great hall full of ropes, ladders, and poles. It was 
 a singular and wonderful scene. Por the first day I remained 
 quiet, learning merely from a teacher the bending of the back 
 and the motion of the hands and feet ; on the second day I 
 struck up a warm friendship with some of the girls ; on the 
 third, emulated them on ropes and poles, and before the end 
 of the second week was at the head of the second class, and 
 began to invite them on to all kinds of undertakings. 
 
 I was reading at that time the Grecian history, and, even 
 in the Gymnastic Hall, Grecian heroes and their deeds floated 
 around me. I suggested to my class, therefore, that we 
 should all assume masculine and antique names, and that 
 from this time we should only be known in this place by such 
 names as Agamemnon, Eparainondas, Pelopidas, etc. Por 
 myself I chose the name of Orestes, and gave that of Pylades 
 to my best friend. There was one tall thin girl with a 
 broad Pinnish accent, who on account of the bold, independ- 
 ence of my ideas and behaviour was always opposed to me, 
 whom it pleased to make merry over our change of names, and 
 who laughing, called me and my friend, Orre and Pylle, be- 
 cause we were both small. This annoyed me extremely 
 
THE 1TEI0HBOURS. 
 
 especially as it damped the Grecian spirit which I had in« 
 fused through the whole troop. 
 
 My tall enemy declared that she would be called by no 
 other than her proper name of Brita Kajsa, yet for all that, 
 I persisted in giving her the name of Darius. Besides this 
 there arose a new occasion of strife. 
 
 Although I was so very enthusiastic for Grecian history, 
 I was no less a partisan for that of Sweden. Charles XII. 
 was my idol ; and many a time have I entertained my frienda 
 with the relation of his actions, never failing to kindle up in 
 myself the most burning enthusiasm. One day, however, 
 Darius came over us like a shower of cold water, opposing me 
 with the assertion that Czar Peter I. was a greater man than 
 Charles XII. I received the challenge with blind zeal and 
 quiet rage, and then my enemy with great coolness and a 
 good deal of knowledge, brought forward a multitude of facts 
 in support of her assertion. I endeavoured to tread these 
 all under foot, and still to exalt my hero to heaven ; but had, 
 alas ! those unfortunate words Pultawa and Bender for ever 
 thrown in my way ! 
 
 O Pultawa, Pultawa! many tears have flowed over thy 
 bloody field, yet none more bitter than those which I shed 
 in secret, as I, like Charles himself, received there an over- 
 throw ! Those tears were full of agony, which I now cannot 
 comprehend. I really hated my enemy. I hated her as 
 much as Czar Peter himself, and the people whose lord he 
 had been ! 
 
 One spark only was needed to make the flame break forth, 
 and that spark came. There was a young, pretty, lame girl, 
 whose masculine dress failed to make her less feminine and 
 bashful than at first ; my chivalric spirit was excited in her 
 behalf, and I declared myself her knight. One day, as I was 
 just about to declaim a verse of E^acine's, the detestable 
 Darius suddenly started up beside me, and said jeeringiy, 
 " I am thy rival!" I threw an annihilating glance on my 
 rival, and said scornfully, " Keep to your needle, Brita 
 Kajsa !" 
 
 This provoked her; she reddened, and my party broke out 
 into a roar of laughter. The next moment, as I sate upon 
 fclie upper steps of a ladder looking down on tlie swarming 
 crowd be.Dw, I felt myself suddenly seized by the foot by a 
 
rRANSlSKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 45 
 
 Btrong hand. It was mj tall enemy, who, stretching forth 
 her arm, held me fast while she exclaimed in scorn, " Holhih, 
 above there ! help yourself now like an Orestes, or remain 
 sitting grinning there like an Orre !"* 
 
 What Orestes really would have done in my situation 1 
 know not ; but my anger, my cries, and my grimaces, were 
 probably much more like those of a bird caught in a springe 
 than of a captive hero, for an indescribable laughter rang all 
 round, and excited me to perfect frenzy. I called with a 
 loud voice upon Pylades, bidding him to fly to my rescue ; 
 but Pylades looked very much like a poltroon, and addressed 
 only a few remonstrances to my enemy, which were without 
 effect. 
 
 " I call you out! I demand satisfaction !" screamed I to 
 -Darius below, who only laughed and said, "Bravo, Orre! 
 bravo ! See ! just so held Czar Peter the great Charles XII. 
 fast at Bender !" 
 
 I was just about to do some desperate deed when one of 
 the teachers entered, freed me, and put a sudden end to this 
 scene. I was, however, full of fuming bitterness, and going 
 up to Pylades, said, " Tou have behaved like a poor creature, 
 Pylades ! Follow me this moment ; I will go and challenge 
 this great braggadocio who has affronted me. Tou shall be 
 my second." 
 
 Pylades looked like a terrified hare, yet did not dare to 
 refuse. 
 
 I sought out Darius, who with an assumed air of indif- 
 ference stood leaning against a wall, humming a tune to her- 
 self, and stepping up, said with contracted eyebrows, " What 
 meant you just now ?" 
 
 " What did I mean ?" returned she, measuring me with a 
 proud glance, "why, exactly what I said !" 
 
 " Then I have a word to say to you," answered I, grimly. 
 "Tou have affronted me in an unworthy manner, and I de- 
 mand that in the presence of the whole assembly you beg my 
 pardon, and declare Charles XII. to be a greater man than 
 Czar Peter : otherwise you must fight with me, if there be 
 honour in you, and you be no coward !" 
 
 "Ask pardon?" returned Brita Kajsa, reddening, yet 
 with detestable coolness, "no, that does not become me? 
 • Orre in Swedish signifies a cock of the wood. 
 
4G 
 
 THE NEiaHBOURS. 
 
 Fight ? Well, yes ! but where, and with what ? — ^with needles, 
 or " 
 
 " With swords!" returned I, with real pride, "if jou are 
 not a coward — and here ! We can come half an hour before 
 the others ; the weapons I will bring with me ; Pylades is 
 my second — choose one for yourself!" I said this with 
 great pride. 
 
 " I shall not trouble myself about that," replied Brita 
 Kajsa with intolerable insolence ; "I myself am enough for 
 you two !" 
 
 " But you shall have a second !" exclaimed I, stamping 
 with my small foot ; " that is the rule !" 
 
 " Well then, G-ronvall, come here," said Brita Kajsa. 
 
 Elizabeth Grronvall was another tall girl, clumsy and 
 stupid, with a hanging lip ; and was called by me, jestingly, 
 Nestor. She came, and listened to the relation of what 
 was to take place, and then with an important air declared 
 herself ready to be second to my enemy. 
 
 " To-morrow morning at nine o'clock," said I, turning 
 away. 
 
 " At nine o'clock !" repeated Brita Kajsa with a laugh of 
 scorn. 
 
 I busied myself on our homeward way to instil courage 
 into Pylades, and to silence his tongue both by good words 
 iSLui threats. Pylades, who really loved me, promised, after 
 many remonstrances, with tears in her eyes, to be silent and 
 to remain true to me to the death. 
 
 My blood was hotly boiling, yet I must confess that after 
 I was in bed, and all was still around me, a certain astonish- 
 ment and a little shudder came over me on account of the 
 deed I was about to perform. But to recant ; to leave 
 Charles XII. in the lurch, and my own honour unavenged ; 
 to deserve the scorn and the continued persecution of my 
 enemy — no, far better die than do that! But then I 
 thought on the words of the Commandments ; on my parents, 
 how they would weep if I died. My enemy, too, stood 
 before me strong and cruel as Czar Peter, and I — ah ! I 
 knew too well — was no Charles XII. As I thought on the 
 tears of my parents I began to weep bitterly, and in weep- 
 ing dropped asleep. 
 
 Next morning when I woke it was clear day, and the clock 
 
I'RA^^SESKA WEllNER TO MARTA M» 
 
 47 
 
 struck half-past eight. I had nearly slept away the duel, 
 and while I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes it was to me 
 as if somebody had blown into my ears with a trumpet the 
 words " at nine o'clock!" I started up. The combat stood 
 distinct before my memory. In five minutes I was dressed. 
 I seized two small swords, of which the evening before I had 
 possessed myself from the room of my absent brother; 
 when at that moment it suddenly occured to me that I must 
 write a few lines for my parents, in case I was killed in the 
 combat ; accordingly I wrote with pencil on a piece of paper: 
 
 " Beloved Parents, 
 
 " When these lines meet your eyes " Despair ! 
 
 already the clock strikes a quarter to nine — I should be too 
 late if I delayed longer. I hastily threw the letter I haa 
 begun into my drawer ; threw myself, like Caesar, into the 
 arms of fortune ; and betook me, with the two swords under 
 my cloak, to the Grymnasium. 
 
 You may easily imagine that I possessed no knowledge of 
 the art of fighting ; but that did not trouble me much. To 
 make a straightforward attack seemed to me as easy as 
 simple, and that was the mode I meant to adopt : for the 
 rest, I remember, that on my way to the scene of combat, I 
 thought as little as possible. When I came into the great 
 hall I found my enemy and her second arrived there before 
 me. Py lades was nowhere to be seen, and in secret I could 
 not help cursing him. Darius and I greeted each other 
 proudly and scarcely perceptibly. I handed to him the 
 swords that he might make his choice. He selected one, 
 which he handled as easily and skilfully as if he had been 
 accustomed to such toys all the days of his life. I felt 
 myself already bored through. 
 
 Presently came Pylades, pale and full of anxiety. I cast 
 an enraged glance on him, and closed the door. 
 
 You will probably have observed, best Maria, that I call 
 and speak of the same person as he and she, but this con- 
 fusion is not without design ; it characterises not only the 
 whole scene, but the confusion which governed my brain. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, do not kill one another !" exclaimed 
 the poor Pylades. " It's all madness !" 
 
 " Silence!" screamed I, in anger, and turning to Dariuii 
 
48 
 
 THE KEiaHBOrES. 
 
 said, " Do you still persevere in maintaking your error, ana 
 refusing to ask my pardon ?" 
 
 " I persevere replied Darius, witli unexampled com- 
 posure, trying at the same time the temper of his weapon 
 by bending it against the floor : " Czar Peter was a great 
 man 
 
 "Death to him! long life to Charles XII. !" cried I, 
 drawing at once, and setting myself in a position. Darius 
 did the same. 
 
 " Wait ! wait!" cried Pylades, full of anxiety ; " wait, T 
 must give the signal !" 
 
 " Give it then quickly," said I. 
 
 " Wait ! wait ! I have thought of something," stammered 
 out poor little Pylades ; " wait !" 
 
 " I will not wait !" cried I. " Eussian friend," said I, 
 addressing Darius, " I count three, and then we strike 1 
 One ! two ! three !" 
 
 Our swords struck ; and the same moment I was disarmed, 
 and lay overthrown on the ground. Darius stood over me, 
 and I believed my last moment was come. But how 
 astonished was I as my enemy threw away her sword, and 
 taking me by the hand lifted me up, saying at the same time 
 cheerfully, " JSTow that you have had satisfaction, let us be 
 good friends. You are a brave little being !" 
 
 Pylades lay on her knees, nearly fallen into a swoon ; 
 Nestor sate upon a ladder, and cried with all her might. I 
 knew not what to think, and stared at my late enemy, on 
 whose neck a wound was bleeding freely. " You bleed 1" I 
 exclaimed ; " I have killed you !" 
 
 " Ah, bah ! it's only a little scratch that will soon be 
 well," said she: "for the rest, I must tell you that I like 
 
 the Eussians just as little as you do; I said so, only " 
 
 she turned pale, staggered, and required a seat. 
 
 " What have I done ! unfortunate that I am !" cried I in 
 agony, almost out of my senses, and threw myself on the 
 ground before her. " Porgive, oh forgive me !" 
 
 At that moment a terrible alarm sounded at the door ; 
 Pylades slipped aside and opened it, when in rushed tlie 
 fencing-master and three teachers. The next moment 1 lost 
 all consciousness. 
 
 It was not till some weeks afterwards that I learned wc 
 
fea"N"sise:a werner to maria m. 
 
 49 
 
 had been betrayed by Pylades, wlio had written to one of 
 t'le teachers praying her to prevent my foolish intentions. 
 The letter, however, came too late for that purpose, and thus 
 the affair was over as they entered. 
 
 Brita Kajsa — for from this timxe I christened nobody with 
 new names — recovered from her wound in a short time, 
 whilst I lay dangerously ill above a quarter of a year. Thia 
 sickness, however, was beneficial to me, for it calmed my 
 impetuous temperament. 
 
 On my recovery I learned that Erita Kajsa had removed 
 with her parents to their own dwelling in Finland ; that she 
 had visited me frequently in my illness, and had expressed 
 her regret that they must leave Sweden before I had reco- 
 vered, so that we could be fully reconciled with each other. 
 I also was grieved not to have said one kindly word to her 
 at parting. But, my violent sickness, during which I was 
 almost constantly delirious, had weakened old impressions ; 
 and then followed a variety of sorrowful causes, such as 
 death, adversity, the having to earn my own bread, and much 
 more which afflicted me, but which operated beneficially on 
 my disposition. I forgot the past — therefore enough of it, — 
 and now to the present. 
 
 Twelve years were passed since then ; I had quite forgotten 
 the countenance of my former enemy. I had forgotten my 
 early bravery ; I was become a grown woman, and knew how 
 to appreciate Czar Peter, and to wish well to every one, 
 even to the Russians. I had become the good wife of Lars 
 Anders Werner, and now went out with him in the cabriolet 
 to make visits as well-behaved and quiet as any Mistress 
 Prudentia whatever ! 
 
 Well now, Maria! the Major's lady on whose sofa I now 
 sate, the stout gentlewoman with the open pleasant counte- 
 nance that struck me at once as so familiar, yet unfamiliar, 
 who was she but my former thin enemy of the Gymnastic 
 Hall, Darius, Czar Peter, in one word, Brita Kajsa ! Her 
 voice and the scar on her neck made me at once perfectly 
 recognise her. I cannot tell you how much I was excited. 1 
 felt embarrassed, affected, but still more filled with merri- 
 ment, which prompted me to break into exclamations and 
 laughter. The spirit of joke and mischief got the mastery of 
 me, and takirg up a knitting-needle which lay before mo on 
 
 3» 
 
50 
 
 THE NEiaHBOURS. 
 
 the table, T put myself in a martial attitude before her, and 
 exclaimed, "Long live Charles XII.! We strike! One! 
 two! three!" 
 
 The lady looked at me a moment, as if she thought I must 
 be gone mad, and then exclaimed herself the next moment, 
 " Czar Peter was a great man !" seized another needle, and 
 opposed herself to me. On this, we dropped the needles at 
 once, and, laughing, embraced each other. 
 
 Imagine to yourself — but I defy you to imagine the amaze- 
 ment which this scene occasioned to Bear and the Major; 
 but of all the questionings, the exclamations, the explana- 
 tions, the astonishment, and the laughter that succeeded, you 
 may easily imagine. 
 
 Brita Kajsa and I contemplated each other anew. " Bless 
 me !" exclaimed she, " how old you are become since then !" 
 
 " And you not more amiable," thought I ; but I said, 
 " You, on the contrary, are in appearance much younger !" 
 which was true ; the fair fat lady was much handsomer than 
 the dark thin girl. 
 
 After we were satisfied with narrating, wondering, and 
 laughing, we came to speak of the pleasures and follies of 
 childhood in general. The gentlemen grew very lively over 
 the histories of their wickedness and their adventures, and 
 Brita Kajsa declared that she had never been so happy as in 
 the days of her childhood. All appeared unanimous in con- 
 sidering this time as the golden age. 
 
 " Yes, yes !" said my husband at last with a sigh, " it is a 
 good time, that never returns to us." 
 
 " Dearest," said I, somewhat troubled by this childhood 
 enthusiasm, " don't imagine that it was so immeasurably 
 good. Is not childhood to grown persons like the landscape 
 seen in perspective ? It looks so beautiful only because it is 
 seen from afar. I am convinced that as a child you had 
 many weary hours, with lessons, reproofs, penances, confine- 
 ment, and many other such things, which cannot affect you 
 now." 
 
 Bear laughed. 
 
 *^ I, for my part," continued I, " will never praise the days 
 of childhood. To me this time was full of ahs that I was not 
 grown up. Ah, how charming it would be to be grown up, 
 and not be scolded for tearing my dress ! Ah, only to be 
 
FEANSISKA WERNEU TO MARIA M. 
 
 51 
 
 grown up and drink coffee every day ! Ah, how fortunate to 
 be grown up and go to the ball, like mamma, in a gauze dres^ 
 and with flowers ! Ah, that I were but grown up, and might 
 read romances ! Ah, ah, if I were but a woman ! I am con- 
 vinced that every child, each in its own way, has similar ahs ! 
 But grant for a moment that sometimes children may really 
 be happy, what after all is this happiness ? A happiness 
 fleeting and but half understood, which we therefore can only 
 half enjoy. And when we at length reach that goal of our 
 childhood's desires — when we are gi-own up, drink colfee, read 
 romances, and go to balls — alas ! then that — ah ! has taken 
 root in the heart itself, and we have then so much unrest that 
 we may be able to enjoy the true rest. And here have we 
 that much bepraised happiness of childhood and youth." 
 
 " E-eally there is great truth in what Madame Werner has 
 said," remarked the Major, gravely; "and every period oi 
 life, indeed, has its difficulties. That was cursedly well said, 
 that about the perspective — yes, yes, it is true." 
 
 " And so you did not enjoy your early youth, Fransiska," 
 said Bear, looking at me half surprised and half grie>^ed. 
 
 " No, in truth, I did not," returned I : "I was much too 
 unquiet and unreasonable for it to be happy, and without 
 quiet and without reason there can be no true happiness." 
 
 " Very good, very good," said the Major. 
 
 Tea was brought in ; and the young gentlemen came in at 
 the same time, three brisk, lively young men, only too 
 countrified, the step-sons of Brita Kajsa. They talked oi 
 hunting and horses, of hares and of dogs, from which subjects 
 the conversation naturally turned to the new neighbour at 
 Ramm. They said that he was an American ; " and," added 
 one of the young men, " very rich, and that his history was 
 as strange as that of any hero of romance.*' 
 
 " Indeed !" said the step-mamma, shrugging her shoulders, 
 " I am convinced that he is very much like other people ; 
 but, dear Robert, you always exaggerate so." 
 
 liobert blushed as if he had said something extremely im- 
 proper. At the same moment in rushed the young Adamite 
 swarm, just like so many gadflies ; threw themselves down 
 to the tea-table, and endeavoured to possess themselves of all 
 that was eatable. The mamma endeavoured to obtain quiet 
 by a lecture on good behaviour ; but the little monsters 
 
 D 2 
 
52 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 troubled themselves not on this account, nor would be still 
 till their demands were satisfied. I wished with ail my heart 
 that Bear could have seen this, but he was occupied with the 
 gentlemen in another room. 
 
 " One must not subject children too much," said the 
 mamma ; " one must leave them their freedom ; for by this 
 means they grow up natural, and not, like so many, artificial 
 and alFected. Have you seen the Misses von P. ?" asked 
 she ; " heavens ! how ridiculous it is to see them sitting in 
 their white gloves, with their screwed-up mouths, thinking 
 themselves so grand and genteel.'' 
 
 At this moment the door was pushed open, and a figure 
 stepped in which no one could accuse of alfectation. Her 
 aair, her dress, her carriage, all seemed to be made of windy 
 weather. 
 
 Come here, Mally," said the Major's lady, and introduced 
 to me this her step-daughter, who making a pettish, coun- 
 trified curtsey, turned herself round to the tea-table as her 
 brothers and sisters had done, where all three immediately 
 began to quarrel, and some such amiable words as the fol- 
 lowing were audible — " Eye ! ar'n't you ashamed of your- 
 self?" " Can't you let my biscuit alone, you pig, you ugly, 
 ill-mannered thing ! I'll tell mamma of you !" And imme- 
 diately followed a loud cry of " Mamma 1 mamma ! mamma !" 
 
 But the mamma did not trouble herself about them. The 
 gentle;men came in ; and while the Adamites ate and quar- 
 relled, and we therefore saw a chance to get out of the house 
 with life and uninjured limbs, we took our leave ; Brita 
 Kajsa and I shaking each other most kindly by the hand, and 
 exchanging mutual good and neighbourly wishes, I deter* 
 mined, however, in my own mind, not soon again to put 
 myself in bodily danger from timber missives, nor of being 
 complimented on my elderly appearance. The Major ac» 
 companied me to the carriage — cabriolet I should say — and 
 appeared to be greatly pleased with me. Por myself, I too 
 must confess that the visit on the whole had afforded me 
 pleasure ; still I left the house with two little thorns in my 
 heart. Would you know what they were? The first of 
 these was, that Bear had declared himself to have been so 
 desperately happy in childhood, and had sighed over the 
 remembrance, as if the present were as heavy as lead 
 
rHAT^SISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 5^ 
 
 Secondly, I feared I had talked too much, and with too much 
 warmth, in a place w4iere I then w^as only for the first time. 
 I feared my husband might not be pleased with me, and 
 might feel disposed to set " very bad, very bad," against the 
 " very good, very good," of the Major. I would have given 
 my life just to have known w^hat he thought about it ; but 
 tlie good man sate beside me stock still, and noticed nothing 
 but his reins. 
 
 I must know, thought I to myself, and began puzzling my 
 brain how I should introduce the subject, w^hen, just as I was 
 about to open my lips, he said, " I am sorry, indeed, Fanny, 
 that you had not a happy childhood 1" 
 
 " But it makes me a great deal more sorry," said I, just 
 ready to cry, "that youw^ere so terribly happy in your youth 
 that you can never be so happy again, and that all after- 
 pleasure must be heavy in comparison. You had more 
 pleasure in your ball then, than you can have now in your 
 wife." 
 
 " You little fool!" said he, looking at me with such an 
 expression of astonishment as at once appeased me, " you 
 really cannot think so ! You cannot think me so mad ! 
 Yes, truly that time was good, but this is far better !" 
 
 " Thank Grod!" said I softly, and deeply grateful. 
 
 " And then," continued he, " I think the childhood of but 
 few is as happy as mine was ! "When I think how the whole 
 world seemed to smile on me then ; what I felt when I lay, 
 looking upwards towards heaven in the grass, and heard the 
 rustling round me in the w^ood ; when I think how, later in 
 life, I went wandering through those woods about Eamm ; 
 how everything around me seemed life and pleasure — then, 
 Fanny, I may well wish that you had experienced as happy a 
 childhood and youth as I have done." 
 
 "But life. Bear," replied I, "has sometimes an after- 
 summer, like the year, and I feel that mine has begun." 
 
 Bear took my hand in his, and pressed it ; not a word waa 
 said, but we were happy, and the cabriolet rolled rapidly 
 along the level road homew^ards. 
 
 " What a desolate region this is !" exclaimed I, after a 
 while, and surprised by scenery I was not familiar with ; " it 
 is unlike our valley. Where are we. for here are only hUl 
 ftnd wood. 
 
54 
 
 THE NEIGHEOUKS. 
 
 " We are iu the neighbourhood of Eanim," replied he. 
 "I have purposely taken this road, that you may see the 
 place where my youth was passed. Independently of this 
 too, both the house and park are worth seeing. I am glad 
 that somebody is coming to live here now ; it is always 
 painful to see a place desolate where people might live, and 
 wliere life might be enjoyed. 
 
 " But who could properly enjoy life here, Bear ?" I asked. 
 " All is here so black and dreary ! That long alley is dark as 
 a church-vault ! and there at the end, is that the house r 
 Ha ! it looks like an old castle haunted by ghosts !" 
 
 " And yet," he replied, " here has been great happiness — 
 great joy — but," added he, "it is true, great sorrow also!" 
 
 " What! has some misfortune happened here ?" asked I. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, "a misfortune — but now is the place 
 overgrown!" 
 
 Like a scar over a closed wound," said I. 
 
 " True !" replied he ; " true, thank God I It is a long time 
 since I was here ; and now I hardly know it again. And 
 that house, how dark it has become !" 
 
 " I assure you," said I, " it is haunted — I saw a little grey 
 man peeping through a window." 
 
 " Perhaps the new resident is already come," remarked he. 
 
 " If he be not more cheerful than this place, then" — the 
 cabriolet stopped and we alighted. I looked up with a cer- 
 tain feeling of reverence and anxiety to the stately and 
 gloomy house, which, with its tall three-storied fa9ade and 
 black tower, and its adjoining dark wings, bore a resemblance 
 to a swooping owl. Tall oaks grew around it, and many oi 
 tlie lesser children of the wood. Service-trees, poplars, and 
 palm-willows thronged round the walls and looked in at thr 
 windows, like people crowding to gaze upon a royal table. 
 To the left, silvery water gleamed out between the trees — ■ 
 tlie Helga sea, that water beside which Bosenvik lies so 
 pleasantly. 
 
 In the middle of the court, which was now completely 
 overgrown with weeds, an invalided Neptune, standing amid 
 moss-covered water, told that in earlier days there had once 
 been a stately fountain there. Everything looked desolate and 
 unhappy ; yet there was, as we soon perceived, a movement 
 in the house, though not of ghosts, as wo soon discoverei 
 
FEANSISKA WEHNEH TO MAHIA M. 
 
 55 
 
 The great door stood open, and presently a workman coming 
 out, we learned from him that the place was about being im- 
 mediately prepared for the new resident who was shortly 
 expected here. 
 
 We entered ; and I could not help being surprised by the 
 size of the rooms and the view from the other side of the 
 building, and was almost ready, with a certain lady, to ex- 
 claim, " Ah, how gloriously beautiful is it here ! here trees, 
 and there wooers !" I rejoiced myself in the free wide 
 landscape, extending over woody heights and surrounding 
 meadows. To the left lies the Helga sea ; nay, indeed, it 
 flows up to the very walls, which are built upon a low rocky 
 point, garlanded as it were with alder-bushes, while the water 
 breaking in little waves on the beach makes delicious music. 
 
 In one of the handsomest rooms I was greatly surprised 
 to find a magnificeni organ, w^iich has lately been set up 
 there. 
 
 " Mr. Eomilly is very fond of music," said the overseer of 
 the work, who, with great politeness, had gone through the 
 rooms with us. 
 
 " Of what country is he ?" asked Bear. 
 
 " He is a Portuguese," was the reply. " He was attached 
 to Don Miguel's party; inherited afterwards the property of 
 an uncle in the West Indies, and will now come and eujoy 
 his great wealth in our country, because it is the quietest and 
 most secure in the world." 
 
 "By good luck," thought I, "we may next have Don 
 Miguel himself for our neighbour in E^amm !" 
 
 I could not resist trying the organ, which was of a mag- 
 nificent, although somewhat too strong a tone for my taste ; 
 yet at the same time it enchanted me, and I know not how 
 long I should have sate before it, had not Bear reminded me 
 that it was already evening. 
 
 " Now the only agreeable things in this house," said I, 
 " are the organ and the prospect towards Eosenvik. I would 
 not live here for all the wealth in this world ; still on an 
 autunm evening I would gladly come here by moonlight, if 
 you would only come with me, Bear, and wander about to see 
 whether it be not here, as in old castles of which I have read. 
 Whether there be not moving walls, ghost-like shadows, 
 blood-stains which can never be effaced, balls of thread which 
 
56 
 
 THE KEIGHBOURS. 
 
 roll after one's heels, and at last transform themselves into 
 bloody dago^ers here I suddenly paused, for my hus- 
 band sighed, and glancing at him I saw that his usually so 
 friendly, good-natured countenance had become so dark that 
 I shuddered, and turned round involuntarily to see whether 
 a ball of thread were not following us ; but thank Grod, I saw 
 nothing ; and then with secret haste followed liim out of the 
 house, and the moment we descended the steps a flight of 
 jackdaws from the tower flew over our heads into the wood. 
 
 And here it was so joyful, so beautiful !" sighed Bear ; 
 " it was a home for youth, for sport, and life !" he sighed 
 again. 
 
 But how is it so different now?" asked I, " and why did 
 Ma chere mere leave a dwelling which is far finer than 
 Carlsfors, and which had once, you say, far more lively guests 
 than jackdaws ?" 
 
 " Because, because," hesitated he, " she experienced a 
 great sorrow here. Do not speak to her of Ramm, Fanny ; 
 do not tell her that you have been here : another time I will 
 tell you why. Look at the park ! This large, beautiful wood, 
 which is nearly seven miles in circumference, is, or rather 
 was, a park. JSTow the paths are grown up. But we will 
 sometimes come and look about here." 
 
 " It is very gloomy here," said I ; "yet while I was even 
 speaking these very words, a ray burst forth from the descend- 
 ing sun, and tlirew a golden glory upon the dark grey house 
 and on the summit of the wood. I do not know how it was, 
 but at that moment the name Serena came into my mind as 
 if it had been the literal signification of this sunbeam. The 
 sunbeam was soon swallowed up in the darkness. 
 
 " Thus — yes, exactly thus !" said Bear, with a melancholy 
 smile, as he observed, with a tear in his eye, the illumined 
 and again darkened house. 
 
 We mounted the cabriolet in silence, and silently drove 
 towards home. As we came into more cheerful scenes I 
 seemed to breathe more freely ; and as it seemed to me at 
 length that our thoughts had dwelt quite long enough on tlie 
 old crow's nest, I raised my voice and asked, " Bear, where 
 does Serena live ?" 
 
 A smile came over his face like sunshine in the wood, and 
 he said, " Yes, she is lovely 
 
FEA^^SISKA WEENEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 57 
 
 " That I believe," said I, " but where can one see her?" 
 
 " She lives in the city, and is the handsomest and best girl 
 m the whole place," said he. 
 
 " But, Bear," remonstrated I, " jou have never spoken to 
 me about her." 
 
 " I prefer leaving people and things," said he, "to speak 
 for themselves. You shall soon see her, for one of these days 
 we will go and pay a visit to the old Dahls." 
 
 I was intending to ask still further questions when a great 
 rain-drop hit me upon the nose, and then a second, and then 
 a third, till it was a perfect shower. We sought for the 
 umbrella, but it had been forgotten, and now handkerchiefs 
 and shawls were in requisition to cover my bonnet. But ah ! 
 in vain ^ my gauze state-and-gala bonnet was entirely ruined 
 before we reached home ! shape, freshness, colour, and 
 flowers, all were wet through and spoiled for ever. But 
 the only dicontented face which this misfortune occasioned 
 was Bear's. 
 
 And so ended the first visiting-day. 
 
 THE SECOND VISITING-DAY. 
 
 What does the bird of passage do ? He goes restlessly 
 wandering about the world, seeking for a place where he 
 may build for himself a home to dwell in. Tor he finds no 
 rest ; — and who indeed does ? — till he has found a home, a 
 little world for himself, in which after his own desires he may 
 live in rest and freedom. And w^hen he has found a spot or a 
 tree in which he will abide, then carries he together leaves 
 and wool and straw, and builds for himself a home. There 
 he can rest, sit up aloft in his nest, look out on the world 
 below, and sing. And so till the next time of his wandering. 
 
 And now, after this little preface, I shall conduct you to 
 the Bird's Nest of Miss Hellevi Husgafvel. As I ascended 
 She steps to the door, I must confess that my heart was not 
 as light as a feather, for the words " malicious and ridiculous " 
 ^ay heavy on my conscience ; but from the topmost step 
 down flew Miss Husgafvel to meet me, embraced me with 
 smiles, and I on my part heartily returned her embrace, 
 thinking with myself, " Miss Husgafvel is a sensible person ^" 
 in which opinion T was only the more decided tl e more 1 
 JoDked about her Bird's Nest 
 
58 
 
 THE NEIGHBOIJRS. 
 
 The neat little house was a perfect little museum. Excel- 
 lent copper-plate engravings, and paintings by good masters, 
 ornamented the walls ; beautiM busts in bronze and plaster 
 of Paris were tastefully arranged about. One was delighted 
 to find one room a library ; and in another was a collection 
 of shells, minerals, and many curious natural productions, 
 placed under glass ; all in good preservation and well- 
 arranged. All was fresh and in order ; wherever, in short, 
 we cast our eyes, indications of mind and sentiment were 
 seen ; whilst the lively little Husgafvel herself, leading us 
 here and there and explaining all to us, was not the least 
 interesting part of the collection. 
 
 I was quite happy and refreshed by what I had seen. 
 " But really it is quite charming here," exclaimed I ; " can 
 any one experience ennui here 
 
 " Your words afford me a great pleasure, dear Madame 
 Werner," replied Miss Husgafvel, in a lively voice, "for it 
 is my highest wish to drive away this wearisome enemy, 
 ennui, with all its attendant yawning and vapours. All that 
 I have collected together in ten years is merely to prevent 
 my friends, and more especially myself, experiencing ennui ; 
 and my daily occupation and my pleasure are continually to 
 bring into my nest some new straw or other, or to re-arrange 
 the old. You see this engraving," said she, pointing to a St. 
 John after Dominechino, " and this head of Venus in plaster 
 of Paris. I received them yesterday ; and to-day they make 
 me quite happy. I am not rich enough to purchase original 
 masterpieces, but I can possess myself of copies ; and thus at 
 small cost collect in my nest the ideas of great artists." 
 
 " But these masterpieces are all originals," said I, as we 
 entered the little cabinet of natural history. 
 
 " Yes," answered Miss Husgafvel, "and on this account 
 they are the most valuable that I possess. The great artist, 
 God, acts here as with all, en grand seigneur. He has 
 scattered his inimitable works of art over land and shore, in 
 wildernesses, and in the depths of the sea itself ; the earth 
 is full of them, and mankind has nothing to do but to go 
 out and collect." 
 
 The remarks were to me quite unexpected. " O Miss 
 Husgafvel," said I, " you are right ; how much richer might 
 we not make our lives, if we would gather of the good that ib 
 
FRllSrSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 59 
 
 around us ; if we all, eacli day, brought home a straw, as you 
 call it ! But too often we go about like the blind, seeing 
 nothing." 
 
 " Ah, that is the misfortune !" said she ; " could not the 
 doctors operate upon this kind of cataract ?" 
 
 " That of itself would do no good," said my husband ; " it 
 requires another sort of operation." 
 
 " O Lord ! what do you mean. Dr. "Werner?" asked she. 
 
 " That one finds in many people a sleepiness, a heaviness Ox 
 disposition, which " 
 
 " I hate all heaviness," interrupted Miss Husgafvel, with 
 a spring like that of a frightened bird ; " it sends lead into my 
 heart only to hear the word spoken. I have rigorously 
 striven to fly from it, and in my terror have taken refuge in 
 my Bird's Nest ; but even here, alas ! I must acknowledge 
 that there is a law in the world which may be called the law 
 of gravity, and which draws our bodies down to the earth. 
 Yet I strive to keep my soul free, and to collect subjects of 
 thought around, as a bird may fly about the world and drink 
 dew from the flowers of Eden. Were I a Corinne or a De 
 Stael, I should, perhaps, possess enough in myself. I should 
 then sit down in my little home, a lyre in my hand, and, like 
 the nightingale, enchant my friends with the tones of my 
 voice alone. But as I am only Hellevi Husgafvel, moderately 
 gifted both in body and soul, and yet do all that in me lies to 
 make it agreeable to those around me, I have called these 
 children of art and nature to my assistance. And if my 
 visitors experience ennui, I can only assert that it must be 
 their own fault." 
 
 The lively lady said all this as she led us down into her 
 garden ; into a flowering vine and odoriferous peach-house ; 
 and then showed us many beautiful and rare plants, which 
 she herself cultivated, and called her children. The Bird's 
 Nest consists merely of a house and garden ; but the garden 
 is large, well fenced, and richly furnished with trees and 
 flowers. 
 
 We partook of a collation in a pretty little pavilion in tlie 
 garden ; and, while we were thus occupied, other visitors 
 from the city made their appearance, among whom was Lag- 
 man Hok, who was received by Miss Husgafvel with par- 
 ticular cordiality. The conversation was general, but soou 
 
60 
 
 THE KEIGHBOURS. 
 
 turned itself upon tlie new neiglibour at Eamm, about wTiom 
 the most various reports and conjectures were given. By 
 turns he belonged to all nations, and his journey here was 
 ascribed to the most various causes ; the most generally ac- 
 cepted of which was that he was a spy; but what he was, 
 come to spy nobody could tell. 
 
 " Now, I'll bet anything," said Miss Husgafvel, after 
 many merry guesses had been made about him, " that our 
 ill-renowned neighbour after all will turn out quite a simple, 
 and nothing but a worthy man, who, tired of his own country, 
 is come here into Sweden to divert himself with shooting 
 hares and roebucks. I have lived ten years at Bird's Nest, 
 and have never seen either a spy, a renegade, or the hero of a 
 romance. I fancy these races are fast decreasing in the 
 world. On the contrary, I have seen many people who are 
 weary of themselves, and who want to get rid of the burden 
 of life. Grod grant that this race may become extinct also ! 
 I have not, however, any objection that this new neighbour 
 should be a man of the first class, nay, I wish it ; it would 
 make the whole country lively, and might, perhaps, somehow 
 occasion an interesting romance." 
 
 The conversation was continued long on this subject, and 
 was kept up with great spirit. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel belongs to that rare class of people, who not 
 only can keep up a lively conversation themselves, but seem 
 to decoy good things out of others. I was quite surprised to 
 hear how witty Bear was ; he and Miss Husgafvel jested one 
 ao^ainst the other, and bantered one another like good old 
 friends. She followed us to the garden-door as we came 
 away, and I fancy read in my eyes that I wished to make 
 §ome apology for the remark I had so inadvertently made 
 ,vhen we first met ; for she took my hand, and said in the 
 most cordial manner, " Come often to Bird's Nest, my good 
 Madame Werner, will you not ? I care nothing after all, if 
 people do say that the old Miss Hellevi is malicious and 
 ridiculous. T myself have heard the report, but it will not 
 occasion her one more grey hair than she has already. But 
 to you, Madame Werner, she would willingly appear different ! 
 and she is bold enough therefore to beg you to come again; 
 and Dr. Werner, I hope, will accompany his wife. I feel 
 myself better when 1 see him. But remember this, I do not 
 
PKA?fSISKA WEIINER TO MARIA M. 
 
 Gl 
 
 compel YOU — I hate compulsion in social life , and dear 
 Madame Werner, if you should ever say to the Doctor, ' Ah, 
 good husband, we really must pay a visit to that old Miss 
 Hellevi Hiisgafvel — it is rather a dull business, but still she 
 pressed us so !' then I pray you, in Heaven's name, not to 
 come ; and even, indeed, if you were never to come again, 
 Miss Hellevi would say all the same — the Werners are good- 
 hearted people, and it would give me great pleasure to see 
 them often." 
 
 "But," said I, "the Werners are not so liberal; they 
 reckon confidently on seeing you soon at E-osenvik, and will 
 talk ill of you if you do not soon come." 
 
 " Is it possible ? then I will be among the first to come !" 
 said the lively little lady, and kissing her hand to us, flew 
 away. Flew, I say, because she resembles a bird in so 
 remarkable a manner; all her motions are quick, but too 
 abrupt to be graceful. 
 
 As the cabriolet bore us slowly away in the peaceful, 
 beautiful summer evening, I endeavoured to discover clearly 
 what was the impression Avhich the Bird's Nest and its pos- 
 sessor had made upon me. I had experienced pleasure : 
 Miss Husgafvel pleased me in the first instance, because she 
 had so kindly forgiven my stupidity ; secondly, on account 
 of her dwelling and her philosophy of life : but still I was 
 not completely satisfied. One htct after another raised itself 
 in my mind against her Bird's Nest ; then another hut raised 
 itself against this objection ; and so at last, to disentangle 
 myself from this but-warfare, I determined to draw Bear 
 into it. 
 
 " Bird's Nest," I began, " is very neat, pretty, and inte- 
 resting ; but " 
 
 "But what ?" questioned he. 
 
 " But I miss a something," said I, "in this little museum 
 when I think of it as a home. It seems to me as if there 
 were something dry, something egotistical, in the whole 
 establishment." 
 
 " How so ?" asked Bear attentively. 
 
 " How shall I say?" deliberated I. " It seems to me as 
 if the love of the shells had dried up the heart. Whom does 
 Miss Husgafvel make happy by her establishment and her 
 life r Who is benefited by them ?" 
 
62 
 
 THE JTEIGHBOTTUS. 
 
 " My dear Eanny," replied my husband, " we must take 
 ^are not to judge too severely, and not to take that word 
 benefit too one-sidedly. It is tTue that Miss Husgafvel leads 
 a pleasant life for herself, but she imparts pleasure also to 
 her friends. There would exist less accomplishment and less 
 pleasure in this neighbourhood if Miss Husgafvel and her 
 Bird's Nest were not here. Her Wednesday soirees are as 
 lively as they are interesting ; we will sometimes go to them." 
 
 " Now yes. Bear," said I, " it is very well that she amuses 
 the people ; it is very well that somebody will give themselves 
 the trouble ; but still I think that her house would be more 
 attractive if it could offer — how shall I express it ? — a more 
 lively human interest." 
 
 " It is not without such a one," returned he, " even though 
 it be concealed." 
 
 " How ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Miss Husgafvel has a younger sister, who made an 
 unhappy marriage, and in consequence became extremely 
 unfortunate. "When she was a widow, and had lost all her 
 property, her sister Hellevi was not only her excellent friend, 
 but took her to live with her, and became the support of her 
 and her daughter. This poor lady, an estimable mother, has 
 become averse to society through her misfortunes. If you 
 had gone to the upper story of the house, you would have 
 seen still-life there not less interesting than Miss Hellevi 
 and her museum ; human beings cannot love one another 
 better than these two sisters do." 
 
 " If there be such eggs in the Bird's Nest," said I, " I am 
 perfectly satisfied with it ; for you see, my own Bear, that 
 without a loving human heart I can consider no dwelling 
 happy, even w^ere it full of works of art and jewels. But 
 now, long life to Miss Hellevi Husgafvel and the Bird's 
 Nest!" 
 
 THE THIRD VISITING-DAY. 
 
 A meagre day in a rich house. The house would be mag- 
 nificent, but is only decked out. The master would bo 
 Grand Seigneur, but boasts of his chandeliers and French 
 carpets. The lady would be of the highest taste, and would 
 conduct the most interesting conversation, of which, however, 
 she makes only an extraordinary mishmash. The daughtc^rs 
 
FRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 03 
 
 would be highly accomplished, full of talent and style, and 
 have a sort of jargon, from which only proceeds a great 
 emptiness. The son would be a person of great importance, 
 and is only a little blonde gentleman with badly-curled hair. 
 The whole family is a collection of unfortunate preten- 
 sions. 
 
 A great inheritance, a patent of nobility — (JST.B. Mr. von P, 
 says that he has merely reassumed his Grerman nobility in 
 Sweden) — and a journey to Paris, have, according to their 
 opinion, exalted the family of the von P.'s very high in the 
 world. For the last two years they have been settled at 
 Briteberg ; have spent the summer there, and built a splendid 
 house, and would now pass for eagles among small birds ; 
 but they must see, with great astonishment, Ma chere mere 
 look down upon them. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, Mrs. von P. is a very polite lady ; 
 but a certain flourish of condescending friendliness towards 
 me took away all charm from her politeness. Several young 
 gentlemen, who were calling at the same time, chatted and 
 laughed a great deal with the young ladies, Emelie and 
 Adele, who, in the most elegant toilet, sate with Trench 
 gloves on their hands, moving their heads as if they were 
 fixed on steel wire. 
 
 Mrs. von P. questioned me immediately after G-eneralska 
 Mansfelt, examining me as to my relationship with her, by 
 which it came out that I was not at all related to her. I had 
 never thought of this before, and it made me sorry to discover 
 it. Then we began to speak of Stockholm, and of all well- 
 known people there, when behold ! all Mrs. von P.'s acquaint- 
 ance and intimate friends were Counts and Countesses. 
 Above all, she spoke of Count L.'s family. Count L. and 
 his family had lately been at Briteberg, and now the von P.'s 
 were invited to pass part of the summer with the Count L. 
 at H. The von P.'s had made an excursion with the L.'s 
 the former summer to TJddewalla, and had resided at Grus- 
 tavsberg together ; the Countess L. was an extraordinarily 
 charming person, whom Mrs. von P. liked as a sister ; and 
 the Miss L.'s were pretty and accomplished girls, tout-a-fait, 
 comme il faut. Madame Werner, you know the L.'s ?" 
 
 " No !" Madame Werner must confess her ignorance. 
 
 "At Count L.'s," said Mrs. von P., "we met ehe best 
 
64 
 
 THE NEIGH^OrRS. 
 
 society in Stockholm. 1 there met the Baron N.'s family 
 perhaps you are acquainted with them ?" 
 " No." 
 
 " Not ? They are of the highest standing," said the lady. 
 " But I cannot help t Kinking that I must have met you, 
 Madame "Werner, in evening parties at Count B.'s." 
 
 " It is not possible," I replied, " for I never was 
 there." 
 
 " But — ," persisted she, " it seems to me that posi- 
 tively Pardon, but might I mquire Madame Werner's 
 
 family name ?" 
 Buren." 
 
 " Bure Buren," said she ; " an old noble family, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " I don't know, I believe " said I, hesitating and^ 
 
 blushing, for I knew that my family was not noble ; but a 
 little miserable weakness had come over me. 
 
 " Yes, yes," continued Mrs. von P. in a consolatory man- 
 ner, " it is certainly a noble name, but in our restless times 
 everything gets so easily confounded. Our family, for in- 
 stance, which is descended from an old Grerman stock, and 
 has given its name to princes and counts of the Empire, — 
 our family, I can tell you, even had forgotten its rank and 
 lived anonymously in Sweden until Count L. said to my 
 husband, ' It w411 not do any longer, my good friend ; you, 
 with your great property and 3^our deserts, must have a seat 
 and voice in the House of Nobles.' Much more of the same 
 kind, too, the Count said, w^hich induced us to assert our old 
 claims to nobility. The affair is to be sure in itself but a 
 mere trifle, especially in our times, for whoever anticipates 
 the age a little, sees easily that education now is the true 
 aristocracy, and art, as good as a patent of nobility. We 
 live in an enlightened age, my best Madame Werner," con- 
 tinued she, " and my friend the Countess L. always said, 
 * Education gives a positive rank.' Now it is true, one may 
 be always glad, and thank God not to have been called 
 Backstrom or AVallqvist, Lofgren, Sjogren, or such like ; a 
 good name, like real properly, is always a piece of good for- 
 tune. When people are placed by fate in a high station, 
 they can so much more easily choose their acquaintance, and 
 get into certain circles. Amalie, L.'s sister, the Countesa 
 
FRANSTSKA WERIS^ER TO MARIA M. 
 
 65 
 
 W., once said, — do you know the Countess W., Madame 
 Wemer ?" 
 
 " No, — yes, — a little," replied I. 
 
 " Is she not a most charming person ? — Amalie," said her- 
 self, " Ma soeur vaut mieux que moi ! It delights me, Madame 
 Wemer, that you know so distinguished a lady. Ah, tell me 
 yet some more of your acquaintance in Stockholm, perhaps* 
 it may happen that they are mine also." 
 
 I acknowledge to you my weakness, Maria. I sought 
 about in my brain after Counts and Countesses. I believe 
 Mrs. Yon P. had infected me with her passion for the high- 
 born. I mentioned, therefore, at last, the Baroness 
 
 Mrs. von P. looked contemptuous. " Don't know her," 
 said she ; " probably retiree du monde. At Count L.'s, and 
 at our own house, the very best society only assembled ; corps 
 diplomatique was at home with us and Count L.'s." 
 
 At this moment I suddenly became aware that Bear was 
 glancing at me with the most roguish grimaces — this, and 
 the unfortunate attempt I had made with the Baroness E.., 
 drove the rage for distinction quite out of me ; and in order 
 to make myself at once quite independent and clear, I named 
 
 the family of his Excellency 0 as my acquaintance in 
 
 Stockholm. 
 
 Mrs. von P. started a little. " Ah indeed !" said she, 
 
 slowly; " I too have been there — a few times." 
 
 " O, I was there twice, three times a week," said I, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Indeed! 0 a most distinguished house," remarked 
 
 she ; " perhaps the Countess 0 is an intimate friend of 
 
 Madame "Werner?" 
 
 " No, I saw her but seldom," I replied. " I gave music- 
 lessons to her daughters." 
 
 " Ah, yes indeed ! on account of the acquaintance I 
 
 suppose," said she. 
 
 " No," I replied boldly, " for money. I was poor, and I 
 maintained myself thus." 
 
 Mrs. von P. grew red, and looked quite embarrassed ; but 
 Bear smiled, and that gave me courage. " My brother-in- 
 law, Bergvall," said I, "and my friend, Madame Wallqvist, 
 obtained for me through Demoiselle E., the governess in his 
 
THE miGHBOTJRS. 
 
 Excellency's house, the situation of music- teacher to the 
 daughters of this excellent family." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! — ah, indeed ! — ah, indeed !" said Mrs. von P., 
 visibly quite out of conceit ; and then, wishing to give the 
 conversation another turn, she addressed her daughters, 
 
 My dear girls, cannot you play and sing us something ? — > 
 some of those pieces which you have sung with the Misses L." 
 
 The young ladies complied, after some of the gentlemen 
 had seconded the request of their mother, and sang both 
 Trench and Italian pieces, which they spoiled through their 
 affected and tasteless manner. In the mean time, Mrs. von 
 P. talked of Colorit, of Weber, Eossini, and Meyerbeer. 
 
 Weber," said she, "is whimsical, Rossini poor in melody, 
 but Meyerbeer excels them all ; he is truly le prince de la 
 musique. You must not imagine, however, Madame Werner," 
 said she, " that I do not value the practice of all the arts. 
 In my opinion, it is art alone which confers on us higher life, 
 and therefore I have given to my daughters the same educa- 
 tion which I received myself ; they are acquainted with four 
 languages ; have great talent ; and it is only lately that we 
 have returned from Paris, where they have been to perfect 
 themselves. Have you been to Paris, Madame Werner ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah, you must go there soon," said she. " On vit a Paris, 
 et Ton vegete ailleurs. Adele, my dear, do sing the little 
 piece that Count B. sent you. Do you know Count B., 
 Madame Werner?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 He comes to us this summer," continued she ; " a highly 
 distinguished young man." 
 
 " Is your ladyship acquainted with the family of Merchant 
 Dahl ?" asked I, now wearied with being always the re- 
 spondent. 
 
 " No — a little," replied she ; " our circles are so different. 
 Good, very good people, I believe. I have seen them a few 
 times in company : — the Merchant — what do you call them ? 
 — the Dall — Dahlens, don't mix much in the better society 
 of this place." 
 
 " Because they are so old, I presume," said I. " I have 
 heard a great deal of th-eir granddaughter, Miss Lofwen ; 
 she must be very amiable." 
 
TRAKSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 67 
 
 "The girl is pretty enough," conceded Mrs. von P., "but 
 a poor little, misshapen, sickly creature ; she will not live 
 long. The whole family is of fragile health." 
 
 " A little, misshapen, sickly creature !" repeated I, greatly 
 astonished ; " what in all the world " 
 
 But I had not much time to be astonished on this subject, 
 as one of the gentlemen mentioned the new neighbour at 
 Eamm (I begin to be half wearied of hearing of the new 
 neighbour), and Mrs. von P., who seemed as if she feared the 
 conversation might stagnate, threw herself zealously into tlie 
 subject. 
 
 " O, that must be an interesting man !" said she ; a 
 true heros du Eoman ! His name is Romanus or Eomuluis, 
 and he is an Italian of a princely line. He murdered his 
 first wife, and then carried off a beautiful English womau, 
 with whom he went to America. There he had a duel with 
 her brother, whom he killed — whereupon the beloved one 
 died of grief. Now he travels all the world over to dissipate 
 his sorrow, and to do good, for his benevolence is as great as 
 his wealth." 
 
 I gaped in wonder. 
 Such circumstances," continued Mrs. von P., speaking 
 with great affectation, "belong so entirely to our eccentric 
 and passionate times, that we cannot pass sentence on them 
 according to severe moral laws. Deep, passionate, Byronian 
 natures, require their own measure. One must take climatt^ 
 also into consideration, and not require from men under the 
 suns of the south, that which one expects from those living 
 in our colder north," 
 
 I wondered within myself at Mrs. von P.'s words, and 
 especially by the expression " our eccentric and passionate 
 age ;" but it soon occurred to me that she drew her knowledge 
 of the age only from novels. Observe, good Maria, that I sa\- 
 only — because novel-reading is not injurious, except to the 
 exclusion of all other reading, 
 
 LoDg live novels, novel-readers, and novel-writers ! es,^e- 
 cially as I myself am one of them ! Mais revenons a nos 
 moutons. 
 
 The young ladies sang and quavered, and seemed almost 
 to have forgotten that there was such a phrase a§ to leave 
 off. I went to them, and was mischievous enough to inquu^e 
 
 .e2 ' 
 
68 
 
 THE KEIGHBOURS. 
 
 if fhey ever sang Swedish ? whereupon they answered " JTo,'* 
 and began to speak of Malibran, of Paris, and such subjects, 
 
 without speaking well of any of them. 
 
 Affectation, false taste, conceit, how I detest you ! and on 
 that account I will now make my escape from the nest of 
 these three owl-sisters. 
 
 Mrs. von P. took a ceremonious and cold adieu, without 
 asking me to come again. I conjecture that music-lessons, 
 and my acquaintance with wall and quist people, made Mrs. 
 von P. feel that I was not fit to mix in their circles. Well 
 — and she may be right there. 
 
 On our way home we met wagons laden with goods, for 
 the new neighbour. After all I have heard of this man, if 
 he should only be a common, every-day sort of a person, how 
 vexed I shall be ! 
 
 14th June. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon we were at home, and rejoiced on that 
 account. Bear worked like a regular joiner, and I read to 
 him that which I had written about our visiting-days. He 
 w^as amused ; he laughed, and yet he blamed me at the same 
 time for having spoken with so much severity of some persons ; 
 neither was he quite satisfied with the judgment I had passed 
 on the von P.'s. 
 
 " You call them," said he, " a collection of unfortunate 
 pretensions, and yet you have seen them only once. It is 
 very difficult, my dear Panny, to pass judgment on men after 
 a long acquaintance, and quite impossible to do so after one 
 visit. Beyond this, many persons under different circum- 
 stances exhibit such different sides of their character. I have 
 seen people affected and ridiculous in society, whom I have 
 admired by a sick bed; many, in one case wearisome and 
 assuming, who in another have been discreet and agreeable. 
 Others, again, have eccentricities at one time which they lose 
 later in life ; many turn their best side inward, and perform 
 the noblest actions, whilst the world is laughing at the fool's- 
 cap which they exhibit. It may be so with this family." 
 
 ""^ranted, granted, dear Bear," said I; "and I promise 
 you that as soon as I become aware of the fiiir side, I will 
 paint it in my best colours." 
 
 '*But were it not better till then," argued he, "to place 
 the faults more in the shadow ? It is exactly bv such ov er- 
 
FRANSISKA WEEIfER TO MARIA M. 09 
 
 hasty judgments that man injures his neighbour, for nobody 
 reflects that one fault does not spoil the whole person." 
 
 " What would you have ?" asked I ; " you distress me : do 
 you wish that I should throw all I have written into the 
 fire?" 
 
 " No, let it be as it is," said he ; " the mind of your reader 
 will probably suggest what I have said." 
 
 " But for greater security. Bear, and to ease my own con- 
 science, I vdll make her partaker of our little conversation." 
 
 And this, my best Maria, I have now done. Ah, I fear I 
 shall always remain an over-hasty person, who judges by first 
 impressions ! 
 
 Eorgive me, and love still, your 
 
 Eraksiska. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 I COME from — a better world ; I have been in the kingdom 
 of heaven ! Do you wish to know how it looks there ? 
 
 There was a patriarch and his wife ; and only to see that 
 ancient, venerable couple, made the heart rejoice. Tranquil- 
 lity was upon their brows, cheerful wisdom on their lips, and 
 in their glance one read love and peace. A band of angels 
 surrounded them : some little children, others blooming 
 maidens. One of these particularly fixed my attention, 
 because she so perfectly answered my idea of a seraph ; not 
 because all the other angels surrounded her, not because she 
 was so beautiful — for she was not beautiful, — but because 
 she looked so pure and loving, and because she seemed to be 
 there for the happiness of all. 
 
 Now she was wdth the patriarchs, and mutual love beamed 
 from glance and gesture ; then she lifted angel-children in 
 her arms, and kissed and embraced them ; and then she 
 spoke joyous, graceful words with the angel-maidens. She 
 was a kiud, heavenly being, whose happiness seemed to con- 
 sist in love. She gave a sign, and nectar and delicious fruits 
 were carried around, whilst she herself took care that the 
 children had as much as their little hands could grasp. 
 
 The beauty of innocense seemed throned upon her white 
 and gracefully moulded forehead, which affected me, and 
 
70' 
 
 THE KEiaHBOUES. 
 
 awoke in me the presentiment of a heavenly vision. The 
 expression of her beautiful blue eyes was clear and holy, and 
 had that quiet bashfulness, that candour, which delights us 
 in children. I never saw a glance which expressed so much 
 inward goodness, which spoke so plainly that her whole 
 world was pure blessedness. The light brown hair was oi 
 wonderful beauty and brightness, and the skin white and 
 transparent. I never saw a form so much resembling a 
 beautiful soul, nor a manner which so much reminded me of 
 music. 
 
 I learned that this affectionate maiden was called Serena, 
 and that the children had assembled to celebrate her birthday. 
 All gathered themselves around her, all stood in need of her, 
 all listened to her, and all were listened to by her. 
 
 " Ah, Serena !" said the angel-maidens, " sing us ' The 
 [Flower- G-atherer,' that lovely, sweet song." 
 
 "O Serena!" besought the angel-children, "play to us 
 that we may dance." 
 
 " I will do all that you wish," said the kind Serena, " but 
 what shall I do first? I fancy I must first play for the 
 children, and then we will ask the stranger lady to sing us 
 that beautiful song, because she sings it better certainly than 
 I do." 
 
 Serena sate down and played, whilst the young danced and 
 the old smiled, so that it was a pleasure to see. After the 
 dance the fruit-basket was again carried round, and then 
 Serena asked me, in the name of all, to sing " The Elower- 
 Gratherer." I sate down to the piano, and the little band 
 with oranges in their hands thronged around me ; their rosy 
 cheeks and joyful glances animating my song. 
 
 "Ah, ODce more! once more!" burst forth from all sides 
 when I had ended ; so I sang it, yet once and twice again, 
 the little angels seeming as if they could not be satisfied. 
 The patriarchs thanked me for my song even as heartily as 
 the children, and I thanked — the poet. 
 
 Serena then introduced games of various kinds, and aD 
 was laughter and fun during these games ; and whilst I sate 
 by the patriarchs, there stole in one little angel who pos- 
 sessed a strong portion of earthly covetousness, and took 
 something from the hoard of her sister. Serena, who at that 
 mohient was handing nectar to the patriarchs^ followed th« 
 
TEAXSISKA WERKER TO MABIA M. 
 
 71 
 
 cbild with her eyes, and then going after her, took her asido; 
 riet her on her knee, and said with a grave although mild 
 countenance: "Why, little Eva, did you take your sister' y 
 apple, — was it right ? was that well done ?" 
 
 " She had two, and 1 had none !" stammered out the little 
 Eva, frightened and ready to cry. 
 
 "Because you had eaten yours," remarked Serena; "hut 
 in no case had you a right to take your sister's fruit. That 
 was very wrong, Eva!" 
 
 " I thought nobody saw me," said the little one, weeping. 
 
 " But if no one else saw you, Grod saw you ; and he does 
 not love children who do that which is WTong. Go now and 
 lay the apple down again, dear Eva." 
 
 Little Eva went and laid down the apple again (if great 
 Eva had only done the same !) ; and with tears on her cheeks 
 said to Serena, " But then, won't you love me any more ?" 
 
 " Will you promise me not again to take without permis- 
 sion that which does not belong to you ?" asked Serena softly, 
 but seriously. 
 
 " O yes !" sighed the little one, " I won't do so again !" 
 
 " Then I shall, love you, and you shall be my dear little 
 Eva again," said she, taking the child upon her knee, and 
 letting it quietly weep on her bosom. 
 
 This little scene, of which I was a secret spectator whilst I 
 was chatting with the old people, gave me a picture and a 
 lesson which I shall not soon forget. 
 
 At the Dahls also, the new resident at Hamm was spoken 
 of ; but not in the spirit of extravagant conjecture ; some 
 things which were good and noble were related of him ; the 
 man certainly was not Don Miguel — and there was joy over 
 him in the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 In this kingdom of heaven there was a little sparrow, but 
 not like any sparrow I ever before saw. It was tame, and 
 full of a human kindness ; the angel-children were particu- 
 larly charmed with it. All was laughter, bustle, and merri- 
 ment, as the sparrow flew about, sitting ever and anon on 
 their little heads, and " Gull-gul! Grull-gul !" was repeated 
 by aU the jubilant company. 
 
 So passed the whole evening, with games, dance, song, and 
 laughter. At one time the angel-band, conducted by Serena, 
 eame and danced round the patriarchs, enclosing Bear and 
 
72 
 
 THE NEIGHBOrES. 
 
 his wife in the lovely joyful circle, till again breaking loose^ 
 m the midst of song, they dispersed to form new groups. 
 
 However beautiful and joyous it might be in the kingdom 
 of heaven, still we must think of returning to our little 
 earthly home ; so, after we had supped with the angels, we 
 set out on our way. But the worthy patriarchs and the 
 lovely Serena prayed us so warmly and earnestly to come 
 soon and spend a whole day with them, that we gave our 
 hands upon it ; and I must confess that I desired nothing 
 better. On the way home I could talk of nothing but Serena, 
 and went to sleep with her lovely image in my soul. 
 
 Perhaps in time I may come to see this family in a more 
 prosaic light, and then you will receive a less poetical picture. 
 Life wears oftener its every-day than its festival garb. This 
 however I know, I have had a heavenly vision. 
 
 June 18th. 
 
 Away from home may be good, but at home is best ! So 
 have I thought a hundred times during the two pleasant 
 days I have passed quietly in looking after my own affairs. 
 I tame my Bear and my little animals. All goes on quite 
 well. Six hens, three ducks, and two turkeys, are now my 
 intimate acquaintance. I have caressed and fed the cows 
 to-day. The fine creatures! The largest and handsomest 
 of which I have christened Audumbla, in memory of the beau- 
 tiful northern mythology, of which I have read in the symbo- 
 lical lore of the Edda. 
 
 My Bear is a strange being. Since he has given up his 
 little vices, he has acquired — Grod knows how ! — continually 
 a greater influence over me. This however is certain, that 
 he is right good, and reasonable. Yesterday evening he came 
 into our drawing-room with the pipe in his mouth, but stood 
 at the doorway looking at me, and made such roguish, ques- 
 tioning grimaces, that I sprang up, embraced both him and 
 his pipe, and drew them both into the room. I was so 
 happy that the pipe did not hate the room — but — one would 
 not like it every day 
 
 19th. 
 
 Miss Hellevi Husgafvel — sprightliness to the very roof — 
 Bupper on Svano ; and thus have you yesterday afternoon. 
 Miss Hellevi ia a verv lively and clever person* almost too 
 
FEA^'SISKA WE I; M l. TO MAEIA M. 
 
 73 
 
 iively for me. She seems to me like preserved ginger ; when 
 one takes it now and tlien, one finds it refreshing, and ex- 
 claims delicate ! All day long is quite too much. 
 
 " Bear, come here, angel ! what say you to this com- 
 parison 
 
 " That it is malicious, and that you yourself are gingeJj 
 you sea-cat !" 
 
 " Ginger ? that you are, yourself, you Bear !" 
 
 20th. 
 
 The sisters-in-law are come. Yesterday morning, just as 
 Bear and I were thus skirmishing, we received a note from 
 Ma chere mere, inviting us to go for the evening : in the 
 first place, because she wished to see us ; and secondly, be- 
 cause she wished us to receive the relations with her, who 
 were expected that evening at Carlsfors. " If the little wife 
 will come the first," added she, " I shall be right glad to see 
 her ; and for that purpose shall send my Norrkopings' 
 carriage with the brown horses after dinner to E-osenvik. 
 Tor this once I will burden my conscience by separating 
 man and wife ; still, if they can come together, so much the 
 pleasanter." 
 
 I was very curious to see the brothers-in-law and their 
 wives. My husband, who was overjoyed by the thought of 
 seeing again his beloved brother Peter, could not, however, 
 on account of several patients, reach Carlsfors before evening ; 
 so I went alone in the Norrkopings' carriage, which is 
 pleasanter than the heaven- chariot. 
 
 I found Lagman Hok with Ma chere mere. He comes 
 regularly once a week, and brings from the town where he 
 lives, newspapers and law documents ; for Ma chere mere, 
 who has a strong sense of right, has many law-suits. She 
 talks with him a great deal about her affairs, in which he 
 takes more interest than in his own ; and this conversation 
 begins when cofiee comes in, for during dinner she shows 
 herself a most agreeable hostess to all her guests. This lasts 
 tiU six o'clock ; then, says Ma chere mere, " Now Lagman 
 we "v^ ill walk," and the two parade, side by side, np and 
 down ihe large room. This time may be regarded as one of 
 rest ; for the two never speak a word, excepting that Ma 
 chere mere, who goes with her hands behind her back, says 
 
74 
 
 THE IS-EiaHBOIJRS. 
 
 uiicea singly, yet almost inandibly, and only by the movement 
 of the tongue, " Trallala, trallala, trallal ! trallala, traUala, 
 trail!'' This walk, which has come to be called trail, lasts 
 probably half an hour, on which Ma chere mere says, " Now 
 Lagman let us sit !" on which the two sit down and begin 
 to chat again, but not of business, but of the good old times ; 
 of fhe then living remarkable people ; relate anecdotes and 
 drink tea. So have they paraded, trailed and chatted, above 
 twenty years ! 
 
 The Lagman sometimes has wonderful fits of absence : he 
 will place himself, for instance, within a doorway or against 
 a wall, and there stand for hours in deep thought without 
 once moving from the spot. Sometimes at table, too, if he 
 would pour out a glass- of water or wine, he never notices 
 v/hen the glass is full, but keeps pouring on till it runs over 
 the table. Ma chere mere is not much pleased when such 
 accidents occur ; but she never speaks one unfriendly word 
 to him on the subject, but jokes him merely on his " poetical 
 distractions." Nevertheless, if she see his large hand reach- 
 ing towards a caraft, she mostly is beforehand with him. 
 
 But I let my pen fly like a wild bird, from one object 
 to another. I return now to the evening when the relations 
 were expected. 
 
 Both Ma chere mere and her house were in their most 
 festival garb. The Slurka, or helmet-cap, sate high and 
 proud on her serious brow, and she marched through the 
 large room by the Lagman' s side with the air and carriage 
 of a general. They were busied with the trail. All the doors 
 stood open, and all the steps were crowded with servants in 
 livery. Everything looked quite festive. 
 
 " Welcome now, my dear Fransiska," said Ma chere mere, 
 reaching to me her hand with a stately bearing ; " you will 
 now make the acquaintance of your new family. We shall 
 see what these young ladies are like ; we will pass our judg- 
 ment on them — yes, that we will ! In the mean time, my 
 heart ! go and do what you like whilst I finish my trail." 
 
 I availed myself of this permission, and went to see how 
 the chambers of the sisters-in-law looked. I found the 
 coarse toilet-covers had been replaced with others much finer, 
 which gave me pleasure. In every other respect, too, the 
 rooms were comfortably furnished ; all was substantial, coa» 
 
fea]sstsk:a wee]S"er to maria m. 
 
 75 
 
 f euient, and clean ; but 1 missed something of tlie poetry, 
 Bometliing of the luxury of life, without which life and home 
 vvould only be mere necessary establishments. 
 
 " Ma chere mere," thought I, " will leave this to the ladies 
 themselves, will leave them to beautify their own little world, 
 according to their o^\tl taste." Although I could not but 
 confess that this was best, I felt irresistibly compelled to 
 anticipate some little, and going, therefore, into the garden, 
 gathered a quantity of flowers, which grow there in super- 
 abundance ; hastily wove two garlands, one of which I hung 
 over each looking-glass, and then disposing glasses of flowers 
 about the rooms, pleased myself in no small degree w^ith the 
 friendly aspect they gave. Presently, however, I heard a 
 strong voice behind me. " Yes, indeed, my little one ! it is 
 your pleasure, is it — to go ramping about in my garden, and 
 among my flowers ? "What did you think I should say to 
 that?" 
 
 I turned round and looked somewhat terrified at the severe 
 countenance of Ma chere mere. 
 
 " Now, now, don't look so hebete," said she, her counte- 
 nance changing ; and patting me on the cheek, " I will say 
 no more than that you are poetical, and if you choose to fill 
 the chambers of your sisters-in-law with plunder, that is your 
 business, not mine — the thing, however, looks very pretty. I 
 see, my dear, that you are not without taste ; and now, if you 
 will have a cup of tea, come out with me, for my captain- 
 commandant — so Ma chere mere calls her stomach — has no 
 inclination to wait for the young gentry. Hok is standing 
 at the saloon door in one of his reveries, but we'll see if we 
 cannot wake him." 
 
 As I followed her into the saloon, I heard my husband's 
 steps in the next room. I had merely time to whisper to 
 her, "When he asks after me, you have not seen me;" and 
 hastily hid myself behind an open door. 
 
 Ma chere mere winked her approbation of my little trick, 
 and Bear entered. 
 
 " Where is my wife ?" asked he, as soon as he had greeted 
 her and kissed her hand. 
 
 " I have had no intelligence of her," replied she very 
 gravely ; " I have not seen her at all." 
 
 " Heavens ! where is she then ?" exclaimed he, in such ar 
 
76 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 agitated, terrified manner as quite affected me ; so after ht 
 bad looked on all sides, and was just turning to leave the room, 
 I sprang forward and clasped my arms round him. 
 
 Ah ! how sweet it is to know that one is beloved ! Thank 
 God for it ! 
 
 Ha! ha! ha!" laughed out Ma chere mere, at our em- 
 bracing. 
 
 Bear was quite excited at having found his little wife 
 again, and at the prospect of soon embracing his beloved 
 brother. 
 
 Ma chere mere seated herself at the top of the great saloon 
 in her great arm-chair covered with red damask ; called me to 
 sit near her ; and then ordered Bear, Lagman Hok, and Tuttin, 
 to arrange themselves in a half circle around her. I saw by- 
 all this that she was bent upon a great scene, which should 
 be imposing to the young ladies ; for thus, in order to ap- 
 proach, they would have to traverse the long saloon. I 
 assure you that my heart was full of sympathy for them ; and 
 in the depths of my soul I thanked my husband for his kind- 
 ness in letting me make Ma chere mere's acquaintance in 
 the impromptu manner I did, thus preventing me having to 
 pass the ordeal of a solemn presentation, which would have 
 been a horror and stumbling-block to me. 
 
 Ma chere mere's strong nerves prevented her having any 
 idea of such feelings; and while we sate at our post, she 
 merrily and graphically told of her first presentation at 
 court; and how, for a long time beforehand, she had prac- 
 tised making her reverences before five chairs ; and then, 
 how these reverences, after this, were performed before the 
 crowned heads themselves. 
 
 Ma chere mere described the whole scene and the principal 
 persons with so much life and spirit, that I forgot where I 
 sate, and why I sate there, when a carriage was heard 
 approaching. 
 
 Ma chere mere paused, and I started up, so did my 
 husband, but she laid immediately her heavy hand inter- 
 dictingly upon my arm, and said to us both, " Sit still ! The 
 old one shall be first to bid them welcome to her house, and 
 the old one will await them here!" 
 
 She looked solemn and dignified, and I sate down again 
 with a beating heart. Bear looked undetermined; but aa 
 
FRAFSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 77 
 
 he listened to the commotion and sound of voices in the halij 
 he said, " It is Jean Jacques and sate down again. 
 
 The next moment steps were heard, and with a loud voice 
 a servant announced " Baron Jean Jacques and his lady !" 
 
 A silken dress rustled, and a lady entered, probably of my 
 age, but taller, conducted by a gentleman. She looked 
 altogether comme il faut, stepped quickly, but with great 
 self-possession, through the room towards Ma chere mere, 
 who raised herself majestically, and advancing a few paces to 
 meet her, looked highly imposing. The young lady curtseyed 
 very deeply, and kissed the offered hands as I had done, 
 whilst Ma chere mere in return kissed her, but only on the 
 forehead ; embraced her, and bade her welcome, hoping she 
 would find herself agreeably at home in this house. Next 
 she saluted Jean Jacques, and that exactly in the same way 
 as she had saluted my husband before. 
 
 After that we were introduced to our new relatives : I sate 
 down near my sister-in-law ; at first we were a little excited, 
 but soon calming ourselves, became most friendly, and en- 
 gaged in an agreeable conversation ; in short, I greatly 
 admired this first-seen sister-in-law, by name Jane Marie. 
 She is not handsome, but has something distinguished in her 
 appearance, whilst her form is exquisite. Her remarks and 
 demeanour show both gentleness and understanding ; her 
 toilet also is very pleasing and appropriate ; a brown silk 
 dress, a gold chain and watch, a simple but stylish bonnet 
 trimmed with clear blue, which accorded admirably with her 
 hair. It always gives me pleasure to see a lady who under- 
 stands the art of dressing well. It is a sign both of under- 
 standing and taste. 
 
 "But where is Peter?" asked my husband at least seven 
 times before the first salutations were over. 
 
 " Peter comes later,'' answered Jean Jacques at length, 
 " that is, if he come at all to-night. It pleased Ebba," con- 
 tinued he, " to go to sleep at E., where we dined, and she 
 would not wake. Peter called and knocked to no purpose, 
 BO at last I and m}^ wife left them, in order that Ma chere 
 mere might not expect us in vain. I thought Ebba might 
 just as well have slept in the carriage, since she never looks 
 at the country, but sits wrapped up in her double crape-cap." 
 
 Ma chere mere lilightly moved her eyebrows, and Beai 
 
THE KEIGKBOURS. 
 
 drew his down. I looked at Jane Marie ; she smiled and 
 shrugged her shoulders. At that very moment a carriage 
 drove up to the door. 
 
 " There he is !" exclaimed Bear, and rushed out before Ma 
 chere mere could call him back, like a bomb through the 
 open door, to meet his beloved brother. She shook her 
 head, however, and looked angry, but I loved him all the 
 more for his affection to his brother. 
 
 Behold now the sister-in-law No. 2. 
 
 A slight little figure floated in petulantly, but gracefully ; 
 tlie eyes half shut ; a little straw hat hanging on the arm ; a 
 little cap with rose-coloured ribbons inclined to one ear, and 
 kissing, as it were, on the other side several locks of dark 
 brown hair which flowed negligently forth. Her husband 
 followed her with his eyes, whilst he was stopped in the door- 
 way by a second embrace from his brother. 
 
 Ma chere mere raised herself majestically, as on the first 
 occasion, and advanced three steps towards the little sylph ; 
 but she, to our great astonishment, floated past without 
 looking up to her, and throwiug herself negligently into the 
 arm-chair from which Ma chere mere had the moment before 
 risen, exclaimed, " Ah, I am so fatigued, so fatigued, so warm 
 that I must die ; ah !" whilst the silken robe which she wore, 
 falling open, showed a fine cambric dress ; and, still further 
 tlie very prettiest of all little feet and ankles. 
 
 O that you could have seen Ma chere mere ! She stood 
 as if thunderstruck; whilst Peter, rushing forward, seized 
 Ebba's hand, and endeavouring to raise her from the chair, 
 whispered, " Ebba, in Heaven's name, bethink thee ! Ebba, it 
 is Ma chere mere." 
 
 "Heavens!" exclaimed Ebba, like one wakened out of a 
 dream, and looked up with a pair of beautiful brown eyes to 
 the great lady, just as people look up to a church steeple. 
 Ma chere mere, on her side, approached her with a coun- 
 tenance that seemed to express, " Whatever sort of an extra- 
 ordinary little creature are you ?" 
 
 As the two were about to meet, Ebba snatched her hand 
 suddenly from her husband's, and springing upon a chair 
 threw both her arms round Ma chere mere's neck, and kissed 
 her witli all the grace and freedom of a child. This seemed 
 to make a peculiar impression on the elder lady, who, grasping 
 
FRANSISKA WEKNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 79 
 
 her little person in both her large hands, placed her like a 
 child in her arms, and carried her under the chandelier, whicli 
 was then lit up with the beams of the setting sun, and con- 
 templated the cherub's head surrounded with light. Ebba 
 laughed, and we all w^ere obliged to laugh too, whilst Ma 
 chere mere's loud "ha! ha! ha!" resounded above all. She 
 patted and pinched the cheeks of the ill-trained but lovely 
 young creature, till her fine dark eyebrows contracted them- 
 selves, and she exclaimed again and again, " Let me go !" 
 But Ma chere mere, who wished somewhat to punish her 
 jested still with her as people jest with a child ; but at length, 
 as tears filled her eyes, she shook her friendlily by the hand, 
 kissed her forehead, and saluted Peter with the words : 
 
 " Chastise your wife, my dear son, otherwise she will 
 chastise you." 
 
 Ebba greeted me most ungraciously, never once looked at 
 Bear ; but throwing herself feet and all on a sofa, looked 
 through the room, and on the company, with an air of indif- 
 ference. Ma chere mere made no remark, but saw all this 
 with a certain bitterness of mien whicb, according to my 
 thought, seemed to say, " We shall soon bring you into order, 
 little malapert." 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, Ebba is from head to foot the 
 very prettiest little creature that I ever saw. She resembles 
 more a fairy than a human being ; but her countenance is 
 somewhat disfigured by an expression of superciliousness 
 and pertness, which especially plays around the little saucy 
 mouth and the dilated nostril. It is true that she is very 
 young, but she seems to me to be one of those young crea- 
 tures who are particularly hard to train. Bear seemed to 
 think the same, and looked upon her and Peter with a 
 troubled air. Peter, to all appearance, is desperately in love 
 with his little humoursome wife, w^ho, on her part, does not 
 appear to trouble herself particularly about him ; nor does it 
 seem extraordinary that he has not inspired love in such a 
 young, childish creature. Peter is singularly plain in person ; 
 has a very large nose, and his yellow-grey hair stands towards 
 all points of the compass. In manner, he is taciturn and re- 
 S(Tved ; yet his eyes, which are handsome, have an expression 
 which is speaking, and full of soul. He sate the whole even- 
 iug as if sunk into himself; pressed Bear's hand xunetime^, 
 
80 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 and glanced often at his wife, who lay on the sofa and slept. 
 The evening would have been very tedious had it not been for 
 Jean Jacques, who, having travelled abroad but a short time 
 before, related to us various and very interesting accounts of 
 mechanical and industrial undertakings >, such as railroads, 
 the Thames Tunnel, etc. Jean Jacques, unlike Peter, is very 
 good-looking ; has the power of being amusing ; and appears 
 to be full of life and knowledge. Ma chere mere was greatly 
 pleased with his narratives ; and all, indeed, listened to them 
 with the greatest interest, so much, in fact, on my part, that 
 I was sorry when supper was announced. 
 
 On the announcement of supper we all turned towards 
 Ebba, who, indescribably pretty, lay asleep on the sofa, like 
 a rosebud folded in leaves. I said something of the kind as 
 we stood round her, and was thanked by her husband with 
 one of his fine glances ; then bending over her, he kissed her 
 cheek in order to wake her, saying, " Ebba, my angel, rise !" 
 
 " Why cannot you let me rest in quiet ? How unbearable 
 you are!" was her loving reply; and she would have com- 
 posed herself anew to sleep had not Ma chere mere elevated 
 her strong voice. 
 
 " My dear child," said she, " hear ! if you are not ready to 
 come wifch us to table this moment you will have nothing to 
 eat. Don't imagine that anybody will give themselves 
 trouble on your account." 
 
 The little one opened her eyes in the greatest astonish- 
 ment, raised herself, and without another word Ma chere 
 mere took her hand and led her into the dining-room. Ebba 
 allowed herself to be led, but with a look of indescribable ill- 
 humour. Ma chere mere, however, was extremely amiable 
 towards her, seated her by her, and showed her a thousand 
 little attentions. There was something so irresistibly incit- 
 ing in Ma chere mere's friendliness that even Ebba yielded, 
 like the rose to the rays of the sun ; the ill-humoured counte- 
 nance vanished, and gave place to one which was joyful and 
 amiable ; and then, indeed, she became unspeakably lovely, 
 and her little Love's-head appeared quite bewitching. She 
 ate, laughed, and chatted with Ma chere mere, who was 
 much occupied with her. Peter looked quite happy ; Jean 
 Jacques talked with Tuttin, who looked no less happy, about 
 genuine English roast beef and Erench omelette souffle. I 
 
FEANSISKA. WERNER f O MARIA M. 
 
 81 
 
 kept up a continued conversation with Jane Marie, whose 
 obliging demeanour and agreeable style of conversation 
 pleased me more and more ; Bear sate silent near his brother^ 
 and looked dissatisfied. 
 
 At the conclusion of the meal, Ma chere mere ordered a 
 steaming bowl of punch to be brought in, filled the glasses 
 for us all, and gave a sign with the hand for the servants to 
 withdraw. We all at once became suddenly silent, as if ex- 
 pecting something extraordinary ; and Ma chere mere, after 
 'she had cleared her throat, raised her sonorous voice, and 
 spoke with earnestness and strength to the following efiect : 
 
 " Mt Sons and Daughters, 
 
 " I win say this to you, because I see you all here as- 
 sembled round my table and in my house for the first time ; 
 I will say this to you, my children, because I stiU wish to see 
 you often here, as three united and happy families. 
 
 " In an old regulation for soldiers, which was in possession 
 of my deceased husband. General Mansfelt, it was said that 
 only in the moment when the fight commenced should the 
 order be given to the troops, and this order consisted but of 
 three words — * Do your best !' 
 
 "This rule may also be of some value to the married. 
 Books of education, the advice of fathers and mothers, the 
 precepts of teachers, continue to the altar of Hymen ; but 
 there they aU pause, and merely say to the wedded pair — 
 * Do your best !' After this, truly, it is not an easy task to 
 give counsel. Every marriage has its own freemasonry, the 
 one unlike the other, with which it is not well for the un- 
 initiated to meddle. But some good advice, my children, you 
 may listen to with profit from an old lady who has seen some 
 little of the world, and who has had some little experience in 
 the freemasonry of married life ; and if you, in your married 
 career, profit by these counsels, it wiU be well for you. 
 Thus— 
 
 " If, my children, you would be happy, avoid sour looks 
 and changeful humours. By these people entice Satan into 
 their houses. ' A little cloud,' says the proverb, ' can hide 
 both sun and moon.' Yes, my daughters, guard against what 
 may be called * bad weather' in the house ; and you, my sons, 
 
 r 
 
82 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 take heed that you are not the November stoim that calls it 
 there. 
 
 " Eemember what the proverb says : ' Peace mendeth, 
 strife rendeth.' I have, my children, seen that among you 
 already which I do not like — yes, I have seen it. But I hope 
 it will all pass by, and be amended : therefore I will say no 
 more about it. 
 
 " Deceive not one another in small things nor in great. 
 One little single lie has, before now, disturbed a whole 
 married life. A small cause has often great consequences. 
 Fold not the hands together and sit idle — ' Laziness is the 
 devil's cushion.' Do not run much from home. ' He who is 
 not missed is never wanted.' * One's own hearth is gold's 
 worth ;' remember that ' early weed is sour feed.' 
 
 " Many a marriage, my friends, which begins like the rosy 
 morning, falls away like a snow-wreath. And why, my 
 friends ? Because the married pair neglect to be as well- 
 pleasing to each other after marriage as before. Endeavour 
 always to please one another, my children ; but at the same 
 time, keep God in your thoughts. Lavish not all your love 
 on to-day, for remember that marriage has its to-morrow 
 likewise, and its day after to-morrow too. Spare, as one may 
 say, fael for the winter. 
 
 " Consider, my daughters, what the word housewife* ex- 
 presses. The married woman is her husband's domestic 
 faith : in her hands he must be able to confide house and 
 family ; be able to entrust to her the key of his heart, and 
 the padlock of his store-room. His honour and his home 
 are under her keeping : his well-being is in her hand. Think 
 of this ! 
 
 " And you, my sons, be faithful husbands and good fathers 
 of families. Act so that your wives shall esteem and love 
 you. 
 
 " And what more shall I say to you, my chiidren ? Eead 
 the Word of God industriously ; that will conduct you 
 through storm and calm, and safely bring you to the haven 
 at last. And for the remainder, do your best ! I have done 
 mine. God help and bless you altogether !" 
 
 With these words she extended her arms as if to bless us, 
 • Housewife, in Swedish Hustru; that is, derivatively the house-faith or trust 
 
FSA^^SISKA WEKNEE TO MABIA M. 
 
 83 
 
 aiade a solemn greeting with tte head, and emptied her glasis 
 to the bottom. 
 
 Ebba was insolent enough to let a very genteel yawn be 
 audible, nor did she even raise her glass, but reclining back- 
 ward in the chair, closed her eyes. Jane Marie emptied 
 hers with a very becoming air, I had at the beginning of tho 
 speech difficulty to refrain from smiling at the ugly grimace a 
 which Bear continued to make, but by degrees the earnestness 
 and energy of Ma chere mere's words took hold of me, Bear 
 became still, and by the time the speech was ended our eyes 
 met, and we heartily drank to each other and to Ma chere 
 mere. 
 
 When the skal was drunk, Ma chere mere rung upon a glass 
 with a knife. The servants entered, and taking, with the 
 stifFest general's mien, the arm of Lagman Hok, she ordered 
 us to pass two and two before her — ^mustered us, as it were. 
 In passing her she clapped me on the shoulder, and said, 
 * Ton are yet the least!" (This is not true, since I have 
 measured myself with Ebba, and am half a head taller than 
 she, but Ma chere mere has pleasure in jesting with me.) 
 Ebba, however, would not arrange herself according to com- 
 mand, would walk by herself ; and in order to escape from 
 her husband, she skipped like a bird round about us, and 
 among us. Ma chere mere closed the procession with 
 Lagman Hok. 
 
 We sate chatting for some time after supper, and then Ma 
 chere mere conducted the young people to their rooms. I 
 followed, and Lars Anders also, who would not be left out 
 in anything. Ebba's good-humour continued, but it exhibited 
 itself in laughter and jests over the old-fashioned furniture ; 
 on which a<3count Ma chere mere read her a grave lecture, to 
 which the strange youug creature listened attentively, and 
 when it was ended kissed her hand and curtseyed with comics 
 humihty. She is a sweet, but totally spoiled child, and 
 appears singularly ill-calculated for the wife of the grave, quiet 
 Peter. Jane Maria, on the contrary, seemed perfectly satisfied 
 vvith everything, and remarked my flowers with delight ; in 
 fact, showing by her rational, well-bred behaviour a perfect 
 contrast to the eccentric wildness of Ebba. Ma chere mere 
 ^as in high good-humour, and jested with us aU, if not in the 
 most refined manner, yet certainly with great wit. There ifc. 
 
 3r2 
 
84 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 gometliing peculiar aoout her, which captivates every one. 1 
 observed also this evening, how, through her clear-headed, 
 unequivocal arrangements, she gives satisfaction and security 
 to all around her. Thus she immediately assigned to every 
 one of us our places, and one soon finds the advantage of 
 regulating oneself according to her rules. 
 
 Ma chere mere invited Bear and me to dine the next day 
 with the family. I was glad of it, for I wish to see them 
 intimately. I anticipate for myself a friend in Jane Marie, 
 and my heart covets female friends ; for since I have lost 
 you, Maria, I am conscious of a great want in my life, which 
 writing cannot supply ; and ff I won Jane Marie's love, I 
 should not have the less friendship for you. 
 
 But to return to the last evening, to Bear, to Eosenvik. 
 Arrived there, I imparted to him my remarks on brothers 
 and sisters-in-law. But he was so deep in one reflection, that 
 he only replied to all I said with a sigh, and the words " Poor 
 Peter!" 
 
 Somewhat impatient over the everlasting "Poor Peter!" 
 I said at length, " Well then, Peter must act wisely, like a 
 certain Bear ; he must improve his wife by kindness and 
 reason, and then he must submit himself to her tyranny." 
 Bear looked kindly at me, said pretty things to me, but then 
 after all wound up with the words " Poor Peter !" 
 
 He has a sort of hatred of Ebba ; calls her a witch, and 
 will not even admit that she is beautiful : on the contrary, 
 Jane Marie pleases him as much as she pleases me. 
 
 I go now to dress for dinner, and send you a thousand 
 kisses with my letter. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 Eosenvik, June 21st. 
 
 The dinner went off very well yesterday. Ma chere mere 
 was cheerful and kind. Ebba well-mannered, and unspeak- 
 ably lovely ; Jane Marie perfectly elegant and well-dressed ; 
 yet I could have desired a little more freedom, and have 
 wished also the large sevigne away from the forehead, for 
 nothing pleases me which overshadows the brow. Jean 
 Jacques was entertaining with his interesting relations. 
 Lagman Hok, however, poured half a caraft of water ovet 
 
FKAKSISKA WERJfER TO MARIA M. 85 
 
 tte table, which greatly embarrassed him, so much so indeed 
 that some time afterwards, when Jean Jacques was describing, 
 with great energy, a certain winged steam-carriage in which 
 people might travel through the air, to which the Lagmau 
 appeared to listen with the most fixed attention, thereby 
 animating Jean Jacques to extraordinary energy, he suddenly 
 interrupted him with the question, " Pardon me, Mr. Baron, 
 but of which caraft were you speaking?" at which Ma chere 
 mere laughed, and Jean Jacques looked annoyed. 
 
 Jean Jacques talks a great deal. To-day, I found it some- 
 what wearying, especially after dinner. At length I heard 
 only a continued hum, out of which the words — Eailroad, 
 Manchester, Tunnel, Steam-engine, Penny Magazine, alone 
 struck my ear. The more Jean Jacques described, the 
 sleepier I became, and at length he fairly gave up his un- 
 worthy listener. But a singular occurrence speedily awoke 
 me out of my drowsiness. 
 
 Ma chere mere was sitting on the sofa arranging the well- 
 used patience-cards for the blockade of Copenhagen; Lag- 
 man Hok was sitting near her, taking snuff ; Jane Marie was 
 lecturing Ebba, who had no doubt much need of it, but who 
 seemed to profit little by it ; and a young servant was hand- 
 ing about coffee, when Jean Jacques exclaimed, " Heavens 
 how like he is to Bruno !" 
 
 AH at once Ma chere mere's patience-table received a 
 blqw which sent it with the blockade of Copenhagen spinning 
 to the floor; yet no one looked at anything but Ma chere 
 mere. She at first became deadly pale, and then grew yellow. 
 The nose was contracted, the lips blue, and the breath emitted 
 with a strong hissing sound. Then raising herself, like a fer- 
 menting billow, she shook threateningly her clenched fist at 
 Jean J acques, while the eyes seemed starting wildly from her 
 head, and the slurka seemed to lift itself aloft on her hair. 
 J ean Jacques also grew pale, and drew himself back. It was 
 terrible to see her ; and I awaited, almost breathless, some 
 fearful catastrophe. But she stood as if stiffened into that 
 threatening attitude, immovable and speechless, as if under 
 the spell of a terrible enchantment, or as if some horror- 
 exciting ghost had been conjured up before her. Por a long 
 time she stood thus ; and only the wild, audible breathing 
 
THE KEIGHBOFES. 
 
 re evidence of tlie strong inward emotion, — ^rage or agony, 
 I knew not which. 
 
 Whilst I gazed npon her thns, my terror changed into 
 anguish of heart, and I was about to hasten to her when 
 Bear held me back ; and whilst he threw his arm round my 
 waist to detain me, he himself sat still and attentively ob- 
 served her. 'No one approached her ; and after a few mo- 
 ments the fearful emotion passed off by itself. The clenched 
 hand sunk ; the colour of Hfe returned to the countenance, 
 and the blue lips and her eyes grew milder ; she breathed 
 deeply several times, always lower, as if she sighed, and then, 
 without speaking a word, or even looking round on any one, 
 passed, with slow steps, from the room, closing the door after 
 her. Notwithstanding this I would have fofiowed, had not 
 Bear restrained me ; but seeing me restless and excited, he 
 took me aside, and in a few words gave an explanation of 
 this extraordinary and painful scene. 
 
 " Ma chere mere," said he, " had herself one son, called 
 Bruno." 
 
 " And is he dead ?" interrupted I, interrogatively. 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And on this account," asked I, astonished, " can his 
 name and the remembrance of him agitate her so much ?" 
 
 " Not merely on that account," he replied ; " he occa- 
 sioned her great sorrow, and everything that reminds her of 
 him, especially the pronouncing his name, agitates her thus 
 powerfully. But one must allow these outbreaks to pass 
 over unobserved ; they pass over quickest when she is left 
 entirely to herself." 
 
 " But what became of her son ?" I asked. 
 
 " It is a long history," he replied ; " I will teU you another 
 time, Fanny." 
 
 " Another time is a villain !" said I. " I hate another 
 time ! I can wait no longer than this evening, Bear." 
 
 " Well then," said he, " this evening. But we must not 
 longer stand whispering here." 
 
 As we returned to the company, we found Lagman Hok 
 yitting on the sofa at the patience-table, endeavouring to re- 
 arrange the pieces exactly as they were before they were 
 upset, that Ma chere mere^ on her return, might not, by an^ 
 
TEAIS^SISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 87 
 
 circumstance, be reminded of the scene which had just 
 occurred. "When he had succeeded in arranging the pieces, 
 he took snufF, and sneezed nine times successively, which 
 convulsed Ebba with laughter. His solicitude for Ma chere 
 mere affected me ; such attention is amiable. So ought 
 friends to have care one for another. 
 
 I beheve I have never sketched the Lagman's portrait. 
 Behold it then done hastily. He may be probably sixty 
 years of age, is thin and tall, has long feet, long hands, a 
 long neck, and a long countenance, in which traces of small- 
 pox and furrows leave no beauty, till you pass over a great 
 hooked nose, and meet with a pair of eyes which have in their 
 deep sockets a quiet, kind, and pleasant expression. They 
 remind one of the impression made upon one by the friendly 
 shimmering light seen through the windows of a hostel on a 
 cold autumn evening. He seems as if he had a peg in every 
 limb, and never did I see so long and stiff a back as his ! I 
 never can see him without wondering how he ever can be sus- 
 pected of poetical fancies. Ma chere mere, however, has 
 firm faith on this point. Eor the rest I can say little, as, 
 excepting with Ma chere mere, he seldom speaks with any 
 one. His voice, his whole demeanour, is soft ; yet, although he 
 is so quiet and silent, one can never forget that he is in the 
 room ; for, excellent man as he certainly is, he takes such an 
 immense quantity of snuff, that heaps of it lie where he has 
 been sitting. Yet, after all, there is no harm in that ! 
 
 Whilst Lagman Hok laid the patience in order, and Jane 
 Marie, Jean J acques, and I, were talking of music, Ebba had 
 opportunity to exhibit her good breeding. In the first place, 
 she drew the needles out of my stocking, overturned Lagman 
 Hok's snuff-box, and, after other misdemeanours, crept be- 
 hind Bear and Peter, who had laid their heads together in a 
 deep conversation, and sewed their coat-laps together. The 
 good brothers foreboded nothing wrong, neither did I, who, 
 wishing to take advantage of the fine weather, proposed a 
 walk, to which all consented, and both stood up, when ratsch ! 
 kratsch ! resounded it, and the two coat-laps were violently 
 torn asunder. Bear gave a desperate leap, and made the 
 most horrific of grimaces. It was impossible for me to avoid 
 xoud laughter ; and, in a paroxysm of childish delight, Ebba 
 threw herself on the sofa. Peter seemed not to know how 
 
8S 
 
 THE Is'EIGHBOrES. 
 
 to take tlie affair ; and Bear, who at first was irritated against 
 both Ebba and me, I believe, swore good-hnmouredly at us 
 both. Jane Marie shook her head, and yet laughed ; but 
 afterwards, as she sate down to her beautiful tapestry, and 
 saw that there also Ebba had been at work, she became 
 quite red, and, casting a stern glance upon her, said some- 
 thing in a very bitter tone about " unpardonable imperti- 
 nence." And, certainly, it is provoking to have a beautiful 
 piece of work so disarranged. It was easier for me to con- 
 sole myself for my drawn-out knitting needles. 
 
 "Whilst Lagman Hok sate quite still, endeavouring to col- 
 lect together his snuff, I proposed the walk anew. All as- 
 sented, excepting Ebba, who, lying negligently on the sofa, 
 declared that, as long as she remained in the country, she 
 would never set her foot out of doors ; that she abominated 
 country dust and country roads, and that green was injurious 
 to her eyes, etc. In vain we tried to persuade her ; in vain 
 Jane Marie talked to her of her childish folly. She con- 
 tinued wilfully adhering to her determination, and Peter — 
 stopped at home with her. And now, like my husband, I 
 must sigh to myself " Poor Peter!" 
 
 Lagman Hok also remained still sitting where he was, 
 probably waiting the return of his friend ; and, under pre- 
 tence of fetching a shawl, I stole to the door of Ma chere 
 mere's chamber, and listened there full of restless s^onpathy. 
 I could hear that she had violent vapours, with long spasmodic 
 yawnings, and, greatly relieved on her account, followed my 
 party on their walk. 
 
 The weather was lovely. Jean Jacques talked with his 
 brother of the new arrangements he intended to make on the 
 estate, and blamed Ma chere mere's old-fashioned manage- 
 ment ; to which the other replied by a variety of wry faces, 
 , and by puffing prodigious volumes of smoke out of his pipe. 
 
 Jane Marie and I fell into discourse on Bulwer's and Miss 
 \ Martineau's excellent novels, which gave me pleasure. I 
 found her well-read, and acquainted with several languages, 
 whereupon we agreed to read together Dante's Commedia 
 Divina. That will be charming ! 
 
 Whilst we were rejoicing on this subject, we turned into a 
 lovely wood-path by a mill, the rushing of whose waters we 
 had beard throuejh the wood, when suddenly I became aware 
 
FRAT^SISltA WERxVER TO MARIA M. SO 
 
 of an object which made me pause and pluck Bear by tlio 
 sleeve, to make him observant of the same. All stood still, 
 and looked to the left, where the sun shone upon an open 
 green space. A man of a strong, almost athletic figure, in a 
 dark, handsome riding-dress, vras passing under the oaks 
 which grew there. He passed slowly, his arms crossed over 
 his breast, and his head depressed, as if in deep thought. 
 Near, or, more correctly speaking, behind him, went a hand- 
 some, glossy black horse, whose bridle was richly set with 
 studs of silver. The rein hung loose, and the beautiful head 
 now bent itself to the grass, and now caressingly raised itself 
 to the shoulder of its master, who appeared accustomed to 
 this, and left his faithful attendant at full liberty. 
 
 "We had only a glimpse of the man's profile, for he was 
 passing from us, but it gave us the augury of a dark, gloomy 
 countenance. Thus went man and horse onward, in friendly 
 peace with each other, deeper into the wood, and vanished at 
 last from our view. But our conjectures followed him, and 
 we came to the fixed and unanimous conclusion that we had 
 seen the so-much-spoken-of mysterious neighbour at Kamm. 
 And now, whether he be called Eomulus, or Eomanus, whe- 
 ther he may justify Mrs. von P.'s romance or not, this is 
 certain, that his appearance before us, and his exterior, had a 
 truly romantic air. I confess that I am quite curious to 
 see more of him, for I am convinced that if I could only see 
 him face to face, I should immediately be able to say whether 
 he be a spy, or merely a good sort of fellow who is tired of 
 himself ; whether he be a Don Miguel or a Howard, as the 
 account we heard of him at the Dahls might lead me to 
 suspect. 
 
 When we returned to the house, after about an hour's 
 wandering, we found Ma chere mere sitting in the drawing- 
 room by her patience-table, and Lagman Hok beside her, all 
 looking as if nothing remarkable had happened, except that 
 Ma chere mere's countenance was unusually pale and grave 
 She motioned to us kindly on our entrance, but spoke with 
 no one. Tuttin gave us tea, and then Jane Marie sate down 
 to the piano, and played a heavy piece from Herz, more diffi- 
 cult, as it seemed to me, than beautiful. But how she plays ! 
 she is a perfect mistress of the piano ; the only pity is, that 
 she has no voice, else we would sing together ; but, however, 
 
90 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 she can accompany me. I am fortunate in htcving her for a 
 sister-in-law: what a difference between her and Ebba , 
 Ebba, however, through the whole of the evening was 
 amiable, excepting that she insisted on everybody dancing, 
 and as nobody showed an inclination for this, she began to 
 dance by herself in the next room, and sang the while very 
 prettily. Peter devoured her with his eyes ; and I wondered 
 not at it, for she is a little Grace, when she is gentle and 
 good-humoured. Partly to please her, and partly led by a 
 secret desire for dancing myself, I enticed, after a few 
 minutes, company to her. "We led in Jean Jacques, and at 
 last Peter, and danced for a while in the gaiety of our hearts, 
 to her indescribable joy. 
 
 But in a while the gentlemen grew tired and left us, and 
 then Ebba, seating herself in a corner of the sofa near me, 
 began to tell of all the balls of the former winter which she 
 had attended in Stockholm, and how she was dressed, and 
 how often, especially by this person and the other, she was 
 engaged to dance, till an irresistible fit of yawning seized 
 me, and would soon have conducted me to the arms of sleep, 
 had not an overloud talking in the ante-room made me in- 
 terrupt Ebba's discourse, in order to hasten there. 
 
 Ma chere mere played Boston, with Jane Marie, Lagman 
 Hok, and Bear ; and was now angry with Jane Marie, who, 
 as I suppose, played better than I, and some way or other 
 had made Ma chere mere bete. I only heard the words^ 
 " How can you think of not following, when you have four 
 trumps and the king of spades in hand ?" 
 
 " I don't think of following," replied Jane Marie, in a 
 tone of vexation, " when I see that I cannot make my 
 play." 
 
 " And on that account I am to become bete," said Ma 
 chere mere, angrily ; " and I was renonce in clubs, and you 
 in diamonds !" 
 
 They were quite at strife ; but this scene was interrupted 
 by the entrance of the book-keeper, who came in to complain 
 of two stable boys, who refused to obey his commands. Ma 
 chere mere allowed him to state distinctly the nature of hia 
 commands, and the refusal of the boys ; and as this evidenced 
 great frowardness on their parts, her countenance becamo 
 severe, and she started hastily. Jean Jacques stood up 
 
FEAJs'SlSEA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 01 
 
 also ; but she motioned him down again, went out, and re- 
 turned ahnost immediately in her Januarius and cap, and, 
 accompanied by the complainant, went off with great strides 
 for the stable. 
 
 " How has it gone asked Bear, as in about ten minutes 
 she returned, apparently refreshed by the rectification. 
 
 " How can it be other than right ?" returned she, cheer- 
 fully. " I gave them a good blowing-up ; thus they perceive 
 whereabouts they are, and then I should like to see if they 
 would dare to disobey : — for the rest, there was no dangei 
 with the people : Tannerstrom is too easy, and that he must 
 be told too. But so it is ; — all would use the axe, but no* 
 body fetch the handle; all would be masters, but nobody 
 will bear the burden." 
 
 Supper was announced ; and she was, as usual, the most 
 polite and active of hosts. All trace of the afternoon'^ 
 scene had vanished. 
 
 Late in the evening, as we were once more in our quiet 
 home, T asked and received from Bear the following explana- 
 tion of the circumstance which disturbed Ma chere mere's 
 peace, and here you have, as nearly as possible in his own 
 words, a strange and dark history. 
 
 " Ma chere mere had, by Greneral Mansfelt, one only son, 
 who was called Bruno, after his father. His birth nearly 
 cost the life of the mother, and that which she had bought 
 so dearly was more precious to her than life itself. More 
 than once had she been seen on her knees by his cradle, as 
 if worshipping him. Many a night, when a slight indispo- 
 sition has made his sleep restless, she sate and watched 
 silently by him. She suckled him herself ; — scarcely would 
 permit any one beside herself to nurse him, scarcely to touch 
 him. He slept in her bosom, he rested on her knee ; her 
 arms were his world, and they encircled with undying love 
 the early despotic and wild boy, who yet, on his side, hung 
 on her neck with passionate tenderness, and seemed to find 
 rest nowhere but upon her bosom. It was beautiful to see 
 them together. They were the lioness and her cub, who, 
 in a union of savage streng-th and deep tenderness, combat 
 together and caress at the same time. Thus the relation be- 
 tween mother and son was extraordinary, and sometimes 
 hostile, e^en from the cradle. One day, as she laid him, a 
 
92 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 child of but nine months old, to her breast, either ia hunger 
 or passion he bit her severely with his young coming teeth. 
 Transported with the pain, the mother gave him a blow. 
 The child let go the breast, and refused from that moment 
 ever to take it again. He was weaned; for the mother 
 could not tolerate the idea of his being nourished with the 
 milk of a nurse. Afterwards, in his eighth year, as she 
 would have given him a well-deserved correction, he turned 
 like a young lion, and struck her. 
 
 " Still, in the midst of scenes which exhibited ungovern- 
 able character, instances almost daily occurred which showed 
 unlimited power of self-sacrifice. She threw herself between 
 him and every danger ; he would kiss the very traces of her 
 feet. When they met, even after a short separation, it was 
 ever with an outbreak of the warmest love ; still the next 
 moment, perhaps, they would be at strife with each other. 
 This state of feeling increased with years. Both were of 
 the same powerful, determined character. They seemed 
 unable to live either together or apart. 
 
 " It would have been impossible to find anywhere a hand- 
 somer boy than Bruno ; and yet, although the mother wor- 
 shipped him in her heart, her sense of justice was so strict 
 that she never, not even in the slightest instance, favoured 
 him to his step-brothers' disadvantage. Never, if he de- 
 served punishment, was he spared before them ; never had a 
 preference shown to him in regard of pleasure or reward. 
 In no way had he the advantage of them, excepting in the 
 caresses of his mother. 
 
 " We were all brought up with severity ; and as regards 
 money, were too scantily supplied. Eor myself I always had 
 an inclination towards economy ; nevertheless I was com- 
 pelled to have recourse to my own innocent industry to sup- 
 
 {)ly myself with postage-money, or the means to obtain any 
 ittle outlay which Ma chere mere considered superfluous. 
 Hence I became, in secret, a carpenter. 
 
 " Bruno was naturally extravagant, and prone to dissipa- 
 tion, and very early, in order to gratify his palate, or to ap- 
 pease his thirst for pleasure, resorted to less innocent means. 
 He purloined what he could not obtain voluntarily, first 
 from his brothers, then from the domestics. But no one 
 tlared to punish him for this, or to represent it to his mother 
 
TRAIS^SISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 93 
 
 for tlie fiery -tempered boy, giffced with almost herculean 
 strength, had obtained great power over his brothers, and 
 was feared not only by them, but by all the household. He 
 was beloved by none, excepting by me. I cannot exactly say 
 what it was in him which captivated me so. I admired his 
 great natural abilities ; his wild and witty tricks often de- 
 coyed me to smile, at the same time that I was compelled to 
 blame ; but what operated most upon me was, that he really 
 liked me." 
 
 Bear said this with an agitated voice, remained silent a few 
 moments, and then continued : 
 
 " I must do him the justice, however, to say, that he never 
 was disobedient if people spoke to him with reason and mild- 
 ness. More than once he abandoned at my request un- 
 worthy pursuits, or wept bitterly at my representations, at 
 the same time that he confessed his unfortunate first steps 
 in the path of vice. 
 
 " But I was at this time seldom at home. Much older 
 than he, I had finished my academical life as he began his, 
 and was almost always from home in the pursuit of my 
 medical profession. 
 
 " The influence which a child, a little girl, had over Bruno 
 from his thirteenth to his sixteenth year was very extraor- 
 dinary. This was that Serena Lofwen with whom you were 
 so greatly pleased the other day in the city. She was at 
 that time a lovely, quiet, but sickly child. Ma chere mere, 
 who had always a great esteem for Madame Dahl, prevailed 
 upon her for three years to bring her during the summer 
 months to Eamm, in order, partly by the water of a mineral 
 spring and partly by the fresh country air, to improve 
 Serena's health. The little angel-like child interested the 
 wild Bruno, and it was wonderful to see what constraint he 
 had over himself, and of what self-denial he was capable on 
 her account ; how he left all, to carry her out into the woods 
 about Eamm ; to caress her, or to sit quietly by and watch 
 her while she slept. On holidays, or whenever he had a 
 holiday, he went wandering forth early in the morning mth 
 a basket of eatables in his hand and Serena on his arm, and 
 seldom were the two seen again before evening. All this 
 improved Serena's health, and softened the temper of Bruno. 
 One prayer from her childish lips, or her tears, were to him a 
 
9\i THE !^ETOnBOUES. 
 
 more effectual incentive than all the commands of his mother 
 or of his teachers. 
 
 If this bias of Bruno's had been taken advantage of— - 
 the violent repressed, and the gentle yielded to — I am con- 
 vinced that he would have become a good and distinguished 
 man. But his tutor, a person of rigid, unbending character, 
 and still more his mother, seemed to have resolved only to 
 make use of power in the subjection of his undisciplined 
 will. 
 
 " All this time Ma chere mere foreboded not how perilous 
 was the course which Bruno was pursuing, and I myself 
 knew nothing which I should have feared so much as her 
 making the discovery — she, so proud, so sensitive on every 
 point of honour, so rigid in her principles and her whole 
 moral conduct ! Bruno's great beauty, his remarkable abili- 
 ties and natural talents ; his expertness in all bodily exer- 
 cises, his courage, nay, even his overbearing strength, con- 
 stituted her pride, and made her eyes sparkle with delight at 
 his approach, or even at the very speaking of his name. To 
 have heard anything dishonourable of him must have been a 
 death-blow to her. Bruno, too, had pride and sense of 
 honour, and the approbation of his mother was especially 
 important to him; but his violent passions, and his in- 
 ability to govern them, drew him perpetually into guilty 
 conduct. 
 
 " But now came a time in which I passed several summer 
 months at E-amm, and in which, from what I saw of him, I 
 hoped he had abandoned his evil courses. Bruno had been 
 confirmed in the spring, and now appeared unusually mild 
 and thoughtful. The connexion between him and his mother 
 seemed more peaceful and affectionate than ever. I hoped 
 that Bruno had turned back for ever from his errors. He 
 himself said the same thing to me. But I could not help 
 soon observing that he had his own private expenses, and 
 those to an extent far greater than his own means ought to 
 have allowed. For some time I had been in a condition to 
 assist him with money, and had hoped by this means to re- 
 strain him, and prevent its application to improper purposes. 
 He frequently requested money from me, and I furnished 
 him with as much as was in my power ; but one day he r(^« 
 Quested so laroje a sum as astonished me, I refused ; in £aet, 
 
TEAls^SISKA WEEKER TO MARIA M. 
 
 05 
 
 I could not do otherwise, and at the same time reproved hira 
 for tliis extravagance. Bruno was silent, but ground his 
 teeth angrily, and left me. This was the last day we were 
 to spend at home together. On the following we were both 
 
 to set out, he for the University, and I for S . That 
 
 forenoon he went to the city to take leave of the old Dahls, 
 and of his little bride, as he called Serena. He was not ex- 
 pected back tiU evening. 
 
 " Immediately after dinner the book-keeper announced 
 with great agitation that a large sum of money, which that 
 very morning he had placed in his desk, was gone, and that 
 he must suspect the thief to be one of the household, as no 
 one but those accustomed to the house knew where he was 
 in the habit of keeping his money. 
 
 " It was the first time, as Ma chere mere believed, that 
 such a circumstance had occurred in the house. She took up 
 the affair with the greatest warmth, and immediately under* 
 took a domiciliary search. 
 
 " Accompanied by the book-keeper and two of her oldest 
 and most faithful servants, she went through the whole house, 
 searched every corner, and examined all her domestics with 
 the greatest severity ; even the oldest servants were com- 
 pelled to submit to the search. As nothing was discovered 
 anywhere, not even the slightest trace which could lead to 
 suspicion. Ma chere mere began to think that probably the 
 informer himself might be the thief; and the possessions of 
 ':he young book-keeper, and even the clothes which he wore, 
 ;vere subjected to a yet more severe scrutiny than those of 
 the others had been. 
 
 " This young man was a personal enemy of Bruno ; and 
 whether he really suspected him, or whether he spoke in the 
 bitterness which Ma chere mere's proceedings towards him 
 awakened, I know not, but he said with bitter chagrin, ' Tour 
 ladyship may perhaps find nearer home that which you seek!" 
 
 " 'What do you mean?' demanded she with an awful 
 glance. 
 
 " * Yes,' replied the irritated man, ' that your ladyship may 
 find with your own flesh and blood, that for which you have 
 unjustly cast suspicions on innocent persons !' 
 
 " ' Man, you he !' exclaimed Ma chere mere, pale with 
 ra£:e, seizings him and shaking him by the arm. 
 
96 
 
 THE ^^EiaflBOUBS. 
 
 " * I will be a liar/ still more excited and almost furious, 
 the other returned, * if one of your own sons be not a thief!' 
 
 " * Follow me !' said she ; and with flashing eyes and pale 
 cheeks she betook herself, accompanied by the book-keeper 
 and the two old servants, into our chamber. 
 
 " I had been out, and had only just returned and been in- 
 formed of that which had occurred, as Ma chere mere with 
 her attendants entered. I cannot describe the sensation 
 which I felt at that moment : a foreboding of the true fact 
 passed through me ; I became pale, and involuntarily seated 
 myself on Bruno's travelling-chest, which stood by mine, 
 ready packed for the journey. Ma chere mere looked at me 
 with a penetrating glance, started, and became yet paler. 
 After this she said, with a firm voice, to me and my brothers, 
 who had also come into the room — 
 
 " * My sons ! For the honour of the house you must sub- 
 mit to the same search to which all the rest in the family 
 have been subjected. I need not tell you that all this is 
 merely pro forma, and that I am convinced of your innocence.' 
 
 " With this she cast upon me a glance which was at that 
 time inexplicable to me, and passing over my chest went and 
 sought among my brother's things. After this she returned 
 to the room and opened my packed-up chest. Everything 
 
 had no right there ; and at the bottom of all they found my 
 carpenter's tools. When all had been examined, Ma chere 
 mere cast upon me a glance full of maternal love and joy. 
 Alas ! she had had suspicions of me — of the thoughtful man, 
 rather than the wild youth ! now she raised her head, and one 
 could read, in her strong expressive countenance, ' Thank 
 God ! Now I am easy.' 
 
 " * Now then, there are only the things of the young Baron 
 left,' said one of the old servants respectfully, ' but the chest 
 is locked ; and besides this, it is not necessary.' 
 
 " * That may be,' exclaimed Ma chere mere, ^ but he must 
 fare like the rest. The box shall be broken open.' 
 
 " * But the young Baron — is not at home,' said the servant 
 anxiously ; ' we cannot- ' 
 
 " * His mother commands it,' said she, warmly. 
 
 " It was done. 
 
 " With her own hand the mother took out books 
 
 Nothing was found which 
 
FRANSISKA WEBNEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 97 
 
 clotbes, wliicli liad been thrown in in great disorder. Presently 
 the hand was withdrawn, as if it had been burned by red-hot 
 iron ; she had stumbled upon a bundle of notes. It was the 
 jiissmg money. She took it out ; turned it about in her 
 hand ; examined it, as if she could not believe her own eyes ; 
 grew paler and paler ; and then a cry of inexpressible anguish 
 rose from her breast : ' My blood !' exclaimed she, * my own 
 flesh and blood !' and she sank without a sigh as if lifeless to 
 the floor. 
 
 " We carried her out ; and our exertions at length recalled 
 her to consciousness. Terrible was her awaking. But she 
 shed no tear, uttered no word of anger or complaint. She 
 appeared strong and determined. 
 
 " She sent immediately to Provost Ehen, the rector of the 
 parish. He was a man of iron ; stern, strong, and one ready 
 for law to combat with word or deed ; and more than this, he 
 was an honest and faithful friend of Ma chere mere. To him 
 she confided that which had occurred, and they two decided 
 the steps which should be taken. I anticipated what was 
 designed, and made use of the influence which I had some- 
 times with Ma chere mere, to induce her to resort to less 
 severe, or, at least, less violent measures. But all my repre- 
 sentations were useless. She merely answered, ' Unj)unished 
 crime brings more in time. Bitter must be atoned for by 
 bitter.' 
 
 " In the evening, about the time when Bruno was expected 
 to return, myself, my three brothers, the old servants, and 
 the book-keeper, were ordered into Ma chere mere's apart- 
 ment. It was only dimly lighted ; and there, in the gloomy 
 dusky room, with Provost Ehen beside her, sat, in a tall arm- 
 chair, Bruno's mother; upon whose countenance might be 
 read the sorrow which she bore in her heart. But over 
 sorrow, and shame, and anger, there prevailed stern deter- 
 mination such as I never before had seen in a human counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " Thus then was assembled that small but fearful court of 
 judgment, before which Bruno was to be cited. Here we 
 awaited him, a terrible hour. No one spoke. I saw, in that 
 dull light, the drops of cold sweat, like Beads, on the brow of 
 that unhappy mother. 
 
 " It was an eveniug at the end of September. Without, it 
 
98 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 was already stormy, and a gusty wind shook the casements. 
 One moment it was still, and in that moment we heard the 
 fiery clatter of a horse's hoofs on the court pavement. I saw 
 Ma chere mere tremble. I had never seen it before. I heard 
 a dismal rattling — not of the casements — but of teeth, as 
 they chatted together. My brothers wept. The old servants 
 stood dumb, and with downcast glances : an expression of 
 remorse was on the countenance of the book-keeper, and even 
 the iron-souled Provost seemed gasping for breath. 
 
 " The door was quickly opened, and Bruno stepped in. I 
 see him this moment, as if he stood before me. He was warm 
 from riding, and from the storm ; full of health and fire ; I 
 never saw him handsomer ! He came to his mother, longing, 
 as he always did, even after only a day's absence, to throw 
 himself into her arms. But already at the door he paused, 
 started, and threw a terrified glance on his mother. She 
 covered her face with her hands. Bruno grew pale, looked 
 round upon us, and then again upon his mother. She cast a 
 flashing glance upon him, and his countenance fell before it ; 
 he bowed his head, he became yet paler and paler, he stood 
 there — a criminal ! 
 
 "At that moment the voice of his mother was heard, 
 awfully severe, accusing him of the theft ; and pointing to his 
 rifled chest and to the money which had been found in it, she 
 demanded his confession. 
 
 " Bruno acknowledged himself guilty, with an inconceivably 
 bold haughtiness. 
 
 " ' Fall upon your knees and receive your punishment !' 
 said the stern judge. But Bruno stood immovable. A con- 
 sciousness which, after the first moment of his haughty con- 
 fession, seemed to have deprived him of all volition over- 
 whelmed him. He stood pale as death, his head dropped upon 
 his breast, his eyes rivetted to the ground. 
 
 " Provost Bhen approached him. ' Young man,' said he, 
 in a low voice, ^ you have grievously sinned against the com- 
 mands of God, and against your mother. Acknowledge your 
 guilt, and submit to your punishment !' 
 
 " Bruno stood there stupified and silent. The Provost, 
 taking his silence for consent, began to read, in a strong 
 solemn voice, the customary questions of church penance, 
 Bruno stood yet immovaoie ; apparently without hearing or 
 
FHANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 99 
 
 st'omg anything. But now inquired the Provost, with a 
 severe tone, ' Dost thou not know that by thy crime thou 
 hast not only grievously offended against God, but hast oc- 
 casioned scandal in His community ?' 
 
 " These words seemed to rouse Bruno from his lethargy. 
 He raised his head proudly ; a fiery glance shot from his 
 eyes, but he made no reply, 
 
 " Once more the question was repeated, and he yet 
 remained silent, 
 
 " Ma chere mere raised herself. ' Fall upon your knees, 
 sinner !' exclaimed she, in an awful voice. 
 
 " Bruno cast a dark and threatening glance upon her. So 
 also looked she upon him. ' I wall not !' at length said he in 
 a tone of defiance, ' What has this priest to do with me ? I 
 have not desired him. If he be here about confessions of 
 guilt — others may come in question as well as I ! Exasperate 
 me not — or ' 
 
 " * Silence!' said Ma chere mere, gloomily, *and answer 
 only to my question. Acknowledge you yourself to be alone 
 guilty of this theft ?* 
 
 " Bruno was silent, and cast a dark glance upon his mother. 
 
 " * Answer !' said she, hastily, * answ^er ! Is there any 
 partner with you in this guilt ?' 
 
 " Bruno cast another long look on his mother ; and then 
 with a firm voice said, * No ! I alone am guilty.' 
 
 " * Bow down your knee, then, unhappy one !' said she, 
 *Tour mother, whom you have covered with shame, com- 
 mands you to endure the dishonour which you have deserved. 
 Fall down!' 
 
 " Bruno stamped his foot in wild rage, clenched his fist, 
 and darted a furious defying glance at her. 
 
 " ' Compel him down, force him down, you people !' cried 
 Ma chere mere, in terrible anger : ' Priest, if thou art a man, 
 bow the disobedient, degenerate son to the earth. Make 
 him humble himself before the commands of the Lord.' 
 
 " I was about to step betw^een them ; but already had the 
 Provost laid his strong hands on Bruno's shoidders ; in the 
 same moment they were flung off again with a violence whicii 
 whirled the Provost completely round. 
 
 " ' Layest thou hands on the servant of the Lord !' ex- 
 claimed the Provost in a frenzy of rage, forgetting himselt, 
 
 o2 
 
100 
 
 THE NEiaHBOTTBS. 
 
 and seizing Bruno with a sinewy grasp. But Bruno had the 
 strength and elasticity of fche lion ; and, after a short struggle, 
 
 the Provost lay stretched on the ground. 
 
 " ' Seize him ! hold him !' exclaimed Ma chere mere, beside 
 herself for anger. 
 
 " The book-keeper and my brother, who attempted to hold 
 him, soon lay by the Provost ; and then Bruno, starting back 
 a few paces, seized a staff which stood in a corner of the room, 
 and swinging it over his head, made it resound, and with the 
 expression of mad frenzy on his countenance menaced each 
 and all who should dare to approach him. 
 
 " No one dared to do so — except his mother. * Bemain 
 where you are,' said she to the others ; and then, with firm 
 steps and quiet mien, she approached him, laid her hand 
 upon his head, bowed him down before her, and asked in a 
 voice which made the blood freeze in my veins, whether he 
 would submit himself to her will, or — receive her curse ? 
 
 " Mother and son looked at each other with eyes of flame 
 and defiance. Por a long time they stood thus. Again she 
 repeated the question ; and then followed terrible words on 
 both sides. Again all was still. The curse-speaking lips 
 became stiff, the haughty glances dimmed. Mother and son 
 both sank in a deep swoon. 
 
 Both were carried to their separate chambers " 
 
 Bear paused here. "Oh, horrible! horrible!" exclaimed 
 1, shuddering, and laid my head upon his shoulder. 
 
 Bear was pale and silent for a moment, during which his 
 f'yes w^ere fixed. Then continued he : " They returned to 
 consciousness, but did not see each other again that evening. 
 I sought to speak with him ; but he affected to be sleeping, 
 and I at length returned to my chamber. 
 
 " In the night, when all was dark and still, we heard sud- 
 denly a wild, prolonged, and thrilling cry from his room. I 
 sprang up and hastened there. Bruno's mother was standing 
 there alone, with a wild and agitated look. Bruno was gone ! 
 The open window seemed to indicate that he had made his 
 escape that way, although a descent from a height like that 
 appeared almost incredible. Yet it was so. Bruno fled that 
 night from his mother's roof, and never returned. We never 
 iieard tidings of him. All inquiries were vain — Bruno was 
 irone, as if cut out from the number of the living. Seventeeu 
 
FKANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA. M. 
 
 101 
 
 years have passed since this unhappy time, and we have 
 discovered not the least trace of his life. We therefore 
 believe his death probable. 
 
 " In his flight Bruno took not the least thing with him, 
 excepting the clothes he wore and some papers. On his 
 table lay a sheet of paper whereon were the foUowing words, 
 addressed to me, and vrritten in evident haste : 
 
 " * I have met severity with scorn, might with might ; and 
 this has made me appear more criminal than I truly am. 
 But before you, brother, who have never been severe or un- 
 reasonable towards me — before you who, as I believe, love me 
 — will I not appear worse than I am. Hear me then — for 
 this is the last time — this last theft (and J had sworn that 
 it should be the last) was not entirely a theft. The day 
 after to-morrow the money would have been restored. If 
 you will convince yourself of this, speak with Mr. E. in "W. 
 
 The money was not for myself, but for the unfort ; but 
 
 what does it signify ? My mother refused me a loan — and 
 now I took only of that which at one time would be mine — 
 it was discovered, and she — she must bear the consequences 
 of that which has happened and may yet happen. 
 
 ' Farewell for ever, 
 
 ' Bruno.* 
 
 " Ma chere mere tore the paper out of my hand, and read 
 the contents. ' He has stolen more than once, then,' said 
 she passionately. ' I have then brought a thief into the 
 world !' She tore the letter into a thousand pieces. 
 
 " From this moment she spoke not one word for three 
 years. She shut herself in her ovm room, which w^as dar- 
 kened ; would endure neither light nor the sight of man ; ate 
 and drank but little ; slept scarcely at all ; spoke with none ; 
 and no one, with the exception of Elsa, ventured to speak 
 with her. When any of us against her commands were bold 
 enough to approach her, she either fell into violent rage and 
 showed the intruder out, or sate immovable, with her hands 
 before her face, obstinately silent, and deaf to all our en- 
 treaties. 
 
 " LagmanHok, in the mean time, in association with Provost 
 Ehen, managed her affairs. In the hands of these honour- 
 able men they were safe. A skilful overseer, acquainted 
 nith the place, farmed the estate under their inspection 
 
102 
 
 THE KEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 But as Ma cliere mere's hjrpochondriacal condition had al- 
 ready continued so long, and threatened a still longer con- 
 tinuance, I determined, after counselling with these friends, 
 to call her own family together, and in conjunction with 
 them to consider and determine what was best to be done 
 both for the present and the future. 
 
 " This family meeting took place at Eamm, in October, 
 18 — , three years after Bruno's flight. One day, as we sate 
 together in the. great hall, busily occupied by our council, 
 the door was suddenly opened, and Ma chere mere entered ; 
 lofty, quiet, collected, and more respect-inspiring than ever. 
 She addressed the assembly in her customary strong, solemn 
 manner; said that she knew the object of their meeting; 
 justified it on account of her long sickness ; but declared the 
 Congress to be now dissolved, because she felt herself again 
 in perfect health, and again in a condition to regulate, as 
 before, her family and her property. She returned thanks 
 to all her friends with an earnestness that affected all, for 
 their assistance and for the patience which they had shown 
 towards her, whom the Lord had so severely smitten. Next, 
 she bade her relations all kindly welcome, prayed them to 
 remain yet longer, and to be as cheerful and happy at Bamm 
 as formerly. 
 
 " It is diflB.cult to describe the effect which this scene pro- 
 duced upon the assembly. Admiration, esteem, and sympa- 
 thy were the feelings of most : for myself, I felt sincere joy, 
 for T really loved Ma chere mere. 
 
 " To gratify her wishes, the family remained there a few 
 days. But all gaiety had vanished from Bamm, and Ma * 
 chere mere, though strong and domineering as ever, went 
 about like the shadow of what she had formerly been. Her 
 complexion was changed ; her hair become perfectly grey ; 
 her handsome, hitherto so animated countenance bore traces 
 of the most painful sufferings ; and she, who formerly was so 
 cheerful, had become gloomy and thoughtful. She now wore 
 always a dark grey dress, and rejected all ornaments At 
 intervals too she had attacks of deep melancholy, and would 
 Bit silent for hours, her face covered with her hands. 
 
 "The first use which Ma chere mere made of her re-esta- 
 blished self-government, was to remove from Bamm to Carl». 
 fora. Shortly thereafter she sold the first-mentioned estate; 
 
TKANSISKA TVEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 103 
 
 slie seemed to regard Bruno as dead, never named him, and 
 could bear nothing which reminded her of him. The old 
 servants were dismissed with pensions ; she formed an 
 entirely new household. Elsa alone remained of all her 
 former domestics. 
 
 " Time passed on, and by degrees the dark melancholy 
 seemed to leave her, and now for the last several years Ma 
 chere mere appears to have resumed her former life-enjoying 
 existence. Only one must carefully avoid touching the 
 wounded heart, which never can be perfectly healed in this 
 world. 
 
 i " Bruno's flight made a great noise in the country, but 
 Ma chere mere was so honoured and beloved by her do- 
 mestics, that the disgraceful occasion of his flight was never 
 knoTvn publicly. Many uncertain reports were soon spread, 
 but people all adopted the opinion that incompatibility of 
 temper in mother and son had been the one sole cause of this 
 violent separation. And in fact it was so. 
 
 " Another mode of treatment, from childhood upward, 
 would probably have made Bruno's fate different to what it 
 was. But now — unfortunate Bruno ! — I must always lament 
 and pity him." So concluded Bear, with a tear and a deep 
 sigh. _ 
 
 This history saddened indeed my spirit, but I confess that 
 it has given Ma chere mere a much higher interest in my 
 eyes. I perceive now, in the depths of her being, the wounded 
 and bleeding heart of a mother ; and her misfortune was 
 greater than her fault. I felt myself nearer to her ; and it 
 seems to me as if I loved her better. 
 
 22nd. 
 
 I wish now to send off this packet of letters, yet I must 
 just say before it goes that I am here now as a mock widow. 
 
 Bear has taken a journey with Peter to Gr , to arrange 
 
 some money matters. Bear, during his twenty years' prac- 
 tice, has saved a pretty little property; which, by Peter's 
 advice, he is now gone to invest in the great trading-house of 
 
 L . During this time, therefore, I rule and reign in 
 
 solitary state over Bosenvik, the cabriolet and the horse c 
 Bear desired me frequently to use these latter in conveying 
 me to Carlsfors ; and Peter besought me in -a very friendly 
 manner to look after his little Ebba. I shall fulfil thei 
 
104 
 
 THE NEIGHBOtJEB. 
 
 wishes ; although I would just now much rather re mail], at 
 home, in my own beloved home, and see my peas ii: blossom. 
 
 At the end of next week we are to receive a visitor at 
 B/Osenvik, the prospect of which makes me a little anxious. 
 It is the young Baron SteUan S., son of the late Marschall 
 of the Court, S., who was an intimate friend of Bear's youth. 
 Bear is this young man's guardian, and is attached to him 
 not only on his father's account, but on his own also. This 
 young Stellan S. is gentleman of the bedchamber ; handsome, 
 rich, and full of talent. AU this is not so very terrible, 
 certainly ; still, from much that I have heard of his elegance, 
 his toilet, his style, I am not quite easy about entertaining so 
 fine a gentleman in my small and but modestly supplied 
 house. I cannot see, for my part, how he is to be amused ; 
 and yet I w^ish most sincerely that every friend of my husbanti 
 should find his house agreeable. 
 
 But all can go on as it may, only how will it go on with 
 my romance ? I find no intrigues, no entanglements, con- 
 sequently no disentanglements ; I get only new persons. 
 How am I to unravel aU these ? how keep the threads to- 
 gether without a perfect jumble ? And now again two new 
 characters; — the brilliant Stellan S. and the mysterious 
 EomiUy ; it makes me quite out of breath, how will it fare 
 with my romance ? 
 
 But let it turn out as it may, I remain your 
 
 Feansiska. 
 
 a strange lady to the beader. 
 I hope, worthy Eeader, that this will reach thee in good 
 health and good humour. I hope, such being the case, that 
 thou wilt excuse it if now and then the letter of a gentleman 
 should slip in among those of a young married lady,- and 
 that thou wdU not take it altogether amiss if an unmarried 
 lady occasionally should take up her pen in order to converse 
 with thee. AU this is merely that thou mayest have less 
 trouble ; and, in fact, I do not otherwise know how thou, 
 dear Eeader, an^ the young wife, would ever be able to. un- 
 ravel aU this abont the Neighbours. 
 
 I remain, my Eeader, 
 With the greatest esteem for thee, 
 
 A Strange Ladt. 
 
BRUI^O MAlfSfELT TO AKTONIO DE E. 
 
 105 
 
 BBUNO MANSFELT TO ANTONIO DE R . 
 
 Kamm, Midsummer evening, 18^ 
 
 Here I am again ; here where I was born, where I played 
 and loved, as a boy and as a youth. Between then and now 
 
 lies a sea, a sea fidl of but nevertheless I am once more 
 
 here. The oaks are as green as ever ; the mountain peak is 
 as high, the clouds pass over as they did hitherto. Feelings, 
 thoughts, actions, are also clouds : — they come, they go — 
 space swallows them up — swallows ? — No, something of them 
 remains behind. 1 feel that too well ! 
 
 I have ascended to the summit of the mountain, and stood 
 where I stood as a boy ; where I stood with panting breast 
 and saw the sea- waves lashed into foam by the winds, and 
 the blue mountains raise themselves from the opposite shore, 
 and whence my forebodings, my aspirings and my longings, 
 fled forth far beyond. I stood by the self-same fir-tree — it 
 had now outgrown me, although its roots strike into the 
 rock. A heap of stones lay beneath. I was acquainted with 
 it. The boy had built a pyramid upon the mountain-top, 
 and had planted there his banner of freedom. The pyramid 
 was thrown down, but the man stood there now, and thought 
 of the work of the boy and smiled — a bitter smile. I have 
 wandered about in the wood — in the fields and on the sea- 
 shore ; I have sought out many particular places, and woke 
 many remembrances. The stormy appears to me calm, the 
 guilty innocent. Ton may Imagine how this is. I have 
 lived my spring-time over again ; I have enjoyed, I have 
 wept — it was delight ! 
 
 Now it is evening, and all around me is still. I also have 
 a moment's rest, like the ash-leaf which lately blown by the 
 wind struck lightly on the casement ; like the falcon which 
 lately flew circling over the meadow. The mist now lies 
 white and transparent over the green earth, and over reposing 
 human beings. I hear the monotonous song of the moor 
 birks, than which I know nothing sweeter. By this song I 
 slept every summer evening, with my face turned towards 
 heaven, which was then rosy as now, and saw the clouds 
 become more golden and more bright, the deeper the sun 
 Bunk — as it is with the actions of a noble life when this ifl 
 Bunk in the deep. Oh ! 
 
106 
 
 I HE NEIGHB0rU5. 
 
 And then as my eyes closed themselves, and pictures oi 
 life began to float in dreams, then ever drew near — ^then 
 every, every evening came some one to my bed, and kind 
 hands drew around shoulders and breast the covering which 
 I had negligently thrown off; — a warm caressing breath then 
 passed over my cheeks. I knew well who waR near me, it 
 was — my mother ! O how every fibre of my soul thrills and 
 palpitates at this adored yet terrible name — my mother ! 
 She was a handsome and noble lady. I was proud to name 
 myself her son. Sometimes I have suddenly thrown off the 
 covering which she had so carefully laid over me, and with 
 one spring fallen on her breast, embraced and kissed her as 
 I never kissed any beloved one. And she clasped me in her 
 arms — that — that was love ! Sometimes, too, I lay still, 
 pretending to sleep, and then I have seen her fall on her 
 knees by my couch. She prayed — prayed for me! How 
 have those prayers been answ^ered ! 
 
 I have had the apartments here repaired and furnished. 
 I did not wish that the place should too closely resemble 
 what it was. I feared lest the apparition of a child in the 
 white dress of innocence should present itself to me. The 
 sleeping-room of my mother only I have left unchanged. I 
 have not been into it. I could not. It is kept locked. 
 
 After this, will you acknowledge me again ? Will you not 
 lament over me as having become weak and pusillanimous ? 
 Hear me ! I am rejoiced to feel myself again human. I 
 am glad that no death-in-life quiet has petrified my heart. 
 Still, as long as I live no sentiment shall weaken or depress 
 me, even though it came from the abyss ; no joy and no 
 pain ! 
 
 I know only too well that I never can be happy ; peace is 
 not for me : I can never forget ; nevertheless — I can bear. 
 But I will bear alone that which I alone have merited. 
 Many a tone can life wake in my breast, but never that of 
 complaint. I defy both the world and sufiering ! — Beyond 
 this, too, man can always cease to be, when he finds that 
 miserable jugglery called " life" too heavy for him. Some- 
 times I think " perhaps it will mend — perhaps the yet bright 
 day may efface the shadows of the past ; perhaps the storm 
 may be hushed, and these lamenting and mourning voices die 
 aw ay i Time, rural occupation, custom, and perhaps domestic 
 
BEUNO MAysrELT TO AlS'TOIflO H. 
 
 107 
 
 happiness " You smile, Antonio. I smile also at such 
 
 chilttish dreams. It may be ; but at all events, like a watcher, 
 I look out for something — perhaps, after all, only for a 
 dream. 
 
 Did you ever hear of a man who sought after his shadow ? 
 He had lost it, and it never prospered with him afterwards 
 in this world. I am that man ! I seek my lost shadow. 1 
 seek after esteem ; after a consideration in that place where 
 I at first violated the law. I will win the civic wreath there, 
 and will atone by beneficence for early misdeeds. Can it be r 
 In the eye of the world, yes ! but with the judge in one's own 
 breast ? One thing, however, I will obtain, for without t]^ 
 obtaining of that everything else is nothing. Should this 
 be refused to me, I will once more leave the land of my child- 
 hood, go once more into the wide world and be — cursed ! 
 Why was Cain's brow stamped by Heaven with eternal 
 unrest ? He was cursed hy his mother ! I know how Cain 
 felt. I also was cursed by my mother, and am without rest 
 in the world. And now, I desire, I will, that upon that brow 
 whereon she laid so heavy a curse, she will again lay her 
 hand, remove the curse, and place a blessing in its stead I 
 Oh, then will its burning fire be cooled. Shall I bend my 
 head to that breast which first gave me nourishment ? Shall 
 I see forgiveness in that stern glance ? ShaU I yet once 
 more press those lips in love which once cursed me ? Oh, I 
 thirst, I burn, I languish after this happiness ! 
 
 Do you know a high, holy, sweet, fearful name — a name 
 which breaks forth in the struggle between life and death ; 
 a name which Grod himself, loving and sufiering as a man, 
 pronounced ? This name I will address in my soul to her 
 who has cast me ofi*. Mother ! oh, mother ! 
 
 Mother, my mother ! wilt thou acknowledge thy guilty 
 son — ^wilt thou forgive him ? I scarcely dare to hope it. 
 Yet she should do it. Great was her guilt. Severity against 
 severity, bitterness against bitterness — ^it could not succeed ! 
 But would she only be affectionate — would she only forgive ! 
 I would pour out prayers at her feet ! 
 
 You know my passion for music. I can satisfy it here. 
 I have had an organ placed in one of the rooms ; its tone is 
 good. Every evening, at the approach of twilight, I sit and 
 play there till deep in the night; the deeper the sti/Inesyi, 
 
108 
 
 THE IS^EiaHBOFIlS. 
 
 tlie dimmer the twilight, the higher peals forth the organ. 
 It quietens me. It exalts and refreshes my soul. In ita 
 flood of sound I drown the recollections which become living 
 in the bosom of night. Music is a glorious thing ! It is 
 an intoxication, an enchantment ; a world in which to live, 
 to combat, to repose — a sea of painful delight, incomprehen- 
 sible and boundless as eternity. 
 
 In such moments a vision sometimes presents itself. It 
 appears to me as if there arose out of this tempestuous world, 
 above this sea of sound, a — what must I call it ? — a hope, a 
 beauty, a heavenly spirit, a kind reconciling genius, which, 
 extracting from this stream of sound all that is most beau- 
 tiful and most etherial, weaves therefrom its own pure essence. 
 The deeper the fugue descends, the brighter becomes this 
 image, like stars in the dark night. Then sinks the storm, 
 and my soul becomes tranquil: all dissonance, aU pain is 
 gone, and the heavenly image floats radiantly over the quiet 
 lake. But then it also dims and vanishes. I cannot keep 
 it. It arises with the ascending of the sound, and fades 
 with its decline. Neither can I call up at will this heavenly 
 phantasma, although I have an indescribable longing to 
 behold it. A reality so beautiful as this vision, life has never 
 presented me with. I seldom go to rest before the first sun- 
 beams dance in the Helga sea. Then my spirit is wearied 
 with the warfare and enchantment of the night. Then I can 
 rest several hours. 
 
 Would that the song of my heart, the miserere of my soul, 
 could once reach the ear of my mother ! But before she hears 
 my voice messengers shaU approach, who, in friendly melo- 
 dies, shall speak to her of the stranger. She shaU hear him 
 praised and celebrated, and then she wiU the less shrink back 
 from acknowledging in him her son. 
 
 But should she not do so — ^then Antonio, you will 
 
 ■oon again see at the Bouge et Noir 
 
 ToFE FaiBND. 
 
rBANS:SKA TO MABIA M. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 TEANSISKA WEBNEB TO MABIA M , 
 
 Rosen vik, 25th June, Evening 
 
 Ha ! a stormy day, a truly unfortunate day ! The beginning 
 however was good. Yesterday I was invited to dinner, and 
 to a Midsummer dance, at Carlsfors ; but my headache pre- 
 vented my going there. I let my servants go to the dance, 
 excepting Sissa, who could be induced on no conditions to 
 leave me, and I myself passed the lively Midsummer-day 
 on the sofa. That was not very agreeable, yet it did me good 
 fco think on the many who were joyful on this day. 
 
 To-day I am full of health, and overflowing life. I felt an 
 inclination for a long walk, and took my work-basket and set 
 off for Carlsfors. The weather was rather dull, but still and 
 pleasant. The country was full of its summer glory ; the 
 Bcythe had not yet gone over the flowery grass. Butterflies 
 flitted past with glittering vrings ; the birds sang, and I sang 
 too ; sang as I walked over the beautiful earth, and felt 
 myself happy to be one of those little beings which, inspired 
 by a light and thankful breast, lift up their voices in praise 
 of the Creator. To take such a walk as this, alone, without 
 companions, is one of the greatest pleasures I know. I am 
 always on such occasions as light and careless as a bird; 
 I forget aU the weariness of the world in the presence of air, 
 flowers, green trees, blue waters ; the whole life of nature 
 becomes my life. 
 
 When I arrived at Carlsfors, I found Ma chere mere busy 
 at her lathe. She seemed delighted to see me, embraced mo 
 cordially, scolded me about my " stupid headache," and very 
 soon we were in the midst of a lively and jocose conversation ; 
 during which time she went on with her work, and I admired 
 her dexterity. It gives me real delight to feel that Ma 
 chere mere and I become still more intimate. There is a 
 something between us that accords. I like her, and always 
 feel cheerful and unconstrained with her. She is a prudent, 
 true-hearted woman, even if she be stern ; and belongs to 
 that rare class of character who always know what they are 
 aiming at. Such persons have a beneficial influence on 
 
110 
 
 ZRE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 me. My quicksilver nature is calmed down and regulatea 
 by theirs. Two or three times during our conversation, she 
 spoke to me with the pronoun thou,^ which in her mouth has 
 a something particularly graceful and sincere. G-enerally 
 she uses ^ou to all ladies, and Jane Marie she calls " my 
 daughter-in-law," The little word thou addressed to me gave 
 me great pleasure, as did also the present of a handsome 
 turned box, which she had completed under my eyes. 
 
 Would it be possible for two people to be talking together 
 in this neighbourhood without their mentioning the new re- 
 sident at Eamm ? I believe it would be impossible. Ma 
 chere mere also spoke of him to-day. This extraordinary 
 man, it seems, has consecrated his residence in this country 
 by a large donation for the erection of a school, which has 
 long been wanted here. The old estimable Mr. Dahl, who, 
 notwithstanding his great age, is so active, and the Provost D., 
 in W., have undertaken the management of this business. 
 Ma chere mere spoke of it ; and it seemed to me that she 
 also intended to take her part in this new institution, as well 
 by providing the oak timber necessary for the building, as 
 by her good counsel also. A few words which she said on 
 this occasion respecting education and general enlightenment, 
 pleased me on account of the clear and sound views which 
 they contained. 
 
 Thus were we two in the sunshine together, but towards 
 noon clouds began to gather. 
 
 In her behaviour to me, Jane Marie was as usual most 
 friendly and agreeable; but towards Ebba she assumed a 
 chiding, admonitory, governess tone, which became her as 
 little as it did good to Ebba. As for Ebba, whatever might 
 be amiss with her, she was in so bad a humour that not even 
 a lover could have given it a better name. Negligent in 
 dress and deportment, she leaned herself back, in a wayward 
 mood, in her chair, would eat nothing, made faces, threw her 
 knife and fork away, grumbled right and left, and behaved 
 most unbecomingly. Jane Marie blamed and moralized in 
 vain. Ma chere mere said nothing, but I saw by certain 
 glances that a storm was not far off. I was anxious, as I 
 always am when I apprehend domestic strife, and did all that 
 
 • A mode of speech used amongst equals snly, as a demonstration of gre.tf 
 tfiection and famjliarity. 
 
TRAXSISKA VVEliyEE TO MARIA M. Ill 
 
 lay in my power to disperse that whicli threatened. But 
 there was something strange in Jane Marie. It seemed as 
 if she rather wished to unveil than to conceal Ebba's faulty. 
 Ebba began to sing to herself. 
 
 " People don't sing at table, Ebba," said Jane Marie, 
 louder than there was any occasion for. 
 
 Ma chere mere seemed to wish, as I did, to disperse the 
 storm. She talked therefore with Ebba in a very friendly 
 and joking tone. But Ebba was silent, and looked scornftdly 
 at her. 
 
 " Ebba, it is unseemly to look at Ma chere mere in that 
 way," said the carping voice of Jane Marie. 
 
 " Yet a cat may look at a king," remarked Ma chere mere 
 good-hum our edly : then added, but more seriously, that she 
 thought she had a reasonable lady at table, and not a child, 
 etc. Ebba began again to hum a ballad. 
 
 " Don't sing, Ebba," said Jane Marie ; "but listen to what 
 Ma chere mere says." 
 
 " I don't know why I should do so," replied Ebba, with 
 matchless effrontery. 
 
 " Because it is your duty," thundered out Ma chere mere, 
 striking the table with her clenched fist ; " and if you do not 
 know this abeady, I'U be hanged if I won't teach it to you !" 
 She rose, her nose was sharp and pale, her breath was hiss- 
 ing. The storm after this might have passed over, had not 
 Ebba's incivility exceeded all bounds. I have often remarked 
 that in small things Jane Marie wishes to have the prefer- 
 ence over Ebba or me. She will enter a room first, be first 
 bid to table, and so on. Once I heard her say to the ser- 
 vant, " Eemember that you must always present me before 
 the Baroness Ebba." I willingly let this pass unnoticed ; 
 but Ebba took every opportunity to oppose Jane Marie's 
 assumed claim of priority. A plate of milk which now un- 
 fortunately stood between the two sisters-in-law was the 
 occasion of strife. Jane Marie, with a very haughty air, 
 endeavoured to appropriate this to herself, when Ebba 
 snatched it with such violence that the milk was spilled over 
 Jane Marie's muslin dress. All was now lost ! Jane Marie 
 called for help ; Ma chere mere pushed back her chair, and 
 without saying a word to Ebba, took her by the arm and led 
 her out of the dininp--room. I w^as crimson with shame at 
 
112 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 this scene, and wished myself away. We all arose ; Jane 
 Marie went to change her dress, and we assembled in the 
 drawing-room, into which Ma chere mere also soon came, 
 leading in Ebba, whose face was scarlet, and who with diffi- 
 culty kept back her sobs. She led her to Jane Marie and 
 pronounced an apology, which Ebba repeated word for word 
 after her ; whereupon the two sisters-in-law embraced, but 
 without cordiality. All this over, Ebba rushed to another 
 room, threw herself on a sofa, and cried herself to sleep. 
 
 After coffee. Ma chere mere made the proposal to Jane 
 Marie that she should play an overture, and then that they 
 two should play a piece together. Jane Marie, who has no 
 great opinion of Ma chere mere's musical talents, glanced at 
 me with a half-sarcastic expression, and then, in compliance 
 with the request, played a sonata of Mozart, which Ma chere 
 mere selected, and in which she accompanied her on her 
 violin with ability certainly, but with no particular grace. 
 I was charmed, however, as I always am, by the music of 
 Mozart. Jane Marie will not willingly play any music but 
 that of Herz or Czerny, which to my taste is too fantastic 
 and affected. Jane Marie's superior talent. Ma chere mere's 
 zeal, and her being so practised in " her Mozart," as she calls 
 him, occasioned this piece to go ofl' so well that Ma chere 
 mere herself cried " Bravo !" 
 
 After Jane Marie it came to my turn ; but partly in con- 
 sequence of the " grande senate par Steibelt avec accom- 
 pagnement de violon" being wholly unknown to me, and 
 partly in consequence of my being but a bungler on the piano 
 in comparison of Jane Marie, I performed only indifferently. 
 In vain did Ma chere mere beat the time, in vain made such 
 flourishes on the violin that my tympanum was nearly rent 
 to pieces, we were still both of us always out of time. We 
 began again, we repeated ; she was impatient, and I was im- 
 patient, and we wound up with a perfect charivari. Ma 
 chere mere laid down her violin, and called me " a little 
 Mter 
 
 " AYhen Jane Marie and I go together," added she, " it is 
 very diiferent. One can call that harmonjr." 
 
 The harmony, however, between Ma chere mere and Jane 
 Marie was soon disturbed. They got upon a question of 
 housewifery. Ma chere mere uses one-and-a-half measure 
 
^■EAFSISKA WEKIS^ER TO MARIA 
 
 118 
 
 of mal ; to two measures of beer and to half a measure of ale 
 Jane Marie asserted that one-third less malt, according to 
 her method, would brew the same quantity of good beer and 
 ale. 
 
 Ma chere mere said this was purely impossible, but Jane 
 Marie abode by her assertion, and thus the strife lasted a 
 long time ; till at last Jane Marie let fall the remark that 
 Ma chere mere did not understand the right art of brewing. 
 This was unlucky. 
 
 "Will the egg be wiser than the hen ?" asked Ma chere 
 mere with bitterness. " I do not trouble myself about your 
 new-fashioned art of brewing and your wonderful discoveries. 
 There may be art in them, but there is all the less wort. 
 They who have tried know ; and I have seen a few more 
 years and a few more brewings than you have, daughter-in- 
 law Jane Marie. The old woman is the oldest, remember 
 that!" 
 
 J ane Marie worked busily at the embroidery, grew very 
 red, but was silent, with a countenance of superior wisdom. 
 All this was not pleasant. In the mean time Ebba awoke, 
 and came into the room like a bird after a shower. In order 
 to amuse her, I proposed some cheerful game at cards. Ma 
 chere mere assented gladly, and we sate ourselves all down to 
 a round table. But in the very beginning of the game, Jane 
 Marie and Ebba fell into strife about some rule of the game, 
 and that right vehemently. Ebba appealed to me, and I gave 
 my decision in her favour, with a merry remark on Jane 
 Marie's opinion. This offended her ; and in return she gave 
 me a biting reply. Heaven knows how it was that my ther- 
 mometer rose in a moment ! I was hot to the ears, answered 
 somewhat tartly, and for some moments we two quarrelled 
 sharply. As soon, however, as I saw Ma chere mere's large 
 eyea fixed upon me, 1 was ashamed, blushed, and endeavoured 
 to make amends for my over-hastiness. But never surely was 
 a game so little cheerful ! J ane Marie sate there as if in a 
 church, and received all Ma chere mere's observations, whe- 
 ther coarse or fine, with icy coldness. 
 
 I was truly rejoiced when they came to say that tlie 
 cabriolet was at the door. As I took leave of Jane Marie, 
 she withdrew from the kiss which I wished to press warmly 
 013 her lips, and only coldly and scarcely perceptibly touched 
 
 H 
 
L14 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 mj hand with the tips of her fingers. I was sorry to see 
 how angrj she was with me. Ma chere mere accompanied 
 nio to the hall, and said, " My dear Transiska, we have all 
 been very wearisome to-day." 
 
 " Ah, yes !" answered I, so truly from the depths of my 
 heart that Ma chere mere was obliged to laugh, embraced me, 
 and looking keenly at me said, " Yes ; and you have been no 
 better than the rest, you child." 
 
 " Nor you, mother, either," said I merrily ; but somewhat 
 shocked at my boldness, I added warmly, " Forgive me !" 
 and kissed her hand. 
 
 Now come again to-morrow," said she laughing, and 
 giving me a little slap on the cheek, " and we will try if we 
 cannot do better. Will you ? Come, my child. I will send 
 the Norrkopings' carriage to fetch you and take you back. 
 The horses need a little exercise." 
 
 This little parting scene lightened my heart. Ma chere 
 mere possesses a stronger charm for me daily. But Jane 
 Marie ! How speeds it with our friendship and La Com- 
 media Divina ? But I will condemn no one for this day. 
 There are bad days, which put all tempers out of tune, just 
 as the milk becomes sour in the dairy when there is thunder 
 in the air ; and I myself was, as Ma chere mere says, no 
 better than the rest. 
 
 To-morrow I hope all will be straight between J ane Marie 
 and me. 
 
 26th, Evening. 
 
 No ! all is not straight again between Jane Marie and me. 
 Extraordinary how any one on account of a trifle can nourish 
 resentment, more especially when the warmth was mutual. 
 
 Ma chere mere met me yesterday more cordially than 
 common. Jane Marie, on the contrary, was constrained and 
 ui)friendly ; she would not converse with me, and when I 
 spoke to her scarcely answered me. That distressed me to 
 the heart. I was also grieved for Ebba. She was pale and 
 depressed, but not in ill-humour, and appeared as if she 
 hardly understood either herself or life. She looked as if 
 she needed a friend, and I determined to become such to her 
 according to my best ability. I remarked also that Jane 
 Marie's moral lectures did no good ; and that her and Jean 
 Jacques' eternal exhortation to her, " to hi) rational, and go 
 
FHAITSISKA WEEl^ER TO MAHIA M. 115 • 
 
 out and walk," only fixed the determination the more firmly 
 in her wilful brain never to set foot out of doors, and to be as 
 little rational as possible, 
 
 I took the opportunity during a moment when we were 
 alone to say to Ebba, "Have you any desire to come to- 
 morrow morning quite early to our house to drink new milk ? 
 I have a cow, by name Audumbla, that gives the most delicious 
 milk in the world ; and beyond that, is so tame that she wDl 
 take bread out of your hand if you will feed her. Have you 
 any desire ?" 
 
 " Ah, yes !" said Ebba, surprised, and opening wide her 
 beautiful eyes, which instantly became brilliant. 
 
 " Now I shall come and fetch you," said I, " early to- 
 morrow morning. But can you be up by six r" 
 
 "At five, or four," returned she, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " But you cannot walk so far," rejoined I ; " it is nearly a 
 mile and a half from Bosenvik — no, it is too far!" 
 
 " 1^0, no, certainly not !" persisted she ; " I can very well 
 walk six miles or more. I am strong. I can dance a whole 
 night." 
 
 "Then I shaU come and fetch you at six o'clock," I said, 
 " and keep you with me the whole day. We w ill bake pan- 
 cakes for ourselves for dinner, and in the evening I will bring 
 you back in the cabriolet. The horse is so quiet that I am 
 convinced that you may drive him yourself." 
 
 " Heavens ! how charming it wiU be !" exclaimed Ebba, 
 quite enraptured. 
 
 " But," said I, " we must first have Ma chere mere's per- 
 mission." 
 
 " Of course ; I will run to her immediately and speak about 
 it ;" and away she ran. The dislike to the country, the 
 resolve never to go out, aU. were forgotten in the prospect of 
 going with me, drinking milk, and driving the horse. 
 
 I rejoiced over my conquest, and that I should have Ebba 
 for a whole day with me ; for I felt persuaded that she pos- 
 sessed a good heart and understanding, if the right means 
 were only used to call them forth. A few moments after 
 this, I went to Ma chere mere's room, and found her with 
 Ebba seai;ed on her knee, chattering to her with all the merry 
 freedom of a child, the w hile she was twisting the worthy old 
 lady's cap into all odd bends and shapes. Ma chere mere 
 
 H 2 
 
11(3 
 
 THE IS^ElGHBOrKS. 
 
 iaughed, and granted her request. There exists the very hes* 
 understanding between them. 
 
 So, my dear Transiska," said Ma chere mere kindly, " I 
 hear that to-morrow morning you will convey Ebba away, in 
 order that she may drink sweet milk with your calves. J 
 presume that you convey her away in an air balloon, because 
 you know that she cannot walk on dusty roads or green 
 grass." 
 
 " How cheerful that would be 1" exclaimed Ebba, clapping 
 her hands, and hopping out of the room. 
 
 " She is not bad," observed Ma chere mere, " but she is an 
 ill-trained child, and must yet be better taught. If it had been 
 done earlier, it would have spared after-trouble. Fransiska, 
 if you have children, remember the words of the son of 
 Sirach — * if you have children, chastise them.' " 
 
 I suggested that one should merely work by reason on 
 children, and thus train them to be good men and thinking 
 beings. 
 
 " Many ways may lead to Eome," returned she, " but the 
 way of the rod leads them much sooner than the way of 
 reason. Of course you must operate on men by reason. But 
 to be reasoning with children is to talk yourself hoarse, and 
 get noihing for it. Teach the wolf the paternoster, and he 
 still will be craving for the lamb. My brother-in-law 
 Eeinhold's children were to be brought up on this reasoning 
 system, and were to turn out something magnificent. Nay ! 
 it was too horrible! The whole brood w^as the plague of 
 everybody in the house. One day there were visitors at my 
 brother-in-law's, and the children went about making havoc 
 like little demons. Some one of the company remarked that 
 something was ' black as a raven,' whereupon one of the 
 young Eeinholds cried out, * the raven is white.' * No, my 
 young one,' said the mother, ' the raven is black.' ' Nay !' 
 screamed the boy angrily, * the raven is white, the raven is 
 white !' * The raven is black,' said the mother. ' The raven 
 IS white !' cried the boy. Now what should one do ? Could 
 one have had a raven directly at hand to convince his reason ? 
 No, and so that young one would have the last word. I 
 should like to have had him under my bauds, and then he 
 should soon have learned, and that with emphasis, that a 
 raven is not white. No, no, Fransiska; reason is a good 
 
rHANSiSKA WERNEfi TO MAEIA M. 
 
 117 
 
 thing, but it does no good with children. Those who will not 
 obey father and mother, will yet obey the rod." 
 
 The story and Ma chere mere's zeal made me laugh 
 heartily ; but the thought how unfortunate Ma chere mere's 
 doctrine had proved with regard to her only son, inspired a 
 feeling of sadness ; and full of my own thoughts, I said, " It 
 is possible that for different dispositions different modes of 
 treatment are requisite." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Ma chere mere, and a dark cloud rested 
 on her brow ; but she soon dispersed it, and gaily resumed 
 the conversation. 
 
 " In the mean time, Transiska," said she, " I am glad that 
 thou hast taken that pretty little romp, Ebba, a little under 
 thy care. At her age discreet words are seldom wasted : 
 * that which is hidden in the snow turns up in the thaw.' " 
 
 The pretty romp was good-humoured and amiable all the 
 day. Jane Marie, on the contrary, only the more sullen ; at 
 least, towards Ebba and me. It seemed as if she thought we 
 had made a league against her. I had a great desire to show 
 her that it was not so, and that there was nothing I wished 
 for more than that there should be again a good feeling be- 
 tween us; but she exhibited a trait of character which 
 almost displaced her from my heart, because it betrayed a 
 want of goodness and true education. It was towards even- 
 ing, and we were speaking of BeUini, with whose ballads 
 Ebba was charmed- Jane Marie said he was too uniform, 
 and that there was no life in his melodies. 
 
 " O," cried Ebba, " I must sing you one of his pieces, 
 which is angelic, and which I learned last winter from Mr. B. 
 You must hear it !" 
 
 She sprang to the piano, and sang with much grace a 
 charming little piece of this melodious master. I listened 
 with great pleasure ; when, exactly at the moment in which 
 ehe executed with observant care a most expressive morendo, 
 Jane Marie pushed back her chair with great noise and went 
 out of the room, both opening and shutting the door violently. 
 Ebba turned red, and so did I, because Jane Marie's be- 
 haviour was painful, and was evidently intended to set Ebba 
 down. I sa w by a glance that Ma chere mere felt it as I did ; 
 mi when Ebba left off, with tears in her eyes, she praised her 
 
lis 
 
 THE TTETGHBOTJES. 
 
 greatly ; more Indeed than- she would have done if Jane Marie 
 had not shown such great unfriendliness. 
 
 Jane Marie is always praised as a lady of such superior 
 education. "Ah," thought I, reviewing this scene, "how 
 superficially is this heautiful and much-expressing phrase ap- 
 plied!" and I felt after this no longer any great desire to 
 seek too much after a reconciliation with Jane Marie. I will 
 let it come when it will. 
 
 But oh ! what comes now to me w^ith joy and rapture ? A 
 letter from you, my Maria, so beautiful, so full of that which 
 makes me happy ! Although it is already late, I yet cannot 
 go to rest till I have somewhat unburdened myself of the 
 feelings and the words which you have called up in my heart 1 * 
 
 27th, Evening. 
 
 This morning at five o'clock I set out on the way to 
 Carlsfors to fetch Ebba. The weather was as fine as I could 
 wish. At six o'clock I found Ebba at the appointed place, 
 ready dressed, full of enthusiasm, and impatiently awaiting 
 me. With the exception of the domestics, nobody was up but 
 she, and so we set out. At first she talked, leaped, laughed, 
 and sang, rejoicing in her hfe, like a bird ; but w^hen we had 
 reached a large, beautiful, and thick w^ood, whicli lies about 
 midway between Carlsfors and E-osenvik, then she became 
 suddenly quiet. It was, in fact, a situation calculated to 
 excite pleasant and serious thought at the same time. It was 
 perfectly still ; large dewdrops hung on the leaves of the 
 trees, and with golden rays broke the sun through the wood, 
 producing amid the rich foliage innumerable beautiful eftects 
 of light and shade. The air was indescribably pure and de- 
 licious. Ebba involuntarily went slower and slower, and I 
 walked silently beside her. A solemn mood was over me. I 
 threw now and then a glance at Ebba. A soft paleness over- 
 spread her beautiful young face ; a certain new perception 
 might be read there ; large tears were in her eyes, which 
 
 * Tliis outpouring oF feeling doe« not appear here. The liberty has been taken 
 3f exclufling from these letters of a young wife tliat which was only intended fof 
 Maria, and the reader's pardon is not besought on that account. For the most 
 part, the winding-up of the letters has been omitted, which of all *»'nding&-uj 
 tave appeared to us to be the most tedious and the leust instructive. 
 
"FBAKSISKA WERIJTEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 119 
 
 looted slowly around as if full of astonishment— they beheld 
 a new world ! 
 
 At that moment a bird struck up wonderful, enchanting 
 notes. One might have said that he was animated by a 
 thinking soul. 
 
 " Oh ! what is that ?" asked Ebba, astonished, and standing 
 still. 
 
 "It is a nightingale," I replied, rejoicing no little in the 
 beloved, but so rarely-heard song. 
 
 Ebba listened long, looked long, as if listening to every- 
 thing around her. It seemed as if her spiritual ear had now, 
 for the first time, awoke to the high song of life. 
 
 "Gracious Heaven !" whispered she, "how solemn it is^ 
 how wonderful, how beautiful!" 
 
 I repeated half aloud the words of Tegner — 
 
 Ah ! if so much of beauty pour itself 
 Into each vein of hfe, and of creation, 
 How beautiful must the great Fountain be, 
 The bright, the Eternal ! 
 
 Ebba threw herself weeping into my arms, and I clasped 
 her to me with sisterly affection. 
 
 "Ah, Eransiska," said she, "I know not how I feel. I 
 am happy, and yet I must weep ! It is so beautiful, so great, 
 so wonderful around me. Tell me, what is this like ?" 
 
 " Life," I replied. 
 
 "Life?" repeated she, astonished; "but life has such va- 
 rious, such unaccordant scenes." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "but that which we see at this moment 
 resembles the truth of life ; the inward reality of life — which 
 is serious, yet at the same time joyful." 
 
 Ebba laid her hand on her forehead. " I do not perfectly 
 understand you," said she; "but I think I half guess. 
 Thoughts pass through my mind, but I cannot arrange 
 them." 
 
 " In time, my dear Ebba," I replied, " you will understand 
 them better." 
 
 "And if I understood that seriousness of life," said she, 
 "of which you speak, should I then be joyful, and laugh as 
 now?" 
 
 "O yes!" I answered; "then, for the first time, Ebba, 
 
120 
 
 TDflE KEIGHBOITBS. 
 
 would you be truly joyful and tappy ; then you would not, 
 as now, have so much ill-humour and so many weary mo- 
 ments." 
 
 " I will learn the seriousness of life," said she, cheerfully. 
 
 But then, who will teach me ? Jane Marie cannot do it. 
 You could, but then I shall so soon leave you." 
 
 " Do you know, Ebba," asked I, "whom this wood-scene 
 also resembles ?" 
 
 "Whom?" 
 
 " Tour husband," I replied. 
 
 Ebba looked at me with sparkling eyes. " I believe you are 
 right," she said. 
 
 " Yes," I said, " his spirit is both serious and bright. And 
 if you will learn the seriousness of life, and its beauty also, 
 live for him, Ebba. O Ebba ! be like the nightingale to his 
 domestic life ; be to him like the sunbeams between these 
 trees ; unite yourself inwardly to him ; be guided by him ; 
 make him happy ; and then you will understand that which 
 is the best happiness of life, and will acquire a worth in your 
 own eyes, with God and with man." 
 
 Ebba was pale, kissed my hand, and wept. 
 
 But, ah ! how lovely were those tears upon the young 
 cheek. They announced the morning-dawn of womanhood in 
 a hitherto childish being ! 
 
 I left Ebba to her own thoughts, and we went on our way 
 silently towards Bosenvik. It was only when we arrived 
 there that she aroused herself from her quiet reflections ; and 
 then the foaming milk, which we took in glasses out of the 
 milk-pail, seemed to us a drink worthy of the gods. Ebba 
 could not conceive that Audumbla's could be like common 
 milk, and I did not entirely undeceive her. 
 
 My intercoiu'se with Ebba during the remainder of the 
 day strengthened my opinion of her. Many good natural 
 qualities lie hidden, which, if properly developed and culti- 
 vated, would make her a good and estimable being. There 
 is, it is true, much in her that is childish, but I have every 
 reason to pardon that in her seventeenth year, which I at 
 seven-and-twenty 
 
 Ebba at one time fell into deep and, as it seemed to me, 
 sorrowful thought. I asked her tenderly what pressed upon 
 her mind so much. 
 
FBANSISKA WEKKEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 121 
 
 " Oh," sighed Ebba deeply, " if be only were not cabled 
 Peter!" 
 
 I could not help laughing aloud at this trouble. Eut 
 Ebba sorrowfully continued : " Jane Marie also thinks Peter 
 a dreadful name, and that Jean J acques sounds so well ! O, 
 how disagreeable that he should have been called Peter !" 
 
 I tried to comfort Ebba, and mentioned to her the various 
 great men who had borne the same name. She thought but 
 very little of the Apostle Peter ; just as little of Czar Peter ; 
 the Herr Peder, of the popular song, made the name some- 
 what more poetical, and she was almost wholly reconciled to 
 the name, when I showed her that Pedro and Peter were the 
 same, and that a lately deceased emperor nearly connected 
 with our own royal house bore the same name. She pro- 
 posed to call her husband Pedro ; I proposed also various 
 abbreviations ; and, after all, we concluded by laughing 
 heartily at the whole affair ; so that, in the end, Ebba was as 
 much satisfied with the name of Peter as I am with the much 
 less poetical name of Lars Anders. 
 
 We ended the day with blowing bubbles in the open cahn 
 air, with as much enthusiasm and delight as if we were still 
 little children ; and then I took her home in the cabriolet, 
 giving up to her the reins sometimes, to her no small de- 
 light. 
 
 I was quite curious to see whether Jane Marie continued 
 stiU in her state of discontent ; it seemed to me impossible ; 
 but at the first greeting I perceived that it was so. I was quite 
 depressed at this, and nearly lost all my hope of a friendly 
 understanding between us, because I cannot love any one 
 who is not reasonable and kind. Conduct Hke this, so pro- 
 perly called by the ugly name of sulking, turns life into a 
 gloomy autumn day. A thousand times better is the fiery 
 temper of Ma chere mere. She speaks out violently ; but 
 when she has " said her say" it is all over ; she once more is 
 perfectly kind, nor wears an angry face any longer to those 
 who oppose her. JSTevertheless, I am glad that I have not 
 daily to crouch before her sceptre ; and the more I compare 
 Bear with other people, the more does he seem like an angel 
 of peace. 
 
 Ma chere mere was very much occupied this evening with 
 the new neighbour at Eamm. Partly because she had hotird 
 
22 
 
 THE IfEiaHBOTJES. 
 
 60 many reports of him greatly to his advantage, and partly 
 because he liad now shown her a great civility, Ma chere 
 mere some time ago had mentioned, in company, that she 
 longed for a roast of roebuck, and that it was her wish to 
 have a pair of roes, in order that she might introduce the 
 breed into the park. Before her misfortunes, Ma chere 
 mere was a great lover of the chase, and had brought down 
 many a swift- footed roebuck. Her new neighbour at E;amm, 
 having heard of this, had now sent her a most delicious 
 roast — a fat young roe, which he had shot ; together with 
 two live specimens of these creatures, which they had been 
 fortunate enough to take in snares. 
 
 This present was accompanied by a very polite French 
 note from the new neighbour ; which said, that having acci- 
 dentally heard of the wish of the former proprietor of Ramm, 
 he now esteemed himself fortunate in being able to accom- 
 plish it, especially as he should himself soon become the pro- 
 prietor of the estate, and then would cherish no higher wish 
 than to stand in friendly connexion with so estimable a 
 neighbour, in pledge and proof of which he prayed her to 
 receive that which he had sent. The letter was signed 
 "Antonio de Eomilly." 
 
 Ma chere mere was charmed with the French note, vrith 
 the roebucks, and above all with the politeness of the new 
 neighbour. 
 
 " See !" said she, snapping her fingers, " one can call that 
 savoir vivre. Yes, these southlanders have not their equals 
 anwhere in such things. We must see the man. I will in- 
 vite him to my first great dinner-party ; yes, even if he does 
 not pay me a visit before. Such politeness as this is worth 
 seven visits. But now I must answer this note, and that in 
 French too. Fransiska shall read the note after I have 
 finished it. Thank God, I have learned French grammati- 
 cally, and used to both write and to speak it, as well as most 
 people. Of late years I have forgotten something of it. I 
 shall be very glad to bring my French into use again with 
 this polite Monsieur de Eomilly. It will be right pleasant 
 to make his intimate acquaintance." 
 
 It must be right agreeable to make the acquaintance of this 
 man, say I with Ma chere mere, because a person of whoiii 
 everybody speaks, and whom nobodv sees, who displays bene* 
 
FRAKSISKA WERKER TO MARIA M. 
 
 123 
 
 ftcence and politeness, yet whom nobody knows, is incontest- 
 ably an extraordinary and interesting phenomenon. 
 
 Ma chere mere laboured long at her French epistle, and as 
 1 read it over I had difficulty to avoid smiling, it was so orna- 
 mental and old-fashioned. In part too, it was so like herself, 
 written in so thoroughly antiquated a style, yet expressing so 
 clearly and forcibly her meaning, that I considered it im- 
 possible and equally unnecessary to alter it. I left therefore 
 the expression "Monsieur, et tres honore voisin," "politessc 
 magnanime," "present gentil et courtois," and such-like ex* 
 tra ordinary words, standing. I said that the note was good 
 and Ma chere mere, who had watched me with some little 
 disquiet, was very much contented with the note, with herself 
 and with me. 
 
 SOth 
 
 Ah ! I breathe again. The air is at last clear between Jant 
 Marie and me ; and the south wind which dispersed the misi 
 is called — flattery. 
 
 The day before yesterday Eear came home, satisfied with 
 himself, his journey, his business, and above all with his little 
 wife, who, on her part, was not dissatisfied with him. Yester- 
 day evening was the Sunday's dance at Carlsfors. "We were 
 invited by Ma chere mere to be present, because she wished 
 the skal to be drunk to the two last arrived married couples, 
 and to make a speech to the people on the occasion ; all 
 which would have been done on the Midsummer-day, had not 
 Bear and Peter been absent. 
 
 Ma chere mere played on the violin for the dancing nearly 
 the whole evening. Ebba danced from hearty love of the 
 amusement, so did I. Jane Marie and her husband, who 
 were out visiting, came in late, and were only spectators oi 
 the dance. I poured forth a stream of admiration of her 
 toilet, which truly was most tasteful, and at last the grey 
 cloud which had hung between us dispersed itself, and Jane 
 Marie became, to my indescribable refreshment, friendly as 
 ever. But with the Commedia Divina of our friendship all 
 is, ^ alas ! over. That grieves me. I wish among my many 
 neighbours and acquaintances to find a friend. Ebba is too 
 much of a child ; Miss Husgafvel too much of a bird, and 
 Ma chore mere — is Ma chere mere. It would after all be 
 but a poor pleasure to have many neighbours but no friends. 
 
THE NEiaHBOURS. 
 
 After the dance, Ma cliere mere ordered the punch-bawl to 
 be brought in, and skal to be drunk to the newly-married. 
 8 be also made a speech thickly interlarded with proverbs. 
 But upon the whole, this did not seem to be one of her most 
 successful efforts. 
 
 Bear takes my letter with him to the town : I close it there- 
 fore in haste. I wonder whether anybody writes as long 
 letters as I do. But for this reason you are my Maria, and 
 I am your 
 
 Pbansiska. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Rosenvik, 3d July. 
 
 As a bee goes from flower to flower, so go I from neighbour 
 to neighbour, and collect honey for my hive. The harvest 
 has been rich to-day; and no wonder. Tor I was to-day 
 with the flower of the vaUey, the good and amiable Serena. 
 
 Bear reminded me this morning that we had promised the 
 old Dahls to spend a whole day with them. He therefore 
 proposed that I should accompany him to the city this 
 morning ; said he would deliver me at the Dahls, and come 
 in himself there to dinner after he had visited his patients. 
 I was frightened at this project at first, and made many 
 objections against being left there quite early in the morning, 
 like a box of pills or any other doctor's wares. ISTeither did 
 it seem the most becoming thing in the world thus to fall 
 upon strange people, and to establish oneself for a whole day 
 in their house, whilst all the time they perhaps are wishing 
 the unbidden guest at Nova Zembla. But against all this. 
 Bear, in his laconic way, was remarkably eloquent, and over- 
 turned all my objections ; add to which, a secret thought of 
 Serena and the kingdom of heaven captivated me. I dressed 
 myself simply but prettily, according to Bear's taste ; and 
 away rolled the cabriolet containing Bear and his little wife. 
 
 I was properly delivered up at time and place appointed. 
 Bear took it into his obstinate head not to go in with me. I 
 should go and speak for myself. In vain I represented to 
 him that I was not so fortunate as a physic-bottle, which at 
 the very least takes with it a paper label, whereon is indi- 
 cated for what purpose it may serve ; and as for me, nobody 
 
yRANSISKA WERTsP.K TO MARlA M. 
 
 125 
 
 m the house would know what was to be done with ine* 
 Bear said that I had nothing to do but to greet them froui 
 him in a proper way, and that this and my countenance toge« 
 ther would do what was needful. 
 We parted quarrelling. 
 
 As I went up the steps alone, it appeared to me that I 
 could be of no more value than a person who comes with the 
 intention of borrowing money ; but scarcely had I entered 
 the door than I was ready to believe that I must be either 
 " the cream to the colFee" or some much-longed-for present, 
 so was I rejoiced over, and welcomed, and embraced ; all 
 which I felt in my grateful soul to be set down to the account 
 of my Bear. 1 arrived just as they sate down to colFee, ate, 
 drank, talked, and felt myself, in short, like a child of the 
 house. 
 
 And now I will send you in prose a description of the 
 family which I have already drawn in poetical colours. They 
 bear the same relation to each other as an every-day and a 
 holiday — but both are of the kingdom of heaven. I speak 
 not now of my own impressions, but from information which 
 I have had from Miss Hellevi Husgafvel and Ma chere mere. 
 
 THE HOME. 
 
 For above half a century this ancient couple have inhabited 
 the same house and the same rooms. There were they mar- 
 ried, and there they will celebrate their golden-nuptials in 
 the course of the next winter. The rooms are unchanged, 
 the furniture the same as for fifty years ; yet everything is 
 clean, comfortable, and friendly, as in a one-year-old dwelling. 
 But it is more simple than the houses of our times. I know 
 not what spirit of peace and grace it is which blows upon me 
 in this house. Ah ! in this house fifty years have passed as 
 a beautiful day. Here a virtuous couple have lived, loved, 
 and worked together. Many a pure joy has blossomed here ; 
 and when sorrow came, it was not bitter, for the fear of God 
 and love illuminated the dark clouds. Hence emanated many 
 a noble deed and many a beneficent influence. The happv 
 children grew up ; they gathered strength from the example 
 of their parents, went out into the world, built for themselves 
 homes like this, and were good and fortunate. Often do they 
 return with love and joy to the parental home, to bless anvl 
 
126 
 
 THE KEIGHBC UES. 
 
 to be blessed. Ab, my Maria ! I feel tbai I am again sliding 
 into tbe poetical vein. But wbat would you bave ? Tbere are 
 pictures of every-day life, wbich, let me turn tbem as I will, 
 always stand in a poetical ligbt. Yet I will endeavour to 
 keep more to tbe eartb. Tbus tbe cbildren, tbree sons and 
 four daugbters, come once a year witb tbeir cbildren to visit 
 tbeir beloved parents, and extend new life in tbe bome of 
 tbeir cbildbood — tbat bome wbicb is still to tbem as full of 
 love and goodness as ever. It bas only become stiller and 
 more peaceful ; because it is evening tbere, and tbe sbadows 
 of tbe grave begin to ascend round tbe revered parents. 
 And now let us glance at tbem. 
 
 THE OLD GEIS^TLEMAN. 
 
 A long life of probity, industry, and beneficence, bas iin 
 pressed itself upon bis expansive forehead and upon bis open 
 benevolent carriage. His figure is yet firm, and bis gait 
 steady. The lofty crown is bald, but a garland of silver- 
 wbite locks surrounds tbe venerable bead. No one in tbe 
 town sees tbis bead witbout bowing in friendly and reveren- 
 tial greeting. Tbe whole country as well as tbe town loves 
 him as tbeir benefactor, and venerates him as tbeir patriarch . 
 He bas created bis own fortune ; bas sacrificed much for the 
 public good ; and, notwithstanding much adversity and loss, 
 never let his spirit sink. In mind and conversation, be is 
 still cheerful, and even full of jest and sprightliness ; but for 
 several years his sight has failed him greatly ; and tbe gout, 
 wbicb makes its appearance at times, troubles bis temper. 
 Ah ! the prose of life ! But an angel moves around the 
 couch to which suffering may confine him ; his feet are moved 
 and enwrapped by soft white bands ; the sick chamber and 
 the countenance of the old man grow bright — before Serena ! 
 
 We shall not come out of the poetry of the bouse whilst 
 she abides there. 
 
 THE OLD LADY. 
 
 An aged countenance and a bowed form, and you see an 
 old woman ; but show her something beautiful, speak to her 
 of something amiable, and her mien, her smile, beams from 
 the eternal youth which dwells immortal in her sensitive 
 Bpirit. Then will you involuntarily exclaim, " Wbat a beuu* 
 
FEANSISKA WEEJ^ER TO MARii M. 
 
 127 
 
 tiful old lady !" If you sit near her and Icok into her mild 
 pious eyes, you feel as if you could open your whole soul, 
 and believe in every word she speaks as in the Gospel. She 
 has lived through much and experienced much, yet she says 
 that she will live in order to learn. Truly we must learn 
 from her. Her tone and her demeanour betoken true 
 breeding and much knowledge of life. She alone has edu- 
 cated her children, and still she thinks and acts both for 
 children and children's children ; still bears home and family 
 cares on her own shoulders, although she now supports herself 
 on Serena. 
 
 Since the death of her youngest daughter, she is become 
 somewhat melancholy. This is not observable in her words, 
 but in her frequent sighs. Like her husband, she is univer- 
 sally revered and beloved ; and all agree in this, that a more 
 perfect union than exists between this couple cannot be 
 imagined. 
 
 Will you see in one little circumstance a miniature picture 
 of the whole ? Every evening the old man himself roasts 
 two apples — every evening when they are done he gives one 
 of them to his " handsome old wife," as he calls her. Thus 
 for fifty years have they divided everything with each other. 
 
 The good old lady called me Fransiska immediately ; and 
 addressed me vdth the pronoun thou, in a kind grandmotherlj 
 tone that did my heart good. I can like Ma chere mere, but 
 I could love this dear old lady. 
 
 And now to the third person — the peculiar beauty and 
 ornament of the house. 
 
 SERENA. 
 
 Her mother was called Benjamina, and was like the 
 Eenjamia of the Bible — ^the youngest and best-beloved child 
 of her parents. When scarcely eighteen she married a young 
 man, who both possessed and deserved her whole love. It 
 was a marriage beautiful as a spring day, but too soon cut 
 short ! The daughter, who after two years was the fruit of 
 this marriage, was named Seren-a ; and with her birth the 
 mother's days on earth were ended. She blessed her 
 daughter and died. The father followed her in a few months. 
 They could not longer be separated. The cradle of the little 
 oi*phan was taken to tb'r house of the grandparents. Serena 
 
128 
 
 TRJ5 NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 was their comfort, and soon also their loveliest joy ; and not 
 theirs only, for Serena was beloved by all their friends and 
 acquaintance. 
 
 The beautiful life of her parents and their early death 
 had thrown over the motherless child the mourning weeds 
 which draw forth so easily the sympathetic tears of good 
 people. Her childhood was one of suffering, a weakness in 
 the hip, which kept her long confined, and cut her off from 
 the pastimes of children, paled her cheeks, and gave to her 
 lips that quiet smile of sadness which yet dweUs there at 
 times with all the power of a mysterious enchantment. All 
 this, united to her quiet patience, and the intrinsic amiability 
 of her whole being, captivated all hearts, and won for her the 
 sympathy of aU.. 
 
 For a long time it seemed as if the languishing angel 
 would extend her wings, and foUow the ascension of her 
 parents ; but it was not to be so. Watchful and true affec- 
 tion kept her still on earth. Like a rose on a sunny grave, 
 like a young vine which clings with its tender twigs around 
 firm and ancient stems, so Serena grew up, gladdened by the 
 loving looks of friends, and tenderly sustained and led by 
 those who had been the support of her parents. She became 
 healthy ; smiled, played, developed herself, and ripened by 
 little and little to a beautiful, harmonious being. 
 
 She learned everything with a degree of difficulty, but she 
 retained what she learned in a faithful memory. Always 
 timid to begin, she never relinquished that which she had 
 once begun till it was completed, and well completed. Thus 
 her teachers, who were in the beginning impatient, were in 
 the end always satisfied. Serena was not richly endowed, 
 but she did all so well, and then — she was so good, so true, 
 so affectionate ! 
 
 So she grew up, and became the flower of the vaUey. The 
 earnestness of her spirit, the clearness of her understanding, 
 made her happy ; happy with the joy of angels — the pure, 
 animating, self-communicating joy. 
 
 "Look at Serena!" said every mother in the country io 
 lier daughter. The daughters looked at her, and endeavoured 
 to resemble her whom they could not help loving. 
 
 But the prose in this picture, the earthly feature in this 
 ftngel-image ! Ah, also this must be told ; Serena is lame 
 
FRANSISKA WEEJs^ER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 129 
 
 in her hip. The word frightens me, and I atn ready to ex- 
 claim *'^[o!" to that which I have just said. And if you 
 imagine Serena to be a limping, crooked figure, I do cry out 
 with all my might, " No ! no ! no ! it is not so !" You must 
 imagine a graceful, perfectly lovely figure, which, wiien walk- 
 ing, slightly bends forward without being disfigured thereby. 
 Her lameness gives a slow undulating motion, which appears 
 rather like an exception to the rule, than as a real defect. Is 
 it the remembrance of a suffering, or the tone of her whole 
 being, which so completely conceals this fault of nature ? 
 Whatever it may be, it inspires no other feeling in those who 
 see her, but an involuntary desire to support her. 
 
 Serena's appearance, in other respects, you must imagine 
 from my former description. The innocence of her brow, the 
 clear child-like gleam of her blue eyes, charmed me as much 
 now as when I saw her first ; and I thought her still lovelier 
 in her simple every-day dress, than in her festival garb. 
 
 I must not forget Grull-gul, who flew twittering around 
 his lovely mistress. Madame Dahl told me, when I inquired 
 how the little creature became so tame, that during the 
 severe winter of two years ago, Serena found the little 
 creature lying half-dead on the house floor. She took him up, 
 cherished and fed him. The sparrow recovered; and since 
 then has been as attached to Serena as if he understood how 
 to be grateful. It is true that Serena tenderly cares for him, 
 as she does for everything that is under her charge. He goes 
 into his cage to eat, but, excepting at night, is never con- 
 fined. 
 
 And now about myself, since I must not forget myself. 
 Madame Dahl begged me to sing (how agreeable it is to be 
 possessed of one little talent) : I obeyed, was applauded, and 
 thanked with warmth. 
 
 " And now Serena must sing some little thing," said old 
 Mr. Dahl, quite gaily. 
 
 " O grandfather!" said she, blushing, " how it Tvill sound 
 after that which we have just heard !" 
 
 " My dear child," replied the old man, smiling, "do not 
 let Madame "Werner hear that you are vain." 
 
 " No," returned Serena joyfully, " and on that very account 
 Madame Werner shall hear my weak, hoarse voice." 
 
 Sh^ sat down immediately to the instrument, and sang a 
 
 X 
 
130 
 
 THE NEIGHBOIJES. 
 
 sweet little gem-like song of Lindeblad's. Her voice was not 
 hoarse but weak, and evidently not mncli practised ; but she 
 sang with so much soul, with so much thought, in word and 
 tone, as gave me intrinsic delight. 
 
 " Yes,'' said the old gentleman, evidently charmed to 
 the soul, "I would much rather hear that than all oar 
 Catalanis, Maras, Dulcamaras, or whatever they may be 
 called, who are more of instruments than singers. This 
 singing, at least, I comprehend with my heart as well as my 
 understanding. If Serena had only had opportunity to learn, 
 then — " and the old man looked very significantly. 
 
 " Are there then not teachers of singing in the town r" 
 I asked. 
 
 " JN^one, with the exception of old E., who sings terribly 
 false. Several of our relations wnshed to take Serena with 
 them to Stockholm, that there she might cultivate her talent, 
 but she would not leave us. She knows very well that with- 
 out her we should not find ourselves so well off. And there- 
 fore her voice must remain now sticking in her throat, and 
 moreover will get quite hoarse because she reads so much 
 Latin." With these words he extended his hand to her, and 
 she embraced him with child-like warmth. Both laughed. 
 " If you are not tired of singing," continued he, " come, my 
 good child, and read me some Latin out of this new book of 
 Victor — you know what — I always forget what the fellow is 
 called. Will you, my child ?" 
 
 " With all my heart," answered Serena, and the two went 
 out together. 
 
 " Does Miss Lofwen read Latin?" inquired I with astonish- 
 ment, from Madame Dahl. 
 
 " Ah, it's all nonsense!" said the good old lady smiling. 
 " Since my old eyes have become so weak Serena has read to 
 him. His favourite reading is novels and romances ; the 
 last of which, he says, preserve his soul young. Now when 
 there occurred passages in these books which Serena thought 
 not quite proper to read aloud, she was accustomed to skip 
 them ; but when it happened that this could not well be done, 
 she said, * there is some Latin here!' My husband, who ia 
 sometimes half asleep during the reading, let the excuse pass 
 for some time, although he thought it rather odd that Latin 
 should so often occur. 
 
FRAJS'SISKA. WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 131 
 
 *^ ^ It is an extraordinary way of writing,' said lie some- 
 times, * that our modern authors have got ; it is a cursed 
 pedantry,' etc, and he got quite excited about it. One day, 
 however, it happened that Latin came so very often in the 
 book she was reading, that my old man, astonished in the 
 highest degree, began to search the matter to the bottom. 
 When Serena had finished reading and left him to himself, 
 he put on his double spectacles and began to study this 
 imagined Latin. He soon, therefore, discovered how it was; 
 and now this Latin is a standing point in his jokes against 
 Serena, w^hom however he persuaded by little and little to be 
 less exact regarding the Latin.'' 
 
 "We continued for a long time to talk about Serena, and 
 the good old lady listened with pleasure to all that I said 
 respecting her favourite. At length, said she, with a sigh, 
 
 and yet she is much less lovely now than she was. It seems 
 to me that for the last year she has become thinner, and she 
 coughs at times. I fear that the confined life she leads 
 with us is injurious to her. Dr. "Werner has ordered coun- 
 try air and exercise. Many of our acquaintance have begged 
 Serena to come to their country-seats ; but she will not leave 
 us, and we ourselves do not know properly what we should 
 do without her, especially my husband, who will not hear of 
 her leaving us. We have, therefore, thought next summer 
 of renting in the neighbourhood of the city a little country- 
 house, where we could have her with us, and yet benefit her 
 health. In the mean time she must as often as possible ride 
 on horseback in the country, and I and my husband will 
 accompany her in the carriage. We think of beginning this 
 regimen next week, when Serena wdll have a nice little safe 
 horse." 
 
 Here I interrupted her to inquire if it would not be 
 possible that Serena should take her rides to Eosenvik, and 
 should now and then remain wdth me the whole day ? I 
 would take the greatest care of her ; w^e would be out 
 together in the fresh air, we would drink new milk, we would 
 sing together ; and God knows what I did not say beside, for 
 a flood of eloquence came over me. 
 
 The old lady thanked me, looked half pleased and half 
 troubled ; did not know whether it could be done, and said 
 
 I 2 
 
132 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 at last witli a sigh, " "We'll see what my husband says ; we 
 will speak with him." 
 
 I will speak with my Bear too, thought I, and get him on 
 my side, and then who can withstand us ? I was possessed 
 with the greatest possible zeal to accomplish the affair. 
 Bear came, and the moment he entered the door I surprised 
 him with my project. 
 
 " My sweet Bear ! if you love me, you must take my side, 
 and speak for me and with me, that Serena come to Bosenvik, 
 and that she spend a whole day there. You see, she will ride 
 out for exercise, that you yourself have prescribed, angel ! 
 Prescribe now also that she ride to us. Say that it is neces- 
 sary to her health. I will take care of her, I will sing with 
 her. Say this to the old people, talk with them, manage that 
 it shall be done ! You will do it, my little Bear 1" 
 
 " Heaven help us ! What a flux de bouche ! Could one 
 only draw breath! — Uf! — Now I see that you are pretty 
 much at home here, you Sea-cat !" 
 
 " Entirely through my own merits, and nobody else's, Bear," 
 said I. 
 
 Bear was received and welcomed by the family as a very 
 dear and much esteemed friend. He acts on these occasions 
 in a pasha-like manner, and receives all friendliness and 
 politeness as no more than his just tribute, and that may very 
 well be correct. 
 
 As I have placed myself to-day on the prosaic side of things, 
 I kept at dinner-time a watchful eye upon this part of the 
 domestic arrangement ; for without completeness in this re- 
 spect, in the north at least, all the poetry of life evaporates 
 like the odour of champagne. But I only discovered that I 
 might learn right much from Serena, both as regarded cook- 
 ing, arrangement, etc. For the last several years she has 
 regulated, and that excellently, the domestic concerns. The 
 sweet girl was an observant and rraceful hostess to the whole 
 table, whilst she, seated by her liaLf-blind grandfather, seemed 
 to devote lier constant care to him. 
 
 After dinner I soon began to introduce anew my project 
 regarding Serena. Bear threw himself with great reason 
 and force upon the same theme, and we carried it through 
 successfully. At first the old gentleman looked thoughtful ; 
 but when I mentioned how Serena and I could practise sing- 
 
FRAJfSISKA WEENEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 133 
 
 mg together, he assented joyfully, shook my hand, and said 
 it was excellent ! "When Serena heard the consent of her 
 grandparents given thus cordially, she showed what pleasure 
 the idea afforded her also, embraced me, and said, with a tear 
 in her eye, that I was quite too good to take so much interest 
 in her and her voice. 
 
 I was pleased to my heart's core, and being light in spirit, 
 everything else seemed pleasant. The evening passed in 
 agreeable conversation, Mr. Dahl spoke warmly of Mr. de 
 Eomilly's large donation, and of all the advantages the 
 country would derive from school instruction, of the kind 
 and to the extent which they now could adopt. The old, yet 
 still vigorous man was already in full activity as director of 
 the scheme. In this, his seventieth year, he is as ardent for 
 the well-being of his kind as any enthusiast of twenty. When 
 one sees an instance of this kind, one has a desire to live 
 
 Serena has the power of being unwearyingly entertaining. 
 One cannot exactly say that her conversation is in any way 
 distinguished, but it expresses a certain high tone of spirit 
 which I call womanliness. I wish that she w^ere my sister. 
 Oh, if I could only possess her for my friend ! The wish is 
 so livingly awake in me. It is true that, compared with me, 
 she is very young, and she does not exactly look upon life 
 as I do ; still she attracts me irresistibly, as it were, into her 
 angel-world. 
 
 On our way home. Bear and I spoke almost entirely of her. 
 Bear was much more eloquent on this subject than he is 
 accustomed to be. " She is a most estimable young lady," 
 said he, amongst other things. " It is quite affecting to see 
 how altogether she quite sacrifices herself for her old grand- 
 parents ; how self-forgetting she is ! As physician in the 
 family, I have had good opportunity of observing this. I 
 know quite certainly that she has declined four good offers ot 
 marriage ; people say more ; always under the plea that she 
 could not sufficiently love the admirer ; but the certain rea- 
 son was, that she would not leave the old people. They let 
 it be very well seen that they will not part with her. Two 
 years ago, a young amiable Englishman, who was most des- 
 perately in love with her, proposed He was refused like the 
 
134 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJBS. 
 
 rest, althougb every one believed that Serena was not in- 
 different to him. He did not conceal his despair, fell into 
 dissipation, and a year afterwards died unfortunately. People 
 ascribed this to the desperate state of liis affairs, but cer- 
 tainly the unfavourable termination of his love affair was the 
 chief occasion of his misfortunes. Be that as it may, this 
 is certain, that this circumstance made a strong impression 
 on Serena, and ever since her mood has been less cheerful, 
 and her cheek has become paler. But her calmness and her 
 amiability, nevertheless, remain." 
 
 " May she gather joy and roses at Eosenvik !" exclaimed I. 
 
 5th July. 
 
 I have seen him ! I have seen him ! The woodman ; the 
 spy ; Don Miguel ; the polite one ; the beneficent one ; the 
 mystery, — ^in one word, the new neighbour at Eamm, Mr. de 
 Eomilly ! I have seen him ! and if I were to live fifty years, 
 and never to see him again, I should never forget him. 
 
 Is he then so handsome ? I do not know. Or so ugly ? 
 I do not know. Is he so amiable ? I do not know. Or so 
 unamiable ? I do not know. Who is he like ? I do not 
 know. Is he a hero for romance ? I do not know. What is 
 he ? I do not know. Such were the questions put to me by 
 Miss Husgafvel to-day, and such were my answers to her. 
 
 JNTow listen, my Maria. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I was agreeably surprised by a visit 
 from the brothers and sisters-in-law. Already had they made 
 all possible voyages of discovery in my little world, and we 
 were beginning to get quite merry and comfortable together, 
 and to turn over the project of taking supper altogether on 
 Svano, when suddenly the door opened, and at the same time 
 was darkened by a tall, strong, and gloomy figure. At the 
 first glance I recognised the woodman, and was quite op- 
 pressed. I know not why, but it was as if a voice exclaimed 
 to me, " Samiel ! Samiel !" 
 
 Bear met the new comer, and with his accustomed cordial 
 frankness bade him welcome. The stranger mentioned his 
 name in a voice that seemed to me dissonant. Bear intro* 
 duced me to him, and then all took their seats. 
 
 There is no one in the world who asks fewer questions 
 than Bear, and strangers in particular mi^jht remain for biw 
 
FRAIS-SISKA WEEKER TO MABIA M. 
 
 135 
 
 eternal mysteries, Not so Jean Jacques, He questionar 
 people without ceremony, although in an easy manner, and 
 not so as to offend any one who is not too sensitive. In a 
 few minutes he had inquired from Mr. de Eomilly how long 
 he had been in Sweden, how long he thought of remaining 
 here, how it pleased him, and so on. One must confess that 
 his zeal of questioning did not enliven the stranger much ; 
 for I never heard any one return such short, indefinite, and 
 dry answers. Notwithstanding all this, I was infected by 
 Jean Jacques, and even I inquired, speaking like the others 
 in French, whether Swedish did not appear to him a harsh 
 language. To my great astonishment, he answered in Swedish, 
 with a foreign accent, yet in an altogether altered and me- 
 lodious voice, " On the contrary, it appears to me very sweet, 
 particularly in the mouth of a lady." 
 
 " You speak Swedish ?" said I, astonished. 
 
 " Some years ago," answered he in the same mild voice, 
 " I passed a winter in Sweden, and learned your beautiful 
 language then." 
 
 The conversation was now continued in Swedish ; but Mr, 
 de Eomilly took only little part in it, although Jean Jacques 
 did his utmost to draw him out, by touching on subjects 
 which must be familiar to the stranger. Especially he re- 
 lated a deal respecting Portugal, its trade and colonies. 
 From this subject the conversation turned on the various 
 races of mankind, — a subject which Jean Jacques handled 
 both interestingly and well. But it appeared to me tliat he 
 was unjust towards the race which he called Ethiopic, inas- 
 much as he placed them only in the same grade with animals ; 
 declaring further, that the JSTegro was totally incapable of any 
 higher degree of culture. Peter in part combated this 
 assertion. The slave trade came to be spoken of. To my 
 amazement, Jean Jacques justified it ; and asserted, that the 
 Negro possessed no value at all, except as the slave of the 
 cultivated European ; and could only as such enjoy any 
 degree of happiness. 
 
 Peter opposed this to the utmost, and on sound principles. 
 Jean Jacques quoted passages from Tarlton and G-ascoin, in 
 support of his proposition. Peter answered triumphantly 
 with assertions from Wilberforee and Canning. All thia 
 time the stranger spoke not one word, although he evidently 
 
136 
 
 THE :N"EIGHEOrES. 
 
 listened to tlie conversation with the most lively interest; 
 while at one time a scornful, bitter smile would curl upon 
 his lip, at another an extraordinary flash would seem to light 
 up his dark eyes. I could not remove my gaze from him , 
 but it was impossible to say to which side his opinions 
 inclined. Yet it appeared to me that he listened with the 
 greatest satisfaction to Jean Jacques, especially while in a 
 long and zealous speech he was endeavouring to place the 
 Negro in the lowest point of view, more particularly as 
 regarded his intellectual being ; asserting that Nature had 
 herself planted an impassable barrier against his advance. 
 
 " Do with the Negro what you will," said Jean Jaques in 
 conclusion, " heap upon him education and enlightenment, 
 still his understanding will ever remain slavishly subject to 
 that of the European ; develop all his faculties, and he will 
 still remain only a machine in the hands of the European. 
 He is designed by nature to serve him." 
 
 I saw this while, by Bear's grimaces, that this speech did 
 not much please him ; and when Jean Jacques had finished, 
 he said with emphasis, " I know not whether the Negro be 
 capable of a higher intellectual development, neither do I 
 know whether, after all, the intellect be the most important 
 part of the human conformation, but this I do know, that the 
 Negro is a man, and as a man he is my brother." 
 
 " Brother !" repeated De Romilly, in a voice which startled 
 me, so extraordinarily wild and almost threatening did it 
 sound. 
 
 "Yes," replied Bear with warmth, "I say brother; and 
 whoever trades in his life or his freedom is a monster — is 
 worse than a murderer." 
 
 "A murderer!" repeated the stranger, with a spasmodic 
 contraction of the eyebrows, and in such a gloomy voice as 
 involuntarily turned all eyes upon him. The expression of 
 his countenance changed again, and he remarked quietly, 
 but earnestly, to Bear, " Monsieur, je pense entierement 
 comme vous." 
 
 He said no more, but sate as if his thoughts were sunk into 
 himself, nor appeared to pay the slightest attention to the 
 after-conversation which Jean Jacques had led, with his 
 usual ease, to subjects quite different. 
 
 -After a while I s[)oke auain of our little excursion to 
 
FEA^SISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 137 
 
 Svano, and proposed to the whole company that they should 
 immediately adjourn there, whilst I would follow them a 
 little later with the collation. 
 
 Mr. de Eomilly did not seem to have much taste for so 
 pastoral a meal. He excused himself, and shortly after took 
 his leave ; and we, as we were about to set off to Svano, saw 
 him mount his beautiful black horse, and with a polite part- 
 ing salutation vanished amid the green trees. 
 
 I felt myself relieved when he was gone ; and yet in- 
 voluntarily I looked after him with the desire to obtain yet 
 one more glance of that dark handsome figure. 
 
 We proceeded to Svano, and had a merry evening there. 
 The green grass seemed to neutralise all pretensions and 
 claims to precedence : Jane Marie and Ebba drank milk out 
 of the same glass ! 
 
 Bat as yet I can speak of nothing but the stranger, and 
 for the whole evening could think of nothing else. Jane 
 Marie bantered me on my absence of mind. I cannot get his 
 image from my thoughts. I have now seen en face this 
 much-talked-of neighbour ; and yet I know not what I should 
 say of him. The first impression which he makes is of great 
 simplicity, and at the same time of great power, but a power 
 that would be oppressive. He reminds me of a beautiful 
 thunder-cloud. He is very tall ; of a strong build, and 
 rather stout than otherwise. The countenance strong and 
 manly, with a very dark complexion. Several scars, as of 
 sabre wounds, no way disfigured the face. An agreeable ex- 
 pression at times plays about the mouth ; but that which 
 spoils the whole countenance, and gives at the same time a 
 something startling, nay, almost hideous to it, is his habit of 
 contracting together the great black eyebrows, till they form 
 together one direct line over the nose. As soon as they 
 separate again the countenance brightens, and one is almost 
 compelled to exclaim, " It is beautiful !" Under those brows 
 are seated a pair of eyes which I cannot understand. They 
 seem to be changeably black and burnt-yellow. Sometimes 
 too, even when the mouth speaks, the eyes will be perfectly 
 inexpressive ; again they will fix themselves with such a keen, 
 penetrating glance, that one quails involuntarily before 
 them ; again they will sometimes flash forth glances suddenly, 
 ike flames bursting abroad in night. This wonderful and 
 
138 
 
 THE ^^EIaHBOUES. 
 
 rapid cliange prevails in his voice likewise ; and I am sur- 
 prised if it do not go even deeper than this. Another thing 
 I also noticed in him, which I consider a bad omen, because I 
 have observed it in other men of violent passions, that is, a 
 vein upc^n the forehead, which has the exact form of the 
 thunderbolt, especially when any excitement strongly agitates 
 him. 
 
 Eor the rest, his demeanour pleases me. It is perfectly 
 simple, without any trace of constraint, or any pretensions 
 whatever, and yet at the same time he has nothing frank 
 about him, and nothing which inspires confidence. He seems 
 to me like some powerful element, of which I know not 
 whether it be good or bad, whether it will destroy or make 
 happy. But if those wonderful eyes were rivetted in love on 
 any one ; if this voice spoke words of love — then, believe me, 
 they would be dangerous. Above all, I have never seen any 
 one who so much resembled a mystery. I have both desire 
 and anxiety to acquire a thorough understanding of him. 
 
 But thank God that my Bear is no gloomy secret ; that his 
 soul is clear and undisguised as Grod's daylight ! This con- 
 stitutes the blessedness of united life, and the peace of home. 
 
 July 6th. 
 
 To-morrow Baron Stellan S. comes. I cannot say that I 
 rejoice about it. Bear is quite ardent with preparations for 
 his reception. There is scarcely anything good enough for 
 him. He will be treated and petted as if he were a little 
 coquettish countess. Such a dainty gentleman must be a 
 weariful guest, especially at the rustic liosenvik. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Bear ! he shall have your Turkish slippers. 
 The real china wash-hand basin. Yes, yes, child! Your 
 favourite shall have all !" 
 
 I wish the gentleman of the bedchamber sate in Constanti- 
 nople ! However, Bear is so happy ; he likes the man so, 
 that on his account I will appear amiable. 
 
 lOth July. 
 
 Baron Stellan is here now; all goes on excellently with tho 
 cousin. He is polite, agreeable, seems satitsfied with every- 
 tlnng, and is one with whom it is extremely easy to live. He 
 takes walks with Bear, talks of physic and politics with him. 
 While 1 work, he either reads aloud to me, or chats pleasantly* 
 
TKANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 139 
 
 One soon becomes as well acquainted with liim, as if one had 
 known him for years. It is true that life in the country 
 assists a great deal, particularly when persons are together 
 the whole day. 
 
 Bear has desired me, on Cousin Stellan's account, to stay 
 at home ; and to make it a point that he shall find in our 
 house both pleasure and contentment. Bear loves his former 
 ward with all his heart. See here his portrait, made with a 
 few flourishes of the pen. 
 
 I could almost name him as the opposite of De Eomilly. 
 This one resembles a vast, wild, natural scene. I might 
 compare Stellan to a lovely, perfect, well-kept English plea- 
 sure-garden. A fine education has polished Cousin Stellan, 
 and made the very best of him. His handsome and graceful 
 figure presents itself easily. The un constraint of his carriage 
 ennobles his natural gifts. The mouth, round which plays 
 at times an elegant and rather sarcastic smile, shows, when 
 it opens, the most beautiful teeth, whose whiteness is set oS 
 the more by the dark-coloured moustache. The eyes are not 
 large, but they have a fine expression ; and the dark brown 
 hair falls in graceful curls upon the white forehead. The 
 toilet is performed with the most extraordinary care and 
 much taste. What can I say more ? 
 
 Cousin Stellan has many talents ; draws, sings well, talks 
 m the most agreeable manner ; and has with all this, at least 
 in the country, something unassuming in tone and bearing, 
 for which one thanks him, especially when one takes into 
 consideration his position in society and his prospects in 
 life. 
 
 Somewhat too much, I think, he busies himself with hia 
 toilet. But there is nothing bad in that. It is so very 
 natural for one who is young, rich, and handsome, to do so. 
 
 11th. 
 
 He is wonderful, the worthy Cousin Stellan ; and I cannot 
 understand really what he properly is ! In the first place, I see 
 that he is not a true Christian. Yesterday evening he spoke 
 a deal about Mohammedanism, and caUed it the wisest and 
 best of all religions ; he praised the Koran as the best of 
 books. He declared quite caradidly that he wished with aU 
 
140 
 
 THE NEiaHBOURS. 
 
 his heart that he had been born either a Turk or a Persian, 
 that he might have spent all his days in oriental pleasures—- 
 might have had his serail and such like. 
 
 I was quite excited at this speech, and contended warmly 
 against the Koran, without knowing much about its contents, 
 and said many contemptuous things against all these Turkish 
 ideas. Cousin Stellan did not allow himself to be disturbed 
 by all this, but spoke his thoughts with reference to the 
 highest state of human happiness quite distinctly. It was 
 not at all edifying to hear. I was a little angry ; and beyond 
 this I was as much provoked by my own warmth as by Stel- 
 lan' s coolness, and more than all by Bear, who, during all 
 our discourse, never spoke a word, but only made the most 
 horrible faces while he was carving his chess-queen. 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the evening meal, 
 and was not afterwards renewed ; but I could not let Bear 
 go to rest that night before I had some talk with him on the 
 morals of his golden-youth. I must confess that neither 
 was I much more contented with Bear, at least, on this occa- 
 sion. He defended Stellan quite too well, and assured me 
 that notwithstanding his Turkish notions, he was a most 
 upright fellow, and never would be guilty of anything un- 
 worthy. "His only error," said he, "is a little levity as 
 regards women ; but this," added he, "with young men, is 
 such a common failing that one must not judge them too 
 harshly on that account." 
 
 " Grood Bear !" said I ; " and now I'll tell you what ; — if 
 he, while you are away, out of a little levity endeavour to win 
 my heart, I shall think that this is only something quite 
 usual in a young man, so I shall not be very severe with him." 
 
 Bear looked so much astonished and confounded, that I 
 laughed, embraced him, and set him right. Bear at last 
 came over to my opinion, that it might be better if Stellan 
 possessed sounder principles ; if he were steady and well 
 married. His mother and his whole family greatly wisFi that 
 he should marry, but he himself shows not the least inclina- 
 tion to do so. Bear encouraged me to talk with him of the 
 happiness of marriage, and 1 certainly will not omit to do so, 
 nor also to read a sort of catecliism to him ; he ia not Sultan 
 yet, and must hear the truth. 
 
YEAl^SISKA WERNEE TO MAEIA M. Ill 
 
 13th, Evening. 
 
 I have, my dear Maria, certainlj many qualities of a good 
 preacher ; as for instance, faith, seriousness, and zeal ; but, 
 alas ! not the power of convincing my auditor. 
 
 Will you now, good Maria, hear my sermon and its con- 
 sequences ? I sate by the open window, my heart was light, 
 and I sang in emulation of the birds in the elder-bush. 
 Stellan came in, and seating himself near me, began pulling 
 to pieces some beautiful monthly roses which stood in a glass 
 on the table. I thought the opportunity a favourable one, 
 and felt myself excited in spirit to commence a lecture. 
 
 In order to lead the conversation, I began, perhaps not 
 very discreetly, to reprove him for destroying the flowers, 
 which, if spared, would have afforded him more pleasure. 
 
 "They would at all events soon wither," said he, still pur- 
 suing his employment ; " and it is exactly their perishable- 
 ness which makes them beautiful to me. I know no flowers 
 so wearisome as everlastings." 
 
 You may thus easily see which way the door was opened ; 
 I rushed in hastily, and began at once on the chapter of 
 marriage. I fell at once upon Stellan' s favourite idea, and 
 exalted the desirable and pure joys of life in opposition to 
 fleeting pleasures, to a fluttering butterfly -life. I painted in 
 warm colours, which I drew from my own heart, the beauty, 
 the unending happiness, which developes itself in a well- 
 assorted marriage. 
 
 Cousin Stellan answered me, at first, only evasively, — 
 sometimes with a little jest, sometimes with politeness — as 
 for example, " If all ladies were like Pransiska, I w^ould be a 
 married man directly. If all marriages resembled yours," etc. 
 
 I affected to hear nothing of all this ; but in my zeal to 
 get him married, placed, as it were, in array before him one 
 pretty and well-bred girl after another. But Stellan found 
 faults in every one. This had large feet ; that had ugly 
 teeth ; the third dressed ill ; the fourth had a disagreeable 
 voice. At last, quite provoked by all these objections, I 
 asked him whether he really, after all, thought himself so 
 over and above magnificent ! 
 
 " God forbid 1" exclaimed he, with an agi^eeable but pecu- 
 liar intonation ; but I saw that he was entirely satisfied with 
 himself; and as I could not deny but that he was uncom- 
 
142 
 
 THE NEianBOURS. 
 
 monly handsome and agreeable, I began to speak of the 
 inward man ; reproved him for bis superfieialness ; said that 
 more outward attractions were nothing but dust, and exalted 
 the beauty of the soul as most important, especially in several 
 of the young ladies, whose hands and feet he had censured 
 so. In connexion herewith I said the most beautiful things 
 on the subject of family life, which I praised with a zeal equal 
 to that of the deceased Miss Konnquist.* My descriptions 
 affected me, and made me quite warm ; but Stellan cooled 
 me down by an affected yawn, and by quietly humming the 
 melody of" Old Noah/'f This made me quite angry, and I 
 told him that he was a heathen, an ourang-outang, unworthy 
 of the hand of a noble girl, and that he did not deserve to 
 partake of the highest and purest happiness of earth. 
 
 All at once Stellan became quite grave, and said, " But is 
 that happiness of wi4^cii^^ou speak, Eransiska, really attain- 
 able ? Is it ncjl'Tlike the^^cenix, only a beautiful fable on 
 earth ? Can you, FSi^^siska, you^^^ appear so certain and 
 so much at home on thi^v^i^i^jg^,^ ^^e to me among all the 
 families that you know, on^^^j^o-Jg onellii^^ really happy, 
 and really united, and which ble^^g^g ^ N^tl^ t .Wvfs tftim 
 together, not merely at one momeu.x ^j^^^, live^>J^^^ under 
 all the changes of their lifetime? INam'e^^^ bu^Q^^ such 
 family, Eransiska ?" ^ / 
 
 Stellan looked at me earnestly and keenly, j bega^ 
 reflect and to consider. 
 
 Is it not the most absurd thing in the world that often 
 the very word, the very thing that we require, escapes from 
 us ? It was exactly so with me and the happy family. I 
 fancied I knew many such, but now I could not bethink 
 myself of a single one. I sought and sought. I sprang 
 into this house, and out of that house, among all my ac- 
 quamtance ; I grew anxious and warm, because I could not 
 find that for which I sought. With a secret mischievous 
 delight Stellan sate there and looked expectingly at me. 
 
 In order to save myself and family happiness, I thought it 
 best to object to his extravagant demands, and began thus : — 
 " Perfect * happiness is nowhere found on earth — " Stellan 
 
 ♦ A character in " The President's Daughters." 
 
 + Gubben Noach, a popular Swedish song by the favourite poc^ )f the people 
 Bellman. 
 
FRAIS'SISKA WERNEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 143 
 
 interrupted me. " Tou are right, Fransiska, and least of all 
 is it to be found in family life. Tlie ephemera man can only 
 enjoy happiness, or bliss, on earth, on the condition tliat he 
 live there as an ephemera ; that, like a butterfly, he rock 
 himself on the tree twigs ; suck the honey from the flowers ; 
 and, like it too, do not fetter himself to the ground. So 
 soon indeed as he does this, he is the prey of worms and 
 creeping things. Then, all that is dull and insipid in life 
 comes over him, the wings of the Psyche fall ofl* — the butter- 
 fly becomes the worm. Believe me, Transiska, I have seen 
 more of life than you ; and sadly too much either to praise it, 
 or to wish myself to play the part of a ' pere de famille.' 
 The family is an instrument which sooner or later gets out of 
 tune ; this is in the nature of the strings, and their relation- 
 ship to each other. I will show you this in some families 
 with whom I am acquainted. I might begin with my own 
 family, since I also, Fransiska, have had parents and brothers 
 and sisters ; have also heard quarrels, have quarrelled myself ; 
 have been envious, and have bickered with my own flesh and 
 blood. Bat this now is all passed ; we have separated, and 
 in consequence have diflerent interests, and thereby — are 
 become good friends. 
 
 " I will speak of the A.'s. They had, I believe, a good 
 income till the children grew up ; these children were badly 
 educated ; they turned out ill, and now, through them, the 
 parents have sunk into poverty and care. 
 
 " The B.'s did quite diflerently. They were stern and 
 despotic. They are left alone. The children have all escaped 
 from home, shunning it even more than a prison. 
 
 " The C.'s made it their most important business that their 
 children should be well educated. They had them instructed 
 in everything ; gave them teachers of every kind ; spared no 
 cost ; and rejoiced and were proud for a while of the progress 
 their children made. The children were rich in knowledge 
 and talent, and despised — their parents, who, in comparison 
 of them, were ignorant. Silently grieve the parents like 
 shadows over their brilliant children. 
 
 " With the D.'s it appears much better. They have no 
 children ; they are rich. They give now, as they have done 
 for thirty years, magnificent suppers ; but if you saw them 
 near, if you knew the emptiness^, the coldness of their life— 
 
THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 ha ! The eatables on their table are the only things that 
 warm and unite them. 
 
 " At the E.'s, for a long time all was gay. They were 
 joyous, friendly, hospitable. Their daughters were called 
 the three Grraces. They made parties and gave entertain- 
 ments. Tears went on. The three Grraces grew old in the 
 paternal house ; they withered away together. The world 
 forgot them. They remain together alone, and pout through 
 their uneventful life. In an evening they sit at a round 
 table, light candles, and wait for company — ^which never 
 comes. 
 
 " I will not speak about the E.'s. The husband has one 
 will, the wife another ; it is perpetual storm there. The 
 children are accustomed to say, ' If there be not tempest in 
 the north, there is in the south — ^but there is always a north 
 wind.' 
 
 " ' If one only knew how to keep things smooth !' said 
 good Madame G-., as she wished to heal a breach which her 
 violent husband had occasioned in the domestic ,union. Thus 
 has the family gone on smoothening, and has by degrees 
 smoothened itself out of all comfort and order : they keep on 
 smoothening still, and manage just to keep together. It is 
 a family in a state of perpetual asthma : it neither lives nor 
 dies. 
 
 " My mother wished that I should take a wife out of the 
 H. family. I went there one evening — all looked charm- 
 ingly ; the daughters handsome and well-dressed. All per- 
 fumed and comfortable. I went again one forenoon. A pair 
 of — not clean — stockings lay upon a chair in the drawing- 
 room, and an infamous smell of sour paste met me from 
 somewhere. I went into another room, and away flew the 
 daughters — from the spinning-wheel. Housewifery is an 
 excellent thing, but spinning deranges the toilet — and to 
 smell sour paste only once is an abomination. Sour paste 
 and domestic happiness do not at all accord in my mind." 
 
 " But that is childish!" exclaimed I, "you will never 
 be able to live on the earth with over-refinement like that 1" 
 
 " Yes," answered he, " I confess that this may seem very 
 trifling. But such is my nature. The sour paste of house- 
 wifery deters me from becoming the head of a family." 
 
 "My friend J.," continued he* "had been married foul 
 
niANSISKA WEBNER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 145 
 
 years, during wliich time I had not seen him. Not long 
 since I happened to be in the country where he resided, and 
 availed myself of the repeated invitations I had received to 
 visit him in his Idyllian home. In the first room I found 
 two barefooted servant-girls scouring the floor ; in the second, 
 I nearly fell down, having entangled my foot in a string 
 which fastened a spinning-wheel to the leg of the stove ; in 
 the third, I heard children crying with all their might. I 
 waited several minutes that the crying might cease ; I grew 
 tired of this, however, and so, half-dead, rushed, with a leap 
 over the scouring-tubs, out of this Idyllian home." 
 
 " You chose your visiting time very badly," said I,, vexed ; 
 " must not people have their houses scoured ? and must not 
 little children cry sometimes ? Ought not one to have 
 patience with little children ?" 
 
 " That I believe, Fransiska," returned he ; " but exactly 
 because I do not possess this beautiful patience, and because 
 I do not think these family scenes are to be coveted, exactly 
 on that account I am not suited for the marriage state. But 
 I have more weighty objections than these, against domestic 
 life. There is a something in man, which tends ever to repel. 
 The more individuals are brought into close and enduring 
 connexion, the more this stone of repulsion is felt, the more 
 do its jagged edges and angles wound. Outward circum- 
 stances assist this ; one person crowds another so easily, one 
 is mutually in each other's way, and the consideration which 
 one person has and must have for another, is only like a 
 leaden weight upon his freedom and his enjoyment. If it be 
 commanded that we live one for another, then, properly 
 speaking, nobody lives happily for himself. I do not deny 
 that there may be high and enduring happiness in marriage 
 and in domestic life, but these instances are the few excep- 
 tions. They are the echoes which sound across to us from a 
 lost paradise : and as I am speaking on this subject, what do 
 you say to the apple which presents itself in the history of 
 Adam and Eve ? It has descended to all their posterity, and 
 most families have an apple to bite, which occasions discord 
 and want. 
 
 " Would you know, Eransiska, where the greatest need, 
 the greatest ennui, the greatest envy, the greatest bitterness, 
 the most intrinsic mutual hate, are ; — would you know where 
 
14G 
 
 THE KETGIIBOtJES, 
 
 the most tearful eyes, the palest cheeks, the most joyless, the 
 most wearied hearts, may be found ? I will show you them 
 all in marriage, in the domestic circle — in one word, in family 
 life!" 
 
 I cannot tell you how I felt after these descriptions of 
 Stellan's, because I was compelled in so many things to 
 acknowledge truth ; and although he saw all in a one-sided 
 point of view, and I could laugh at many things, as for instance 
 at the sour paste, yet many others gave me really a pang at 
 the heart. I was skocked at the thought that there was so 
 much mental poverty, so much deep misery in family life. 
 But still the idea of family life was one which I loved; one 
 which I had faith in, which had grown up with all that was 
 good in me. All this now seemed profaned by Stellan. I 
 felt vexed ; I felt anxiety and pain, — and a thousand mixed 
 feelings filled my eyes with tears, whilst I exclaimed, " But I 
 am happy ! Bear is happy ! — we are happy !" 
 
 " Yes ! now in the honeymoon, and perhaps yet for one, 
 two, or three years," said the ul merciful Stellan. " But let 
 years, let children, let cares come— you will have, for instance, 
 ten girls — what will you do with all these ? No money, no 
 marriage; one girl lame, one diseased." 
 
 " Ten girls!" I was shocked. I saw them already around 
 me, tall, grown-up, demanding that I should give them hap- 
 piness as I had given them life. I saw one of them sickly ; 
 one diseased : I sank down under this burden, which was too 
 heavy for me ; and whilst I wept without being able to say a 
 word, up rose Stellan, threw away my last monthly rose, and 
 went out. The abominable wretch ! I almost wished never 
 to see him again ! 
 
 " Ten girls !" 'For a long time I could think of nothing 
 but these words and weep. By degrees, however, I en- 
 deavoured to calm myself, and began seriously, and as a 
 Christian, to reflect on the aflair, and by and by tliis began 
 to assume quite an altered appearance. I was no longer 
 shocked at my ten girls, but was quite consoled by them. I 
 would devote myself altogetlier to them : I would make of them 
 industrious, God-fearing human beings. They should become 
 good Mild happy ; should love one another ; and, sound in heart, 
 sh(mld be able to face the world. The more I studied my 
 family picture, the more alluring it seemed. I began regularlj 
 
FBANSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 147 
 
 to love my ten girls, but most of all the lame and the afflicted 
 one. I created no illusion ; but I felt in my strengthened 
 heart that it really would succeed, and that, with God's and 
 my husband's help, I would make the ten girls fortunate. 
 And then I thought how rich I should be at the day of judg- 
 ment, when I could say, "Here I am, Eather, with the 
 children that thou hast given me." 
 
 So felt .1, so thought I, and I was calm and joyful in 
 spirit. I went out into the birch grove to cool my red eyes 
 and cheeks ; and then I had several things to look after in the 
 kitchen and the store-room, and thus, what with one thing 
 and what with another, I had nearly forgotten my ten girls ! 
 but as Bear came home, some way or other all the depression, 
 all the despondency seemed to fall upon my heart again. I 
 became again as weak as a child. When my husband came 
 up and kissed me, I threw my arms round his neck, and both 
 laughed and cried at the same time. 
 
 " No doubt, Bear," said I, " you would love me and be 
 satisfied with me, and we should be happy even if we had 
 ten daughters ; and you would love them all, even if they 
 were lame and diseased." 
 
 I could not properly finish my speech. — Good Bear ! he 
 made such a horrible face, and looked just as if all the ten 
 daughters were hangiug round his neck. But as he saw me 
 so agitated, he gave me a glass of water and begged me to 
 speak Swedish, — he imagined, probably, that the " ten 
 daughters'^ was Hebrew. 
 
 I explained to him the whole affair in perspicuous Swedish, 
 and then he laughed loudly, and assured me that he should 
 always be happy, and that he would always love both me and 
 the children I should give him ! 
 
 Stellan came in at the same moment. He appeared em- 
 barrassed and distressed to see me so much excited, but in 
 the joy of my heart I offered him my hand and exclaimed, 
 " We will be happy, my Bear and I ; we will be happy even 
 with ten daughters, and even if they, every one of them, be 
 sickly. We will love each other, and love them also." 
 
 Stellan was really affected ; he blushed, kissed my hand, 
 and prayed me to forgive his having jested so rudely. Bear 
 was kind to me as an angel, and would not go to table till I 
 was altogether calmer. I hastened to become so, but stii] 
 
 k2 
 
148 
 
 THE NEiaHBOTTRS. 
 
 could scarcely swallow a morsel. I fancy my ten dauglitero 
 stuck in my throat ; beyond this, I fancied that Bear looked 
 at me with a degree of consternation. Ten daughters ! 
 That really is too many ! 
 
 But I will not think any more about it. "Whilst Bear and 
 Stellan take a walk, and the evening paints the scenes ol 
 nature in sepia and Indian ink, I will cast another glance on 
 Cousin Stellan's ornamental pictures of family life. Are 
 they really true ? In many indiyidual cases, ah yes ! but in 
 the general, no, oh no ! And even were there in earthly 
 fam'lies more of shadow than light, thou allwise Artist, who 
 hast painted in such magnificent light the great picture of 
 life. Thou wouldst teach us to spread out the colouring 
 better upon our small canvas. But Thou hast already taught 
 us ; and it now depends upon ourselves. If we labour with 
 fervency and truth, our family picture will be beautiful, and 
 will be worthy of its place in the collection of the Most 
 Blessed. 
 
 " One finds," says Stellan, "a something among human 
 beings that always tends to thrust them asunder." I grant 
 that ; one finds envy, pretension, unreasonableness, ennui, 
 and a thousand large and small stones of repulsion, which 
 are capable of occasioning bitter feeling. I grant also that 
 they are felt most keenly exactly when the circle is most 
 confined — in family life. What then ? Is there no power, 
 mild yet energetic, whose efficacy consists in equalising and 
 sweetening all, and changing even evil into good ? Who will 
 not here remember the doctrine of the Apostle, and whom 
 has it not blessed a thousand times in his life — " Love is 
 patient and mild, etc. ?" 
 
 I will now examine a few of Stellan's family scenes. I 
 will leave the external relationship as it is, but will conduct 
 into the interior bosom of these families the angel-sisters, 
 Truth and Love. Then behold how the picture will be 
 changed ! See, for example, the family with the talent-gifted 
 children and the uneducated parents. True instruction, true 
 enlightenment, would have ennobled the children. It never 
 would have happened then that they would lightly have 
 esteemed good and upright parents because they were better 
 informed than they. They would have known that true 
 human worth conaista in moral Qualities and in uprisht con- 
 
TRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 149 
 
 iuct. They would have surrounded the parents with re- 
 rerence and gratitude, enlivened their home, and beautified 
 their days with their talents. 
 
 And then the three Graces ! In fact a melancholy picture. 
 I must yawn when I think of it ; but it is not the family 
 bond, but vanity, highmindedness, and inward emptiness, 
 which has placed them in this puppet condition. 
 
 If Stellan tear away happiness from families, I would 
 willingly know where he places it. I will ask him what men, 
 and what position in life, he regards as the happiest ? 
 Perhaps a bachelor's life ! But then he must be an egotist, 
 who disowns all bonds of nature; I envy no one such a 
 happiness. But I will ask Stellan if he himself be happy, 
 
 13th, 
 
 I have asked Stellan. At first he would only give an 
 evasive answer, jested, and was witty, but without joyousness; 
 but as I questioned him still more earnestly, and besought 
 him to speak the truth, he also became earnest, and said, " I 
 am not happy ! Life appears to me poor, and I often feel 
 an almost insupportable emptiness within myself." 
 
 " Ah, thank Grod !" exclaimed I, quite charmed and excited. 
 He looked at me astonished ; and I continued : " Thus you 
 are not the unworthy egotist that you must have been, if you 
 could have been happy with your way of thinking. You 
 have described married life so as to make one weep ; but I, 
 Stellan, could describe to you the life of an old bachelor, and 
 you would find it so miserable, so barren, that you would not 
 give a pinch of snuff for it. But thus it need not be with 
 you, Stellan ; you are a good thinking being ; you will dis- 
 cover the true worth of life, and will renounce all extravagant 
 pretensions and all exaggerated sensibilities ; you will become 
 happy through noble employment, through an amiable wife, 
 through domestic and family life." 
 
 He smiled half sorrowfully, shook his head, and said some- 
 thing about sour paste. 
 
 " But Cousin Stellan," said I, " in our house also domestic 
 business goes forward ; also here do we spin, make paste, 
 and scour. Is it here, then, so uncomfortable ?" 
 
 " If all women were like you, Fransiska," returned Stellan, 
 took my hand, kissed it, said something about " this white; 
 
150 
 
 THE NEIGHEOrES. 
 
 fine hand," kissed it again and again, became crimson, and 
 cast upon me an extraordinary glance. I also became crimson 
 and felt I know not how, drew my hand back, began to talk 
 of the weather, and then went directly into the kitchen. A 
 stupid scene on the whole ! It must not occur again unre- 
 proved. 'No, so sure as my Eear lives and I am his Eanny ! 
 
 Think, if Ma chere mere's lecture should actually serve 
 my turn, and I really should find an occasion to say — " Sir, 
 you are mistaken," etc. But in no case should I go directly 
 to my husband and say — " Dear friend, so and so has oc- 
 curred." A woman who loves herself and her duty can take 
 care of herself. One does not need therefore to gens-d'armise. 
 But perhaps at this very moment I am doing so, when I am 
 shocked at so slight an affair. 
 
 In the mean time, I have a sort of satisfaction in knowing 
 that Stellan, with his way of thinking and feeling, is not 
 happy ; and had I only properly reflected, I needed not to 
 have asked the question. Stellan with all his gifts is an 
 ennuye. He opens a book, reads a little, yawns, and throws 
 it again aside. He takes a newspaper, and does exactly the 
 same. He begins a drawing, and leaves it uncompleted. He 
 has real interest and pleasure in nothing. He is willingly 
 in the fresh air, loves nature and flowers, but is so easily 
 annoyed with the least thing. It is now too warm, now too 
 cold, for him ; sometimes it is windy, and the wind is to him 
 something horrible. Extraordinary! this man, in every-day 
 life so aflected, so solicitous of his own convenience, is yet, 
 as I have heard from Bear, as determined as bold. He has 
 good intellect, fine knowledge, and might perhaps become a 
 distinguished man, if he would only give himself the trouble 
 to study. But perhaps he smells sour paste in books. And 
 in that he may be correct, even beyond the binding. 
 
 . 14th. 
 
 No ; I was not wrong to gens^d'armise, and to be upon 
 my guard. They are precisely the little things which must 
 put people on their guard ; for the proverb is true — A great 
 fire often arises from a small spark." How often is a slur, 
 deserved or undeserved, cast on the reputation of a young 
 woman, merely because she has not been circumspect in little 
 things. 
 
FEAXSISKA WEEIS^ER TO MABIA M. 
 
 151 
 
 "We spent yesterday afternoon on Svano. Consin Stellan 
 was unusually lively and polite. On our return home he 
 invited Bear and me to a game at ring-throwing. I accepted 
 the proposal gladly ; and soon our rings, wreathed with their 
 pink ribbons, were flying among the green trees, and merrily 
 and dexterously we caught them again on our sticks. Bear 
 threw several times, but soon grew weary, panted, sent all 
 pleasures which required exertion to the fiend, and so went 
 into the house. I confess my error, Maria. As a rational 
 wife, true to her duty, I ought to have followed my husband 
 But I was so heartily delighted with the game, and had not 
 the least desire to leave off. So, warm, ardent, and almost 
 wild, Stellan and I continued to throw our rings, all this 
 while getting farther and farther from the house. At length 
 twilight came on, so that we could not distinctly see the 
 course of the rings, and Stellan' s remained hanging behind 
 me in a birch-tree. I sprang towards it, and leaped up to 
 reach it, when I suddenly found myself embraced by Stellan, 
 whilst his lips whispered close to my curls, " Eanny, dear 
 Fanny !" I w^as excited by a thousand strange feelings ; but 
 in a moment I extricated myself and said — odd enough —in 
 Ma chere mere's own words, " Baron S., you mistake your- 
 self ! There — upon the tree, hangs your ring!" This I 
 spoke with so much emphasis that I was understood imme- 
 diately. 
 
 "Aha!" said Stellan, somewhat confused as I thought, 
 while he reached down his ring. 
 
 " It gets cool now," continued I, "it is best to go in 
 and, without further parley, hastened to the house. Stellan 
 slowly followed, humming an air out of " Era Diavolo." 
 
 It was not till half an hour afterwards that he came in. I 
 was sitting beside my own good Bear, and telling him how 
 dear he was to me, which communication he received with his 
 good-tempered Pacha-air, as Stellan entered. He held a 
 beautiful spray of wild roses in his hand, which he presented 
 to me, saying, " I have taken away all the thorns." 
 
 " Many thanks," said I, took the spray, and stuck it — in 
 my bosom ? 'No, Maria, you could not believe that ; I stuck 
 it in Bear's button-hole ! Stellan hummed the air anew, and 
 shortly after we separated somewhat coldly. 
 
152 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 Oh, no, my Bear ! Tour confidence in me shall not hf^ 
 abused ! I will not in the least deceive it. My ten daugh- 
 ters shall, at the least, receive from their mother the inhe- 
 ritance of an unspotted reputation and a good example. 
 
 But what shall I now do ? I will not sit here at home the 
 whole day, in order to keep company with Cousin Stellan ; 
 neither can I leave the house, because Bear has so expressly 
 desired me to remain at home ; much less will I go to him 
 and say — " My friend, so-and-so," etc., because this would 
 only disturb his peace and the relation between him and hia 
 young friend, who has certainly no bad intention, but is only 
 thoughtless. I know now what I shall do. This morning I 
 have household occupation ; in the afternoon we go to Carls- 
 fors, and introduce Stellan to Ma chere mere. To-morrow 
 Serena comes to me ; and then I will move heaven and earth 
 but she shall come and spend from eight to fourteen days 
 with me at Eosenvik. I will compel Bear to tyrannise over 
 the whole Dahl family. It will do Serena good and me also. 
 It will be charming ! 
 
 15th. 
 
 It is vexatious that Cousin Stellan should have adopted ex- 
 actly Jane Marie's method of indicating discontent. There is, 
 it is true, some little difference in the way and means ; because 
 Stellan does not exactly sulk, but he feigns an indifference 
 and coldness which are anything but agreeable. He would 
 convince me, as it seems, that I am the very person in the 
 world about whom he would least concern himself. I try to 
 make him feel that I do not notice it. But it always grieves 
 me not to be in entire friendliness with every one about me. 
 However, I am now cold towards Stellan, lest he should 
 imagine that I want to decoy him back. 
 
 "We spent yesterday at Carlsfors, where Ma chere mere 
 received Stellan in an extraordinary manner. " I knew your 
 lather, my Baron," said she ; " he was a fine man, but a bon 
 vivant. I have heard say that the son should resemble the 
 father ; and though we ought to honour the tree which haa 
 lent us its shade, yet I must say that you might follow a 
 better example. Now, now, your father reformed in his 
 latter years ; and I hope that the son will do so, and think 
 about a good marriage in time. In doings so you would act 
 
TRANSISKA WEEIS^ER TO MARIA M. 
 
 153 
 
 prudently, my Baron ; for the proverb says — ' Early wooing 
 brings no man rueing,' and ' Better one cake with peace than 
 two with strife.' 
 
 Stellan looked quite astonished and somewhat irritated 
 by this unexpected lecture. Ma chere mere did not seem 
 to be in a particularly peaceful humour, and when we looked 
 round us we found the whole house entangled in strife. Ma 
 chere mere and Jean Jacques had fallen out on account of 
 the new arrangements he wished to introduce on the estate, 
 and the old abuses which he wished to reform. The strife 
 between the old and the new had broken out at Carlsfors. 
 But Ma chere mere held the reins of government fast in her 
 hand ; and Jean Jacques, compelled to yield, found with 
 reason his situation at Carlsfors highly disagreeable. Of all 
 these things he complained to my Bear. Jane Marie was in 
 open feud with Ebba, and related to me in a bitter tone all 
 the injustice which she had to bear, which all consisted in 
 so many trifles as compelled me rather to laugh than to cry 
 over them : for it is quite as laughable as lamentable when 
 people who might live without troubles, embitter each other's 
 existence by a multitude of unnecessary, self-created entan- 
 glements. I endeavoured cautiously to make Jane Marie 
 aware of this, but some way it was unseasonable. Jane 
 Marie grew excited to think that any one considered those 
 things trifles which so nearly concerned her dignity ; and 
 gave me to understand that she was quite capable of de- 
 ciding what, in this whole afiair, was of importance, and what 
 was not. 
 
 I had quite determined not again to let it be grey between 
 myself and Jane Marie ; and more than this, just now I felt 
 a necessity for union ; so without any regard to her digni- 
 fied words and air, I merely replied, " Yes, certainly, dear 
 Jane Marie, your education, your understanding, place you 
 high enough over Ebba for you to have forbearance with 
 her childish folly, without abusing your goodness." 
 
 " You do not knoAV Ebba," replied she, somewhat calmer ; 
 " she is full of self-love, pretension, and haughtiness. She 
 would soon set me down if I did not carry a high hand 
 towards her." 
 
 There was a time when I believed that every person 
 possessed in himself a preponderating fund of equity and 
 
15^ 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 sound reason ; when I believed that they desired nothing so 
 much as to be enlightened ; that if they only heard the truth, 
 they must acknowledge it ; and that when they had acknow- 
 ledged it they would correct their faults, and in consequence 
 of this become contented and happy. At that time I spoke 
 the truth to many, spared good counsel to none, and willingly 
 became the peacemaker in quarrels ; but I very seldom 
 found that I was thus able to do a service to any one, least 
 of all to myself And to be truly candid, reciprocal service 
 of this kind, which some of my good friends have done for 
 me, has especially tended to convince me that the too candid 
 method in such cases is not the best by any means. In 
 latter years I have been remarkably circumspect in speaking 
 out my mind to people ; have been very sparing in giving 
 good advice ; and have had a salutary fear of rushing into 
 quarrels as peacemaker, or, in other words, " sitting between." 
 But if, without any fault of my own, I do get into this 
 melancholy predicament, I then' close my heart with a sigh, 
 endeavour to do my best, and make use of the experience 
 which I have gained through my former unfortunate at- 
 tempts. On this account, I did not now say to Jane Marie, 
 My good Jane Marie, you yourself are haughty, and full 
 of pretensions. Precisely your o^vn faults is it which call 
 forth those of Ebba. If you were more reasonable in your 
 behaviour, she would be less overbearing in hers !" I spoke 
 out none of these thoughts of my heart, but merely sighed 
 and said, " The poor child! she has certainly had a faulty 
 education. Those who have been better trained must excuse 
 her. A defective education is a positive misfortune." 
 
 "Yes, a positive misfortune," chimed in Jane Marie, as it 
 seemed with milder feeliug towards Ebba. 
 
 But with Ma chere mere also was Jane Marie wholly dis- 
 satisfied. 
 
 The day before. Ma chere mere had the horses put to her 
 carriage, and had said to Jane Marie and Ebba, " One of you 
 can accompany me." As the carriage stood before the door, 
 and Ma chere mfere had already been long seated in it, came 
 at the same moment Jane Marie and Ebba with the inten- 
 tion of going with her. There was room but for one of them 
 by the side of Ma chfere mere ; both wished for the drive. As 
 now on the steps of the carriage a very violent dispute ar:)se 
 
TEANSISKA WERKEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 155 
 
 between the sisters-in-law, Ma chere mere snddenlj gave tlia 
 whip to her horses, and drove off alone in the heavenly- 
 carriage, to the great displeasure and astonishment of the 
 disputants. 
 
 "Walking in the park by Ebba's side — for Ebba, since her 
 morning promenade, has become a great lover of the country 
 — I heard afterwards all her complaints against Jane Marie. 
 Jane Marie had such unbearably lofty manners towards 
 Ebba ; Jane Marie had called her a little fool ; Jane Marie 
 would alway be the first, would always go first through a 
 door ; w^ould always be first served at table ; Jane Marie 
 would have everything better, more magnificent than Ebba ! 
 called Ebba's dress and ornaments common and of simple 
 taste ; always saw faults in her, and in all that she possessed, 
 whilst she exalted her own possessions, and instanced them 
 as distinguished and excellent. Poor Ebba bewailed over 
 this. Also I bewailed it, only in another manner. 
 
 AYe were standing now on the edge of a flowing water, 
 whose shore was richly adorned with leaves and flowers. All 
 around us was beautiful, fresh, still. My very heart was 
 warmed by it, and I felt that I could speak to Ebba in quite 
 another way than to Jane Marie. I threw my arm therefore 
 suddenly round her, and said, " Dear Ebba, would you be 
 happy ?'* 
 
 " Yes, certainly," answered she, looking at me amazed. 
 Ah, my beloved Ebba," continued I, warmly, then rivet 
 not yourself to such trifles, and do not let them annoy you. 
 See how^ glorious and beautiful it is here all around you 1 and 
 you have not rejoiced in these things, have scarcely observed 
 them, because Jane Marie has carried herself more loftily, 
 and has more costly things than you! My dear Ebba, is it 
 not lamentable that we should spoil all the good and beauti- 
 ful w^hich life offers us through things like these ?" 
 
 To repeat all that I said in my geal would be to go too far ; 
 it is enough that I found a w^illing ear in Ebba, and that I 
 described to her the folly of such contentions, and the pang 
 of bitterness which they produce, so that Ebba both laughed 
 and cried over it. She promised on my behalf to concede in 
 peace all that precedence to Jai^e Marie after which shi 
 strove, 
 
 lu the mean time, Bear on his aide had to " sit bet^reeu 
 
156 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 Ma chere mere and Jean Jacques : he had through his in- 
 fluence arranged it so that Jean Jacques promised for the 
 future to be less precipitate in overwhehning Ma chere mere 
 with liis new reformed systems, and she had conceded that 
 she would take Jean Jacques's propositions into consideration. 
 
 And during all this time what did Cousin Stellan do ? He 
 busied himself with those who were at peace ; made himself 
 agreeable to all the ladies, one after another, excepting to 
 me, and succeeded perfectly in pleasing all right well, not 
 even excepting Ma chere mere, who asserted to me, 
 "Heavens! he is truly polite, the Baron S. He did justice 
 to his dinner. He is a sensible young man !" 
 
 I rejoiced during the evening over Ebba, for she kept her 
 promise excellently, and instead of making Jane Marie's 
 beloved privilege a cause of strife, she prevented it several 
 times. Jane Marie, at first, looked as if some stratagem of 
 war must be concealed under this behaviour, but at last, con- 
 vinced of the friendly sincerity of Ebba, she also became 
 quite changed, and descended from her "high horses." 
 
 We foolish human beings ! How we torment ourselves 
 and others ! and yet could often so easily change that picture 
 of discontent and disquiet into a picture of peace and rest ! 
 
 When Bear and I were again at home, we detailed 
 mutually our commissions, and how we both had been called 
 upon to " sit between," and we felt with joy that never, in 
 this sense of the word, should it be necessary for any one to 
 come and to " sit between us." 
 
 I have at this moment received the news of aunt XJlla's 
 death. My good Maria ! I cannot say otherwise than " it is 
 good !" especially since I hear how happily she died. Aunt 
 Sophie, who writes me this news, adds, " Anne Maria can now 
 remove into her chamber, which is so much more cheerful 
 and convenient than the one she has been obliged to put up 
 with." 
 
 There are people, harmless, peaceable people, whose de- 
 parture is good, more particularly because they make room. 
 This thought saddens me ! Oh, if I should ever come to be 
 in the way of my neighbours ; if any one amongst them 
 should ever long for my place, — then will I forth — forth! 
 
 Here am I now, sitting and weeping over this fancy, aiLd 
 over the thought of my ten daughters. 
 
FBANSISKA WEENEB TO MAEIA M. 
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 Roseiivik, July 18th. 
 
 Testeedat, Serena and I began our singing-lessons. At 
 ten o'clock in the forenoon a pretty little horse, bearing a 
 light graceful burden, came cantering up to my door. A 
 heavy calesche, antique as its possessors, rolled up after the 
 Amazon with the Patriarchs. I was glad to see that venerable 
 pair under my roof, and delighted to receive and to keep 
 Serena, who seemed animated by the ride and the beauty of 
 the morning, and already to breathe a fresh life. 
 
 I had a little breakfast in readiness, and my eggs, my 
 fresh butter and foaming chocolate, were praised no little. 
 After the good old people had breakfasted and taken a view 
 of Eosenvik, they returned, and I kept Serena with me for 
 the day. I was imperative that she should not be fetched 
 till nine in the evening, and this was promised me. The good 
 old people tenderly embraced their favourite, who accom- 
 panied them to their carriage with a thousand graceful atten- 
 tions. 
 
 After this we had a singing-lesson. Serena's voice is 
 weak, but a fine counter-tenor. Our practice was principally 
 of the voice and the reading the notes, for her expression 
 and execution are truly excellent. This her own soul, her 
 own taste, has taught her better than any master could have 
 been able to do. 
 
 It grieved me to call Serena Miss. She belongs to that 
 class of beings with whom I seem driven by an irresistible 
 impulse to use the pleasing monosyllable thou. I asked to 
 be permitted to do so ; and asked further, that she would 
 call me aunt, as my seniority appeared to demand some mark 
 of respect, although this title is the most wearisome which I 
 know. Serena laughed and refused to honour me on account 
 of my years, and prayed me, if there were no other impedi- 
 ment, to be permitted to say thou also to me. I gladly 
 assented ; and found, to my astonishment, that I was only 
 four years older than Serena. Serena is three-and-twenty , 
 but the beauty of her complexion and figure would not lead 
 one to suppose so. 
 
 After we had arrajmed these affairs — lauah not ; that thou 
 
158 
 
 THE NEIGHBOITRS. 
 
 and tJiou is in Sweden an important moment in an acquaint* 
 ance; a great step forward, sometimes also backward — we 
 took our work, went out and seated ourselves upon a bench 
 in the shade of the lime and lilac hedge. Serena, whose 
 fingers have an extraordinary skill in many delicate works, 
 had plucked some flowers, and now set herself to imitate 
 with great accuracy their seed-vessels and other minute 
 parts. 
 
 Cousin Stellan had gone early in the morning out on a 
 shooting excursion with the brothers Stalmark. I was glad 
 to be alone with Serena. I was curious to hear her speak of 
 Bruno, and soon turned the conversation upon him. 
 
 At the mention of his name she sighed ; and when I ques- 
 tioned if she thought he had a bad heart, she replied warmly, 
 " No, certainly not ! His heart, indeed, must have been good 
 and tender, how otherwise would he have been so kind to* 
 w^ards me, who was only a weak and sickly child, and must 
 have been burdensome to others. Is not that Ramm on the 
 other side the lake ? I remember yet so well, how Bruno 
 led me about in the woods or drew me in my little carriage. 
 The first impressions which I received of the beauty of life 
 and of nature, were from this time. I yet remember, how 
 the murmuring in the wood delighted me ; and how I was 
 enchanted with the flowers which he gathered for me. If he 
 sang I sang too, and when he bore me in his arms, and 
 sprang over the mountain ravines, I felt no fear, but only a 
 little shudder, which was more akin to pleasure than to pain. 
 He was never impatient or unfriendly towards me, and I 
 shall never forget how once, as he was about to beat one of 
 his brothers, he desisted when I wept and called him by his 
 name. Why should he have been so gentle towards me, if 
 his heart had not been good and amiable ? Once also he 
 saved my life not without peril of his ow^n. It was in the 
 park at Eamm. Starlings had built in an oalt-tree, and in 
 childish folly I desired to possess the eggs. Bruno seated 
 me in the grass and climbed into the tree, from the topmast 
 boughs of which, however, he precipitated himself on hearing 
 jie utter a cry for help, and with a shriek of horror snatched 
 from my neck a snake which had wreathed itself there. I 
 Saw him strangle the snake and tread upon its head. Then 
 taking me in his armSj I remember yet that he wept, whilst 
 
TEAFSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 .159 
 
 I tried to pacify him with my childish caresses ! Ah ! depend 
 upon it that he was not wisely treated. They certainly had 
 not sufficient regard to his ability of loving. Had they, he 
 would have caused his mother no anxiety, and would not 
 have fled from his home and his fatherland !" 
 
 " Do you yet remember his appearance ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Not clearly ; it seems to me as if I saw, through a mist, 
 a handsome, rosy-cheeked boy, with large beautiful eyes. 
 But if I try to make the image more distinct, it fades." 
 
 " And what do you suppose occasioned his flight from 
 home?" I inquired. 
 
 " I have been told," said Serena, "that dissension with 
 his mother, and severe treatment on her side, occasioned it. 
 There was great similarity in their tempers. They opposed 
 obstiuacy to obstinacy — force to force. Bruno must have 
 died in his exile. Poor Bruno ! I have truly lamented his 
 fate. He was so good to me!" Serena sighed with a 
 mournful expression of countenance ; and I also was pene- 
 trated by a sentiment of deep sadness. 
 
 I changed the conversation to other persons. I spoke of 
 Serena's grandparents, and as I praised them she became 
 cheerful and joyous. The sentiment of gratitude seemed 
 especially to prevail in her heart to an uncommon degree. 
 It seems as if of all recollections she preserves only those 
 which incite to love. If she spoke of a book also, it waa 
 with an acknowledgment of the good she had derived from it. 
 And then how natural and graceful is every word, in short 
 her whole being ! I loved her ; she did me good. I wished 
 that I also could be inscribed on a leaf of her remembrance- 
 book. 
 
 At dinner we had — Bear — good humour, good appetite, 
 and — without boasting — good eating. In the afternoon 
 Cousin Stellan came back in the condition which I generally 
 expect after a shooting excursion, namely, savagely hungry 
 and without game. 
 
 "When we had sate and talked pleasantly for an hour after 
 coffee, we determined to make an excursion to Svano, there 
 to eat our evening meal. Serena and I cut bread and butter ; 
 filled some bottles with cold punch, arid laid these, together 
 with a piece of cold roast meat, in a basket ; and with thig 
 our cheerful little company wandered down to the shore, 
 
160 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 where a prettily painted green boat received us. Stellan 
 rowed. A light wind cooled us and curled the water. Serena 
 and I sang " La Biondina." Thus reached we the appointed 
 place. We threw ourselves down on a grassy mound, in the 
 red and white clover, under the great oak-tree, I between 
 my husband and the basket of provisions ; Stellan by Serena ; 
 and as I saw them sitting there in the green grass, so lovely 
 and so cheerful, weaving flower garlands for each other, the 
 transient, perhaps sinful, thought rose in my heart of a pos- 
 sible union between those two. 
 
 Bear, lying on the fresh odorous turf, smoked his pipe, and 
 slowly puffed out the volumes of smoke towards the blue 
 heaven, whilst he listened to Grod knows what foolish non- 
 sense about the great Mogul which his wife told him. 
 
 Anon, the air seemed suddenly tremulous, and a rush as of 
 a far-off tempest of melody reached our ears. This tone — 
 solenm, gloomy, but beautiful — made an extraordinary im- 
 pression upon us. We were all still and listened. For a 
 moment all was hushed, a breeze passed by again, and upon 
 this breeze came again a tremulous, mournful, but inex- 
 pressibly harmonious tone, which oppressed me to the 
 lieart. 
 
 It is the organ at E/amm!" I exclaimed; "the wind 
 bears the sound to us. O that we could hear it nearer! 
 Hush! hush ! it comes nearer." 
 
 AVe listened. The melodious panting sound came again 
 and again, with every flying wind that came towards us from 
 Eamm. But we could not connect together a whole ; the 
 trembling tones mounted and died away like the sighings of 
 a sorrowful spirit, and as I listened to them I felt as many an 
 inquirer of the old times must have felt when he pondered on 
 the broken and incomprehensible melodies of Being, and 
 believed that the wind of Fate played upon the strings of the 
 Eolian harp of life. A longing took possession of me, an 
 agony, which those only can understand who experience, 
 like me, a passion for music and for coherence. 
 
 "I must hear this nearer!" exclaimed I with decision. 
 " Serena, we two will row towards Tiamm, and obtain a clear 
 idea of this music. I shall become mad if I hear these tonea 
 without their intelligence. Remain lying there, dear Bear, 
 and smoke your dwq in peace. I pray let us go. Bemai"'" 
 
FEANSISKA WERNEfl TO MARIA AT. 
 
 161 
 
 you there, Cousin Stellan; we wish to be alone, Serena and 
 I. We shall soon be back again." 
 
 The gentlemen looked dissatisfied ; Bear continued to lie 
 on the grass, and grumble ; Stellan accompanied us to the 
 boat ; Serena and I set off quite joyous and ardent. I rowed 
 the little boat easily. The little voyage was enchanting to 
 me, for the nearer we approached the more significant be- 
 came the music. To me it seemed as if the boat sped of 
 itself, as if invisible powers drew us onwards tov/ards that 
 wonderful music. The evening was calm ; the sunbeams 
 tfrembled into ever darker gold through the wood; higher 
 ever rose the melodious tempest. We two, Serena and I, 
 experienced an elevated delight, although in a difierent 
 manner. My heart beat violently, and tears of rapture filled 
 my eyes. Serena was calmer ; her white hand played with 
 the waves, and her clear beautiful eyes looked around with 
 quiet childlike goodness, yet with an expression of pure 
 delight. 
 
 Both of us remained silent ; but eager to hear more dis- 
 tinctly that captivating music, we approached nearer and 
 nearer to Bamm. What shall I say to you ? Mrs. Curiosity 
 had such a power in the boat and over me, that in vain 
 raised itself the warning voice of Serena, and ever nearer and 
 nearer floated the boat to the dark walls of Bamm, and at 
 last lay still as a smuggler' s-craft, in the shadow of the alder- 
 bushes close under an open window. 
 
 Here heard we, in tones that seemed to come from no 
 human hand, the favourite melody of the Neck's^ dance, an 
 interweaving of rich melodies which for beauty and power 
 surpassed all that I had ever heard or imagined before. They 
 were the evident children of a mighty inspiration. Enrap- 
 tured, and carried away as it were, I bowed my head in my 
 hand, and dreamed that the king of the sea, inspired by the 
 beauty of the evening and of nature, made known to us him- 
 self, his wonderful life ; that life which he leads in the mys- 
 terious depths, and in the crystal castles of the ocean. But 
 all at once the tones ceased, and I woke out of my dream to 
 a consciousness of the present. I seized the oar involuntarily, 
 and with one little stroke turned the boat away from Ihe 
 
 • A water-spirit. 
 L 
 
162 
 
 THE JfEIGHBOrRS. 
 
 shore, and as involuntarily both Serena and I turned our 
 eyes to the open window above, but turned them hastily 
 away again, for there stood the dark Eomilly, in his own 
 gloomy person, with his eyes fixed upon us. We blushed, 
 took each an oar, and returned in much shorter time, I fancy, 
 than we went, although our oars had now to keep time 
 without the accompaniment of the music. This had entirely 
 ceased. 
 
 In the meanwHle, as we had been absent nearly two 
 hours. Cousin Stellan seemed to be quite sleepy. Bear not 
 quite as good-tempered as we had left him, which did not 
 astonish me ; but, however, he was soon perfectly right again 
 on. my heartily praying for forgiveness. I feel at times a 
 certain degree of pleasure in sinning, and then in obtaining 
 dispensation by caresses. 
 
 We ate our evening meal in quiet and cheerfulness ; but 
 Serena, who began to think of her old relatives, and expected 
 to be sent for, often turned her eyes towards Eosenvik. 
 
 The carriage arrived almost at the moment when our boat 
 reached the shore, and Serena left us after we had agreed that 
 the next singing-lesson should be on Friday. Cousin Stellan 
 attended her to the carriage, and showed her many polite 
 attentions. It is remarkable how becoming all such are to 
 a young man. 
 
 " Come right soon again," cried I after Serena ; and her 
 friendly blue eyes smiling an assent from under her little 
 straw hat, she waved an adieu with her hand, and vanished 
 between the green trees. 
 
 "That was a charming girl," said Stellan, who waited for 
 me in tlie porch, " only it is a pity she is rather lame." 
 
 " To you, Cousin Stellan," said I smiling, " everything in 
 this world limps." 
 
 "But I must confess," returned he, "that I have hardly 
 ever seen a less fault in a lady." 
 
 " I agree with you, Cousin," returned I ; " and I can even 
 believe it possible that under certain circumstances such a 
 fault as this may be seen only as real beauty." 
 
 He smiled and made a motion with the head, as though he 
 might think so too. I was about to enter when Stellan 
 stopped me, and with a deep earnestness in his voice, said, 
 "for the last few days, Transiska, you have not been so 
 
PBAKSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 1G3 
 
 friendly towards me as you were. Have I grieved you in 
 anyway?" 
 
 "Yes," answered I frankly, "by very nearly eonvinciug 
 me that you cared nothing for my esteem, and that grieved 
 me." 
 
 " Forgive me," said Stellan kindly, but gravely, " and 
 think yet well of me. I could not willingly live without 
 your esteem, Fransiska. Grive me your hand upon it, that 
 you believe me and forgive me." 
 
 " There," said I, giving him my hand joyfully, but taking 
 care that he did not kiss it ; and went in to my Bear, satisfied 
 to have Stellan' s esteem instead of his courtesy, and some- 
 what satisfied also with myself. 
 
 To-morrow Ma chere mere has a great dinner-party. The 
 whole neighbourhood will be assembled at Carlsfors. Mr. de 
 Bomilly also has been invited, although he had paid no visit 
 there. I am very curious to see again this enigmatical 
 person. His music has prepossessed me in his favour. He 
 who can awaken such melodies must possess deep and strong 
 sentiment. 
 
 18th. 
 
 1 was disappointed in my hope of being able to observe 
 more closely the gloomy neighbour at Eamm. He came, it 
 is true, to Carlsfors, and his entrance made a great sensation. 
 For myself, an unpleasant feeling passed through me as I 
 glanced at the lofty black-apparelled figure, which in entering 
 drew together the fierce eyebrows with an almost threatening 
 expression. 
 
 Ma chere mere, who was en grande toilette^ and really 
 looked very well, approached him majestically, and made an 
 oration to him in French, which was equally polite and 
 stately ; but which, however, the stranger seemed to under- 
 stand no more than if it had been Laplandish. He stood 
 immoveable, with downcast eyes ; and when Ma chere mere 
 had ended, returned in a low voice, a few words which were 
 inaudible to me ; bowed very low, and left her. I fancy Ma 
 chere mere was but little edified by the foreign politeness 
 which she had praised so much before ; and, as if she had 
 been infected by De Eomilly's mood, she too contracted her 
 eyebrows, and returned to her seat. 
 
 The next moment an extraordinary commotion took ^)lac6 
 l2 
 
164 
 
 THE NEIGHBOIJBS. 
 
 at the end of the room. The gentlemen rushed together 
 and as the group opened itself again, De Eomilly was seen 
 pale as death and almost insensible, supported by two persons, 
 and about to leave the room. Bear attended him out, and Ma 
 chere mere ordered whatever the house contained to be at his 
 service. After a few minutes, taking me with her, she went 
 out to him herself. 
 
 Mr. de Eomilly, who sate in a corner of the sofa, seemed 
 then to have recovered himself, but his face was concealed by 
 his pocket handkerchief. Upon Ma chere mere questioning 
 him most kindly, he replied, in a hollow voice, complained of 
 violent headache, that he found himself compelled to leave 
 the house, since his indisposition would render him totally 
 unfit for company. Ma chere mere said everything which a 
 polite hostess could say on such an occasion. The stranger 
 only bowed his head in silent acknowledgment ; and we left 
 him, after Ma chere mere had recommended him to Bear's 
 care ; soon after we heard him drive off. 
 
 Now for a few words on the pleasures of the day. 
 
 I will commence by passing over the dinner, which, like all 
 other great dinners, was rather heavy. Ma chere mere was 
 not in one of her most brilliant humours, which affected us 
 all. Therefore to the afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. von P. had, at her entrance, given me only a gracious 
 little nod of the head, and after this she concerned herself no 
 farther with me. On the contrary, she was very friendly 
 with Jane Marie. 
 
 Jane Marie played her heavy piece from Herz. It is her 
 " cheval de bataille," and that it is warlike one must acknow- 
 ledge, as well as that it was performed excellently. The 
 moment it was finished, Mrs. von P. hastened to her, and 
 exclaimed " Charmant ! charmant ! None but our modern 
 composers can write thus. What effect ! what colouring ! 
 Oh ! Weber is whimsical, Eossini often poor in melody, but 
 Meyerbeer excels both; he is, as one may say, ' le prince de 
 la musique.' " 
 
 The piece which I have just played was from Herz," 
 returned Jaue Marie, somewhat drily. 
 
 "Yes, he is excellent! excellent!" repeated Mrs. von P. 
 " My dear Baroness, art it is alone which exalts men above 
 brutes. Education is the truest aristocracy, which equalizes 
 
rSANSISKA WEBNEE TO MABIA St. 
 
 165 
 
 all differences in rank and wealth among men. We live, 
 truly, in an enlightened age." 
 
 The Misses Adele and Julia had hastened up to Serena, 
 and with affected sprightliness, and in fine ornamental voices 
 were saying, "Ah! how pleasant it is to see you, little 
 Serena ! How are you now, little Serena ? Have you 
 always now pain in your hip, poor little Serena ?" 
 
 Roguishly smiling, Serena replied, " I thank you, my good 
 ones, but it is above fifteen years now since I had any pain." 
 
 " No, really ! Heavens ! I fancied you were always ill, you 
 look so pale, — but then that's the fault of your dress. What 
 material is it ? What old-world Laventine ! Heavens ! you 
 are quite old-fashioned, little Serena! quite behindhand." 
 
 " I am not just come from Paris," said Serena, with all 
 that cheerful goodness which removes bitterness from her own 
 heart, as well as from that of others. She then observed 
 the dresses of the censorious young ladies, admired them, 
 questioned them about Paris, and listened with evident plea- 
 sure to all that they could relate to her. The two sisters 
 seemed to me to become more agreeable whilst they conversed 
 with Serena. 
 
 Cousin Stellan passed about from one to another ; had at 
 first a lively conversation with Miss von P., which seemed 
 soon to weary him ; then turned to the brothers Stahiiark, 
 who had seated themselves down in a corner of the room, 
 with other gentlemen, to talk about dogs and horses ; steered 
 away then to several landed-proprietors, who were talking over 
 together the brandy monopoly. As he made his way from 
 these, he was snapped up by Mrs. von P., and on account of 
 his sins was he doomed to hear her expatiate on art and 
 education. At length he tore himself from her, and made 
 halt by Serena, in whose graceful society he seemed to feel 
 himself right. 
 
 In the mean time, I took a lesson from my friend Brita 
 Kajsa, on housewifery and maid-servants ; but becoming 
 sleepy therefrom, I sought out the Patriarchs, with whom 
 I endeavoured to accomplish my great work — the having 
 Serena with me for fourteen days at Eosenvik. It did not 
 seem impossible that I should succeed. Long live elo 
 quence ! 
 
 Miss Hellevi Husgafvel was prevented by a previous en- 
 
THE JTEIGHBOIIES. 
 
 gagement from being at the great Carlsfors feast. Thia 
 circumstance, Ma chere mere's serious humour, and the 
 great heat without and within, caused there to be no par- 
 ticuLar life in the company. 
 
 "VYhen Serena had left, with her grandparents, which was 
 very early, it grew heavier and heavier ; and I was glad when 
 I was once more seated in the cabriolet by my own Bear, on 
 the way to our delightful Eosenvik. 
 
 19th. 
 
 Oh, the violent, hideous, cruel, detestable ! — you shall hear 
 whom. 
 
 Cousin Stellan was gone yesterday afternoon into the 
 town to pay a visit to the Dahls. Bear and I rejoiced to be 
 alone. He had brought out his tools ; I had drawn my little 
 work-table to the sofa, and just opened the third part of the 
 " Watch Tower in Koatven," which I was reading aloud. 
 That book is to me horrible: the only good lesson which it 
 seems io me people can derive from it— I have skimmed it 
 through to the end — is to feel what a moral extravagance the 
 life of many people and many things in this world would 
 present, if we did not cast our glance to the solving of the 
 great riddle, to the sequel of the history on the other side of 
 the grave. Tor my part, I would gladly throw the book into 
 the fire ; but Bear insists that we should finish it. I fancy 
 all the grislinesses of the book give him pleasure. 
 
 At the very moment, however, when I was about to begin 
 reading, I glanced through the window. The leaves of the 
 lilach bushes whispered in the wind, the swans moved their 
 white wings, clouds collected softly towards the west, and it 
 seemed to me as if all beckoned and whispered, " come out ! 
 come out !" and an indescribable desire impelled me into the 
 fresh air and greenness. I seized Bear by the ear, and whis- 
 pered my wishes. He grumbled a little, stretched himself, 
 and then after a few moments stood up and took his hat. 
 The good Bear ! 
 
 I soon put on my bonnet and shawl, and took my Bear's 
 arm. The moment we were about to pass through the door, 
 he looked around with a peculiar long glance as if he had 
 forgotten something, and I, for I know very well the meaning 
 of all his loolcs, sprang in immediately, took his pipe, filled it 
 myself, struck fire and lighted it, to Bear's ijreat delight. 
 
rHAJJfSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 167 
 
 Bear bad a wish to go and look about in the park at Eamm. 
 "We procured a rower, and very cool and pleasant was it to 
 Bail there across that peaceful lake. Bear puffed in long 
 volumes the smoke from his pipe ; I sang little barcaroles ; 
 and sailing on unconsciously about a mile and a half, struck 
 upon the land by the shadow}^ shore of Eamm. We landed 
 tolerably far from the house, and then arm in arm went into 
 the gloomy, beautiful park. I felt myself happy ; happy to 
 be wandermg on Bear's arm in the still wood ; to feel how 
 the fresh delicious air played on my face ; to know my Bear 
 to be so good, and to see the heaven above us so clear. Also 
 he was happy, to be wandering with his wife amid the re- 
 membrances of his childhood. He looked around him, 
 breathed deeply, and said in a low voice, while he pressed 
 my arm to him, " How glorious !" And know, my Maria, 
 if Bear says one word, it has more weight than a hundred 
 out of the mouth of another. 
 
 So wandered we deeper and deeper into the wood. The 
 high thick-leaved trees ; the shade, the silence, the recollec- 
 tions which seemed to abide under these shades, the loneli- 
 ness, and the image of the gloomy hermit of E/amm, which 
 involuntarily stood there like the Grenius of the place ; all 
 combined to produce in us a solemnity of mood. But as we 
 slowly wandered onward we heard, at first dull, then more 
 distinctly, a treading and stamping as of a wild horse which 
 some one was endeavouring, but in vain, to master. I have 
 no great fancy for unbroken horses; but Bear must have 
 had, for he hastened his steps towards the place from whence 
 the noise proceeded. We advanced to an open space, and 
 there making halt were fascinated by the wild but fine 
 spectacle. 
 
 The same man and the same horse which we had seen once 
 before wandering together in such Idyllian peace, we here 
 beheld again; but now in violent contest. The man sate 
 eommandingly on the back of the horse, which he would 
 compel to leap over a broad ditch. The beautiful creature 
 trembled and backed. It threw itself to the left and to the 
 right ; it pawed, it would not take the leap. The foam flowed 
 from its black and shining body. But like an intrepid, 
 despotic will, the man sate firm, admonishing, punishing 
 compelling. 
 
168 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 The noble animal developed in this wild strife the whole 
 beauty of his race. His eyes sparkled, his wide outspread 
 nostrils seemed to spout forth fire, while he struck the earth 
 with his hoofs, and with a hundred leaps sought to escape 
 that one leap which he was urged to. With unexampled 
 skill sate the rider firm, and moved himself with the motions 
 of the horse, whose master he endeavoured to become ; and 
 ever again was the refractory animal brought to the same 
 spot. The same demand was made, and ever again began 
 the same contest. Thus certainly for an hour did the two 
 strive together. The horse then appeared weary ; became 
 still, but made no attempt to obey the will of his master. 
 The blood ran down his spur-fretted sides. The man dis- 
 mounted and threw the bridle loose. The horse stood quiet 
 and looked at him. He took something from his breast- 
 pocket, held it to the forehead of the horse. " It is the third 
 time we have striven," said he sullenly, "farewell !" 
 
 There was a flash before the forehead of the horse, a shot 
 was fired, and the steed fell at the feet of his master. We 
 saw it stretch forth its head when dying as if for a caress ; 
 we heard a dull groan ; then all was still ! 
 
 With a violence which I had never seen before in Bear he 
 pressed my arm to him, struck his clenched fist to his brow, 
 and drawing back, exclaimed to himself, " It is Eruno ! 
 Lord, my Grod ! yes, it is he !" 
 
 "It is Satan, Satan himself!" cried I, greatly excited. 
 " Oh, Bear, let us go ! go far from this horrible man. I wiU 
 not see him again !" 
 
 " It was Bruno !" repeated Bear, as we re-entered the 
 
 wood. " Where was I, that I did not sooner But now he 
 
 was so like himself — wild, unmanageably wild, at every oppo- 
 sition — and that expression of brow and mouth ! Bruno 
 alive ! Bruno here ?" 
 
 " I wish he were far enough from here," said I, vehemently. 
 " He is a fearful man, and he will murder us all if we do not 
 all the madnesses which he will require from us." 
 
 I was violently agitated, and was obliged to sit down. 
 Bear also was pale, and repeated, with a mixture of disquiet, 
 joy, and pain, " Bruno here again ! Bruno here ! What— 
 what will his mother say ?" 
 
FBANSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 1G9 
 
 " Ah she will let him go again ! I wish he were in 
 Hotany Bay, to which place he helongs." 
 
 " You should not wish so, Fanny," said Bear ; " Bruno ia 
 not bad. He has his wild moments ; but if he be the least 
 like what he was, he has also his good ones. Mildness and 
 love may work infinitely upon him. Even his coming back, 
 his residence here, speak in favour of his heart." Seldom 
 had Bear spoken with so much fervour. 
 
 " And what will now be done ?" asked I, full of disquiet. 
 
 " He must be reconciled with his mother ; he must remain 
 amongst us," replied my husband. 
 
 " The bandit ! the murderer !" 
 
 "We shall see, we shall see," said Bear. 
 
 " We will go away from here, otherwise he will shoot even 
 us because we stand in his way," said I. " Oh, let us go 
 back to our little peaceful Eosenvik !" 
 
 We did so. It seemed to me as if I came from a tempested 
 sea, so much was I disturbed and disquieted. 
 
 When we came back to our home, we — that is, myself — 
 talked backwards and forwards of that which had happened, 
 of what could be done, and of what would happen. Bear 
 went with his hands behind him up and down the room, 
 spitting right and left, and exclaiming musingly, " Hum ! 
 hum !" 
 
 At length we became unanimous that nothing further was 
 to be done than to keep the discovery which we had made 
 secret, and await the time. 
 
 Bear slept not a wink this night, neither did I ; but to- 
 wards morning I dozed, and dreamed that Bruno had struck 
 a dagger into the heart of his mother. I heard her thrilling 
 cry, " My blood ! my own flesh and blood !" and saw her sink 
 into a deep abyss. When I awoke I was so agitated that I 
 burst into tears. And yet once more I must gave vent to 
 my feelings, and exclaim, out of the depths of my heart, " Oh, 
 the violent, hateful, cruel, abominab.3 man!" 
 
 20th. 
 
 No; I cannot detest him yet. Bruno has a heart, al- 
 though he is cruel to horses. 
 
 Yesterday evening he came to us, and my heart opposed 
 itself against him like a wild horse, and I could not speak a 
 friendly word to him. The visit began with an almost genen 
 
170 
 
 THE KEIGHBOUES. 
 
 ral silence ; but I looked at Bear, and I saw that his brother's 
 heart yearned towards him, and could not longer contain 
 itself. 
 
 Cousin Stellan had just begun to read to us aloud a part 
 of " The Jew" of Spindler, which he admired as a master- 
 piece among works of horror. Bruno's arrival interrupted 
 the reading, and a few moments afterwards Stellan laid down 
 the book. Bruno perceived this, and begged that if we were 
 engaged in reading that he might be permitted to be one 
 of the auditors. Cousin Stellan therefore explained to him 
 shortly that of which this part of the book treated ; and how 
 the Jew Zodik had been baptised to a religion which he de- 
 tested, by criminal means, and through the cruellest act of 
 power of a Christian Knight, and then on this very account 
 had been barbarously jested and sneered at by the knight 
 himself; how under these circumstances the most terrible 
 despair took possession of his soul ; he felt himself cast out 
 of heaven and earth. 
 
 " Every paradise is closed against me ! Must I then be 
 lost ? — Cursed Christian ! You have stolen my soul from 
 me ! I curse you ! I vow revenge upon you ; retributive 
 revenge !" Here was it that Stellan had left off reading, here 
 continued he : " These thoughts animated the unhappy one, 
 torn with doubt and despondency, with a spark which por- 
 ceeded not from heaven but from the deep. Zodik collected 
 together his thoughts, and with streaming hair glared wildly 
 up to the jagged clouds, which sent down in vain their 
 thickest snow-flakes to cool that raging Moloch image. * The 
 bond is rent !' yelled he forth, the only living being under 
 the still icy rain. ' Samiel, prince of the wilderness, prince 
 of death, and consort of the horrible night-queen Lilis, the 
 mother of fearful ghosts and of all sins, — to thee I resign 
 myself! Defend me from the anger of our Grod! Concea* 
 me from the wrath of Edom ! Teach me to bear the sword 
 against that law which is mine no longer ! Permit me to take 
 vengeance on Israel as well as on Esau, till thou takest home 
 my soul in the tempest of thy wrath !' " 
 
 The narrative relates further how Zodik hardened himself 
 m hellish sentiments. He became calmer; he conceived 
 that it was permitted on earth to the lost-one to live two- 
 fold, in his own joys and in the sufferings of others. He 
 
FEANSISKA WEEIS^ER TO MARIA M. 
 
 171 
 
 declared all men outlawed ; and, drunken with a savage joy 
 from the horrible pictures which ascended in his soul, he 
 thanked Eate for the occasion which had lent him power to 
 quench his thirst for revenge, and to become the enemy of 
 the whole human race. 
 
 " That is horrible," said I, as Stellan ceased reading ; " but 
 is it natural F is it true ? Is it not one of the terror-pictures 
 which the romances of our age conjure forth, but which have 
 no counterpart in reality ? Crimes and criminals I can con- 
 ceive ; but not an obdurate man-hater ; not a devil in human 
 form." 
 
 Cousin Stellan shrugged his shoulders. " At all events," 
 said he, "the representation is successful and full of effect." 
 
 " And precisely because it is quite natural, quite true," 
 said Bruno, emphatically. ^' The sinner must become a devil 
 if he has no more hope." 
 
 " And who need be without hope ?" asked Eear, with the 
 confidence which becomes a pure heart so well. " Who can- 
 not, yes ! who ought not to hope ?" 
 
 " Can you cast the burden of pain or of remorse from a 
 human breast, so that it may open itself to hope ?" inquired 
 Bruno in a tone of reproof. " Can you prevent passion from 
 shattering and embittering ? To hope ? Then take out of 
 the world punishment ten times severer than the crime 
 deserves — then take out of the soul words which once spoken 
 burn there for ever !" 
 
 Stellan here was called out by the Brothers Stalmark, 
 who, in hunting dress and followed by a pack of dogs, crossed 
 the court. He was, or rather he wished to be, eager for the 
 chase, and left us. Thus he did not hear how I, burning in 
 soul against Bruno, on account of his horse and various other 
 causes, answered him somewhat bitterly. 
 
 " If you remove haughtiness — if you remove anger and 
 evil passions out of the soul of man, then you will see that 
 punishment improves, and that misfortune purifies and leads 
 to humility and hope." 
 
 " Punishment !" exclaimed Bruuo with mournful warmth 
 " believe me there are sins which punishment cannot reform. 
 There are natures whom severity only hardens. They plunge 
 themselves only deeper upon the sword which is sheathed in 
 their breast. Would you save a criminal of this kind from 
 
172 
 
 THE KElGHBOtJES. 
 
 eternal perdition, would you change the heart in his breast f 
 then reach to him the hand of love, forgive him, even if he 
 do not deserve forgiveness ; bat repel him not, cast him not 
 off! A heart may vibrate long between good and evil; it 
 may be loDg before it can be saved — but the hour comes 
 when it may be hardened for ever. If,'' continued he, " the 
 only bosom after which it longs in this world close itseK 
 against him, then is every paradise of life closed against him \ 
 If one horrible unappeasable remembrance comes, and comes 
 again for ever, night and day, every hour, every moment, 
 faUs upon the soul like an ice shower, then — bitter, bitter, 
 bitter!" 
 
 Bruno supported his forehead on his hand ; he seemed to 
 have forgotten us, and everything around him. The thunder- 
 bolt upon his forehead was spread out in sharp angles. After 
 a few moments he looked up again with a flashing glance, 
 and resumed, — " And under such circumstances shall a man 
 reform himself, become good, and hope?" He laughed 
 bitterly. "Ah, you good, happy people! go out into the 
 world, visit the prisons, the galleys ; — ^look into those hearts 
 which wear heavier fetters than their bodies, and talk to 
 them of reform! There are furies in life, in hearts — the 
 legends of them in the old times are no invention — go out to 
 those who are driven by the furies, and preach of hope — if 
 you have courage to do so !" 
 
 " Yes, upon my soul!" cried Bear, stamping on the floor as 
 if in anger, although his eyes were fuU of tears ; " yes, I wiU 
 preach of hope, — and this in prisons, by land and on sea. I 
 wiU cry it in the ear of the dying malefactor, — will shout it 
 even to the other side of death, to the other side of the grave ; 
 — I will cry into endless eternity, 'hope, hope !' " 
 
 " He goes further far," thought I to myself; " yet never- 
 theless he is right !" and I rejoiced over my Bear. 
 
 " Would you?" said Bruno slowly, his cheek blanching, 
 while he supported his head with his hand — " would you also 
 talk of hope to those who sustained the curse of father or 
 mother ? — and who had deserved it," added he with an almost 
 inarticulate voice. 
 
 " Yes, in the name of aU the world!" cried Bear vehe- 
 mently ; " and wherefore," continued he in a tone and with a 
 maimer which wholly bewildered me^ " wherefore this doubt 
 
FRAIfSTSKA WEEITEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 173 
 
 and tliis Jeremiad, and these lamentable despairings, in a 
 man and in a Christian ? Why are you come to disturb us 
 with these things ?" 
 
 The blood mounted into Bruno's face ; he cast an inquiring 
 glance on his brother. 
 
 Bear looked quite ferocious and exasperated, as he ex- 
 claimed, " I acknowledge that it seems to me quite extra- 
 ordinary that you come here as a stranger into my peaceful 
 house, to disturb our quiet with your speeches about prisons, 
 galleys, furies, and all kinds of hateful disputations which 
 do not concern us." 
 
 Bruno, astonished, wounded, and proud, stood up and cast 
 upon Bear his wonderful, penetrating, and flashing eyes. 
 He then sunk them again, and said, in a voice which ex- 
 pressed both repressed pain and anger, " Have I disturbed 
 your peace? I will not disturb it again ! Earewell!" He 
 bowed to me and moved towards the door. Bear followed 
 him and spoke still louder — 
 
 " Yes, it appears to me quite extraordinary, inexplicable, 
 and unpardonable, that you come as a stranger, and talk of 
 despair, and irremediable misfortune ; of repulsion, and that 
 
 in" here Bear laid his hand suddenly on Bruno's arm, as 
 
 turning himself in the door, he cast upon him a look in which 
 all the lightnings of the world seemed agitating his soul, — 
 " and that in the house of a brother, which is your own house 
 also, and before a friend who will do aH for — for Brimo ! — 
 Yes, it is unpardonable!" 
 
 Bear held him in his arms, and pressed him to his honest 
 breast. The storm dissolved away in tears of love ; Bruno 
 was beside himseK ; the colour changed in his countenance 
 with a thousand contending emotions, at last all lost them- 
 selves in a sentiment of overwhelming tenderness. He pressed 
 his brother warmly to his breast, kissed him, embraced him 
 again, stammering out, " Brother ! — brother ! — Lars Anders ! 
 — can you yet remember me — ^will you acknowledge me, and 
 love me as before ?" 
 
 " Silence!" howled Bear, almost inarticulate with crying, 
 " silence with your stupid questions ! Come, here is my 
 wife ! We both are one, embrace her !" 
 
 I confess that the image of the dying horse had quite 
 vanished out of my mind. I sat there and wept at the 
 
174 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTTES. 
 
 embracing of tlie brothers, and when Bruno approacihed me 
 I presented to him my cheek. He kissed my hand also, and 
 embraced Bear again. That warm loving heart glanced from 
 his eyes, and from his whole being. I loved him right well 
 at this moment. 
 
 We had scarcely begun in some measure to compose our- 
 selves, when we heard Cousin Stellan unexpectedly returning. 
 " Secret!" said Bruno, in a low emphatic voice. Again we 
 seated ourselves, as quietly and with as much indifference as 
 possible. 
 
 After Stellan' s entrance, Bruno remained for a long time 
 silent ; at length said he, " One of my people at Eamm is 
 dangerously ill. Could I beg Dr. Werner to visit him ? I 
 should prefer this evening, or perhaps to-morrow." 
 
 " I should prefer this evening, returned Bear. The earlier 
 the better, before it be too late." 
 
 They made themselves, therefore, immediately ready to 
 depart ; and, as Bear took leave, he whispered to me to be 
 quite easy, even if he did not return till late in the night. 
 
 I remained alone with Stellan, who might find me the most 
 wearisome companion in the world, for my thoughts were far 
 from him ; and although he spoke much of Serena, I remained 
 silent and absent. 
 
 Bear did not return home till midnight, and see here pretty 
 much what he related. 
 
 It appears from Bruno's papers, as well as from his own 
 account, that he was some time in the Portuguese service. 
 After the conclusion of the peace, he took his leave and 
 voyaged to the West Indies ; where, in partnership with a 
 planter, he amassed his fortune by trade. He became rich ; 
 passed many years, partly in the plantations, and partl}^ in 
 travelling ; he led a much-employed and active life ; but a 
 longing after his native land, the desire to be reconciled to 
 his mother, took every stronger possession of his soul, and at 
 last acquired such height, that life lost all worth for him. 
 He determined to make the attempt, whether or not he could 
 free himself from the curse which pursued him like furies ; 
 and thus, under an assumed name, he had travelled to 
 Sweden, and had come to Eamm. Here he sought intelli- 
 gence of his mother's state of mind, learned her condition 
 after his flight ; and how, since then, she had lemoved from 
 
FEANSISKA TTEHNER TO MAKLA M. 
 
 173 
 
 about lier all remembrances of bim, and tbat sbe was still 
 unable to bear his name spoken ; and tbe wildest despair bad 
 taken bold of bis soul. It appeared to torture Bruno to 
 speak on tbe subject, and be interrupted bimself, witb tbe 
 words, " Nevertbeless, an attempt must be made — wben, I 
 know not. Let us now speak no more about it !" 
 
 If tbis attempt succeed, be will bring bis great wealtb to 
 Sweden, purchase Ramm, and settle bimself down tbere. 
 Succeed it not, be will return to tbe West Indies, and become 
 as one dead to family and fatherland. 
 
 So stands it. How will it go on ? "Hope !" Bear said 
 to bis brother, but still his knowledge of tbe character both 
 of mother and son, make him uneasy as to the result. Yet, 
 after all, Bear rejoices in his soul over the return of his 
 brother ; and, moreover, that he has found his heart to be 
 warm as ever. 
 
 " But did you say nothing to him about the horse ?" asked 
 I. " Certainly I did," he replied ; " since I told him where, 
 and by what means I had recognised him." Bruno coloured 
 deeply, and said, " that was an unfortunate hour. I had 
 resolved to make this very leap a prophecying of the result 
 of my fate. I would that it should be taken. As the oppo- 
 sition could not be overcome, I was embittered — but that 
 which I have done distresses me !" 
 
 " He is at least a man," exclaimed I, " although not a 
 reasonable one !" 
 
 Ah, my good Maria ! what will be the end of this ? A 
 ferocious, unreasonable son, an inflexible mother, who, also, 
 has sparks of ferocity in her soul, and between them both 
 such remembrances ! How will it go on ? What will be 
 the end of it ? 
 
 Bear himself, who talks so much about hope, does not look 
 like hope. Grod help us all ! 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Eosenvik^ July 29th. 
 I HAVE been for several days so busy, so cheerful, so 
 happy, that I have nearly forgotten disquiet, anxiety, the 
 threatening future, and, pardon me, dear Maria, almost the 
 pen itself. I have lived so much in the present, and have so 
 
17B 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 fully enjoyed it ! I have had, and still have, Serena with me. 
 My plans have succeeded. I tyrannised Bear, he tyrannised 
 the Patriarchs, and I received Serena, with the permission to 
 retain her with me a whole week, and perhaps longer. 
 
 How joyful was I the evening she came ! It was to me as 
 if I had received into my house a beloved younger sister, to 
 whom I should be as a mother. How happy was I to set 
 before her my eggs, my butter, my fresh-baked rye-bread, 
 and to spread on her bed in the evening the dazzling white 
 linen! We rose early in the morning, drank milk from 
 Audumbla ; went then into the birch wood, where Bear has 
 made winding walks, so that it has the effect of a pleasure- 
 ground. I have enjoyed with her air and flowers, and have 
 seen her every day become healthier and lovelier. We have 
 read together, worked together, sung together, and talked 
 together, and all possesses with Serena a new and higher 
 charm. 
 
 Wednesday evenmg was a tea and coffee party at Bird's 
 Nest. A little festival, lively and gay as the hostess herself, 
 and where body and soul were equally entertained. It is a 
 charming thing to possess a museum. 
 
 On Friday it went festively at Doctor Werner's. Eosenvik 
 cannot compare itself with Bird's Nest, but still it has, as 
 Ma chere mere was pleased to assert of its mistress, its own 
 little charm. As this was our first great party, I was a little 
 uneasy about it, whether everything would go on quite well 
 and as it should do, especially on Bear's account, for I wish 
 him to be always satisfied with his wife. 
 
 rortunately everything did succeed properly ; the only 
 misfortune was, that a few days before I had said to Bear 
 that in this festival he should be treated to a sort of little 
 sugar-cake which would actually melt in his mouth. Un- 
 luckily they all melted away in the oven, so that the mouth 
 had not the least morsel of them to taste. For the rest, aU 
 went well, and our visitors were politely contented with all. 
 Jane Marie played her heavy piece from Herz. I sang a 
 little, and tlien everybody danced to the piano. All were gay. 
 
 When our company was gone, Bear and I walked up and 
 down tlie room and rejoiced ourselves that all had gone off so 
 well, and that people had found it so agreeable Avith us. 
 
 " And how good evervbodv found the lemonade !" said L 
 
FRAKSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 177 
 
 And then the little sugar-cakes !" exclaimed Bear with a 
 horrible grimace; "they really melted in one's mouth, so 
 that one perceived nothing of them 
 I'nlucky little sugar-cakes ! 
 
 The happiest and the pleasantest days, however, we have 
 spent alone at Eosenvik ; and then every evening almost we 
 eat our supper on Svano. Cousin Stellan is "aux petits 
 soins" for Serena! Now, now. Cousin Stellan! 
 
 We spent several evenings at Carlsfors. Ma chere mere 
 since her misfortunes accepts no invitations. Ma chere 
 mere is very friendly and kind to me ; slie addresses me 
 almost always with thou and cliild^ and when the under- 
 standing between us is very good, I call her mother, which 
 seems to give her pleasure. But confidence does not exist 
 between us, she does not invite to it, and that Berlichingenism 
 in her somewhat shocks me. 
 
 On Saturday, Ebba left with her husband. I am sorry for 
 it. I have actually become attached to her latterly. There is 
 a deal which is naturally good in her, and with a prudent 
 management on Peter's part it would develope itself more 
 and more. The tears she shed at parting proved that I was 
 not indifferent to her. We promised to write to each other. 
 
 2nd August. 
 
 I may yet keep Serena with me fourteen days longer 1 
 The good old Dahls came here yesterday. It was a joy to 
 see how Serena flew into their arms, and how they embraced 
 her in sincere aflection. They rejoiced to see her blooming 
 cheeks ; to hear her progress in singing (I boast of her like 
 the very best of aunts !) ; and they themselves persuaded the 
 sweet girl to fall in with Bear's commands and my sincere 
 ^^ishes. Serena seems to feel it difficult to leave the old 
 people, but consented at last to the prayers of all, and so I 
 have yet fourteen happy days more. 
 
 Between Jane Marie and me all is again harmonious. It 
 is always a pleasure to me to converse with her, and her 
 musical talent is truly uncommon. She appears to me also 
 to be much more agreeable since Ebba has left. The inter- 
 course between these two could never be friendly. It is with 
 certain persons as with certain stuffs. Each taken by itself 
 
178 
 
 THE KEIGHBOUES. 
 
 is very good, but when the two come together they put out 
 each other, and they lose mutually in colour, Jane Marie 
 also becomes more polite towards Ma chere mere, who on 
 her side becomes more friendly to her, although she always 
 keeps her at a certain distance, especially in housekeeping 
 afiairs. 
 
 Jane Marie has unquestionable merits as a wife, and she 
 and Jean Jacques are excellently well satisfied with each other. 
 
 Till now I have only given you sunshine, now comes a 
 cloud. This is called Bruno. Bruno is often here in an 
 evening. I know not why, or from what cause, but I am 
 always anxious when he comes ; it seems to me as if an evil 
 power dwelt in him, as if he in some way or other would 
 occasion misfortune. The warm sunbeams which seemed to 
 break forth from him as he saw himself acknowledged and 
 embraced by his brother, have now vanished. The tempest- 
 nature has again the upper hand, and Bruno is reserved and 
 gloomy. Yet this extraordinary man has a mysterious influ- 
 ence over us all. I fear that Serena feels it deeper than I 
 should wish, although I cannot say that decidedly. Bruno, 
 on the contrary, seems to me evidently captivated by her. 
 He observes her ; he listens to all that she says, as people 
 listen to music of which they will not lose one tone. Serena 
 is kind and friendly to him, but so is she also to Stellan — to 
 whom, indeed, is she not so ? But then I have fancied that 
 I have seen at times a certain bashfulness towards Bruno, 
 which in her intercourse with Stellan I never perceived, and 
 this is not a good sign. But perhaps this may be only a 
 natural consequence of the dissimilar nature and dissimilar 
 behaviour of these tw^o men. Even I, in Bruno's company, 
 am not quite self-possessed. Neither of the two exactly 
 pleases me as a husband for Serena ; but Stellan I prefer to 
 Bruno. 
 
 5th August. 
 
 Aha ! Cousin Stellan, is it so ? What do you think now, 
 dear Maria? Here now has our former despiser of mar- 
 riagel sate a whole hour and talked of the happiness of a 
 well-assorted marriage, and of the pleasures and joys which 
 domestic life must afford — and then came sighs and melan- 
 choly looks, and hints that he also held it for the highest 
 
FHANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M , 
 
 179 
 
 happiness to settle down domestically with an amiable accom- 
 plished wife. And I — I threw all his former difficulties in 
 the way. 
 
 " But, Cousin Stellan, the sour paste ? But Cousin Stellan, 
 the wash-bucket ? Your wife must have the house scoured ! 
 But, Cousin Stellan, that crying of children ? All little 
 children cry, even if they be descended from the best-educated 
 parents. And that apple which is found in all families 1" 
 To all these Stellan had one answer, the substance of which 
 was, that all earthly disagreeables, with a really prudent and 
 agreeable vdfe, would be perceived only as a light cloud, 
 which appears transiently in the heavens, and then is gone 
 again. I cherished the same opinion exactly, and said so at 
 length. 
 
 " Yes," said Stellan, " one first becomes perfectly aware of 
 this when one meets with a person who gives by her beautiful 
 harmonious nature a charm and grace to all that surrounds 
 her. One feels then first, that they are the intrinsic qualities 
 which fashion this outer world, and that the connexion 
 between the two is governed by them." 
 
 " Yes, so it is. Cousin Stellan, and I confess that I have 
 long anticipated this change in your views." 
 
 " How so ?" asked Stellan, blushing. 
 
 " Confess that a person in our neighbourhood has particu- 
 larly tended to your seeing marriage and domestic life in a 
 brighter point of view." 
 
 " Hum ! — ^yes, now, I cannot deny that," said he. 
 
 " I have seen it long," I observed. " I am not astonished. 
 Cousin Stellan ; you have not been able to see coolly Miss 
 Hellevi Husgafvel and her Bird's Nest." 
 
 "What! — whom? how?" Cousin Stellan sprang up in 
 confusion, and looked at me with terror. I could not help 
 laughing. Stellan seemed hurt, and said, " You jest, Fran- 
 siska, and that is not right of you!" 
 
 " Pardon me, Stellan," I replied, " but confess that Bird's 
 Nest possesses not the least of these disagreeables which you 
 find so great; it never can smell there of sour paste, and 
 certainly it is scoured only once a year ; besides which. Miss 
 Hellevi is a person with whom life never could be heavy and 
 wearisome." 
 
 ^ 2 
 
180 
 
 THE IS^EIGHBOIIES. 
 
 " God defend us !" exclaimed he ; " her excessive sprighte- 
 ness would occasion me fever ; in eight days I should die of 
 Bird's JNTest and frenzy, and then she would emhalm me, and 
 over and above would most likely be glad of me for a 
 mummy for her museum. I thank you, Cousin Eransiska! 
 no, look in another direction." 
 
 " That I have done already, Cousin Stellan," I replied ; 
 but then a great hut comes in my way. This person is ex- 
 cellent, but then — she limps." 
 
 " The beautiful and renowned La Valliere," said he, " was 
 also lame in the hip." 
 
 " Ah, that is true, and alters the afiair considerable (for 
 court people)," added I in petto, 
 
 " But she seems to me," continued he " to have afar greater 
 fault, a fault which is very objectionable in a woman." 
 
 " G-od forbid ! and this fault ?" asked I. 
 
 " She appears to me," said he, "to have a cold heart : she 
 has a repose in her nature which borders on an indifference 
 to pleasing. This is a great fault in a lady." 
 
 "You surprise me, Stellan," said I. "I have never 
 observed any coldness in Serena." 
 
 " I believe still that it is so," he replied ; " but I should be 
 glad to find that I was wrong ; for she really is an excellent 
 girl — but icy natures are cooling in the end." Cousin 
 Stellan said this in a light and tolerably indifferent tone, 
 and with these words he went out. 
 
 Ah, Cousin Stellan! You are subtle, but your fox will 
 not catch my goose. I see very well how it is. Stellan 
 wishes that I should examine Serena's heart, and then that 1 
 should tell him whether it is warm or cold towards him. In 
 the first case, he then would advance securely ; in the last he 
 would withdraw himself, and that on the plea of " that great 
 fault ill a lady," and thus would compromise neither his com- 
 fort nor his consequence. But — does a man truly love when 
 he is thus circumspect ? At all events it is droll to see how 
 the sour paste all at once can become sweet ; and I will with- 
 out doubt take the opportunity of discovering whether 
 Serena's heart be warm or cold towards my handsome cousiu. 
 It is another thing whether I shall or shall not impart to hiin 
 my discoveries. 
 
TEANSISKA WEENEB, TO MAKIA M. 
 
 181 
 
 6th August. 
 
 Now I know what hour the clock has struck, and you 
 Bhall know it also, my Maria. Ok, Serena ! Serena ! 
 
 I was alone with her yesterday afternoon. I thought of 
 Stellan, and asked her what she thought of our young guest. 
 To my astonishment, I found that she had thought very little 
 about him. She allowed that he was handsome, graceful, and 
 full of talent ; but she expressed her admiration with a des- 
 perate indifference. On this I began to abuse him a little. 
 Love, thought I, has many lurking holes ; and when we 
 cannot decoy him out with sugar, one often can with salt : 
 but in vain did I salt my observation with Stellan' s indolence, 
 levity, etc. I could not, in Serena's answers, discover the 
 least point out of the quiver of love. Serena excused him 
 like christian Charity herself, whilst she acknowledged hia 
 faults. 
 
 "You are very gentle towards him, Serena," said I; 
 " would you not undertake his education, for example, as 
 his wife?" 
 
 " Ah, no, no," replied she, laughing. 
 
 " And why, ah, no, no !" returned I. " You acknowledge, 
 truly, that he possesses very many good qualities, and excuse 
 his faults with all zeal." 
 
 " Yes ; but I could not think of him as my husband," she 
 replied. 
 
 " And why not, Serena ?" 
 
 "What shall I say," returned she. "He seems to be 
 good and agreeable, but I do not believe that he could really 
 love any other person or any other thing than himself." 
 
 " You would rather have my Bear then, Serena ?" 
 
 " He who is so good to every one — who has so warm a 
 heart — ^who is so active for others, oh yes!" said she. 
 
 " It is weU," said I, " that I have him in secure possession. 
 But tell me, dear Serena, and pardon me if I go too far with 
 my questions, is there no other who stands in Stellan' s way? 
 or I really think you must have felt a little warmer interest 
 for him — perhaps your heart is already disposed of? I have 
 been told of a young man, who, a few years since, asked your 
 hand." 
 
 Serena blushed deeply at the beginning of my questioD^ 
 then became ©ale, and answered after some reflection, " No 
 
182 
 
 THE l^EIGHB0trE8. 
 
 I did not love him ; but bad I been able to bave acted quite 
 freely, it is probable I should have become his v^^ife/' 
 
 " And wherefore, if you did not love him ?" 
 
 " Because," said she, " I believed that he really loved me, 
 and that I could have made him happy. There is something 
 beautiful in being able on earth to make one human being 
 happy." 
 
 " But you have had many lovers. Did none of them 
 please your parents, or had you not the same compassion on 
 these as on the one you have just mentioned ?" 
 
 " They did not need it," said she, smiling. 
 
 " How so ; they really loved you ?" 
 
 " O ! there are many kinds of love,' '.replied she. 
 
 " That is true," I returned ; " let me see. In the first 
 place we will set down temperate love, which speaks probably 
 thus : ' See, there is a good, rational girl, who will make a 
 regular housekeeper, and not occasion me too much expense. 
 She would be exactly the wife for me.' What love shall we 
 place second ?" 
 
 " Perhaps the enamoured," said Serena. 
 
 " Yes, certainly," assented I : "the enamoured, which has 
 a bandage before his eyes, and becomes enchanted over head 
 and ears. This love may be violent as a spring-storm or 
 modest as a violet, but it is over as soon as these. Yet this 
 love can, as well as the temperate love, elevate itself to one 
 more inward, and may become nearly related to a sort of love 
 for which I have great esteem — I mean warm friendship." 
 
 " Ah, that is beautiful !" said Serena. " It developes itself 
 first perfectly during marriage itself, and I have often heard 
 in my family how it speaks more in deeds than in words." 
 
 " Tell me that, dear Serena," I said, " since I also will 
 gladly introduce this language into my house." 
 
 Had a man stood before Serena at this moment, he must 
 have thrown himself at her feet, so charming and amiable 
 was she as she said — " Thy well-being is mine ; my weU- 
 being thine. Let misfortune do his worst, it cannot make 
 me unhappy if I only possess thee. If I have erred, or if I 
 have acted well, I read it in thy eyes. That is my punish- 
 ment, this is my rew^ard. Whither should I go with my joy 
 or with my sorrow, if not to thee ? Whither shouldst thoa 
 gOj if not to me ? Have we not all thiniis to.«ether ? If 
 
FRA^^SISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 183 
 
 thou art in any respect wanting, if thou art sometimes even 
 unjust, what does that amount to ? I enclose thee in my in- 
 most heart, and then we love only the more. I have by thy 
 side support, and home, and joy. In the whole wide world 
 there is no one who understands me so well as thou." 
 
 I dried a tear and said, " But what could love say more 
 than this, Serena, the highest love ?" 
 
 " The highest love ?" repeated Serena, and a mild paleness 
 chased the crimson from her cheek, " that which it would say 
 I know not, but I imagine what it must feel. It is a higher 
 
 throb in the veins of friendship — it is the heavenly life " 
 
 Serena paused, her eyes filled with tears, and a glance full oi 
 exaltation completed the thought which the tongue was 
 unable to speak. 
 
 And can this being, thought I, be in reality cold? 
 
 " And will you, Serena," said I, after a few moments, 
 " who understand the highest happiness of marriage so well, 
 will you never enjoy it ? "Will you remain single ?" 
 
 " I think so," answered she, again calm ; "but yet I will 
 love thus sincerely my parents, you, all good people, and 
 through this will I become happy." 
 
 " My dear Serena," said I, " that is all very well, so long 
 as your heart remains free." 
 
 A thrill, a tremble passed through the fine warm hand 
 which I held in mine. It was as if a heart-throb had thrilled 
 through Serena's veins ; and when I looked at her, her cheeks 
 were flushed with red, and she breathed quicker. The 
 moment I was about to enquire whence came this sudden 
 emotion, I made a painful discovery. I heard the quick 
 strokes of a horse's hoofs, and Bruno dismounted at the door. 
 Serena must already have recognised from afar the sound ot 
 his horse's approach, 
 
 " Is it so ?" thought I ; and a light, anxious shudder 
 passed, Kke an unfortunate foreboding, through body and 
 soul. I pressed Serena's hand, and felt as if impelled to 
 embrace her and clasp her more warmly to me ; but this I 
 was prevented doing by Bruno's noisy entrance. He always 
 comes in like a tempest. But he now shook my hand so 
 cordially, and threw so beautiful a glance on Serena, that 
 the unpleasant impression which I experienced the moment 
 before somewhat vanished. 
 
184 
 
 THE KEIGllEOUHa. 
 
 Serena sab down to her embroidery frame and worlked 
 industriously, whilst Bruno's eyes rested on the fingers and 
 on the flowers w^iich seemed to spring from them. 
 
 " It is a lovely day," said I to Bruno. 
 
 " Yes," replied he, in his melodious voice ; " but I fciel it 
 to be so now for the first time." 
 
 We were silent for long ; and I was glad when the entrance 
 of Bear converted our trio into a quartet, and soon after 
 when it became a quintet through Stellan. 
 
 But this did not seem to please Bruno. He arose, and 
 after he had paced tlje room a few times, he sate himself 
 down to the piano at the other end ; and then softly, like 
 painfully repressed feelings, sounded forth his melodies in 
 their wonderful and expressive life. Serena seemed to 
 dream ; she attended not to our conversation, nor, in fact, 
 seemed aware of it till we began to speak of the approach- 
 ing golden nuptials of her grandparents. 
 
 " It must be beautiful," said I with warmth, " on such a 
 day to glance back through a long array of years, and dis- 
 cover only pure recollections and good deeds." 
 
 Bruno moved ; the tones ceased ; and leaning himself over 
 the chair, I saw that he listened. 
 
 Cousin Stellan said with a sigh, " Such a happiness is the 
 lot but of very few mortals 1" 
 
 " And w^hy. Cousin Stellan ?" began I again; "because 
 so few aim at it ; so few learn to know and to govern them- 
 selves." 
 
 " And who knows himself? who can do it ?" asked Bruno, 
 rising from his seat. 
 
 "Hum!— — I hope many can!" answered I, somewhat 
 startled by the eager interruption. 
 
 " Yes, people thiuk so !" continued Bnmo, with gloomy 
 warmth. " People think they know themselves because they 
 are untried ; because they have never examined down into 
 the depths of the soul. Our connexions make the path 
 smooth ; life goes on like a sunshiny day ; and the undisturbed 
 spirit which no storm has shaken, no night darkened, regards 
 itself as firm and light. The blind ! The lucky! He knows 
 little of life. But who that has proved how much life has 
 of temptation, afilictions, and joys ; who that feels his soul 
 shaken by passionsa would dare to say that he knows himself? 
 
TEANSISKA TKEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 185 
 
 —would dare to think that he can be and act as he will ? 
 And who is always the same? Look into history ! Do not 
 vice and meannesses pollute the lives of the greatest men? 
 Cannot the malefactor accomplish noble actions? Cannot 
 man in one hour of his life possess in his heart a paradise of 
 love ; and in another, is it not cold, poor and desolate ? To 
 know himself! — Is not that to feel himself a mass of con- 
 tradiction of all possible kinds ? as a ball tossed between 
 heaven and hell, with which angels and devils disport them- 
 selves? Man can do much without consistency. He can do 
 the greatest, the noblest actions but only one moment, — the 
 next moment drags him downward! To know himself is 
 but to know his own weakness !" 
 
 Bruno's speech had rushed onward like an impetuous 
 stream which suddenly rises above the shore, and breaks 
 through all impediments ; and I confess that I myself felt 
 overwhelmed by it. In my own so often changeable and 
 sensitive heart, a hundred evidences arose to the truth of 
 Bruno's sorrowful doctrine. I felt my courage sink, but 
 Serena had not let go the rudder. She fixed her clear eyes 
 on Bruno's countenance, as he stood opposite to her, and 
 when he ceased, she said with all lier peculiarly sincere and 
 consolatory gentleness : 
 
 " Certainly, there are contradictions and inconsistencies 
 in all men ; but must we not concede that these diminish 
 exactly in the same proportion in which they are repressed?" 
 
 " It should be so," said Bruno, slowly, fixing his eyes on 
 her heaven- serene countenance. 
 
 " And do we not see," continued she, " in manifold ex- 
 amples, that such an ennobling really takes place ? Do we 
 not know that fallen human beings have erected themselves 
 again? — That the severely tried have come out of the contest 
 as victors ? Carries not every man in his breast a secret 
 image of God, which can enlighten his being, and which 
 strives to exalt him to a higher existence ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is so, — I believe it ^" said Bruno, mildly though 
 gloomily. He seated himself beside Serena. 
 
 " Let us then hope for all," continued she, with heartfelt 
 emotion. " The way may be more difficult for some natiirea 
 than for others ; but He who is bright and good, and eter- 
 
186 
 
 THE J^ElGHBOmS. 
 
 nally consistent, will sometime let his voice be heard, and 
 will raise them to light and harmony." 
 
 " Amen! amen ! so be it!" said Bruno, resting his fore- 
 head on his hand. " May all restless spirits receive peace !" 
 
 " Before all things goes a good will," thought I ; but I 
 would not raise my voice after Serena's angel-tones. 
 
 We sate long silent, and each one busied himself with 
 his own thoughts. The silence at length dissolved itself 
 into Mozart's Don Juan, which Stellan proposed ; and Bruno, 
 who played it to us, added thereto somewhat of his own 
 powerful inspiration. He truly captivated me this evening. 
 And I fancy all the rest were as much charmed as I. We 
 scarcely left ourselves time to eat, but continued our music 
 almost uninterruptedly till nearly eleven. — Godlike art ! — 
 Glorious Mozart ! 
 
 We were all become through him such good friends that 
 when Bruno left us we accompanied him part way home. 
 The air was mild, and the starry heaven was displayed in 
 streaming glory in the deep midnight twilight of August. 
 Involuntarily we looked up in quiet admiration; and Stel- 
 lan, who for the last several days has seemed to feel every- 
 thing more deeply, Stellan said, " Under such a heaven as 
 this, man must, for the first time, have divined of his own 
 immortality !" 
 
 " Or rather, perhaps," objected Bruno, " rightly compre- 
 hended his own mortality ; his dependence on outward powers. 
 Since what says to you this multitude of stars ; these eternal 
 wanderers, on eternally the same paths, who pursue their 
 heavenly career as silent as so many Trappists ? Strange to 
 our feelings, our sufferings, and our joys, they circle in eter- 
 nal rest, and seem to answer only to our questions, * Poor 
 Dust, measure thyself with Immortality, and be mute !' 
 Immortal life? 'No, this magnificent thought was never 
 created to us out of those unfeeling heights. The starry 
 heaven rather depresses than elevates us ! But the world of 
 music ! Cannot we involve ourselves in this, and divine at 
 least for a moment the greatness of life, and conceive of its 
 harmony and its eternity? Oh (and Bruno's voice here 
 assumed its deep melodious tone), oh, if there be one great 
 thought in this u'uverse, in this life which we lead, it must 
 
FEANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 187 
 
 oe expressed in sound ! Listen to the fugue ! Listen Low 
 sphere sings to sphere ! how one thought answers another ! 
 now all things are manifold, yet one thought sustains this 
 manifold whole in strength and beauty. The fugue is that 
 * Be !' of the Creator. Thus innumerable worlds repeat that 
 first word ! Listen to a symphony of Beethoven if you would 
 have an interpretation of life ! Listen to the tones, how they 
 live, suffer, love ; how they involve one another, and thus 
 fashion out all the melodies of being ! Listen, at last, how 
 the dissonances dissolve themselves into harmonies ; how 
 storm, unrest, affliction, joy, hate, and love, hasten forward 
 like the rivers of the earth to cast themselves into the ocean, 
 where all is dissolved in an accord full of harmony and peace 1" 
 
 I was agitated and carried away by Bruno's expression, 
 although not satisfied with his words. 
 
 "We went slowly down the long alley. Cousin Stellan was 
 talking with me ; and I fancy that all at once I must have 
 become possessed of two pair of eyes and two pair of ears, 
 for while I listened to and replied to him, I was observant 
 also of that which went on between Bruno and Serena, who 
 walked on together a few paces before us. Bruno gathered 
 a flower, which he presented to Serena, saying in a low voice, 
 in which was something inexpressibly mild and tender, 
 " Flowers and good wishes may truly be given at the same 
 time ! Will you now accept them from me ? May you 
 always be as peaceful as now ! JVTay your bitterest cares 
 resemble this night, full of heavenly lights ! May you be as 
 happy as you are good and pure! But," and here his voice 
 sunk deeper, " when you are sustained by the hands of good 
 angels, then pray for those who have no peace — who are not 
 60 pure as you, — pray for them, and pray for me!" These 
 last words I imagined rather than heard. Bruno bent him- 
 self at that moment over Serena's hand, and Cousin Stellan 
 began also, as I suspect, to have two pair of eyes and two 
 pair of ears. 
 
 Serena's face was turned towards Bruno, but I could not 
 
 f)erceive whether she answered him. Bruno's horse was then 
 ed up : he took a hasty leave of us, and vanished out of our 
 sight. 
 
 Bruno ! One can neither get on well with this wonderful 
 upirit, nor can one preserve rest with him. Yet it ig precisely 
 
188 
 
 THE KEIGHBOtJRS. 
 
 those contradictions in him — this quick change between snow 
 and thaw — storm and rest, night and sudden day, this fulness 
 of life and warmth, which lends him at the same moment a 
 restless and powerful interest. He repels and attracts, par- 
 ticularly the latter, because he is so perfectly natural. 
 
 But I am very uneasy, because Serena is so much inclined 
 towards him. What can the white lily do upon the stormy 
 wave ? Can Bruno make a wife happy ? Deserves he such 
 a wife ? Think, if he himself should be the criminal whose 
 part he takes ! What is he ? Wliat will he do ? Thus I 
 question myself — thus I question Bear. Bear always thinka 
 the best, and loves his brother truly. Still he cannot per- 
 fectly console me. I have anxious forebodings. The heart 
 which is heavy from these, says to you for the present — 
 farewell, my good Maria ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Eosenvik, August 14th. 
 Eight days have passed since I last wrote to you, my 
 Maria. I forgot that I ought to write for the sake of the 
 romance which I have undertaken. But the necessity to live 
 in some measure with you, led me again to the pen and to 
 the narrative. 
 
 Cousin SteUan has left us. He must have been more and 
 more convinced that Serena had that fault which he consi- 
 dered the most unpardonable in a lady ; a strong desire for 
 yawning too always came over him whenever Bruno came to 
 E-osenvik ; and he received letters from Stockholm, on ac- 
 count of important affairs, which required him to go there ; 
 and journeyed home, accompanied by my most sincere good 
 wishes. I was sorry that his reform was stopped exactly in 
 the beginning. 
 
 But Serena and Bruno have occupied me so much that I 
 have had less thought for others. Bruno has made our 
 house his. Bear sees it with joy ; and I, though I am so 
 uneasy, cannot be indifferent to this remarkable man. Se- 
 rena lives, as it were, under a secret enchantment, and — what 
 think you ? I have never ventured to interrupt it with one 
 word. She appears so happy, so joyT)us, so inwardly secure, 
 that I fear to say one word that might disturb, or perhaps 
 
TEANSISKA WEENEE TO HAEIA M. 
 
 189 
 
 wake, a lialf-slumbering feeling into consciousness. Beyond 
 this, she unfolds into more beautiful life ; her voice has devel- 
 oped the most delicious tones: — but Bruno is quite a dif- 
 ferent teacher to me — never has her countenance, her whole 
 being, been more attractive than now. And Bruno ? He is 
 quiet, but one can see that he is altogether absorbed with 
 her. He follows her wherever she goes ; he sits by her. 
 Sometimes he fixes upon her one of those glances which is 
 never without its effect in the eye of man — but then this 
 glance from him! He dbes not please me. At times he 
 makes me tremble. 
 
 It is said that when the snake will make the lark his prey, 
 he raises himself and fixes his glance upon her. The lark 
 looks into the eye of the snake, and a wonderful and horrible 
 magic seizes upon her. Pluttering on her pinions, she flies 
 circling round and round and sings ; never was her song so 
 ravishing, nor fluttered her wings in stronger enjoyment Oj. 
 life — and so she sings, and so she circles around the snake 
 ever nearer and nearer, till she sinks into his jaws — and is 
 silent for ever ! 
 
 O Serena ! Serena ! 
 
 In fact it will not do to let it proceed thus. I must warn 
 Serena. She must know that which we know of this dan- 
 gerous man. I must speak with Bear. 
 
 Later 
 
 See here our conversation. 
 
 " But, my dear Bear, it will not do ; I assure thee some- 
 thing right serious will come of it." 
 
 " Well, and what then ? "What can one wish better ? I 
 wish that it was so serious as to come to marriage. I believe 
 truly that these two would accord extremely well for each 
 other." 
 
 " But is he worthy of such a wife ? How do we know but 
 that he may have done something much worse than that 
 which we know he did in his youth ? There is something in 
 Bruno that prejudices me against him. I do not trust him. 
 I believe at times that he is capable of the very worst. Only 
 think if he be a murderer ! " 
 
 " My dear Transiska," said Bear almost angry, why dost 
 fchou let thy imagination run away with thee so ? Why, 
 
190 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 without any occasion, canst thou think thus of any fellow- 
 creature ? Thou art unreasonable now, Eransiska 
 
 Pardon me, angel, but thou — art not thou too mild ? No 
 occasion ? We know very well that he has stolen.'* 
 
 "And didst thou never steal — as a child?" I paused, — 
 bethought me, blushed, and was silent. Out of my innocent 
 childish years rose, spectre-like, a host of biscuits, confec- 
 tions, pieces of ribbon, and such like, as witnesses against 
 me. At length I said, " Yes, Bear, I have stolen — I confess 
 it — ^but at fifteen I stole no longer." 
 
 " Eemember," remonstrated he, "the circumstances under 
 which Bruno grew up. Most children fail a little; but a 
 good education, a discreet management, stifles that danger- 
 ous yet natural impulse to appropriate that to oneself for 
 which one has desire. Bruno was unskilfully trained, and 
 must be judged accordingly. At all events the last lines he 
 wrote to me testify that he acknowledged his fault and would 
 abandon it. And undoubtedly the fearful lesson he had at 
 the last scene with his mother would deter him for ever from 
 this course. 
 
 I sighed and said, "At all events we have seen that he 
 can shoot down that which refuses to obey him. He who 
 can act so barbarously towards a horse, can do so also to- 
 wards men." 
 
 " There is a great difference, Eanny ! Nevertheless I wiU 
 on no account excuse Bruno's error. Yes, he is wild ; and at 
 times ferocious and violent. He is still as in his youth — 
 capricious, unsteady, but not bad. On the contrary, his heart 
 is warm, and I am convinced that he will become good. It 
 is precisely an angel like Serena which can obtain influence 
 over him, and make him good and reasonable, at the same 
 time that she makes him happy." 
 
 " My good Bear, thou talkest very beautifully, but yet I 
 am not satisfied. Should we not at least acquaint Serena 
 with the person to whom she so blindly resigns herself! 
 Should she not know all that we know of his youth and his 
 after-adventures !" 
 
 " Why ? and to what purpose ? If she loves him this will 
 not withdraw her from him. But as his wife it might be 
 painful for her to know that Bruno had deserved the con- 
 tempt of his nearest connexions- At least, none but Bruno 
 
BBtJNO M. TO ANTONIO PE E. 
 
 191 
 
 himself should put her in possession of this knowledge. Eye 
 to eye, heart to heart, can much be said, and much be re- 
 conciled." 
 
 " Ah ! if one only knew something more of Brimo's later 
 life 1" sighed 1. 
 
 " I have heard his relation, I have, indeed, seen his papers. 
 All is clear and straightforward. I have seen letters from 
 many distinguished men to him. They speak perfectly to 
 his advantage. Beyond this — even if Bruno should have 
 erred — do we not see clearly in him the desire after good ? 
 Our Lord would not reject him — and thou Eanny wouldst 
 doit?" 
 
 " Ah no, no, Bear ! But Serena " 
 
 " Think on Bruno's warm heart," interrupted he, " on his 
 
 great talents — yes, his genius, and then on his great 
 
 wealth ! Why should not Serena be happy with him ?" 
 
 " Ah, Bear," returned I, "that which makes a wife happy 
 — that which beautifies home, is not the wealth of a husband 
 — not his great talents — not the fire of his soul, — these may 
 even destroy the peace of home. No, the happiness of the 
 wife is that the husband have integrity ; that he be good, 
 rational, reasonable, and regular — ^like thee, Bear !" 
 
 "We contended no more. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 TEAGMENT OF A LETTER EKOM BETINO M 
 
 TO ANTONIO DE E . 
 
 I approached her without purpose. I would 
 
 merely contemplate the beauty of her countenance; the 
 glory of innocence, which rested upon it like a clear heaven. 
 I would merely listen to her voice, her words ; observe all 
 ; her living grace. What the freshness of waves, what the 
 I tune of a song, what the endearments of my mother had been 
 : to me, that was to me her presence. I felt happy as I heard 
 her voice ; at her glance every painfid feeling, every unholy 
 thought, withdrew ; — I was better. 
 
 Neither she nor I, but the Power which planted volcanic 
 fire in the depths of my beiog, is the cause that this feeling 
 suddenly grew into a devouriiu; flame. But I love her not 
 
192 
 
 THE NETGHBOXTKtSi. 
 
 as I formerly loved her. 'No Serena stood yet on my nightly 
 way ; — she is my first pure love. And precisely on that 
 account, exactly because she is totally dissimilar to all other 
 women whom I have hitherto sought and won, is it that 
 Serena is to me so bewitching. Her gentle and maidenly 
 worth, which stamps her being and actions with so beautiful 
 a propriety, binds me to her with the force of magic. Exactly 
 because she is so destitute of everything like coquetry, am I 
 ready to kneel before her, and to worship her. My eyes rest 
 with an indescribable rapture on this mouth, which no heart- 
 less kiss has desecrated, no word of scorn or of falsehood has 
 polluted. Purity, — a word which I have, too late, learned to 
 understand, — purity is the heaven which beams upon her 
 brow ; the spirit which emanates from her ; and for the sake 
 
 of her purity I worship her — I who yes, I can do it, and 
 
 that is my salvation. What is beautiful, what is god-like, 
 which at the same time is not pure ? Light, virtue, heaven ! — 
 eternal essences of purity! Dark was my life, but in her I 
 love you ! Serena stands there, and with her all the angels of 
 life ; they whom I have dishonoured and despised ; — quiet 
 virtues, peace, domestic life, — holy ties which I have re- 
 nounced and abused ; how transport ingly do they beckon me 
 back, through her ! 
 
 Tell me not that it is too late. I have rioted with the 
 wild forms of life's enchantment. Like Eaust, I danced with 
 the witches of the Blocksberg : and the person of one whom 1 
 embraced was ashes ; and out of the mouth of another whom 
 I kissed sprang a disgusting reptile ; a third changed herself 
 in my arms into a serpent: and so I stood on the steep 
 declivity of my way, and looked round, and all behind me 
 was terrible and dark. The same restless fire, the same 
 thirst, still raged within me ; but I sought other springs. I 
 was strong, and full of life. In the battle, in contest with the 
 raging elements, I felt within me a higher power, a mightier 
 existence, — ^but aU was so empty, empty, empty! I con- 
 cei^^ed not that the fulness of life could be found in any 
 human form. A human bosom, — great, full of love as the 
 heavens, true, gentle, and pure — Oh ! there is a world in 
 which to live ! perfect, beautiful, and eternal. There is the 
 fire of passion, purified but not quenched ; tlie unquiet ia 
 made quiet ; the strength is exhalted and eoutirmei 
 
BBIINO M. TO ANTONIO DE E. 
 
 193 
 
 If a spouse with a soul so great and lovely wandered by 
 my side ; if i\.^r heavenly spirit passed every hour of the 
 day, like a T<?»rnal breeze over my soul ; if she infused her 
 pure and harnumious life into all that surrounds niy daily 
 path ; if I could lean on her as — O my Grod ! I cannot say, as 
 on a mother's breast, since that has spurned me from it, — 
 but could I press a wife to my bosom in a fast and everlasting 
 embrace, and say from the depths of my heart, " Thou art an 
 angel, and thou art mine!" Oh! believest thou not that 
 earlier sins could be forgiven, that bitter memories could be 
 expunged, that the wavering soul could become established 
 in a higher love ? — believest thou not that on the blasted 
 ground a new paradise might yet bloom ? 
 
 I look on Serena, and I must believe it possible. I have 
 said to myself, " She must become mine, if I am to find peace 
 on the earth !" But she — the good, the pure, the amiable, 
 will she be able to love me ? — will she be willing to unite her 
 fate with mine ? And they in whose power lies her disposal ; 
 they who above all things estimate purity of character, social 
 and domestic virtues, will these bestow her, the most beauti- 
 ful and most precious of their possessions, on a man whose 
 reputation from very childhood has been stained, — whose life 
 has been covered with darkness ? 
 
 I hear thee utter these questions, and this is my answer. 
 
 There is something in me, — call it pride, presumption, 
 what thou wilt, — but I know there is something in me 
 which no one so readily withstands ; a power, a will which 
 breaks iron ; a fire which can devour everything before it, in 
 order to burn in the air, for which it yearns. I have proved 
 it often, and no one has been able to resist it but my mother ; 
 — for my blood also runs in her veins, — and yet, mother, we 
 have not fougbt out the contest between us. 
 
 I have seen my mother ! She knew me not again, and I 
 scarcely knew her. She was a beautiful woman. She is 
 much changed ; and it would seem not simply through age. I 
 sought opportunity to see her — I must see her ; but as I stood 
 there as a stranger before her — as I heard again the well- 
 known voice — I could not support it. I know not when I 
 shall discover myself. She is not yet prepared for it, nor I 
 either. I was desperately and painfully agitated in her 
 presence ; and therefore I flee it — till some farther time. I 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 THE KEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 love and fear, I languisli and fly. Thus I stood in agonising 
 strife with myself, when Serena entered. I placed myself by 
 her side, and from this moment I became calmer. A hope, 
 a ray of light shone forth. If even my mother — my mother 
 
 would not forgive Cain had perpetrated a heavier 
 
 crime than I, on him rested the curse of his mother, and yet 
 — into the desert into which he wandered followed him his 
 wife ! An angel of reconciliation went with him. 
 
 Serena ! Serena ! if I did not love thee so devotedly, I could 
 pity thee ; for I feel that it is not in vain that I have fixed 
 my gaze upon thee. But I will love thee as never woman 
 has yet been loved. I will surround thee with all the charms 
 of life ; every day shalt thou make people happy, and thy 
 noble heart shall live on blessings. Hagar must submit her- 
 self to her fate. It is long since she ceased to make any 
 claims on my affections, and that she must continue to do, 
 even did we remain together. She must and will bear to see 
 me happy with another. She knows me — she will not dare 
 .... Curse on her ! Should she breathe a poison breath 
 on thee, who .... But I am wild if I think on this woman, 
 and I will not. Well, I will be affectionate — I will be as 
 Serena wills. There are yet stores of the good and the tender 
 in me ; the spring is not irremediably defiled ; it requires 
 nothing so much as to be purified — ^but an angel must 
 descend into the waters. 
 
 But can an angel indeed approach him whom the curse 
 of a mother .... My mother ! if she should not pardon ! 
 Ah, thought of destruction ! vulture which gnaws at my 
 heart — away ! away ! 
 
 All will speedily be spoken out and decided, for my soul 
 yearns after certainty. It were perhaps wiser to postpone it, 
 to await a fitting time ; but I cannot, and I will not. I take 
 my fortune always by storm — may it be so now ! 
 
 TRAI^SISKA WERNER TO MARIA M . 
 
 Rosenvik, August 17tn. 
 Yesterday was a wonderful, rich, merry, and yet unplea- 
 sant day. We spent it at Eamm. We were some days 
 before invited thither, with many of our neighbours. Ma 
 chere mere was also invited, but excused herself, on the plea 
 
FRANSISKA WEENEH TO AIARIA M. 
 
 195 
 
 that for many years she has accepted no invitations, and now 
 could mako no exceptions. Serena had spent the preceding 
 day with her grandparents, and was to accompany them to 
 Eamra, whither they were pressingly invited by Bruno, who, 
 by the new school, and through many other circumstances, 
 had now placed himself in a close connexion with the worthy 
 old Dahl. 
 
 At our arrival we found all without unchanged : the trees 
 grew as before, wild and thick, around the blackened walls. 
 Bruno met us on the steps, and received us with a serious 
 friendliness. There was something peculiarly prepossessing 
 in his countenance. Bear was excited and pale, as he shook 
 his brother's hand ; none of us said anything, and Bruno 
 conducted me in silence into the house, where the splendour 
 of the furniture struck me with amazement. But my dear 
 Serena soon engrossed all my attention. I thought I had 
 never seen her so beautiful. That light blue miuslin dress, 
 that tulle handkerchief which she had thrown over her snowy 
 shoulders, all became her so well ; and her innocent coun- 
 tenance beamed with health and gaiety. I and Eosenvik, 
 thought I with pleasure, have both contributed to these 
 roses. The Patriarchs, too, said many kind words to me on 
 the same score. 
 
 The guests assembled. Lagman Hok and Miss Hellevi 
 Husgafvel came together in the disobligeant. Exactly as we 
 were about to seat ourselves at table, the noise of an arrival 
 was heard in the court ; and to my amazement I beheld a 
 cabriolet drawn by an OEland pony, and driven by a young 
 maiden, who with her little equipage made a grand circle 
 round the court, cracked loudly the whip, and drew up 
 before the door. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! that is Mally, my little Mally!" laughed 
 out the Major, who stood at the window with me. " Yes, 
 yes, she cuts a dash in the world. She has taste in horses. 
 People should let children follow their own propensities, 
 Madame "Werner ; that fills them full of health and activity. 
 It does no good, compulsion. They will become sober soon 
 enough. I know that from myself." 
 
 Mally now made her entrance ; her hair all flying wild ; 
 her gait at once waggish and awkward. Madame von P. 
 cast a look on her and then on her own daughters, which 
 
 k2 
 
19G 
 
 THF NETGHBOUES 
 
 seemed to say — " God be praised ! my daughters have re- 
 ceived education and accomplishment." My good Brita Kajsa, 
 though a lover of the natural, blushed at the entrance of her 
 daughter, and looked disconcerted. 
 
 " What a figure you are !" said she, as she busied herself 
 to bring her clothes and hair into some degree of order. 
 
 " Eh ! eh ! mamma, how you hurt me," cried Mally, wincing 
 and grinning. 
 
 Bruno conducted Madame Dahl to table, the rest followed 
 in couples — the dinner was superb. Bruno will destroy the 
 simple habit of the country with such examples of luxury. I 
 shall tell him this. But he was a most agreeable host. His 
 attention to the old Dahls had something reverential and 
 nearly filial in it, which became him well ; and Serena ap- 
 peared to observe it with joy, From the dining-room Bruno 
 conducted us down into the garden, where two ample tents 
 were pitched. There too the accommodation of the Patri- 
 archs appeared to have been most solicitously provided for. 
 In one of the tents were two commodious easy-chairs for 
 them, and the ground was covered with the costliest matting. 
 Before this tent a fountain threw into the air its fresh and 
 splashing stream. Orange-trees, at once full of fruit and 
 flower, stood at a certain distance round, and every little 
 breath of air bore to us their balsamic fragrance. Iwas charmed 
 with the whole of this arrangement, which the unusual heat 
 of the day made still more agreeable. My imagination trans- 
 ported me into an ideal world ; I shaped to myself a nomadic 
 life in such scenery; and shepherdesses like Serena, and 
 
 Patriarchs, and tents, and orange-groves, and but in this 
 
 moment burst in Madame von P., exclaiming : " Ah ! how 
 charming is all this, my dear Madame Werner ! Count L. 
 and we had just such tents at Grustafsberg. One day they 
 were with us, and the other day we were with them, tout 
 fmnilierement. It was uncommonly gay. It is too charming ! 
 The L.'s and we had very little intercourse with the other 
 society there ; we were sufficient of ourselves. Oh ! I should 
 so like to know how our common friend the dear Baroness H. 
 is ; a delightful person ! She and I found so much amuse- 
 ment together. Of course, we have seen much of the great 
 world, and have a multitude of common acquaintance." 
 
 " It is very hot here," said I. It was agreeably cool in 
 
TEAI^SISBIA WEE^^:3l TO MARIA M. 
 
 197 
 
 the tent, but Madame von P.'s discourse made it feel to me 
 quite sultry. I arose ; my persecutor did the same. Imme- 
 diately outside of the tent vre met Bruno. Madame von P. 
 rushed up to him, " Ah, mon cher Monsieur Eomilly, c'est 
 charmant, c'est charmant! your park is heavenly. What 
 tints on these trees ! What groups ! What perspective ! 
 See there, my best Madame Werner, — there, through the 
 arch of the bridge, what effect ! IN^ay, you must stoop yet a 
 little more, yet a little, — under this bough here — is it not 
 heavenly ? (I was near breaking my neck.) What ensemble^ 
 what effect !" Bruno made a solemn bow to Madame von P., 
 and retired into the tent. I thought, " Oh ! that this affec- 
 tation of some people should be able even to destroy the 
 enjoyment of nature for others." Madame von P.'s tints 
 and effect had spoiled to me the whole prospect. At this 
 moment I heard a loud cry ; and as I hurried towards the 
 part whence it came, there saw I the Adamites, who had rent 
 fruit and flowers from the orange-trees, and now set them- 
 selves in battle array to resist some young gentlemen who 
 attempted to restrain their depredation. 
 
 There we have the state of nature," thought I with a 
 sigh. Brita Kajsa came forth, dealt out blows and cuffs 
 amongst her brood ; and, for this time, order was restored, 
 and we could enjoy oiu" coffee and the accompanying delicacies 
 in peace. 
 
 After a while two open carriages drove up, and Bruno 
 proposed to the company an excursion in the park. The 
 carriages were for the elder portion, the younger must go on 
 foot. Bruno offered Serena his arm ; the two Dahls, Bear 
 and I, entered one carriage. The Major's lady, who was in 
 the other with Madame von P., wished to have her children 
 with them, but the Adamites vociferously refused, and were 
 therefore entrusted during the walk to the care of their sister 
 MaUy. 
 
 We proceeded : the weather was beautiful, and I should 
 have enjoyed the drive extrem.ely, could I only have ceased 
 to think of Bruno and Serena. " Will he say anything to 
 her ?" thought I ; " and what wiU he say ?" The Patriarchs 
 took their siesta in the comfortably rocking carriage ; Bear 
 sate silent and sunk in thought ; and so we drove for perhaps 
 an hour and half. 
 
198 
 
 THE NEIGHBOXTBS. 
 
 As we returned we saw the walkers also retttming in dif- 
 ferent groups. As Serena, accompanied by Bruno, entered 
 the drawing-room, I became immediately uneasy, for I saw 
 that something had occurred. She was pale and excited ; 
 Bruno's countenance, on the contrary, was full of beaming 
 life. After he had greeted us, and had inquired of the Patri- 
 archs whether they had enjoyed their drive, whether they had 
 found the carriage sufficiently easy, etc., he sate down to the 
 organ, and let loose the tones of that mighty instrument. It 
 was the same power, the same fire, the same deep inspiration, 
 which transported me on the former evening on the lake ; and 
 now, as then, seized on my innermost soul. The Misses 
 von P. walked arm-in-arm in the next room, gossiping and 
 laughing incessantly with some gentlemen, and were evi- 
 dently only occupied with themselves. Madame von P. had 
 fallen into a desperate talk with Jane Marie ; and I could 
 not comprehend how Jane Marie, who is, nevertheless, musi- 
 cal, could during such music sit and gossip about — Heaven 
 knows what ! It was quite a matter of course that Miss 
 Husgafvel, who has no taste for music, should be engaged 
 with Lagman Hok looking at some beautiful paintings. But 
 Bruno was not altogether destitute of devoted listeners. 
 Amongst these were Bear, the Patriarchs, and Serena, who 
 now sat between them. I myself sate so that I could observe 
 Bruno's countenance. It was in this moment remarkable, 
 strong, full of courage, suffering, and love. That which was 
 delineated on his features he poured forth also in a fantasia, 
 in which every feeling, power, passion, and enjoyment seemed 
 to contend together, and the conflict rose to the very pitch of 
 despair ; then making a wonderful and bold transition, and 
 in tones which reminded you of the words—" Let there be 
 light!" he fell into a noble air from the " Creation" ' of 
 Haydn ; in which the words, as well as the music, expressed 
 how the elements arrayed themselves under the eye of the 
 Almighty. I glanced at Serena. Deep emotion, but at the 
 same time a quiet glory, illumined her beautiful countenance. 
 Ah ! it is in such moments that we understand the fulness ol 
 life — that Heaven opens upon our spirit, — it ascends thither on 
 the wings of sound, embraces all the angels of Ufe, compre- 
 liends all the love of God, all the beauty of creation, and is 
 ready to expire with happiness. 
 
FBAIfSISKA WEEITEE TO ^EIA M. 
 
 199 
 
 Bnino's voice is not, properly speaking, beautiful ; but it 
 ifl powerful, manly, and expressive. It is the voice of a 
 mighty spirit. " 0 Bruno !" thought I ; " hast thou received 
 such tine endowments only to abuse them ? Ait thou able 
 to sing of the pure majesty of existence, and canst not esta- 
 blish it in thy soul, in thy life ?" 
 
 The music ceased. Bruno's listeners sate silent with tears 
 in their eyes ; even Miss Adele von P. stood in the doorway 
 astonished, and as it were fixed to the spot by enchantment. 
 Then came the unlucky Madame von P., and overwhelmed 
 Bruno with remarks on art, and on ancient and modern com- 
 posers, " Weber," said she, " is whimsical; Eossini poor in 
 melody ; Meyerbeer excels both, — he is, so to say, ' le prince 
 de la musique.' " It was in another way that old Madame 
 Dahl expressed her satisfaction. She pressed Bruno's hand, 
 and said warmly, Ton have made the old young again. It 
 is very, very long since I have enjoyed such a pleasure ; and 
 I thank you from my h^art." 
 
 " You make me happy," said Bruno, kissed her hand with 
 deep respect, and seated himself near her. 
 
 A great commotion was now heard without in the hall. It 
 proceeded from the Adamites, who were just returned from 
 the wood, dirty and torn ; but full of fresh life and spirit. 
 They had started some roes, killed a snake, and captured a 
 squirrel, which they now brought in in triumph. Brita 
 Kajsa endeavoured to moderate their vociferous joy, but it 
 succeeded only to a certain extent with Mally. The two 
 younger children sprang screaming about, and clambered 
 with their dirty feet on the chairs and sofas — oh, that Ma 
 chere mere could but have seen it ! — while they sought to 
 amuse themselves with now letting that unfortunate squirrel 
 loose, and now catching it again. Their parents at length 
 troubled themselves no further about their wild conduct ; but 
 Serena and I gave each other a sign, and mixed ourselves in 
 the affair. The result was that I set the squirrel at liberty ; 
 while Serena, partly by serious endeavour, and partly by 
 sportiveness, drew the children to her, and succeeded in 
 keeping them still by cutting them in paper a variety of little 
 figures and equipages, and thus art exhibited her ability to 
 tame rude nature. 
 
 The lively Miss Hellevi, who is always desirous to keep 
 
200 
 
 THE NElGilEOUllS. 
 
 people in motion, proposed social amusements ; and we com- 
 menced a game of forfeits, and were quickly all alive. A 
 great number of forfeits had to be redeemed ; * and Miss 
 Hellevi shone wonderfully in witty and merry propositions. 
 It was indescribably amusing that Bear had tt) dance. I 
 never laughed so immoderately. You should really have seen 
 his comic gravity and his strange grimaces. 
 
 " What shall that person do to whom this belongs ?" 
 
 "He shall tell a little story," said Miss Hellevi. 
 
 The forfeit was mine ; and without consideration I began 
 to relate that which presented itself first to my mind. It 
 was this little legend. " Two little boys went down, on a 
 holiday evening, to the river near their father's house. 
 There they heard beautiful music, and saw the Neck, that 
 sat upon the azure wave in the shade of the alders, and 
 played on the harp, and sang with all his heart. When the 
 boys had listened a good while to the music, they called out, 
 ' Of what use is it, Neck, that thou canst play so beautifully? 
 Thou canst never be happy for all that.' As the Neck 
 beard these words, he threw away the harp, and sank into the 
 depths of the water." 
 
 Here I paused, for I had accidentally looked at Bruno, and 
 a glance of his eye fell upon me, so piercing, dark, and full of 
 trouble, that it struck me dumb. It was some seconds before 
 I could collect myself sufficiently to proceed : — " "When the 
 boys returned home they related the occurrence to their 
 father. He reproved them for having spoken too severely 
 to the Neck, and told them that they were wrong, for even 
 the Neck may one day be saved. The next evening the boys 
 went again down to the river. They heard now no sweet 
 music, but they saw the Neck, which sate on the water in the 
 shade of the alder, and wept. And they called to it, and 
 said — ' Don't weep. Neck, for our father says that thou also 
 wilt be saved one day.' Then the Neck wept no more, but 
 took his harp again and played, and sung most gloriously till 
 deep in the night." 
 
 I glanced again at Bruno. He was pale. His wonderful 
 eyes were fixed stedfastly upon me, as before, but now they 
 were filled with tears. 
 
 " Madame Werner shall have her forfeit again, and with 
 Qanks and praise for her charming legend," said Miss 
 
rBA>'SISKA AVEE>^EE TO MARIA M. 
 
 201 
 
 Helled. Other forfeits followed, and were redeemed by 
 various jokes and whims. One came whose owner waa 
 nidged to declaim something in prose or Terse. It was a 
 silk handkerchief, and Miss Hellevi, as soon as she saw it, 
 exclaimed — " Belongs not this to our host ?" 
 
 "Yes," cried Mallj Stalmark with a loud voice, "but I 
 took it, because I myself had nothing to give as a forfeit." 
 Mally makes very free in the world, thought I. 
 
 " But the law of the game cannot be violated," said Misa 
 Husgafvel ; " the owner of the forfeit must redeem it. Mr. 
 Komilly, you have heard the judgment." 
 
 " But," said he, excusing himself, "I was not in the game 
 with you." 
 
 " But now you are," cried zealously Miss Hellevi ; and as 
 Madame Dahl joined in begging that Bruno would fulfil the 
 condition, he objected no farther. He arose, made no prepa- 
 ration, and yet in a moment was totally changed, as he stood 
 there high and still, and sunk, as it were, in dark and profound 
 self-questioning. His very first motion, his first word, went 
 through me with a shudder. The scene was the truth itself. 
 It was from himself, from his own inward cloud- wrapt spirit, 
 that Bruno pronounced Hamlet's celebrated monologue — 
 
 To be, or not to be ? — that is the question. 
 
 In truth, Bruno is no ordinary man, is endowed vrith no 
 ordinary talents ; and yet, as a man, how much higher stands 
 my Bear! A deep silence continued in the room after 
 Bruno had ceased to speak ; and it appeared difficult to go 
 back to the sports of life after this glance into its dark 
 depths. 
 
 In the mean time it was growing late ; and the aged Dahls, 
 who would not stay to supper, took leave of their host, 
 thanking him with much cordiality for so pleasant a day. 
 They took Serena, too, with them, and promised to dehver 
 her duly at Eosenvik. Bruno accompanied them to their 
 carnage. When they were gone, all seemed to become 
 wearisome ; and, in order to get away from the everlastingly- 
 continuing game of forfeits, I asked Adele von P., who sate next 
 me, whether she would not take a turn with me in the park. 
 She consented with warmth. I took her arm., and we went 
 out. The evening was beautiful ; the twilight, the silence, all 
 
202 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 which surrounded us, appeared to invite us to that pleasant 
 and yet serious thought which lights and the life of society 
 so easily dissipate. 
 
 " How beautiful is it here !" said I. 
 
 "Tes," answered Adele, "since here are solemnity and 
 truth." 
 
 I was surprised by the tone in which these words were 
 spoken, and glanced at my companion. Adele von P. con- 
 tinued with emotion : " Madame Werner, you have taken me, 
 probably, only for a silly and superficial person, and I know 
 now that I have been such. But to-day a wonderful feeling 
 has been awakened in me. I feel myself humbled, and yet 
 exalted. I would willingly begin again to live, — to learn. I 
 would fain be able to return to nature and to truth !" 
 
 " You would fain abandon artificiality for genuine art ; — 
 is not that it ?" said I. " You would lain comprehend and 
 communicate nature and life in their deeper sense ?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. I have sometimes suspected that my 
 accomplishment was but a vain pageantry; but now, as I 
 comprehend it better, — now so much time is lost, Grod 
 knows whether I shall ever be able to come to the clear 
 daylight!" 
 
 " Do not despair of it," replied I, zealously. " Hold fast 
 only the impression, and maintain the desire which to-day 
 has been awakened." At this moment was heard in the 
 park an anxious, uneasy voice, calling, " Adele ! Adele !" 
 Adele answered ; and Madame von P. came running to us, 
 while with evident alarm she exclaimed, " Adele ! my little 
 angel ! you here without a shawl, and with your cough ! and 
 the dew, and the night air ! My dear child, how could you 
 do so ? Come in, I entreat you. But you must not go thus 
 thinly clad. You must take my shawl, I need it less than 
 you." And notwithstanding the reluctance of the daughter, 
 she wrapped her in her own shawl, and drew it carefully 
 round her bosom. Mother and daughter thereon kissed 
 each other afiectionately, and hastened together into the 
 house. 
 
 Had I always found Madame von P. ridiculous ? I forgot 
 it totally at this moment. I saw only the tender, amiable 
 mother ; and I thought — " That is water to Bear's mill." If 
 Madame von P, only krew how really poetical and interest- 
 
FEAI^SISKA TTEETTEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 203 
 
 ing she then was, she would be ashamed of endeavouring to 
 appear so by other means. 
 
 As I had thus remained behind in the park, and as I was 
 bIowIv returning towards the house, I encountered the young 
 Eobert Stalmark, who was walking to and fro, and talking to 
 himself. He otFered to see me in, and said after a while, 
 with a dissatisfied eoimtenance, " It is very stupid to possess 
 no talent, to understand nothing, to be able to do uothing 
 which belongs to " 
 
 "To what one calls higher accomphshment ?" said I, in- 
 quiringly. (I found myself this evening selected to put 
 people into the way.) 
 
 "Ah, yes !" replied young Eobert. " I hear so much said 
 of nature and natiu*e ; but still methinks it could not be very 
 irrational to adorn her with some art, with some accomplish- 
 ment." 
 
 " Yes, one must make a distinction between nature in her 
 poverty and her rudeness, and nature in her exalted refine- 
 ment." 
 
 Eobert glanced at me with one of those living, intelligent 
 looks, which reveal a brightly-conceived idea ; but immedi- 
 ately afterrvards added, " Yes, was I not already so old ; but 
 now it is probably the best thing to chase all such thoughts 
 out of the mind." 
 
 " What thoughts ?" demanded I, warmly. " Of a talent, 
 or a higher accomplishment ? Good friend Eobert, a talent 
 for the exercise of any fine art, is comparatively of little con- 
 sequence ; but the capacity to love and value that which is 
 beautiful, the capacity to enjoy the society of accomplished 
 people, to create for yourself a life full of noble interest, — 
 that is no trivial afiair ; and you are still young enough to 
 qualify yourself for that. Eenounce not, on account of any 
 necessary exertion, the richest well-springs of the happiness 
 of life." 
 
 "We were now arrived on the steps, and T heard Eobert, as 
 if speaking to himself, say, " No, no, that will I not ! I will 
 attempt it in good earnest! Something shall really be 
 done!" 
 
 These two little scenes delighted me. Suddenly and mar^ 
 vellously are startled into life the noblest seeds which 
 Blumber in the human bosom. Bruno's powerful sp' rit had 
 
2(M 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 at once, as it were with the force of magic, called forth two 
 beings into a higher consciousness of their nature ; and thua 
 is, for the souls of men, the revelation of every noble gift, — • 
 a proclamation to arise ! 
 
 But to return to Ramm, and the supper. I was glad when 
 it was over, and Bruno, to a certainty, was not less so. He 
 was no more like the same person that he had been during 
 the day, than November is like May. The eyebrows had 
 again contracted ; and he had evidently found it difficult to 
 play out to the end the part of the cheerful, agreeable host. 
 How charming was it, as the cabriolet once more rolled away 
 towards Eosenvik ; and as I was able to pour into Bear's ear 
 all the relations which I have here written. 
 
 We arrived at home in the bright moonlight. I found 
 Serena in the front room. She stood at the open window, 
 her face turned towards Hamm. I went softly up to her, 
 and threw my arms around her. She leaned her head against 
 mine. The evening breeze blew cold, yet soft, and bore 
 melodious tones with it. They came from Eamm. I felt a 
 tear fall on my bosom. Serena's lips touched my cheek, 
 while she whispered, " My dear, kind Fanny, I must leave 
 thee. I have been too long from home ; let me, in the 
 morning, return to my aged parents." 
 
 "Serena, my angel!" exclaimed I in turn. "What is 
 amiss ? Wliat has happened ? Why this ?" 
 
 " Ask not," said Serena, while she laid her small feverish 
 hand on mine. " Ask not now. In a while I will tell you 
 all ; now I cannot. Let me go early in the morning with 
 the Doctor." 
 
 " And what will your grandparents say ? if " 
 
 " I will teU them how it is. I will satisfy them. Do not 
 be uneasy, dear Fanny ; they vrill be satisfied ; they " 
 
 " Yes, they ! I do not doubt that at all," interrupted I in 
 a state of great excitement. " They, who will learn all ; but 
 I, who lose you, and know not why — I ? You have no con- 
 fidence in me, Serena ! You do not love me !" 
 
 Serena threw her arm round my neck and said : " 0 Fanny! 
 
 ?ou give me pain. You know that I never had a friend that 
 loved so much as you. That which I withhold from you, 
 can I yet reveal to no one ; but a day will come when, for 
 those whom I sincerely love, I shall have no longer ^, secret/' 
 
rBANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 205 
 
 " That is enougli, my dear Serena ! I was, indeed, too bad. 
 Forgive me ! But see you, dear Serena — you are become 
 as dear to me as a sister ; your welfare is as near to my heart 
 as if it were my own — and — and — " I began to cry like a 
 child ; Serena did the same. Bear found us thus, and began 
 to scold that we stood with the Avindow open. When he had 
 closed it, he took both our hands, and inquired, with a kind 
 and sympathising look, what so much troubled us ? 
 
 " Oh, she will leave us, Bear ! Serena will go home early 
 to-morrow!" Bear looked so astonished at us that I was 
 frightened, and said, " "Well, well, it is no national calamity, 
 that you should be so struck with it." But Bear's counte- 
 nance speedily recovered its customary good-humoured sere- 
 nity, and he said, " Well, if she goes away, she will probably 
 come back again." 
 
 In my anxiety I had nearly forgotten this possibility, and 
 half comforted, I exclaimed, " 0 yes, Serena! You will soon, 
 soon come back again ! Is it not so ? You will not long 
 stay away ?" 
 
 But I will not waste my paper with speech and answer. 
 Spite of my grounds of consolation it went near my heart 
 to separate from Serena, for I saw clearly that this year she 
 could not again make a long abode with us. This morning 
 she departed at seven o'clock ; sitting at Bear's side with a 
 hrge bouquet in her hand, while he set out cursing a little to 
 himself at a great basket of currants which he was obliged 
 to set between his feet. 
 
 How empty seems the house now she is gone ! I endea- 
 vour in vain to forget it, and busy myself with writing, but 
 that does not succeed. It is impossible to describe the 
 charm, the spring, which such a being diffuses around her. 
 She is always so friendly, so clear-spirited, so kind. I was 
 better for living with her. I learned through her to become 
 aware of many blessings which are in life, and about me here. 
 But now we shall daily write to one another, that is some- 
 thing ; and Bear will be the postman. To-day, even, I re- 
 joice in the belief that I shall receive by him a note ; but hei 
 secret — that I shall not yet learn. It troubles and dis» 
 quiets me. 
 
206 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 TO THE EEADER, FROM A STRANGER LADY. 
 
 D^ar and curious Eeader ! 
 
 Availing myself of an apology already made, and com* 
 miserating the pain which thou, my Eeader, probably par* 
 ticipatest with Madame Werner, I will now — for singularly 
 enough, one and another knows more, as it happens, than the 
 good Doctor's lady herself — I will now, just between our- 
 selves, let thee into a secret. 
 
 In the park at Eamm drives Madame Werner, as she has 
 already related. We, the reader and I, follow in silence the 
 footsteps of the walkers. During this ramble we observe 
 how the Misses von P., notwithstanding their ornamental 
 gentility, condescend to flirt with the brothers Stalmark in 
 a manner which evinces neither refinement nor delicacy 
 of feeling. By this we see plainly, that would-be accom- 
 plishment and rudeness can go very well hand in hand. But 
 we do not linger long near this picture, which has neither 
 charm nor keeping. We prefer casting a glance after Bruno, 
 who conducts Serena with an air of respect and solicitude, 
 which to thy penetrating eye, sagacious reader, clearly be- 
 trays what he is, and what he feels. The Adamites follow 
 them with laughter and boisterousness. 
 
 " Lean more freely on my arm," says Bruno, with a soft 
 and melodious voice. " Let me support you ; let me believe, 
 be it only for a moment, that I am of some consequence to 
 you." 
 
 They went on in silence. The wood whispered around 
 them, and bowed over them its umbrageous crown. There 
 ruled now in Bruno's soul — and he has often said that it is 
 this very feeling which makes him so happy by Serena's side 
 — a peace which he has rarely enjoyed. Something of her 
 dear and gentle being seemed to pass over into his own ; he 
 felt as though his better genius were near him ; and the be- 
 neficent pulse of life, that genial feeling, tliat pure thought, 
 that indistinct and yet mighty hope of a beautiful future, — 
 those glad vernal anticipations to which no heart which ever 
 beat in a human form is wholly a stranger, — all came like 
 angels and saluted his spirit. Then rose a voice in him — it 
 was that of repentance, — and cried, " Weep for the past, for 
 the lost I" but another, sweet and strong as eternal mercy 
 
TO THE BPADEE, TEOM A STEANGEE LADY. 207 
 
 cried still .ouder, " Despair not, since slie is nigh tliee !'* 
 Ajid then he looked into her face — it was so friendly, so clear, 
 — and he saw her only. 
 
 At once tlie Adamites raised a ringing cry of joy, and 
 sprang into the wood. Sister Mally called them back, con- 
 tinuing herself to run after them. A roe hounded timidly 
 on before them. All vanished ; — Bruno was left alone with 
 Serena. Serena stood still as irresolute. They stood by a 
 fine old oak, round whose stem was raised a bank of turf, and 
 about which flowers were planted. It seemed a spot that 
 was tended with pecuhar care. 
 
 " Will you not rest here a moment ?" asked Bruno. " We 
 can here await our little friends, who will probably come back 
 hither." 
 
 Serena consented, and seated herself. Bruno stood before 
 her, and folio vved observantly the looks with which she sur- 
 veyed the place, and which betrayed awakening recollections. 
 
 " I fancy that I recognise this spot and this tree," said she 
 at length. " Yes, certainly, here it was, many years ago, 
 that a great danger threatened me — I was then but a little, 
 child ; — T think it was exactly under this tree. A snake had 
 wound itself about my neck. It would most likely have 
 stung or strangled me, had it not been for the spirit and 
 presence of mind of a little boy, who rescued me at the peril 
 of his own life." 
 
 "Do you remember this circumstance?" asked Bruno, 
 with emotion. " He remembers it himself." 
 
 " He ! what ? who ? How do you know ?" demanded Se- 
 rena rapidly, and in astonishment. 
 
 " He is my friend. He has often told me of the child that 
 he carried in his arms through the woods of Ramm." 
 
 " Oh, lives he yet ? Where is he ? What know you of 
 him?" asked Serena, in the highest excitement. 
 
 " He lives. Perhaps it were better if he did not. His 
 life has given no one pleasure. But his unquiet heart cannot 
 rest till he has found another and a better heart to which to 
 unite itself. He experienced early misfortune — nay, indeed, 
 crime — he was disowned by his mother! He then went 
 wildly about in the world for a long time, and battled with 
 life, with men, with himself. He sought he knew not what 
 — ^he had early lost himself. He who reposes on the bosom 
 
208 
 
 TM NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 of a mother or a wife — who holds the hand ol a dear sister--* 
 
 he knows not, he understands not, the emptiness and tlie 
 darkness which lie feels who has no one in the great wide 
 world — no one who loves him, and holds him fast in love, and 
 calls tenderly ' Come back !' — no one who presses the re- 
 pentant to his heart, and says * I forgive !' Is it to be won- 
 dered at, that he who is thus cast off, wrecked in heart and 
 hope, given as a prey to the winds — that he should wander 
 wide, and into labyrinths of error ? Serena, would you con- 
 demn him ?" 
 
 " I ? Ah, I would weep over him !" 
 
 " Do you weep over him, Serena ? He blesses those tears, 
 and he is not unworthy of them. Bruno erred, but he sank 
 not. An invisible hand supported him. Was it the angel 
 which secretly whispered k) him of a holier and a better 
 world ? I will believe it. Certain it is that he never forgot 
 hcir. In his richest remembrances, in his best feelings, in 
 the depths of his soul, she stood in the glory of her innocence. 
 
 O Serena ! if he now stood before you and said, ' This 
 
 bias of childhood is now become love — true, eternal love ; 
 those memories are reality! They are dear to me, Serena, 
 as the reconciliation with my mother — as the hope of Grod*s 
 mercy ; dearer, a thousand times dearer, than life ! — Serena, 
 it is Bruno, the friend of your childhood, who here pays you 
 the homage of his soul!" and in boundless love Bruno sank 
 before her on his knee. " It is Bruno who craves from you 
 his peace, his happiness, his life ! Serena, will you cast me 
 from you ?" 
 
 "d my Grod! Bruno!" cried Serena, in indescribable 
 
 agitation of spirit, and reached him her hand. 
 
 He clasped it passionately between his own, and asked, 
 with a look which seemed powerful enough to draw forth 
 secrets which lie in the depth of the soul, "Is it pity — is it 
 love — which extends to me this hand ?" 
 
 " It is — not pity. Oh, arise !" 
 
 Voices were heard ; footsteps approached. Bruno pressed 
 Serena's hand to his heart as he arose, and said, " Preserve 
 my secret! The hour is not yet come." He could say no 
 more. Miss Hellevi Husgafvel, at the head of a lively troop 
 of walkers, joined them, and did not leave them again. In 
 the evening, as Bruno conducted Sei^na to the carriage, he 
 
FRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA. M- 
 
 209 
 
 held her a moment back, and wliispered, audible only to her, 
 " One word ! one word ! Not pity ; — it was then a more 
 beautifiu feeling ^ Serena ! one word — one look 
 
 But Serena spoke no word, gave no look, in answer. She 
 drew her hand from his ; and, timid as tlie bird flying to its 
 nest, hastened to her aged grandparents. Bruno looked 
 darkly after the fast- speeding carriage ; and I, my Eeader, 
 now take a friendly leave of thee. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 FBANSISKA WERKER TO MARIA M . 
 
 Rosenvik, August 22nd. 
 
 The cloud which hung over us has sunk lower. There 
 will be a storm to a certainty. Grod guide it to blessing, and 
 not to destruction ! 
 
 Serena was gone, and with her much joy, much pleasant- 
 ness. H^o one felt it deeper than Bruno. He came as usual 
 in the evening, but was no longer like himself. He came, 
 saluted us gloomily, was silent, w^ent to and fro in a restless 
 mood, or seated himself near the spot where Serena was 
 accustomed to sit, and leaned his head on his hand. Thus 
 sate he a long time without a word ; and only the vein on his 
 forehead, \Nhich sw^elled visibly, testified the contest in his 
 mind. 
 
 Bear frequently fixed on him the still, observant eye of the 
 physician, which seemed to watch the progress of the inward 
 struggle, and await the crisis. I was friendly — yes, even 
 with a sisterly kindness — towards Bruno ; for I saw that he 
 suffered and was unhappy. Bruno appeared sometimes as 
 though he would say something ; it seemed to me as if he 
 would ask, or would confess, something of that which lay 
 heavy on his heart ; but no such w^ord came to solve the 
 mystery, and all the conversation which we began, ended 
 with brief answers or with his total silence. I must testify, 
 however, that no bad humour — the demon with which little 
 souls often tyrannise over those about them — discovered 
 itself in the mood and manner of Bruno. One saw that he 
 was in deep trouble, which rendered him deaf and dumb to 
 all that was going on aroimd him. We resolved at last to 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 THE NEIGHBOrES. 
 
 leave him to himself ; and passed our eveniug as we usually 
 do when we are alone — Bear with his joinery, and I reading 
 something aloud to him. Bruno might listen if he were 
 disposed. 
 
 Last evening he came again, and was milder than usual. 
 He took Bear's and my hands, pressed them, and said, "I 
 am no agreeable guest for you, my friends ; but have for- 
 bearance with me." He turned quietly away from us, and 
 seated himself at the piano, where he played a stirring and 
 stormy piece. Tea came in : I prepared it, and handed to 
 Bear a large cup, — he has always a particular teacup for 
 himself, with ugly little blue Cupids, which please him 
 vastly. As I reached him this, and he, in his good humour, 
 kissed my hand, I know not how it happened — but he 
 seemed so agreeable, so kind, so excellent — but I laid aside 
 the teacup and basket of confections, and seizing his great 
 head, pressed it to my heart with lively affection. Bear put 
 one arm round me, but — oh, scandalous ! stretched out the 
 other towards the cake-basket. I was still so good to him 
 that I only scolded him jocosely for his divided love. Bear 
 answered me in the same humour, when we were startled by 
 a deep painful sigh, more resembling, indeed, a suppressed 
 groan. We looked at Bruno, and saw him pale, and, with 
 an expression not to be described, regarding us. " Oh, my 
 God ! my God !" exclaimed he, slowly, while he laid his hand 
 on his forehead as in unspeakable agony ; and now ran — no, 
 started — tears from his eyes with a violence which at once 
 astonished and shocked me. Bear stood up, and with an 
 unanimous impulse we both approached Bruno. The iron 
 bands were now rent from his heart : he stretched out his 
 arms towards us, and cried with a voice which the most 
 
 powerful emotion speedily choked again, " My mother ! 
 
 reconcile me with my mother !" 
 
 Bear and I went to him ; we opened our arms to him ; we 
 embraced him. He was nearly beside himself. He pressed 
 us with wild vehemence to his breast ; and in broken sen- 
 tences, which seemed fiung as it were from his tempested 
 soul, he cried, "Manage for me; I cannot do it! I am 
 
 cursed ! Speak ; prepare the way for me ! See if I can go 
 
 to her. Manage, that when I come she shall not spurn me 
 away. Say that I have suffered much — much Let lue 
 
FBIITSISKA WEENER TO MABIA M. 
 
 211 
 
 repose on her bosom. Till then can I find no rest. — My 
 mother! — mv mother! " 
 
 Our tears flowed. We spoke to him tender, pacifying, 
 comforting words, AYe promised to act for him ; we assured 
 him that all should turn out well. But the storm which at 
 length had burst forth, could not quickly lay itself. He was 
 in the most violent agitation of mind ; and after he had for 
 some moments walked vehemently to and fro in the room, 
 he said to us, ''I must now leave you. Forgive this scene. 
 Think of me, and for me. Let me know that which you 
 undertake ; and let that which must come, come quickly. 
 This waiting is hell!" In the same moment he was on 
 horseback, and vanished with the rapidity of lightniug. 
 
 Bear and I stood vis-a-vis, and looked at each other as if 
 the day of judgment had broken upon us. Bear forgot to 
 drink his tea. I had never before seen him so disturbed. 
 This filled me with wonder, for I had imagined that the affair, 
 though it would be difficult to bring about, must necessarily 
 end happily ; and the prodigal son must be once more re- 
 ceived into his mother's house, " It is not credible," I said, 
 *^ that a mother wdll not receive with open arms her repentant 
 and returning son." 
 
 " Oh, you do not yet fully know Ma chere mere," said 
 Bear, grinning and spitting — which last occurs now only on 
 extraordinary occasions. " In certain regions of her mind 
 she is as it were petrified ; and then her mental ailment ! — I 
 hope that she will acknowledge and receive again her son, 
 when she sees him, and learns his present mood of mind. I 
 hope it, but how to manage it ; how to prepare her for it, 
 when the mere mentioning his name drives her out of her 
 senses ! I will not answer for it, that her disorder of mind 
 does not return. People like her and her son run, through 
 the violence of their passions, on the very precipice of the 
 gulf of madness. A touch may precipitate them." 
 
 " God preserve us!" I exclaimed. 
 
 " But, at all events, the attempt at reconciliation," said 
 Bear, " must be made. Better that mother and son die in 
 frenzy than in hate. But we must go cautiously to work. 
 Ma chere mere must in the first place be sounded ; her puJso 
 must be felt ; she is not a patient to be treated lightly." 
 
 We planned and pondered how the matter was to be 
 o2 
 
212 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 assayed. "We took up and threw away scheme after scheme 
 
 and at length we resolved on the following. 
 
 It has now been for some time the custom, when we are 
 all assembled at Carlsfors in an evening, to read aloud 
 romances or other light and amusing stories. I have gene- 
 rally been the reader, and Ma chere mere, who seldom asks 
 after any other books but the Bible and the cookery book, yet 
 seemed sometimes to listen with pleasure. Bear and I now 
 resolved, the next evening that we should spend at Carlsfors, 
 to propose a reading, and to be prepared with a story which 
 should be adapted to awake a maternal feeling, and thus to 
 allow us to observe the disposition of her mind towards her 
 son. If this appeared auspicious, then another step might 
 be taken. What this was to be, we could not agree upon. 
 I proposed that Bruno himself should then write to his 
 mother ; but this Bear rejected, as a measure too startling 
 and dangerous. He appeared rather to prefer making use 
 of me as a mediator between mother and son. " It is a 
 peculiarity of hers," he said, " that what she reads on paper, 
 never operates very effectually on her feelings. She must 
 read it in the eye, she must hear the voice, if the words are 
 to reach her heart. You, my Fanny " 
 
 " Thanks, my dear Bear, profoundest thanks, for your 
 good intentions. But, if possible, let this commission be 
 spared me. I feel that I have not the courage to place myself 
 between these two violent spirits. I might very readily be 
 crushed to pieces. Know you not the fable of the earthen 
 pot?" 
 
 " Well, well, we will see. It is time enough to think of 
 the second step, when the first has been taken." 
 
 " And for this I will immediately prepare myself; while 
 you are in the town, I will select a fitting subject, or fabri- 
 cate one." 
 
 " Good ! And so we have the weapons ready for the occa- 
 sion. But recollect, my little Tanny, the drift must not be 
 too apparent. If Ma chere mere suspect a hidden object, 
 she will set herself immediately against it." 
 
 " I will do my best, Bear. At all events, you shall peruse 
 and criticise my story before we venture to read it to Ma 
 chere mere." 
 
 During the night — one obtains the clearest ideas in th6 
 
FRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA 
 
 213 
 
 dark — it became manifest to me what text I must avail myself 
 of; and as soon as Bear was gone away in the morning, I 
 took out of my bookcase, which Bear has famously supplied, 
 '* Fryxell's Stories from the Swedish History;" and began 
 to read over and consider the narrative of Erik Stenbock and 
 Malin Sture, The more I thought it over, the more satisfied 
 I was with it ; and scarcely had I gone through it a second 
 time, when there came an invitation from Ma chere mere 
 to spend the evening at Carlsfors, if we had nothing better 
 to do. I returned thanks, and said we would come. Since 
 this moment I have been nearly in a fever, and it was in the 
 endeavour to relieve my restlessness that I have written this. 
 Already this morning, before he left home, Bear wrote a few" 
 lines to Bruno to acquaint him with our plan. The answer 
 which the messenger brought back, I had opened during 
 Bear's absence. It contained only the w^ords — " Do what 
 you think best Bruno." 
 
 Afternoon. 
 
 Bear has read the story, and is satisfied with it. We are 
 setting out. Ah, Maria! this evening I am depressed and 
 restless. I go to sound the depths of a heart, and on this 
 moment how much depends ! This thought lies painfully on 
 mind and body. Adieu ! adieu ! 
 
 23rd. 
 
 "We were at Carlsfors. It was evening. The lights stood 
 on the green table in the drawing-room, and we sat around. 
 The important and trying hour was come. I was in a strange 
 state of mind, and all the others were unusually silent and 
 dull. Bear had taken up a penknife, and, in want of some- 
 thing to do, began to cut into tlie table. Ma chere mere 
 struck him lightly on the hand, and then gave him a bundle 
 of pens to make. She then sate herself down to make a 
 fish-net, which is her customary evening employment ; for 
 her eyes are not strong enough to bear any finer work. 
 "And now, little wife," she said to me, "read something to 
 us : but let it be only something that is cheerful. One lias 
 enough in the world here to grieve over, without having to 
 cry over what one finds in books." 
 
 " I cannot promise," I replied, "that what I read shall be 
 lively, but I think it very interesting ; and what is more, it is 
 in all its parts historically true 
 
214 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 That is always a recommendation," said she, " and one 
 must therefore adapt one's palate to the provision-basket." 
 I began — 
 
 ERIK STENBOCK AND MALIN STURE. 
 (From " Malin's Own Family Book.") 
 
 In the parish of Morko, in the province of Sodermanland, 
 in a deep running creek of the Baltic, lies a little triangular 
 island. On this stood a rock ninety feet higli, from which 
 could be, far and wide, overlooked the fields, the crags, and 
 the navigable waters which lay around. This island, in the 
 early times, had been a resort of the Vikings ; and deep 
 caves were yet shown in the mountains which were believed 
 to have been the dwellings of these people, or used by them 
 as prisons. Some believe that it was here, in the time of 
 Ingiald Illrada, that Granmar, the Fy Ikes-king of Soderman- 
 land, received the See-king, Hjorward Ylfing ; and Granmar's 
 daughter, the beautiful Hildegund, drank to Hjorward the 
 health of Eolf Krake. The place is called Sjimonso, which 
 some explain to mean Seaman's Island. In later times it has 
 received, from its form, the name of Horningsholm ; and has 
 been, by embankments, gradually converted into a peninsula. 
 It was successively in the possession of the families of Fol- 
 kungs, Oernefots, of Ulfv^s, and the younger Stures ; — was 
 strongly fortified, and often besieged, taken, and laid waste ; 
 the last time was in the reign of Christian the Tyrant. 
 
 Svante Sture, son of Sten Sture the younger, who was 
 married to Martha Lejonhufvud, afterwards caused a castle 
 to be erected on the old site ; which was as noble a specimen 
 of architecture as it was strong through its situation and 
 fortifications. The castle rose, on many fathoms deep of 
 foundation walls, four stories high, and was defended at the 
 corners with strong towers. A conception of the wealth of 
 Sture, and of the nobility of the time, may be formed when 
 we read that at the wedding of Sigrid Sture with Thure 
 Persson Ejelke, in the year 1562, fifty measures of wine, four 
 tuns of mead, a tun and a half of must, twelve barrels of 
 clierry brandy, tw^enty hogsheads of beer, forty-five oxen, two 
 hundred sheep, twenty-one swine, seventeen calves, foul 
 lumdred and fifty-three cans of honey, etc., were consumed. 
 Through the confiscation of the church property, in parti* 
 
TBAirSISKA WEEITEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 215 
 
 cular, a great number of estates fell to the nobles, and espe- 
 cially to Sture, the sole heir of so many mighty families. 
 Through this vast wealth, through the unspotted glory of 
 Sture' s name, the marriage alliance with Grustavus Wasa and 
 the distinguished qualities of many of the children, the house 
 of Horningsholm stood long in the kingdom, second only to 
 royalty ; and was the home of honour, pride, and joy. The 
 joy vanished after the horrible Sture murder, in the year 
 1567 ; but Madame Martha maintained its pride, since the 
 family had maintained its honour. Two surviving sons, and 
 five daughters, promised also to restore the joy. During 
 their minority, Madame Martha ruled the house of Horn- 
 ingsholm and all its dependent estates, with a vigour and 
 ability which obtained her the surname of King Martha. At 
 the same time she distinguished herself by her magnanimity. 
 Erik XIY. had murdered her husband and two of her sons. 
 When, by the change of the dynasty, Erik's wife and children 
 were dispersed through the country, without home and pro- 
 tection, Madame Martha took to her the daughter, Sigrid 
 Wasa, then four or five years old, and brought her up with 
 motherly tenderness and care. 
 
 " This history delights me," said Ma chere mere, as I 
 paused a moment in the reading : " it is good!" Ma chere 
 mere raised herself erect, and looked as proud as if she her- 
 self had been King Martha. I am persuaded that she felt 
 herself related to her. I proceeded. 
 
 Erik Stenbock, the son of the old Grustavus Olsson of 
 Torpa and of Brita Lejonhufvud, went often as a near relative 
 to Horningsholm, and became passionately attached to Miss 
 Malin, the second of the string of daughters. She returned 
 his passion ; but Madame Martha, on account of the near 
 relationship, would not hear it even spoken of. They were, 
 in fact, sisters' children Stenbock sought to win his object 
 by the ordinary means. He heaped presents on mother, 
 sisters, and servants ; but all was in vain. Many were moved, 
 but not the old Countess. She had taken the opinion, by 
 letter, of Laurentius, the archbishop of Upsala, who stood 
 firm by the declaration which he had made on the third mar- 
 riage of G-ustavus Wasa, and protested against the union. 
 Upon tliis it became totally useless to speak further of it to 
 he Countess. So passed manv vears. The lovers saw their 
 
216 
 
 THE 5rEIGHB0UES. 
 
 youth pass over; Erik had counted his thirty-fourth, and 
 Malin her thirty-third year ; at the same time, their mutual 
 attachment continued as warm as ever. Every means to 
 move the mother had been tried in vain, and they resolved at 
 length to fly. Stenbock confided his purpose to the Duke 
 Karl, of Sodermanland, then in his twentieth year, and re- 
 ceived from him, in support of his plan, a guard of two hun- 
 dred cavalry. 
 
 In the month of March, 1573, he made a journey with his 
 sister Cecilia, the wife of Gustavns Eoos, to Horningsholm ; 
 — concealed the cavalry not far from the castle, and instructed 
 them what they had to do. The same evening Miss Malin 
 consented to fly with him the next day. She passed a niglit 
 of great anxiety. In the morning, as she was alone in the 
 chamber, she fell on her knees in a window and prayed, shed- 
 ding torrents of tears. At this moment the elder sister, 
 Madame Sigrid, entered the room. " Grod bless you," said 
 she: "you are engaged in a good business." "Would to 
 Grod that it were good!" replied Miss Malin. "It is cer- 
 tainly good," said Madame Sigrid, " to pray to God with 
 tears." "Ah!" exclaimed Malin, "if all my friends and re- 
 latives should cast me ofl*, you will certainly not turn your 
 true heart away from me ?" " Wby do you speak in that 
 manner?" said Madame Sigrid: "none of the race of Sture 
 have ever done anything on account of which one need turn 
 one's heart from them." 
 
 At this moment the old Countess called Madame Sigrid 
 to her, but Miss Malin went into another room. Erik en- 
 tered it immediately, greeted those present, and said to Malin, 
 " Dear sister, will you look at that horse which I have made 
 ^'ou a present of? He stands below in the court." She 
 consented, and he took her arm to conduct her down. As 
 they w-ent through the lower story, there sate Nils, and 
 Anna Sture' s nurse Lucy. Miss Malin begged them to 
 follow her, which they did. Below, under the arch of the 
 gateway, stood the horse harnessed to a sledge, in which 
 the lady with her followers seated herself. Stenbock placed 
 himself behind, and drove away, while many of the servants 
 looked on, in the idea that it was merely a hunting excursion. 
 But as the nurse observed that Master Erik took the way 
 towards the sea, and drove so rapidly, she suspected mischief, 
 
FEAI^SISKA WEEKEE TC MAEIA M. 
 
 217 
 
 and began to crj out, — " "What are you about, my dear lady? 
 Reflect, bow angry your mother will be that you travel so 
 unattended." But Master Erik drew forth a blunderbuss, 
 and set it to the breast of the nurse, with the words — " Silence ! 
 or you have spoken your last !" On the shore below, the 
 cavalry came suddenly forward, surrounded the sledge, and 
 placed themselves on each side, and then away went they, 
 as fast as the horses could gallop, to Svardsbro. There were 
 tailors and sewers with the richest stuffs of all kinds, who 
 took the lady's measure and began to make her clothes, while 
 the cavalry kept guard round the house, so that no one could 
 come in or go out. But exactly as Master Erik had made 
 off towards the sea. Miss Margaret Sture had gone by chance 
 to the vrindow, saw, and comprehended their object. She 
 began immediately to cry out, "Master Erik is certainly 
 carrying off my sister Malin !" At these words, the old 
 Countess and Madame Sigrid sprang first to the window, and 
 then do^vTL into the court. But upon the steps the mother 
 fainted and fell do^vn. AVhen she was somewhat restored, 
 she commanded Madame Sigrid to hasten at once after the 
 fugitives, and to see if she could not bring them back. In 
 the mean time sate Madame Martha on the steps in trouble 
 and lamentation, and could not perfectly recover herself. 
 There came hurrying, Master Erik's sister, the Countess 
 Cecilia Boos, and deplored that Master Erik should have 
 acted so contrary to Madame Martha's will, asserting that 
 she had known nothing whatever of his intention ; but at the 
 same time never could have believed that Madame Martha 
 would have taken it so ill. Madame Martha turned fiercely 
 her head, and answered, " God punish you and your brother, 
 who has robbed me of my child. Hasten, at -least, after her, 
 and remain with her, that no shame befal her." Madame 
 Cecilia held her peace, and departed. 
 
 When Madame Sigrid, whom the mother had sent after 
 the fugitives, arrived at Svardsbro, it was only alone, and that 
 with difficulty, that she was admitted into the house. There 
 she began to relate to the sister the sorrow and lamentation 
 of the mother, and to exhort her to return, in which case the 
 mother had promised to forgive her. Miss Malin made no 
 answer. Then began again Sigrid, and still more vehemently 
 to exhort and to entreat her. or that she would be the death 
 
218 
 
 THE NEiaHBOTJES. 
 
 of the motlier. Malin said, " If you can assure me that tha 
 mother will at last consent to our union, then will I gladly 
 go back." "That I cannot do," said Madame Sigrid. 
 
 Then," replied Malin, " the first error is just as good as the 
 last;" and began bitterly to weep. When Madame Sigrid 
 found she could not persuade her sister, she returned to 
 Horningsholm, where the mother was lying in bed in trouble 
 and lamentings. Both were increased as Sigrid entered 
 alone. Misfortune had before, but now disgrace had, fallen 
 on the house. She could derive neither comfort nor help, 
 nor even the hope of revenge. She was a lone widow, with 
 many daughters ; the sons were yet scarcely more than chil- 
 dren. On the contrary, the carrier-ofF of her daughter was 
 himself a mighty man, the brother of the queen-widow Cathe- 
 rine, supported by the Duke, and in favour with the King. 
 Nevertheless, Madame Martha determined not to give way. 
 
 In the mean time journeyed Miss Malin with the Countess 
 Cecilia Eoos and Master Erik to his brother-in-law, PehrBrahe, 
 at Sundholm, in the province of Westgothland. There Erik 
 left her, and hastened himself to Stockholm. But Madame 
 Martha's letter of complaint had arrived there before him, 
 and he was immediately deprived of his fiefs and offices, and 
 placed in custody. There now arose an active mediation and 
 sharp wranglings between the families Sture and Stenbock, 
 which at length came to this conclusion, that Erik was again 
 set at liberty. Thereupon he did aU that was possible to win 
 over to him the relations of Miss Malin, and he succeeded 
 with all of them except the mother. He vn'ote to the Lutheran 
 Academy at Eostock, and received thence the decision of the 
 Theologians, which he forwarded to her, that marriages be- 
 tween sisters' children might be allowed ; but she paid not 
 the slightest regard to it. 
 
 Master Erik and Miss Malin now despaired of ever being 
 able to soften her ; it was now a year and a quarter since 
 their elopement ; they passed over the Hallandish borders, 
 were there married by a Danish priest, and returned the 
 same day to Torpa, where the wedding was celebrated. At 
 the same time it was arranged that King John, the Queen- 
 widow, the Duke Karl, the Princesses, the Council of the 
 kingdom, and all the relations of Stenbock, should write to 
 Madame Martha, and entreat for Master Erik and his wife. 
 
FEANSISKA WEEKEB TO MAEIA M. 
 
 219 
 
 But the grief and tlie wrath of the mother were now only the 
 more aggravated hj the news of this marriage, which had 
 taken place without her knowledge, and spite of all the 
 solicitations on their behalf, she would listen to nothing more 
 respecting either her daughter or her son-in-law. 
 
 Here I paused a moment, in order to sound the bottom of 
 Ma chere mere's heart. " Is it really possible," I said, 
 " that such stubbornness can exist ? How can any one be 
 so unbending and irreconcilable !" 
 
 "It is unreasonable!" said Jean Jacques. 
 
 " It is irrational !" said Jane Marie. 
 
 "It is unnatural !" growled Bear, with a horrible grimace. 
 
 "It is right!" cried Ma chere mere, with a voice of 
 thunder. " It is no more than right. I would have done the 
 same myself!" 
 
 " O no ! that would you not indeed 1" said I, while I looked 
 at her imploringly. 
 
 "Upon my soul! I would have done it!" said she yet 
 more violently, and smote her fist on the table so that 
 the lights tottered. " Yes, that would I ; and if even thou, 
 Fransiska, hadst been the offender, and I thy real mother ! 
 Yes, I would thus punish thee. Thou shouldst never again • 
 come into my sight, no ! not even if the king himself fell 
 down at my feet, and implored it. ' Easy mother, bad habits. 
 Strict mother, good habits !' " 
 
 My heart swelled within me. I felt the extravagance of 
 Ma chere mere's notions, but the words — " wert thou the 
 offender, and I thy real mother," produced the most singular 
 effect on me. They converted me at once into the unhappy 
 Malin, and put me into her situation. I suffered with, I 
 deplored her; deeply I felt all the horror of a mother's 
 wrath, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I could 
 read what foUows. 
 
 " The mother's resentment lay in the mean time heavy on 
 the heart of the daughter. Since her flight from Horning- 
 sholm, Malin had never yet worn anything but mourning. 
 She had received from her husband a multitude of jewels, 
 but she had never needed them. She wrote continually the 
 most sorrowful letters to her next of kin, praying them to use 
 their influence in her behalf. The incessant prayers of her sons 
 and sons-in-law, and at length the whole of the daughters 
 
220 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUllS. 
 
 throwing themselves at her feet, softened Madame Martha, 
 and she gave permission for the two outcast ones to return/' 
 
 Here Ma chere mere let fall her net, leaned back in the 
 sofa, crossed her arms, and bowed her head upon her bosom, 
 as it seemed to me in deep attention. I observed all this 
 with a hasty glance, and proceeded. 
 
 " It was now a year and a half since their marriage, and 
 nearly three since their flight. They were not, however, 
 allowed to proceed at once to the castle, but must inhabit for 
 some weeks the little Bathhouse. At length, through the 
 entreaties of the brothers and sisters, and on account of the 
 approach of winter and the ill health of Malin, they were 
 permitted to enter the castle. Malin was conducted into the 
 great hall, where Madame Martha was seated in the chair of 
 state, and all the children stood around. As Malin appeared 
 at the door, the mother exclaimed, * Ah ! thou unhappy 
 child !' Then fell Malin on her knees, and so crept forward 
 to her mother, imploring forgiveness vdth tears, and laying 
 her head against her knee." 
 
 I paused ; for my voice trembled, and tears were nigh. 
 My heart was in that of Malin. At this moment Ma chere 
 mere pushed the table from her, arose, and with a pallid 
 countenance, and without casting a glance at any of us, 
 marched with great strides out of the room, and banged the 
 door behind her. 
 
 We sate altogether startled and confounded. "We knew 
 not what to think. Was Ma chere mere angry ? or was she 
 
 moved ? Did she suspect our object ? or Bear and I 
 
 looked inquiringly at one another. I was angry with myself, 
 and with the emotion which had occasioned me to interrupt 
 the reading at so eventful a moment. Ma chere mere 
 through this had had time for reflection, and now she could not 
 hear the best part of the history — that beautiful ending of it ! 
 Oh, if she could but have heard it ! It must have made her 
 feel how beautiful it is to be reconciled, and King Martha's 
 example would probably have operated with her. I longed 
 inexpressibly for her return. But one quarter of an hour 
 went by after another, and Ma chere mere came not back. 
 Very mournful was I, as supper was announced; at the same 
 time it was announced that Ma chere mere would not come tc 
 table . She had headache, and was already gone to bed, wishing 
 
FEAirSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 221 
 
 Lidi a good supper, and a good night. I was restless and out of 
 humour, and Bear was the same. We knew not what to think 
 of the position of things. Immediately after supper we took 
 leave of Jean Jacques and Jane Marie. On our way home we 
 became rather less dissatisfied with our evening. Our attempt 
 ooidd not be said to have totally failed. The reading had 
 produced a powerful effect ; and the excitement which Ma 
 chere mere had shown, might with greater probability receive a 
 good than a prejudicial interpretation. "We resolved that Bear 
 should the next day, under colour of business with Jean 
 Jacques, drive to Carlsfors, and discover how it stood with 
 Ma chere mere. We talked of the principles of severity 
 which she maintained. I did battle against them. I as- 
 serted that it is not irreconcilable severity, but rather wis- 
 dom and love, which introduce into a family virtue, purity 
 of manners, and peace on earth. 
 
 "That is the beautiful doctrine of our time, Tanny," an- 
 swered Bear ; " but Ma chere mere belongs to a period in 
 which the higher classes endeavoured by an overdiiven seve- 
 rity to make an embankment against the growing demorali- 
 zation of the multitude. She was educated in the strictest 
 principles. Nature and circumstances have co-operated, in 
 addition, to confirm and harden her in them. The ground 
 itself is good, it is simply the one-sided conception and appli- 
 cation Heavens ! we are already at home !" 
 
 To-day, Bear went as agreed to Carlsfors. Ma chere mere 
 was not to be seen ; still kept her chamber ; and announced 
 through Elsa that she could see no one. What will come 
 of it ? Bruno will certainly come hither this evening ; would 
 that we had more agreeable intelligence for him ! 
 
 August 28th. 
 
 I have not written to you for several days. I have been 
 BO restless. There is no change in Ma chere mere since I 
 wrote. Jean Jacques, who with the acquiescence of Bruno 
 is made acquainted with all relating to the matter, sends us 
 daily intelligence. Ma chere mere will see no one, continues 
 shut up in her chamber, and all within is silent as the grave. 
 Elsa alone passes in and out like a shadow, and answers all 
 inquiries with a shake of the head. Bruno has visited us 
 every day in the most miserable state of mind. He comes 
 
222 
 
 THE NEIOHBOUBS. 
 
 as the evening closes in, asks the same questions, receives the 
 same answers, and goes away with the thunderbolt expanded 
 on his temple, his eyebrows drawn closely together, and hia 
 gloomy gaze rivetted on the earth. Sometimes by night we 
 hear, on the wind from E-amm, the sorrowful but beautiful 
 sounds which once delighted me so much on Svano. They 
 rise and sink like mysterious sighs. It seems then to me as 
 if there hovered over the water a spirit banished from bliss, 
 and which would communicate to me its torments. I would 
 on no account that Serena should hear these sounds. They 
 pierce deep into the heart ; and to avoid weeping, I am 
 obliged to bury my head in the pillow. 
 
 Serena ! Oh, she has probably already heard more than ia 
 for her quiet. But what I know not. It is singular that 
 she should not let me know ; and she is by no means of a 
 reserved character. She came last evening with her grand- 
 parents. The good old people came, they said, to thank 
 me for her. I thanked them for her. Grull-gul was with 
 them, and ought also to have expressed his thanks, upon 
 which we joked merrily. But the little fool w^as not so true 
 as usual to his mistress, but flew restlessly in and out of the 
 window ; at length he took his way across the lake to Svano, 
 and we lost sight of him. We waited, in expectation of his 
 return, but in vain. It grew late ; and Serena, anxious about 
 her little favourite, betook herself to Svano, in order to entice 
 him back. But she stayed long, far too long, out. We became 
 uneasy on her account — I most of all; for I know not what pre- 
 sentiment it was which said to me, " Bruno has part in this de- 
 lay." I could endure no longer to remain in this uncertainty ; 
 but whispering a word in Bear's ear, left him to entertain 
 our venerable guests, ran to the shore, took a little boat, and 
 proceeded in quest of Serena. I arrived on Svano precisely 
 at the right moment, to receive Serena half dead in my arms, 
 and to see Bruno standing there more like a pillar of salt 
 than a living man. I led Serena to the house. On the way 
 she recovered herself, and the deathlike stillness resolved 
 itself into a flood of tears. She wept so excessively and so 
 passionately that I was beside myself. " Has this man in- 
 sulted you, Serena ? I will detest, I will not know any more 
 of him!" 
 
 " Oh no, no !" answered Serena ; " but — ^he is so unhappy !*' 
 
A STEAIN'GER LADY TO THE EEADER. 
 
 223 
 
 I could leam nothing more from her, deeplj excited as 
 she was. Gull-gul flew twittering between us. I had been 
 quite grieved about the little creature. I rowed slowly 
 on purpose that Serena might weep at her leisure. It was 
 growing dark as we arrived. The old people, contented to 
 have their darling again, made no inquiries after the cause of 
 her stay. She became more composed, and the twilight con- 
 cealed her tearful eyes. To-day I have received a note from 
 her by Bear, in which she tells me that she is quite calm 
 again, and begs me " not to be uneasy on her account, and 
 at present to ask nothing ; in a while I shall know all." For 
 the rest, she writes so kindly, so cordially, it is impossible to 
 be angry with her. But it is singular that we should both 
 have secrets which we keep from one another, and both of 
 them secrets which concern Bruno. 
 
 Later. 
 
 Bruno was here just now, dark as ever. He went away 
 with a wild look, saying, "I shall not come again. If any 
 change takes place, let me know it." He left us without an 
 adieu. 
 
 It is now six days since the evening on which I read the 
 history of Erik Stenbock and Malin Sture, and Ma chere 
 mere remains the same. Ah ! what will be the end of these 
 things. God help us ! 
 
 A STEANGEE LADY TO THE EEADEE, BUT ESPECIALLY 
 TO THE YOUKO LADY EEADEE. 
 
 Young maiden, who hast merely gone botanizing into the 
 land of Eomance, and there picked up thy knowledge of men 
 and of the world ; who on thy entrance into society antici- 
 patest with a fearful pleasure that the men will busy them- 
 selves about thee, either as the butterfly about the rose, or 
 the spider about the fly — a word to thee. Be at rest : the 
 world is not so dangerous. The men have too much to do 
 with themselves. Thou wilt have to experience that they 
 wiU inquire no more after thee than after the moon, and 
 sometimes even less. Thou armest thyself, thou of seventeen 
 years, to resist the storm of life ; ah ! thou wilt probably 
 come to have more to do with its inaction. But let not thy 
 courage failj there are life and love in the world in richest 
 
224 
 
 THE NEIGHBOFBS. 
 
 abundance, but not often in the form in wbich they for the 
 most part are exhibited in romances. The romancer distils 
 life : he makes a day out of ten years, and out of a hundred 
 grains of corn draws one drop of spirit : it is his trade. The 
 reality proceeds in another manner. Karely come the great 
 events, the powerful scenes of passion. They belong, in every- 
 day life, not to the rule, but to the exceptions. On that 
 account, thou good creature ! sit not and wait, or thou wilt 
 suffer tedium. Seek not the affluence of life without thee ; 
 create it in thy own bosom. Love ! love the Heaven, Na- 
 ture, Wisdom, all that is good around thee, and thy life will 
 become rich ; the sails of its air-ship will fill with the fresh 
 wind, and so gradually soar up to the native regions of light 
 and love. 
 
 But why am I saying all this ? In truth, because, in 
 order to help Madame Werner with her every-day story — she 
 wished to make a romance of it, but it was not her lot, — I 
 must now sketch one of those exception scenes, which occur 
 oftener in boolcs than in life itself. 
 
 It was evening, and one of those evenings in which a loving 
 peace breathes throughout nature, and man is involuntarily 
 led to a feeling and sentiment of that day in w^hich all yet 
 was good. Grlowing and pure, the vault of heaven expanded 
 itself over the earth ; and the earth stood like a gothic- 
 crowned and happy bride, beneath the bride-canopy, smiling, 
 still, and in full beauty. The sun shone upon golden corn 
 and ruddy fruits. Thick- foliage d and hashed, the trees mir- 
 rored themselves in the clear lake. Light mists swept 
 like veils around the heights. Here rose the twitter of a 
 bird, and there the song of a child All seemed full of enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 It was then that Serena's light bark, like a leaf branch with 
 its blossom, floated softly over the quiet waters. Then was.it, 
 too, that an eye looking from the grey Ramm, w4th a tele- 
 scope, directed itself towards the innocent Itosenvik. Bruno 
 sees the little bark push from the shore ; guesses whom it 
 bears ; and an inexpressible yearning, a mighty desire fills 
 his soul. That tempestuous heart which long had beaten in 
 wild disquiet, that scorched-up feeling which through days 
 and nights of agony had preyed on itself, panted after refresh- 
 ment and repose. There is a aimoom, more burning than that 
 
A STEANGEK LAJJY TO THE EEaBEE. 
 
 225 
 
 of tte African deserts ; there is a fountain more quickening 
 and thirsted after than those of the oases of these deserts. 
 Bruno is the pilgrim, consumed with the fire of torturing 
 feeling ; Svano is the oasis in whose bosom bubbles the fresV 
 waters of life. Tor she is there — she with the pure heart, 
 with the clear, heavenly glance — and in the presence of her, 
 of the gentle woman, in Serena's presence, Bruno yearn 
 after rest, after life, longs — and — sails forth. 
 
 " Hast thou entered into the treasure-chambers of the 
 snow ? or hast thou seen how the light parteth itself ? 
 Hast thou entered into the caverns of the sea ? Hast thoa 
 wandered through the abysses of the deep ?" 
 
 AVell might the unfathomable Creator of Nature and ot 
 the human heart thus ask ; and well might the earthly in- 
 quirer, like Job, lay his hand on his mouth, and be still. 
 Into the depths of the human heart, more than into any 
 other, it is the Eternal eye alone which can penetrate, and 
 behold how the light springs up, and how night and storm 
 come ! 
 
 Bruno was like the climate under the Line. A stream of 
 fire went through his soul, and under its influence lay all its 
 feelings. Hence now this dead quiet, and then again this 
 raging tempest with its devastating power ; hence also this 
 luxury of feeling, life, and love, which sometimes burst fortli 
 so mightily, and like the rapid vegetation of a lava-scorched 
 soil, and like love itself, buries in its breast all traces of 
 violence and offence. And thus it happened that, in the 
 beauty of the evening, sailing over the quiet waters to the 
 little island where goodness and peace had now^ made their 
 home, Bruno gathered a tempest into his bosom, and felt 
 burning sensations pass through his soul like jagged light- 
 nings. A secret wrath against somewhat, an infinite desire 
 after something, a fever, a torment, glowed fiercely in his 
 bosom. There are words which can annihilate, flames which 
 can make blessed — he stands on tlie margin of the little 
 island, like the spirit of a volcano. 
 
 Serena stood beneath an oak. Above that light and beau- 
 tiful seraph head the lofty boughs stretched themselves 
 lovingly. There lay a cloud of sadness on her innocent braw ; 
 and, sadly smiling, looked she at Grull-gul, which at the in- 
 viting tones of her voice now descended from brand to 
 
 P 
 
226 
 
 THE NElGHBOrBS. 
 
 branch, and finally alighted on her hand. But suddenly he 
 flow in alarm awaj, and Bruno's dark tall form stood before 
 her. She blushed, she trembled ; but continued still, and 
 looked up to him with her clear Madonna gaze. Bruno 
 looked on her, and his soul became calmer ; that inexpressible 
 pleasure diffused itself over his mind, which he never ex- 
 perienced but in her presence. But this feeling fell now like 
 a rose upon glowing coals ; — for a moment mitigated, in the 
 next that fire drew fresh nutriment from it. 
 
 " Will you also fly me ? Will you too cast me from you?" 
 asked he, with his dark flaming eyes fixed on her. And, as 
 she still gazed on him with an inquiring and troubled look, 
 he said, " Serena ! speak to me one friendly word. My soul 
 needs it." 
 
 " Friend of my childhood !" said Serena, with her angel's 
 voice ; and extended to him her hand. 
 
 " O Serena!" said he, while he raised her hand to his lips, 
 " hear me ; I must speak with you ! Seat yourself beside 
 me. Ton will not ? Will you then not bestow a moment on 
 the friend of your childhood ?" 
 
 There was in his look so much of beseeching, so much of 
 anguish, that Serena could not resist it ; she seated herself 
 on a moss-covered stone. He placed himself before her on 
 his knees ; there was something childlike, something tender 
 and mild, in his whole bearing. He gazed on her, and the 
 fire in his eyes melted into a feeling of inexpressible tender- 
 ness : tears glittered there. He spoke not, but on his fine 
 lips lay fiery and sweet thoughts. They opened, and he thus 
 be.souglit her : 
 
 " Say thou to me, Serena! O say tliou, as then, when we 
 were children ! — children, happy children ; bridegroom and 
 bride !" 
 
 Tears bedewed Serena's depressed eyelids, but she hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "Say thoiiV^ implored Bruno, more vehemently, more 
 fiercely. " Serena! good, lovely Serena ! call me thou 
 
 Serena hesitated still. Deeply did she feel the consequence 
 of this word, and of this moment. 
 
 " You will not!" exclaimed Bruno, with pain, as he arose, 
 his mild look giving way to one of gloomy flame. Serena ! 
 then am I totally indifferent to you?" 
 
 " Oh no, no!" rex^lied Serena deeply moved. 
 
A STEANGER LADY TO THE BEADEH. 
 
 227 
 
 ^' Xot r" began Bruno again fierily, and seized her hand. 
 O Serena ! torture me no longer. Leave me not in this 
 rending doubt. Oh, speak! Will, can Serena love me?" 
 
 Serena looked at him with tearful eyes, and said, " Tes." 
 Her whole soul lay in this answer. 
 
 " Oh, then must you become mine, heavenly being," ex- 
 claimed Bruno, embracing her knees with passionate joy. 
 " Serena, thou wilt, thou must become mine ! Tremble not. 
 Spurn me not from thee, noble and adored angel ! Obey thy 
 heart, listen to my love, and .happiness shall be thy lot upon 
 earth. Wherefore tremblest thou ? AVhen thou wast a child, 
 I carried thee about in my arms through the woods of Ramm, 
 and sprang with thee over many a gulf, then thou didst not 
 tremble. Oh ! as in the days of thy childhood, will I bear 
 thee my whole life through in my arms, and hold thee 
 securely to my bosom. Let every doubt, every uncertainty, 
 vanish in this moment ; we will bind fate with our affection. 
 Serena, give me now thy troth ! swear to become mine ; 
 swear that henceforth nothing shall separate us." 
 
 Bruno! Bruno!" said Serena, terrified with his vehe- 
 mence, " have you forgotten your mother my pa- 
 rents ?" 
 
 " Forgotten ? 'No ! I have not forgotten them, nor those 
 customs and usages which lay the life of the heart in bondage. 
 I have not forgotten them ; but they bind me not. I acknow- 
 ledge a higher power than theirs, I know a higher world than 
 that in which they rule and fetter. But I understand thy 
 anxiety. Like the flower on the island here, hast thou 
 grovm up, till thou hast ceased to feel and believe that there 
 is a world beyond it. But the world is gr-eat, Serena ; and 
 for two hearts which beat in unison, there are a hundred open 
 paradises. There are finer climes than this in which thou 
 wert born ; other religions, other manners — but the sun and 
 love rule everywhere. I have seen this more beautiful world. 
 I have seen there the life free from fetters — millions of beings 
 live in this atmosphere of freedom, and obey only the dictates 
 of the heart " 
 
 " And were they happy, Bruno ? were they contented, 
 these beings who had renounced all the commands of heaven, 
 all the bonds of duty ? Were you yourself happy in ihk 
 world which you extol so highlv ?" 
 
 r"2 
 
228 
 
 THE KETGIIBOTJES. 
 
 " Happy ! — no, that was 1 not ; because I had found no 
 
 Serena. But now oh, hear me, Serena! and reflect that 
 
 my life depends upon thy answer. If everything should 
 oppose itself to our union, wilt thou not, despite of all, yet 
 become mine ? Or say, what better can life offer thee than 
 boundless love ? Life, Serena, is poor, is miserable, when 
 love exalts it not. That Almighty Being who implanted in 
 us the necessity of happiness, he has not commanded us to 
 renounce it. He who kindled the leading star of love in the 
 heart, cannot desire that we should contemn its guidance. 
 Serena, I love thee ! I will lay my soul in thy hand, and 
 say, ' Do with it what thou wilt, but be mine for ever !' Oh, 
 let me conduct thee out of this narrow corner of the world, 
 where thy life will wither and fade away ; let me introduce 
 thee to a life of freedom and joy. Give me thy hand, as 
 thou hast given me thy heart ; become in another country, 
 under a fairer heaven, my wife. Thy path shall be strewn 
 with roses ; riches shall be at thy command ; thou shalt open 
 thy hand, and make men happy ; and I will thank thee for 
 all, for everything, with a iove which shall have no counter- 
 part on earth. I will create thee a Paradise out of whatever 
 is beautiful in nature, and what is good and joyful in life. 
 Serena, what canst thou there find wanting P^' 
 
 " Peace !" answered Serena as she arose, and her bosom 
 laboured with desperate emotion — " peace with myself! peace 
 with heaven 1" 
 
 " So !" said Bruno slowly, as he also arose, and fixed his 
 flashing eyes with an indescribable expression of scornful 
 reproach on Serena — " so, Serena, thou also art but one of 
 the ordinary tribe of women ! Thy love is but a house-lamp, 
 a faint and timid flame, w^hich can only burn in a well-closed 
 room. Thou wilt not make me happy — thou wilt not follow 
 the dictates of thy heart, since thou tremblest for thy eternal 
 salvation ! Thou wilt not make the slightest ofiering for him 
 who is ready to sacrifice everything for thee. And this ia 
 called virtue ! Oh ! weak, miserable selfishness ! But listen'^ 
 
 and he approached her with a daring wildness — " I wall 
 
 teach thee that which love, true love, is ! And yet perhaps 
 thou dost not understand me, pious maiden. Knowest thou 
 what sacrifice he who truly loves can make without a 
 thought ? Yes, even his eternal happiness ! Oh ! that thou 
 wert doomed to the deepest and most fiery gulf of hell ! I 
 
A STEANGEK uXD T TO THE EEADER. 
 
 229 
 
 would, witli boundless joy, plunge myself in, that I miglit be 
 damned with thee, and there with thee, with thee in the bot- 
 tomless abyss, I would despise the thunders, and the felicity 
 of heaven ! But thou comprehendest me not — thou knowest 
 not what love is !" 
 
 Serena leaned her forehead on her hand ; a terrible con- 
 vulsion raged in her spirit. Xight and lightnings alternated 
 there. Ah ! Serena knew what true love was, and Bruno's 
 words found an echo in her soul. For a moment its trans- 
 parency became clouded, and the mighty consequences of this 
 sacrifice were no longer clear in it. In a feeling of inexpres- 
 sible anguish she raised her eyes and her clasped hands to- 
 wards heaven, and spoke as if unconsciously. " They would 
 be miserable ; they wou^d get up in the morning and find 
 me not ; they would go to bed with tears for their child !" 
 
 Bruno saw that which was passing in her heart. Demoniac 
 powers took possession of his soul, and they exulted as they 
 saw her waver ; and in his eyes were flames, and in his voice 
 a tone, boldly insinuating — before such, angels have liillen ! 
 
 " Oh, Serena ! let no childish weakness misguide thee, to 
 belie thy own heart. Be strong, be true to thy love, and 
 confide in me. Be mine, and I will recompense every pain, 
 I will change every sigh which disturbs thee into happiness. 
 Away with pusillanimous fear ! Conquer, conquer, my Se- 
 rena, the ordinary weakness of thy sex. Grive me that 
 assurance, that oath which will elevate me above all the 
 changes of fortune, all the menaces of fate ; which will confer 
 a home on the banished, blessings on the cursed, and peace 
 on my heart. Oh, my Serena! why hesitate, why waver? 
 Art thou not already mine ? Have not our souls been united 
 ever since our childhood ? Are they not now warmed with 
 one flame ? Serena, we are already one ! one before Him 
 who poureth his love into our hearts. Or, dost thou believe 
 that they could be separated ? Never, Serena ! beloved as 
 my own life, thou art mine ! mine !" 
 
 He had seized her hand ; with a passionate and irresistible 
 force he drew her closer to his bosom. There are hidden, 
 marvellous inspirations, through which the tempted but pure 
 spirit receives strength to triumph over even that which is 
 dearest to it. It was such which sprung up in Serena's soul, 
 and filled it at once with desperation and divine light. To 
 
230 
 
 resist Bruno's power, she must tear herself loose from hiro ; 
 and to his woMs — "Thou art mine, mine!" she answered 
 shuddering, — •* No, I love you not i" 
 
 "Thou mayst think so," exclaimed Bruno with a demoniac 
 smile, " but thou deceivest thyself." He embraced her, 
 pressed his hand on her heart, and proceeded with a trium- 
 phant expression — " Thou lovest me, as I love thee I By the 
 beating of this heart I swear, that if thou refusest me, this 
 Jove will blanch thy cheek, and my misery w^ill become thine. 
 In vain dost thou resist me ; in vain dost thou deceive thy- 
 self. As certain as thy heart beats beneath my hand, has a 
 higher power united our fates. Eesist it not. It is in vain, 
 Serena : thou art mine 1" 
 
 Serena stood motionless ; her dark eyelashes sunk upon 
 her pale cheeks ; fainter and fainter beat her heart beneath 
 Bruno's burning hand ; yet, like the whispering of a spirit, 
 clear, soft, awfully and marvellously penetrating, issued from 
 her lips the words, " No, I love thee not !" 
 
 An icy chill went through Bruno's veins. A voice like 
 this, words thus pronounced, he had never yet experienced ; 
 and Serena leaned like a marble image on his breast, so cold, 
 so still, so — dead. He released her ; he gazed on her with a 
 wild dismay. " I love thee not I" repeated Serena, and 
 stepped backward, her cheeks assuming every momenta more 
 deathly paleness, her heart beating ever fainter. 
 
 " Serena 1" shouted Bruno, with a voice which might have 
 awakened the dead from their everlasting sleep. Serena 
 sighed deeply, deeply. " No, I love thee not !" repeated she 
 yet again, with a firmer and clearer tone. Her knees failed 
 her ; she would have fallen to the ground if Eransiska had 
 not arrived at that moment, and received her into her arms. 
 
 BEUlSrO TO SEREIS'A. 
 
 Yet once more these words ! — Speak them once again, ana 
 no sigh of love or pain on my part shall ever disturb your quiet 
 more. But, Serena! if you deceived me, if you deceived yourself 
 in that moment, if your heart abjures the words which your lips 
 spoke, then hear me yet this once. My impetuosity wounded 
 you. Eorgive me this, Serena ; it is now passed, I am quiet • 
 and at tue same time, this restlesSj this thirsting heart yearoa 
 
SERENA TO BRUNO. 
 
 231 
 
 for tbe belief that it beats not alone ! and if umvorthy of it, 
 ^^^il .1 still believe that I am beloved. I stand on tlie crisis 
 of my life. Love alone can save me. I have a mother ; I 
 have trespassed against her, and she has cursed me. I hope 
 not for reconciliation with her, although I seek it. If this 
 be denied me, shall I then despair, Serena ? Will no dear 
 heart bind me fast to life ? Will no angel follow me into the 
 wilderness ? O Serena ! dost thou love me, and hast thou 
 not courage to share my fate ? See, I will not adorn tho 
 prospect of our future ; I will not invite thee to share happi- 
 ness and joy ; I call thee to a participation of sorrow and 
 tears. Perhaps our future may be dark ; perhaps thy heart 
 may never find peace on my bosom ; perhaps, even thy cheeks 
 blanch beneath my kisses, but yet — yet I ask thee, Serena, 
 hast thou not courage, not love enough, with me, and for 
 me, to suffer ? Serena ! there are sufierings, sufferings to 
 tlie death, which are not bitter, which possess their own great, 
 their marvellous enjoyment. Grreat is the power of love, even 
 to m.ake happy the night of pain. Yet how ? When the 
 rejected one breathes peacefully at thy side ; w^hen his eye, 
 through thee, raises itself towards a heaven where dwell 
 mercy and love, and when this eye then rests on thee with 
 infinite thanks and blessings — Serena, couldst thou then be 
 unhappy ? And if even thy cheek grew pale, if thou leanedst 
 thy head against a bosom which was filled with thee alone ; 
 and if in death thy gaze met a look of unspeakable love, which 
 living only in thee, with thee will be extinguished, and on re- 
 awaking seek only thee ? — Oh^ Serena ! together to love, to 
 suffer, to enjoy, together to die, to be one here and beyond 
 the grave, — this was my dream as I saw thee. Was it a 
 dream ? Oh, Serena ! was it a dream which I felt as the 
 reality of my existence, as the solution of its yet uncompre- 
 liended enigma ? Serena ! answer me with the truth which 
 lived so beautifully on thy childish lips, — I ask once uiore, 
 was it a dream ? Say no ! and be mine. Or repeat your last 
 words. 
 
 SERENA TO BRUNO. 
 
 No, Eruno ! I will not repeat those wwds ! They were 
 not the truth. It was the fear of my own weakness which 
 called them forth. If it can do you good, Bruno — if it can be 
 
232 
 
 THE ISTEIGHBOrES. 
 
 a solace to your heart, then receive my assurance — I lov€ 
 you ! To share life and sorrow with you would be happiness 
 for me. But, Bruno, hear this my last word. I write to you 
 by the bed of my grandparents' rest. They slumber softly; my 
 voice has soothed them to repose. The light of the lamp falls 
 on their reverence-inspiring heads, and illumines their grey 
 hairs. Bruno, here is my post, and I will not move from it, 
 let my heart suffer what it will. To make glad and peaceful 
 the life of the two aged parents, who have cherished my child- 
 hood and my whole life till now, that is my office and my 
 dearest duty. The lamp which enlightens the evening of 
 their days. Providence has placed in my hands, and I will 
 protect it faithfully to my last sigh. O Bruno ! if you will 
 win me, you must first win these. Only when they can with 
 joy lay my hand in yours, can I joyfully and confidently 
 consent to it. The way to me is through them. 
 
 And if this must be for you a parting salutation, then faro 
 you well, Bruno ! Grod bless you ! "Wherever your path 
 may lead, think that a true and sympathising heart follows 
 you with blessings and prayers. 
 
 Bruno ! friend of my childhood ! I would say something 
 which should give you peace. I fear that you deem me cold 
 and indifferent. That pains me. But I know that there 
 another and a better world; there will you better read my 
 heart — there will you pardon your 
 
 Seeena. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 FRANSISKA WERNEB TO MARIA M . 
 
 Kosenvik, August 31st. 
 For two days after I last wrote to you we waited in great 
 uneasiness; but as not the slightest change in the state of Ma 
 chere mere was made known to us. Bear proceeded to Carls 
 fors, and spoke sternly to Elsa, so as to make her talk. Then 
 spoke she out plainly, that Ma chere mere was very much 
 the same as she was fifteen years ago. She does not sleep 
 of nights, speaks not, eats and drinks next to nothing. She 
 has the room kept dark, sits constantly with her face pressed 
 or. her hand, and sighs soiiietim.es as if her heart would break. 
 
FliAI^SISKA WERXER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 For the rest, she has forbidden Elsa to speak a word to any 
 one concerning her. 
 
 ''This must not continue," exclaimed Bear, when he had 
 related these particulars. " It may become a relapse into tho 
 old complaint. AYe must by some means break the spell, and 
 this mnst be done — through you, Fanuy." 
 
 "Through me?" I exclaimed, starting back. I am per- 
 suaded that I was pale as death. 
 
 " Yes, tlirough you ! You know well, you sea-cat, that no 
 one stands so well with Ma chere mere as you. No one 
 possesses so mnch influence over her heart. Use it now. 
 You must break through her door, and into her bosom. Yes; 
 you must do it, and you must also go as boldly and as cir- 
 cumspectly about it as a thief in the night." 
 
 " But the picklock. Bear, the picklock ! How am I to pass 
 through her bolted doors, and into her more bolted heart ?" 
 
 " Through her doors ? — Elsa will leave them open for yotL- 
 I have spoken with her about it. And how into her heart ? 
 Let your own become warm, and your tongue will find worda 
 which will penetrate through bone and marrow." 
 
 "Ah, Bear!" 
 
 " And you must not permit yourself to be frightened away 
 by any hasty expressions, by any angry look. Have courage ; 
 be steadfast, strong, and tender. Think on Bruno ! Think 
 on the reconcilement of mother and son ! Yes, just so must 
 you look, just so must you feel, and you will achieve a good 
 work, Fanny; or, at least, will force this gloomy pain to effu- 
 sion, which, if it continue as it is, will conduct lier to mad- 
 ness." 
 
 Sweet is the voice of flattery, and especially when one 
 hears it from one's better-half. I suflered myself to be per- 
 suaded to dare the attempt ; but courageous was I by no 
 means. To force myself into Ma chere mere's chamber, con- 
 trary to her most positive command, and to appear before 
 her hu ! 
 
 We determined further, that Bruno during my interview 
 should wait in Jean Jacques' room, so that, if it took an 
 auspicious turn, he might immediately throw himself at his 
 mother's feet. Should a kindly sentiment be excited in her 
 heart, we must not give it time to cool — we must strike while 
 the iron is hot. Bear wrote to Bruno on this proposition, 
 
THE KEIGnBOURS. 
 
 who answered merxly with these words — " I agree with you, 
 and will be there." The next day was fixed for the fearful 
 interview. JSTo sleep came that night into my eyes, ajid I 
 was once on the very point of waking Bear, and telling him 
 that I really had not the courage to " sit between" in the aff'air. 
 But I heard again the wonderful, sorrowful tones from the 
 unhappy anchorite at E^amm. They sounded imploringly. 
 1 recollected Bruno's tears, and his prayer — " Reconcile me 
 with my mother;" and I determined firmly to submit myself 
 to Bear's requiring: but I was still in a thousand troubles 
 how I should carry the matter through. " I should say what 
 my heart dictated," said Bear; but my head would also play 
 its part, and act the tutor of the heart, and reject its some- 
 what uncertain plan, and prescribe speeches with which the 
 heart had nothing to do. So disputed head and heart till the 
 moment tliat we must set out. My situation was by no 
 means to be envied, but I said nothing to Bear ; I would not 
 disquiet him with my own disquiet. 
 
 We set out. It was Sunday. The bells rung with such 
 a friendly solemnity through the quiet air. Country people 
 in holiday garb, with Prayer-books in their hands, met us on 
 the way. They looked so peaceful, so contented, as they 
 went to the temple of the Lord. I envied them ; and the 
 nearer we approached Carlsfors, the farther I wished myself 
 from it. As Bear took my hand to help me from the carriage, 
 I trembled in every limb. The cunning Bear said nothing, 
 asked nothing, but only pressed my hand. 
 
 Bruno was already with Jean Jacques. I was terrified at 
 his paleness, and at the change in his appearance ; but I said 
 nothing. He also was silent. Jane Slarie was, as I fancy, 
 somewhat offended, on account of the greater trust which 
 had been put in me, and said something of having " too 
 much self-confidence." Oh, my Grod ! that now I certainly 
 had not. I had rather have been in Mesopotamia keep- 
 ing sheep than thus to step before Ma chere mere as a 
 mediator. After we had talked awhile about notliing and 
 with long pauses between, Bear fixed on me his still, solemn 
 gaze. There was legible in it Now !" I arose. I regarded 
 myself as a sacrifice. Tremblingly I made some steps to- 
 wards the door. Suddenly I found myself in Bruno's arms, 
 who, with his deep, povverfuHy penetrating tone, said — " A 
 
FEANSISKA WEENEK TO MAEIA M. 
 
 235 
 
 blessing on tbv proceeding ' Blessed be the \Tords of -pea 
 on thy lips ! My life depends npon them!" And the sin- 
 gular man pressed me passionately to his bosom, and his teara 
 fell on my brow. I stood there surprised and moved as 
 Bruno drew me to him, kissed me, and said softly and fer- 
 vently—" God bless thee !" 
 
 He did so. From this moment, all fear, all reluctance, 
 left me. I was totally changed. My heart became strong ; 
 and with firm and light steps I advanced to the room where 
 Ma chere mere sate in her darkness. I threw out no further 
 plan as to what I should say or do ; I left it all to the in- 
 spiration of the moment. 
 
 Before the door of the boudoir stood Elsa, motionless, 
 silent, and like a mummy. She gave me a sign tliat she un- 
 derstood my purpose, and wished me success. She had left 
 the door open, and I glid softly into the boudoir. It was 
 empty and dark. The blinds were let down. Softly I opened 
 the door of the sleeping-room ; and as I entered that great 
 dark chamber, I was shocked to see Ma chere mere lying on 
 the floor. At my entrance she raised her head, and looked 
 at me with a gaze so wild and disordered that I shuddered. 
 Yet I drew some steps nearer, and said with a tender un- 
 easiness, " Is Ma chere mere unwell ?" She raised herself 
 completely on her feet, and the cap seemed to lift itself on 
 her head. She rushed towards me, her nose contracted and 
 pale, her breath whistling, and her whole bearing so menacing, 
 that she must have terrified one less brave than I was at this 
 moment. 
 
 " How darest thou to break into my chamber ? How 
 canst thou dare to disturb me demanded she, wild and 
 stern, as she drew near me. 
 
 " I did not find Ma chere mere without, and therefore I 
 came hither," said I, as composedly as possible, and without 
 giving back a step. She gazed at me a moment, while she 
 seemed to collect herself; after which she said quietly, and 
 as it were to herself : " I had probably forgotten to bolt 
 the door — • — stupid !" She went away from me ; opened the 
 drawer of bureau, and appeared as though she would lay 
 something in it which she held in her hand, but she let it fall 
 cn the floor, and it rolled towards me. I stooped and took 
 it up. Ma chere mere approached me with tKe e,\])reshXon 
 
236 
 
 THE NllGHBOUES. 
 
 of a liysBna, and wished, I fancy, to snatch it out of my hand 
 but I regarded attentively the little medallion on which the 
 lovely head of a child was painted, and said with a degree of 
 ease which I now can scarcely comprehend, " What a beau- 
 tiful child 
 
 Ma chere mere stood st^Jl. She appeared highly excited, 
 yet in a softer mood. She took the medallion gently out of 
 my hand, but held it so that I might observe it with her, and 
 said — " Yes, yes, indeed a lovely child. Ah ! the crown of all 
 children ! Dost thou know the name of the boy, Fransiska — ■ 
 dost thou know his name ? Dost thou know whose child he 
 was? Say ! Dost thou know it ; dost thou know it 
 
 She looked with a keen inquiring glance into my face. I 
 was obliged to cast down my eyes before her penetrating 
 gaze, as I answered No !" according to the literal truth, 
 though I guessed who it was. 
 
 " His name was Bruno," began Ma cliere mere. " He was 
 
 my only son ! Mine, mine " and here she pressed my 
 
 shoulders together between her hands till I thought she 
 would have crushed them. ^' He was my only son," con- 
 tinued she, as she withdrew her hands from me and raised 
 them towards heaven — " to-day is the day on which I gave 
 him birth." She was silent ; and then proceeding again as if 
 speaking to herself, and with an expression which rent my 
 soul — " This day three-and-thirty years I gave him birth. 
 With deadliest pangs I gave him life ! Oh, that I had died 
 
 at that moment ! for he ! oh ! but he was my pride, my 
 
 proud joy, my boast, my all ! He was more to me than God ! 
 
 Oh! the Lord has smitten down my pride no, not he, but 
 
 the devil. The devil smote my strength, and took my child. 
 Oh ! children give to our hearts life and death ; mine gave 
 worse than death." Here she crossed her arms over her 
 breast, and sunk her head low, as if crushed to the earth with 
 sorrow. As she raised herself again, she turned to me with 
 a sharp, penetrating look, and said, " Thou knowest what has 
 ha{)pened, Fransiska. Thou knowest all about him. Deny 
 it not. Thy husband knows it, and man and wife are one. 
 Thou knowest it: I see it in the bottom of thy soul!" 
 
 I did not deny it ; my look spoke for me. 1 drew near tc 
 Ma chere mere; my heart was warmed towards her; she laid 
 her hand on my shoulder, and said, " God protect thea* 
 
FltATiTSlSKA WEE^fER TO MABIA M. 
 
 237 
 
 Fransiska, from ever suffering what I have suffered , from 
 feeling that which I have felt, and that which I now feel. 
 God preserve thee from it ! Child ! child ! it is not good 
 when the heart of a mother is converted into hate against 
 that to which she once gave life, when her bosom must repel 
 
 that which once drew its nutriment thence 1 tell thee it 
 
 is not good. What wishes the happy mother for her chil- 
 dren ? That the J may live loug on the eartl\ ; that they may 
 settle near, and dwell around lier ; that they may receive her 
 last breath, and close her eyelids when her last hour is come. 
 Yes, that wishes she. But what do I wish for my only son ? 
 Tes, that " and her countenance assumed a terrible ex- 
 pression — " that he may be dead ; that he may lie deep in 
 the earth, or at the bottom of the sea ; that these eyes may 
 never more see him ; these ears may never hear his voice ! 
 Oh ! that he were dead, dead, dead !" 
 
 I shuddered at these wild and desperate words, and in the 
 highest state of excitement of mind the wretched mother 
 proceeded. 
 
 " If the son goes from the father's house into the wide 
 world, what does the mother give him with him on his long 
 journey ? She gives him blessings ; she gives him the best 
 the house contains with him, and she follows him to the door 
 with tears, and kisses, and names full of love. Yes, this does 
 she ; but to my only son gave I my curse. That w^as all, be- 
 sides his life, which he carried with him from me into the 
 wide, wild world. I cursed my only child ! Seest thou," she 
 continued, with ever-growing wildness, " I had laid upon his 
 head all my love, my honour, my pride, — and he heaped 
 shame upon mine. Shame heaped he on the head of his 
 mother. See !" and she rent the cap from her head and cast 
 it fiercely on the floor, while the grey, yes, nearly snow-white 
 hair fell down in waves on her shoulders — "see! grief has 
 strown its ashes on my hair. Before, it was black, but in 
 one night fell snow — it is now become white. The son has 
 bleached the hair of his mother. He caused that the people 
 pointed with the finger at her, and said — ' See ! she was the 
 mother of a thief!' Ought she not to curse him ?" 
 
 "Ah! he was yet so young" 1 stammered forth 
 
 "he" 1 could scarcely speak. Ma chere mere h'^ard me 
 
 act, but went on, addressing rather herself than me. " Yes, 
 
2B8 
 
 THE NEIGIIEOTJRS. 
 
 my hair became grey ; but what did not become grey ! my 
 colour, my soul, the who-e world ! When the curse was pro- 
 nounced, and the cursed one was gone forth, and no one 
 knew whither, — then came a wondrous time. It became 
 dark in me, and I sat in the dark ; and days — months — years 
 
 went round, and 1 knew only that all was dark dark as 
 
 the crime, and the curse ! I thought that the spark of life 
 would perish in the darkness ; but it was stronger than the 
 darkness, and than care — and I issued from the darkness, and 
 beheld the light again. I learned at least to bear. I sought 
 to forget him, I thought he is dead !" 
 
 My tears flowed ; my whole soul was broken with emotion ; 
 and I exclaimed, " Oh, the unhappy one ! He wandered 
 about an outcast, and found perhaps neither bread nor a 
 home. He died, perhaps, on foreign ground, and thought of 
 his mother, and yearned to press her hand to his lips, and to 
 receive pardon. And she oh, the poor !" 
 
 Ma chere mere was deadly pale, and trembled violently ; 
 she seemed with difficulty to breathe. "Eransiska!" she 
 said at length with a strong voice, " Fransiska ! cease these 
 unnecessary lamentations ! Bread, he needed not want. He 
 could work. He was a man, and already in his growing years 
 strong as a lion. Home ? — that he did not seek. His mind 
 drew him towards the wild world, and that has probably 
 yielded him sufficient. But the curse" here slie ap- 
 proached me, wliile tears trembled in her large eyes, and laid 
 lier hand upon niy head — " the curse has my heart removed 
 from him. When it was pronounced, I thirsted to call it 
 back again ; and I should have done it, Fransiska, then, if he 
 had borne patiently the punishment, and the penance which 
 his crime demanded. For that purpose I sought him in the 
 night ; but he was gone. He fled from forgiveness, and 
 would not deserve it ; but I have laid it down on his grave. 
 There it lingers with fche sun, and with the flowers, and gives 
 him peace. Yet sometimes, when the recollection and the 
 anguish seize me, so that my bosom will tear asunder, and it 
 whirls in my brain, and I know not what I do, then at times 
 I utter the curse — ^but after that I bless. Or what dost thou 
 imagine that I did as I lay in the dust like a worm before oui 
 Lord, the picture of my son pressed to my heart ? Thinkest 
 thou that I cursed him ? Peace ! peace be with his ashes !'' 
 
TRAySISKA WEE^sER TO MARIA M. 
 
 239 
 
 " And if he yet should liver" said I, with a feeling I 
 
 cannot describe, — " il' he yet live ; and through many suffer- 
 ings have atoned for the sin of his youth ; if he long, more 
 than for all the honours of the world, to receive the pard( n 
 of his mother, to clasp her once more to his breast ?" 
 
 Ma chere mere stepped back rigid and pale, her eyes 
 flashed fearfully, and she made a repelling motion with the 
 
 hand, and she said, " Is it so, Transiska ? hast thou 
 
 heard that he lives ?" and her voice trembled ; " knowest 
 
 thou that which he seeks and intends ? Tell him to come no 
 more to the country which would be ashamed of him ! That 
 he bear not the name which he has dishonoured ; that he 
 shall not dare to come into the presence of his mother, whom 
 he has covered with disgrace. But tell him that I have re- 
 voked the curse. I will transmit him the half of my property 
 to a foreign land. He may write to me, and require what 
 he will ; and I will lend him what he will ; but — on my 
 threshold he shall not set his foot !" 
 
 I bent my knee, and embraced hers. " Mother ! mother !" 
 I exclaimed, nearly beside myself, ^' is that Christian ? is that 
 right?" 
 
 " Stand up !" said she fiercely. " Not a word more. JN'o 
 one can judge me in this matter. What I have said, I have 
 said ; and I forbid thee to speak further upon it. Speak 
 
 not of him, if thou wilt not Thinkest thou that here 
 
 the questif)n is of apples and pears ? — I tell thee it is of rea- 
 son and madness ! Eouse not the evil spirit in me. Away 
 with these remembrances, with these thoughts, — away! away!" 
 
 I stood up — my heart was tossed with contending emo- 
 tions ; but Ma chere mere's wild look and her gestures 
 showed me that now was not the time to give vent to them. 
 Nevertheless, I would not give up all hope. I looked im- 
 ploringly, with clasped hands, but she turned away from me. 
 " Go," said she sternly ; " our discourse is at an eud. I would 
 be alone. Gro, I mil it !" 
 
 I went ! — my soul full of bitterest anguish. Ma chere mere 
 bolted the door behind me. As I entered the boudoir, I saw 
 there a man standing with his forehead against the wall. It 
 was Bruno. Terrified, I went to him, laid my hard gently 
 on his arm, and said in a low voice, " For God's sake, Bruno, 
 v^hat are you doing here, so near " He turned slowly 
 
240 
 
 THE J7EIGHB0URS. 
 
 his face towards me. It was deadly pale ; cold perspiration 
 stood on his brow ; his look was confused ; he gazed at me 
 with a gloomy indifference. But suddenly he collected him- 
 self, and laying his hand on his forehead, rushed out of the 
 room. I followed him, and thanked God as I saw Bear meet 
 him, seize his arm, and compel him to be on his guard, that 
 the servants might suspect nothing. With apparent calm- 
 ness, they left the house together. 
 
 I went in the mean time to Jean Jacques. I could not let 
 the husband and wife know all that had occurred. I told 
 them simply that I had produced no result ; that I had not 
 dared to give Ma chere mere cause to imagine how near to 
 her her son was, since the very thought of him seemed nearly 
 sufficient to unsettle her reason. Jean Jacques stuck his 
 hand in his coat-pockets, and went up and down the room, 
 saying, " That is devilish, that is devilish. How can any one 
 be so unreasonable ? And then, Bruno, — I implored him to 
 remain quiet ; but as soon as he heard his mother's voice, which 
 for a moment was audible here, he became like a maniac. 
 He tore himself away from Bear, who would have held him, 
 and dashed forth. It was well that he did not go in to Ma 
 chere mere. There would have been a pretty 'larum !" 
 
 Jane Marie also could not comprehend how it was that 
 people could not be governed by their reason, but added that 
 she had anticipated how the affair would end ; that she had 
 never looked for any good effect from it. 
 
 Neither of them spoke according to my feeling. I longed 
 for Bear; I expected comfort and support from him. A 
 length he came; he was heated, excited, and looked woe 
 begone. I threw myself on his neck, and wept ; — I coulc 
 not do otherwise. He embraced me, and said merely, " We 
 will not let our courage sink, nor give up all as lost : no tree 
 is felled by a single stroke." 
 
 " Ah ! what shall we do ?" asked I, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " We will now go home," answered he, " and then we will 
 talk further about it. The cabriolet is below. Adieu, Jean 
 Jacques ; adieu, sister-in-law. Come, Fanny !" 
 
 In the cabriolet I related to Bear all that had passed 
 between Ma chere mere and myself. He said merely 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! " Then we sate silent ; but I knew 
 
 that he thought with me, and more wisely than I. It did 
 
BEUNO TO ANTOTflO. 
 
 241 
 
 me good to sit silently hj his side, as we drove through the 
 whispering wood. The weather was in harmony w4th r^y 
 mood of mind. It was become dark ; and the boughs of the 
 pines swayed in the wind, with a sort of sad disquiet. 
 
 "In the mean time," said Bear consolingly, when we had 
 reached home — " in the mean time we have won one point 
 This dangerous state of apathy is broken, and will probably, 
 for this time, not return. That is a victory which may prepare 
 the way for another. We won't despair. I wiU see Bruno 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " In the mean time," to take up Bear's phrase, I am dis- 
 tressed in. heart and soul, and know not what further to say. 
 
 FEAQMENT OF A LETTER FEOM BETJISTO TO ANTONIO. 
 
 September 3rd. 
 
 What is it to live ? To drag through unimportant days 
 without interest and pleasure, and to sink together by de- 
 grees, like a building that is inwardly decayed. No, rather 
 to desire to behold a future, at least a morrow; that is life. 
 A morrow ! Tor me that will probably no more arise. The 
 stream of life has turned itself away from me. Why should 
 I linger in the desert, and thirst? Mother, mother, from 
 thee I am repulsed. It is thou who hast dried up my heart, 
 and my world. But this night I will free myself; I will 
 drink revenge. My mother! Is it love, is it hate to her, 
 by which I am impelled ? I know not. But this night I 
 will stand before her, and burst the ice-rind of her heart ; or 
 my brain shall burst, and she shall be covered with my blood. 
 I will awaken in her bosom, — remorse. I will call into her 
 eye a tear which shaU never dry up again. She will not 
 forgive .... So be it, she shall weep. Why should I live ? 
 For whom ? for what ? I have drunken the wild pleasure ol 
 life, — it disgusts me. To the better and the purer the way is 
 barred ; barred by my own mother. Bitter, curse -inspiring 
 feeling ! The mother's heart is closed against me ; closed 
 therefore from me heaven also .... the bosom of Grod. 
 Yes, it must be so, for all the bitterness of the world has 
 gathered itself into my heart. I will avenge myself on my 
 mother ! And yet, in this dark moment, a mild, a refreshing 
 sensation, slides into my soul. Serena ! Her beloved image 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTTES 
 
 awakes it. Slie rejected me, but I cannot be angry with her. 
 She renounced my love for the sake of her duty, she left me 
 alone ; yet my soul feels but tenderness towards her. That 
 feeling does me good. I will never cause her woe. But as 
 I saw her so firm, so strong, I saw her still farther withdrawn 
 from me. As the star grows pale in a higher light, so paled 
 she for me as she approached nearer to the angel. She 
 cannot hold me back, the distance between us is too wide. 
 And should, indeed, my death distress her, she will wrap her- 
 self in her white garb of innocence, in her saintly attire of 
 virtue, and remain fixed and still ; God is with her. Pure 
 angel, peace be with thee ! I may not press thee to my 
 burning bosom ; but from thy heaven, which is thy heritage, 
 and from which I am exiled, thou wilt perhaps look down 
 upon me, and refresh my heart, since no one possesses this 
 power like thee. Farewell ! Our paths now separate for 
 ever: mine descends into the depths of darkness, thine 
 ascends into the high light. Farewell ! 
 
 Farewell, too, my dreams, ye dear dreams of a more beau- 
 tiful life, of reconcilement and love. Fare ye well, ye tender 
 and loving feelings in my soul, which I have loved and 
 cherished as the better part of myself. And ye tones, which 
 I have awoke on so many nights in order to answer the 
 inquiries of my soul, to still its torments, sleep, sleep ! I 
 will never listen to you again. When I called you forth, I 
 had still hope ; now I have none. 
 
 No, Antonio, I have no hope ! Despair lies in tlie depth 
 of the question which I will yet once more put to my fate. 
 Farewell, Antonio ! Thanks for thy friendship ; thanks foi 
 this, that with all my faults, thou hast loved me. Pardon 
 that which I have done, be at peace with me, as I am with 
 thee. 
 
 But thou, my mother ! yet no peace with thee. Yet in 
 this night I will press a kiss upon thy lips, either of life oi 
 of death. In vain dost thou withdraw thyself — thou shalt 
 not escape. Higher powers are with me — ^to-night ! 
 
3PBANSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M 
 
 243 
 
 CIIAPTEE XIII. 
 
 FRAIfSISKA WER]S"EB TO MARIA M . 
 
 September 4-5th. 
 
 0 Maeia! my dear Maria! what events, what scenes, 
 what changes ! How can one night have changed thus every- 
 thing — but I must relate you all from the beginning. I have 
 looked death in the face, death wild and horrible. Ah ! it is 
 still indeed near ! But I must bring order into my soul and 
 my conceptions. 
 
 Eor two days after my last interview with Ma chere mere, 
 we heard nothing of her. On the third, Bear drove over to 
 Carlsfors, to learn how matters stood. He found that Ma 
 chere mere had been in a high state of excitement, and most 
 restless mood of mind. During the night she had been heard 
 going to and fro in her chamber almost incessantly ; during 
 the day she had wept bitterly. She was now somewhat more 
 composed ; she received Bear kindly, asked how his wife was ; 
 came into the drawing-room to tea, and appeared by degrees 
 to resume her wonted manner. 
 
 The relation of her sufferings moved me. I almost longed 
 to see her again, and to hear a friendly word from her ; and 
 I felt an actual delight as early next morning — it was the 
 8rd of September — I received a little kind of note from her, 
 in which she said that in the forenoon she intended to drive 
 to the town to purchase various small articles, and made me 
 the proposal to bear her company. If I agreed she would 
 call upon me, and in the evening deliver me safe at home 
 again. 
 
 1 wanted to buy myself three funnels, a sieve, and a little 
 cullender, and accepted the offer with all my heart, after I 
 had said a few words with Bear, and had promised to pro- 
 vide him a good dinner at home, though I should not have 
 the pleasure of seeing him eat it. Bear did not look at all 
 despairing about it, embraced me, and proceeded in the 
 uabriolet to the town, where we hoped to meet. 
 
 It was not without some uneasiness and perplexity that I 
 now thought of seeing Ma chere mere again. How could it 
 stand between us after the last violent scene ? What should 
 
 q2 
 
THE NEIGHBOUK. 
 
 I say ? How should I look ? From this uncertainty 1 waa 
 relieved by Ma chere mere's arrival. She did not leave the 
 carriage, but as I got in, she reached me her hand with a 
 serious but open countenance, drew me to her, pushed back 
 my bonnet, and kissed me on the forehead and mouth with 
 great tenderness. This did me good, and from that moment 
 I felt all restraint was gone. Yet I was in a sad mood. Ma 
 chere mere was still ; the day gloomy, the air heavy. jN'o 
 one can say that our drive was cheerful. At the spot where 
 the road to Eamm branches off, Ma chere mere turned her 
 head in the other direction. My heart was stirred within me 
 by this sign of an irreconcilable feeling ; but as she soon 
 after put to me some unimportant question, I was so struck 
 with her ghastly paleness that I could not be angry with her, 
 but I was so grieved that I was on the very point of weeping. 
 So reached we the town. 
 
 " In the widow of Provost Ehen," said Ma chere mere, as 
 soon as we had got through the town gate, " thou wilt make 
 acquaintance with a very imp of housekeeping." We de- 
 scended at Madame Rhen's, whore Ma chere mere has always 
 when she is in the town a kind of inn. One cannot see the 
 widow of Provost Rhen without immediately feeling that she 
 is friendliness, hospitality, and talkativeness combined ; and 
 one cannot see her daughter E-enetta without thinking that 
 the apple falls not far from the tree. One cannot see her 
 arrangements for Ma chere mere without perceiving that Ma 
 chere mere is in her eyes a great puissance, which she equally 
 fears and loves. Por her sake I also was treated with zealous 
 cordiality, and the good Renetta had nearly strangled me as 
 she took off my cloak with so much vigour, the ribbons having 
 by my awkwardness been drawn into a knot. 
 
 The Provostess Ehen had been a kind of housekeeper with 
 Ma chere mere, who had betrothed and married her to the 
 Provost, who suffered himself in this matter to be led by her 
 as by his fate. Whether he had had to repent it, I know 
 not. The Provostess was now a well-to-do widow, who placed 
 her joy and honour in being able to entertain " the gracious 
 Generalska" when she came there, by whom she was always 
 bluntly and plainly called "Eh en." 
 
 The kindness of Rhen and Eenetta ; the neat, clean room, 
 with two little lovely pictures, representing children playiuj^ 
 
rBANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 245 
 
 with tame animals, impressed me with a very agreeable feeling. 
 The beautiful Smaland cheese and a glass of Malaga, which 
 were immediately set on a snow-white cloth, tasted most ex- 
 cellent. After OUT refreshment, Ma chere mere and I set 
 out on our round of business. It had cleared up ; the air 
 was charming ; and within me all had become more and more 
 cheerful. There awoke in my soul I know not what glad 
 anticipation; and as the sun broke through the clouds, it 
 seemed to me as if there could be no irremediable misfortune 
 and no irreconcilable hearts — I felt as if all must turn out 
 well. Well, my dear Maria, I am like a stringed instru- 
 ment, perhaps a little too easily moved. But like me as I 
 am. I like Byron, because he calls the heart "a pendulum 
 betwixt a smile and tear." 
 
 In the town was much throng and stir. It was market- 
 day ; and the great market-place was fuU of people, wagons, 
 and carts. It delighted me thoroughly to behold the joyous 
 swarm ; it delighted me to meet Bear in the town ; I promised 
 myself a moment's time to call on Serena. All presented 
 itself to me as lively and pleasant. The smell of the fresh 
 hay diffused itself fragrantly from the peasants' wagons. Here 
 the peasant lifted his smoked ham to the nose of a stooping 
 connoisseur ; there a good woman vaunted her fresh butter ; 
 here the carrot lay separated from the red beet, which had 
 been its companion in the green hamper ; there people sold 
 pears for a penny a-piece. There was a hum of blithe voices, 
 of gossip and laughter ; and amongst men, horses, and wagons, 
 hurried about a brisk flock of sparrows, twittering here and 
 there throughout the market, gathered the scattered manna, 
 flew up with a whisk when a heavy-footed fellow scattered 
 this light troop, and then as unweariedly dropped themselves 
 down again. Stout old women, well armed with wit and 
 tongue, sate in rows before the houses and in the market- 
 place, with their meal-tubs, their great loaves, their baskets 
 of pears and pastry, and rated keenly the street lads, who as 
 they went by sought to indemnify themselves for their want 
 of money with pert sayings. A spirit of joke came over me. 
 Before me stood a ragged little boy with a good countenance, 
 who regarded the riches of the market with a philosophical 
 whistling. Behind him, upon a step, stood his empty basket, 
 over which a net was thrown. I filled this dexterously A\itlj 
 
246 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 sugar-pears, and the old woman of whom I bought them lifted 
 the net cautiously up herself, and nodded to me that she un- 
 derstood the whim. The youngster will long wonder to him- 
 self how these pears came there. Farther on stood a horse 
 tied up to a windi)w- shutter, and stretched his lean head out 
 towards some chaiF, but could not reach it. I took a famous 
 lock of hay out of the cart and gave it to the horse, while I 
 looked round half in fear at the proprietor. Ma chere mere 
 laughed, and gave him another lock. The horse eat. 
 
 " Grood mother, why do you tempt me with your fine 
 plums ? I must have a half measure. Here, pour them 
 into my handkerchief. But the money? Oh, I have no 
 small change." 
 
 The good mother must go into a shop to get change ; but 
 who shall sell the pears and plums meanwhile ? I wiD. The 
 old woman goes ; I set myself on her stool, sell fruit, and 
 take the money. I have no customer so difficult as Ma chere 
 mere, who will have an immensity for her money, and mer- 
 cilessly beats me down and runs down the quality of my 
 goods. I answer as well and as roughly as I can. Finally, 
 the good woman comes back with the change ; and is so satis- 
 fied with my management of her property, that I must take 
 a quarter of a measure of plums for my services. 
 
 You will wonder at Ma chere mere's patience with all this. 
 Eut this sort of thing delights her, and one of her qualities 
 which makes her so agreeable to me is the hearty and plea- 
 sant way in which she enters into any innocent joke. 
 
 But the time fied. The clock of the church struck twelve. 
 We must hasten if we mean to get our business done before 
 dinner. I glanced towards every gateway and street-comer 
 to discover Bear, but in vain. We entered some shops, 
 looked at various things, but bought nothing. Ma chere 
 mere scolded the masters of the shops for their bad articles ; 
 they tried to raise their voices in their defence, but she raised 
 her voice above theirs, and put them down. The clock 
 struck one. Ma chere mere said, " We must not let Ehen's 
 soup get cold." We set out back again, I quite out of 
 humour not to have found Bear ; but in passmg through the 
 next street, what beheld I at the corner ? — a sight to me a 
 thousand times more delightful than an enchanted castle and 
 bountiful fairies — a broad, grey back, beyond all powder of 
 
TEAIs^SISKA ^RNEJR TO MARIA M. 
 
 247 
 
 mistake that of Bear. I sprang softly on him, held him fast, 
 and said, You shall not get away, you Bear 1 I take you 
 captive. You come with me." 
 
 " And dine with us ab Ehen's, and do not go away again 
 till afternoon," added Ma chere mere. 
 
 Bear was not difl&cult to be persuaded, took the arm of his 
 little wife, and walked ^dth her to Madame Rhen's, giving 
 her a moral sermon on her presumption in acting the police- 
 man. But though he joked, I could see that he was not 
 glad. 
 
 Ehen and Eenetta ran busily about to bring up the dinner 
 as we entered. As they spied Bear, they sprung in raptures 
 upon him, and their joy mounted to the very roof at having 
 the company of the good and cordial-hearted man. We sate 
 down to table. The dinner was excellent ; my appetite was 
 equally so ; the hostesses were pressing and communicative ; 
 I had passed a merry morning, and would fain still be cheerful, 
 but there sate Bear wita so solemn a face that it troubled 
 me. I saw that he had Bruno in bis head and heart. He 
 now also entered mine, and all my lightness of spirit vanished; 
 yes, I reproved myself that I could have been so gay. Bear 
 looked at Ma chere mere frequently with a grave and piercing 
 notice ; and I observed that she sought to avoid his gaze. 
 This power of his over her gave me pleasure. But at once 
 she stared at him with her great dark eyes so keenly that he 
 was obliged to sink his little grey ones, and I could not help 
 internally smiling at this skirmish of glances. 
 
 Immediately after coffee. Bear left us, in order yet to visit 
 some patients, and would thence drive home. I accom- 
 panied him into the hall, since one could not enjoy any quiet 
 in the presence of Rhen and Eenetta. " Bear, thou art rest- 
 less and sad," said I anxiously, and took his hand. " I have 
 seen Bruno to-day," he replied, " and am very much afraid 
 that the whole business will have an unfortunate termination." 
 " Good Grod !" I exclaimed. " Yes, may He help us," said 
 Bear ; " for here none else can. Bruno seems to contem- 
 plate a desperate experiment. What he has got in his head, 
 I could not drag from him. And I would not further restrain 
 him from battling out his own concern. That which cannot 
 be bent, must sometimes be broken. But go in now, Panny 
 
248 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 go in. More iu the evening. In the evening I shall see 
 thee again." 
 
 Bear's words had troubled my whole soul, and the feelings 
 of my mind were probably visible in my countenance, for 
 Ma chere mere asked me eagerly "if I were unwell ?" and 
 my hostesses exclaimed, that I was so pale, so very pale. I 
 complained of dizziness, and, in fact, everything went round 
 with me. 
 
 Provostess Ehen knocked at the window, then opened it, 
 and cried, "Madame! Madame!" Two gentlemen looked 
 back, and a youth came to the window. "Madame!" said 
 
 she still louder, — " Madame Al ah ! yes, it was Madame 
 
 Follin hear you, good Madame; here is a two-dollar banco, 
 
 lake it, be so good, and run to Bergstrom's, and ask him for 
 a little of his best eau de Cologne, for Madame E;hen. There 
 will be one dollar four-and-twenty out of it. Thank you 
 kindly, good Madame." 
 
 My hostess overwhelmed me now with kindness, liqueur, 
 and perfumed water ; begged me to sit by the window, and 
 to divert my mind by looking into the street, and at the people 
 (there was not a single creature in the street excepting a 
 dog). I thanked her for her goodness, but said that the free 
 air would soonest relieve me. Ma chere mere arose directly, 
 and we went out. 
 
 We spent more than two hours with going about, and in 
 the shops. Ma chere mere made me a present, far too 
 splendid for me, but the heartfelt expression in her counte- 
 nance and manner made it dear to me. I purchased some 
 trifles for Bear, which he needed, but which he always forgot 
 to procure for himself. We had promised to take tea with 
 the Provostess ; Ma chere mere would not allow me to give 
 it up ; and I saw with regret that we should not have time to 
 see Serena^ On our return to Madame ilhen's, we crossed 
 the great market-place, which had been so lively in the fore- 
 noon. It was now deserted, and merely strewn with the 
 litter of past business, and with the children of the air. Ma 
 chere mere was quite indignant that the besoms were not 
 at work, and declared that she would speak to the Mayor 
 about it." 
 
 A single hay-wagon stood yet in the corner of the market- 
 place, about which a multitude of i)eople was assembled 
 
FEANSISKA WEEIfEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 249 
 
 Ma chere mere stood still, and asked some one who came from 
 the wagon, " What there was there ?" "A great wolf, 
 which had been shot," was the answer. " We must see 
 that," said Ma chere mere, advanced, and made a way 
 through the people, who, as soon as they recognised her, 
 made room for her. The countrymen lifted their hats. I 
 followed her, like a little boat in the wake of a frigate. 
 When we reached the wagon, we saw there an unusually 
 large and fine wolf. There was a strong pressure around us, 
 but Ma chere mere protected me by putting her powerful arm 
 about me, and turning herself at the same time to the people, 
 said, " Don't crowd so !" which was immediately repeated by 
 numerous voices, and we obtained ample room. The peasant 
 to whom the wagon belonged, related, in reply to Ma chere 
 mere, how he had gone out in the early morning with his 
 gun, and saw two young wolves on the border of the wood, 
 which had laid themselves on some litter under a fir-tree. 
 He drew near, and took aim at them. At the same moment 
 their mother sprang out of the wood with a fierce howl, and 
 placed herself before them. He fired, she fell, and the young 
 ones ran ofi" into the wood. The man hastened to the wolf ; 
 she struggled with death ; and a second shot put an end to her, 
 and he joyfully dragged his booty home. I saw that the tongue 
 of the creature hung far out on one side, and as I alluded 
 to that, the coimtryman showed me that the tongue was 
 nearly bitten off. She had probably done it in the agony of 
 death, he added. For the first time I felt pity for a wolf j 
 and I could not refrain from stroking the head of the fine 
 animal, and saying softly — " Grood mother !" — " Let us go, 
 Fransiska," said Ma chere mere abruptly, and we made our 
 way back as we had made it thither. Ma chere mere looked 
 gloomy, and as we went over the market-place I could not 
 omit saying, for my heart was moved — " What a fine feeling 
 must live in animals, which man considers to stand so far be- 
 neath him ! A wolf dies for her young !" 
 
 " The young of the wolf," said Ma chere mere in a bitter 
 tone, " had occasioned their mother no grief: she died in her 
 pride in them. Better to die with a bitten tongue, than to 
 live with a torn heart." We were both silent. Presently 
 we came to a little green plain, on which fine poplars reared 
 their quivering pyramids. The sun in its setting burnislied 
 
250 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 them with deep gold, and a number of little birds filled them 
 with the music of their songs. Seats were here placed that 
 the passers-by might enjoy the shade. On one of those 
 benches sat two persons, who attracted our attention : one of 
 them was an aged woman, evidently poor, but of a good- 
 natured countenance, and dressed with extraordinary neat- 
 ness. Near her sate a man, equally neatly clad, with a long 
 pale face, hanging lips, and the aspect of one of weak 
 intellect. Ma chere mere, who possesses a tolerable portion of 
 curiosity, approached them. As we drew near we saw that 
 the man was blind. " Is that your brother, good woman ?" 
 asked Ma chere mere. "My son," answered the woman 
 with a sigh. " Son ! how old is he ?" " Twenty-five years." 
 He looked fifty. " He is blind, and, as I fancy, also deaf," 
 continued Ma chere mere. " Blind, and deaf, and dumb," an- 
 swered the mother. " How long has he been in this con- 
 dition ?" " Since his birth." " Has he any sort of ideas ?" 
 " That is difficult to perceive ; one must guide, feed, tend, 
 and watch him like a child ; but sometimes he weeps, and 
 sometimes he laughs." " What makes him laugh ?" " When 
 he comes out into the air he is cheerful and laughs, and when 
 I caress him long. Thank God he knows me !" Hereupon 
 she began kindly to stroke the cheeks of her son, and to pat 
 him on the shoulder. He smiled on that with increasing 
 liveliness and gladness, and his countenance assumed almost 
 an expression of reason. " Is he sometimes ill-humoured ?" 
 " Tes, often ; and then he is quite raging. But still he has 
 a good heart. He sleeps very little by night, and then he is 
 accustomed to grope his way round to the beds of his sister's 
 children, and to feel whether they are covered. If they have 
 thrown off their bed-clothes, he spreads them carefuUy over 
 them. He is especially careful of the sister's little daughter, 
 and when he hears her cry, he is beside himself." 
 
 " Tou must therefore be obliged to keep him in your eye 
 more than all your other children?" 
 
 " Tes, of necessity. They have understanding, but he has 
 only me. I can very rarely leave him." 
 
 At this moment the deaf and dumb made some horrible 
 sounds; they were a kind of howl, but the howl of a wild 
 beast is nothing to such as these. Tears started from the 
 blind eyes, and copiously wet his face, which^ besides this, 
 
FEAySISKA WER^fER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 251 
 
 showed no expression of pain. The poor wreteli wiped tliem 
 away with his hands. 
 
 "And this has continued for twenty-five years, and may 
 continue yet longer ?" asked Ma chere mere, with a tone of 
 voice which made evident how deeply it liad seized on her 
 mind. "Are you not tired, good woman?" 
 
 !N'o ; with the help of G-od shall I never be tired with my 
 child, but patiently await the time when it shall please the 
 Lord to relieve us. May I only not die before him." 
 
 " What is your name, good woman ?" 
 
 " Margaret Beck, widow of Beck the baker." 
 
 " Grood morning, Madame Beck. God bless you ! We 
 shall meet again." 
 
 Ma chere mere went on, while she said half aloud to her- 
 self, " Twenty-five years !" 
 
 I said nothing, but hoped within myself that this circum- 
 stance might not be without its effect upon her own heart. We 
 walked on for some time silently and slowly, when Ma chere 
 mere looked hastily up, appeared to arouse herself out of 
 her reverie, and half reproachfully, half briskly said, " Thou 
 movest like a tortoise, Fransiska, and thus we go dreaming 
 away our time. We must now hasten to Rhen's, and drink 
 our tea quickly, that we may not have to reach home in the 
 dark." 
 
 But to get away quickly from Madame Bheu and her tea 
 was impossible. There was no end of handing and pressing 
 on you of biscuits, cracknels, tea-cakes, and gingerbread ; and 
 the good lady now began even to talk of supper, and said she 
 had purposely ordered a good fat turkey, and hoped that 
 Madame Mansfelt would consent to stay, and not give her 
 the disappointment of seeing her little preparation was fruit- 
 less. I expected to see it at once declined by Ma chere mere, 
 but, to my great astonishment, she answered neither yes nor 
 no ; and as Madame Khen began to speak in her zeal of a clear 
 evening and moonlight, and I verily believe of sunshine and 
 the Northern lights, Ma chere mere said at length with great 
 coobiess, "Well, well, we shall see." Madame Ehen took 
 this as an acquiescence, gave E/onetta a hint, and followed her 
 herself into the kitchen. T seized this opportunity to tell Ma 
 chero mere of my fear of our driving home in the dark ; but 
 when I turned towards her, I saw her sitting with her 
 
252 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 elbows on the table, and her face covered with her hands, in 
 one of those fits of melancholy of which I had so often heard, 
 but till now had never been an eye-witness of. I neither 
 would nor dared to disturb her, and we both sate profoundly 
 silent till Madame Ehen entered with lights, accompanied by 
 Eenetta, who brought in the cakes and preserved cherries. 
 Ma chere mere on this changed her position, but continued 
 gloomy and silent. I myself was by no means talkative, but 
 the lively hostess did not concern herself on that account. 
 She and her daughter talked away incessantly, told stories, 
 interrupted each other, and mutually drowned each other's 
 voices in their eagerness. All the gossip, all the little in- 
 trigues of the city were touched on, and drawn out into long 
 histories. I could not help beiag amused by some of these, 
 and I was more than once obliged to laugh, as well at the zeal 
 of the relaters, as at the relations themselves, which, on this, 
 went on more vigorously than ever. I know not whether Ma 
 chere mere heard anything of all this or not; her thoughts 
 seemed to me to be internally directed, and I wondered to see 
 her address herself so effectually to the turkey, and finally, 
 with some hearty phrases, commend flhen's supper. 
 
 I was thoroughly wearied of all the eating and the talk. I 
 longed to be at home, and with Bear ; and said, " God be 
 thanked !" as we were once more seated in the carriage. In 
 the mean time it was become very dark ; and instead of the 
 lights and shines which Madame Ithen had promised us, the 
 heaven had put on a grey mantle of cloud, which did not 
 permit even the faintest glimpse of a star to pass through. 
 But on the western horizon it lightened strong and frequently, 
 although without thunder. It was that which is called sheet 
 lightning. Ma chere mere took the reins from the boy, who 
 then took his seat behind, where we soon heard him snore. 
 
 The evening was warm and still : and this drive, by the 
 radiance of the lightning, would not have been disagreeable to 
 me, but I was in an anxious mood, and besides this, somewhat 
 fearful ; for the darkness was sometimes so deep that we could 
 not distinguish the way, and Ma chere mere had not her accus- 
 tomed vigilance. She appeared to be in an excited state oi 
 mind, and often lifted her handkerchief to her face. Thia 
 her uneasiness did me good, but at the same time filled me 
 w*th disquiet as it regarded our progress. We went, how- 
 
FBANSISKA WERJ^ER TO MARIA M. 
 
 253 
 
 ever, securely on, if not at the quickest pace ; and notwith- 
 standing mj fear, notwithstanding all uneasy and anxious 
 thoughts, by the slow driving and the easy rocking of the 
 carriage, I became at last very sleepy. I nodded, and dreamed 
 I know not how long, but was suddenly awaked by a vio^ 
 lent shock from the carriage striking against some stump 
 or stone. I looked round ; — we were in a dark and thick 
 wood. My spirits sunk. It seemed to me that we had 
 driven already long enough to have reached home. 
 
 " It is to be hoped that we are really on the right way," 
 said I, doubtingly. " It appears to me that we must have 
 driven quite long enough. I hope we have not gone wrong." 
 
 At these words Ma chere mere seemed to wake out of a 
 dream ; and said sharply, and somewhat offended, " Make 
 yourself easy, dear child, when I drive. Ought not I and 
 my horses to know the way that we have traversed so often ? 
 We have gone it together these fifteen years, and have never 
 missed our way yet." 
 
 She let the horses feel the whip, and they went quicker. 
 I was still anxious, and fancied by the light of the somewhat 
 clearer sky that all around us looked strange and wild. " I 
 cannot conceive where we can be," said I at length, unable 
 any longer to conceal my uneasiness. " I cannot recognise 
 anything around us. A wood so lofty and thick as this there 
 certainly is not on the way to Carlsfors." 
 
 " Don't be a croaker, Fransiska," said Ma chere mere, 
 quite out of temper, " and don't see ghosts where there are 
 none. Ey night the wood appears twice as high and as thick 
 as by day. I cannot exactly see where we are, but I observe 
 that my animals scent home and their stable. They never 
 run thus but when we are near Carlsfors ; and hark ! how 
 they snort. See, are we not in the great avenue ? Yes, 
 certainly, we are just there. I fancy I see the house itself 
 glimmer out yonder." 
 
 We were now certainly in an avenue. Ma chere mere put 
 on the horses, and they flew every moment more rapidly for- 
 ward. Now came one great and tremendous blaze of light- 
 ning, which lasted some seconds ; and by its light reared 
 itself, like a gigantic spectre, out of the blackness of the night 
 
 — a huge and gloomy house, not Carlsfors, but Eamm ! 
 
 Ramm, with its dark fa9ade, and its great wings, lay before 
 
254 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 US in the glare of the lightning. It stretched, as it seemed, 
 its threatening arms towards us ; and every :nstant we were 
 drawn nearer and nearer towards it. 
 
 I looked with terror at Ma chere mere. She sate as if 
 changed to stone. Her gaze was fixed and staring ; the reins 
 dropped from her hands. All was night again, but only for 
 a few seconds. Again came a flash, so great and vivid that 
 trees, bushes, and buildings, appeared all in flame. In this 
 moment stood a tall, dark figure suddenly before us. The 
 horses, terrified, and no longer restrained by a guiding hand, 
 flew right and left, and over lawn and shrubbery, dashed 
 downwards towards the lake, which shone out by the light- 
 ning gleam clear amongst the trees. 
 
 "With convulsive vehemence Ma chere mere endeavoured 
 to recover the reins, which had fallen. I screamed " Help ! 
 help !" with all the force of my desperation. Then sprung 
 some one before the horses and seized the reins. I saw the 
 horses rear ; saw some one struggling with them ; — by the 
 glare of the now incessant lightning I recognised Bruno. I 
 saw him thrown down by the horses ; it seemed to me that 
 they went over his body ; more I saw not, for I lost my con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 When I came to myself again, I found myself in Ma chere 
 mere's arms. I saw her pale countenance over me ; its ex- 
 pression of anguish and tenderness I never, never shall forget. 
 " God be praised ! she recovers!" said Ma chere mere, and 
 impressed a motherly kiss on my forehead. A lofty rotunda 
 arched itself above us, lighted by a lamp from above. A tall 
 and very dark woman, whom I had never before seen, stood 
 near me, and handed me a strong cordial. My senses were 
 confused, and I could not recal into my memory what had 
 iust now occurred ; but in this darkness of thought and of 
 vision I sought for Bruno. In the gloomiest corner of the 
 
 chamber stood was it a bloody spectre which my terrified 
 
 imagination had evoked, or was it an actual human shape ? 
 My eyes fixed themselves inquiringly upon it ; it came for- 
 ward, — it was Bruno ! But, gracious heavens ! what a spec- 
 tacle! Blood streamed from his brow and down upon his 
 naked breast, his clothes were torn to rags, his cheeks were 
 deadly pale ; wild disquiet burned in his eyes ; in the strong 
 contracted eyebrows lightnings seemed to conceal themselveSj, 
 
FEANSISKA WERNEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 255 
 
 and desperate determinatiou pressed the lips together. He 
 approached ua. At a hint from him, that strange woman 
 withdrew, and we three were left alone. I tore myself loose 
 from Ma chere mere's arms, and sate upon the sofa. My 
 whole consciousness was come back ; my whole soul was vehe- 
 mently on the stretch, and with the most indescribable 
 anxiety I observed both mother and son, who now stood face 
 to face. Their looks seemed to pierce through each other. 
 Ma chere mere seemed to be smitten with the wildest amaze- 
 ment ; and stepped a little backwards. Bruno stepped a 
 step forward, and said slowly, and as with a benumbed tongue, 
 " You are rescued. Grod be praised ! And for me now only 
 remains to die or to win forgiveness ! — My mother ! my 
 mother!" exclaimed he at once, as if an angel had loosened 
 tongue and feeling, while with a heart-rending expression he 
 sank down and embraced her knees. " My mother, wilt thou 
 not pardon ? Wilt thou not bless thy son ? Take away ! 
 take away the curse from my brow. Mother ! I have suffered 
 so much. I have wandered about without peace : I am des- 
 titute of peace yet: peace can never be mine while I am 
 thrust from thy bosom. — I have suffered ; I have suffered 
 much ; I have repented ; — I can, and will atone. But then 
 you must pardon, you must bless me, mother. Mother take 
 away the curse ! Thou knowest not how it burns ! Lay a 
 blessing on my head. Mother, will you not stanch the blood 
 which flows on your account ? See mother ! — " and Bruno 
 raised his clotted locks, through which deep and streaming 
 wounds were visible. " See, mother, if thou wilt not lay thy 
 
 hand here in blessing, I swear, by that this blood-stream 
 
 shall never cease till my life has welled out with it, and has 
 sunk me to the grave on which alone thou ^ ilt lay thy for- 
 giveness. There, there first shall I find peace. Oh, mother ! 
 was an error in young and wild years then so unpardonable ? 
 Cannot a later life of virtue and of love make atonement ? 
 Mother ! cast me not off. Let the voice of thy son penetrate 
 to thy heart. Bestow on me forgiveness, full forgiveness !" 
 
 Overcome by my feelings, I threw myself on my knees by 
 Bruno, and cried, " Pardon ! pardon !" 
 
 What during this time passed in Ma chere mere's heart 
 I know not. It seemed to be a contest of life and death. 
 She moved not ; — with a fixed and immovable gaze she loc ked 
 
256 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 down at the kneeling one, and convulsive twitches passed over 
 her pale lips. But as his voice ceased, slie lifted her hand 
 and pressed it strongly against her heart. " My son ! Oh ! 
 
 Oh !" said she with a hollow voice. She sighed deeply ; 
 
 her countenance became yellow, her eyes closed, she reeled, 
 and would have fallen to the ground, if Bruno had not sprung 
 up and caught her in his arms. 
 
 He stood a moment still, his mother pressed to his bosom, 
 and gazed on her countenance, over which Death had shed 
 his awful peace. " Is it thus," said he, in a quiet distrac- 
 tion, is it thus then that we are reconciled, mother ? Thus 
 thou restest on the bosom of thy son, and he on thine ? Thou 
 ort pale, my mother, but peaceful, and lookest kind — kind as 
 Grod's propitiation. It was not thus that I saw thee the last 
 
 time ; but the hour of wrath is over ; is it not so, my 
 
 mother ? The grave has opened itself, and we go down there 
 reconciled, and heart to heart ; one in my last hour, as we 
 were one at my first sigh !" And he kissed her pale lips and 
 cheeks with passionate tenderness. 
 
 " Bruno ! Bruno !" I exclaimed imploringly, and weeping 
 seized his arm. " Bruno, you kill your mother and yourself, 
 when you go on in this manner. Come, we will lay her on a 
 bed. We must endeavour to recal her to consciousness; 
 we must bind your wounds." 
 
 Bruno made no answer, but took his mother in his arms 
 and carried her into another room, where he laid her softly 
 down upon a bed. " Hagar !" he called ; and that tall dark 
 womaii immediately stepped in. She threw herself at his 
 feet ; weeping kissed his hand ; and addressed him pas- 
 sionately and imploringly in a language which I did not 
 understand. He thrust her sternly from him ; and I under- 
 stood that he commanded her to exert herself for Ma chere 
 mere. She obeyed with sobs and tears. I saw that Bruno 
 staggered, and supported himself against the wall. I went 
 to him. 
 
 " Bruno," said I, "for your mother's sake, think of your- 
 self. You must lie down ; you must allow your wounds to 
 be bound up." 
 
 He seized a light sofa and drew it forward, so that it stood 
 just opposite to th^ bed on which his mother lay, and threw 
 himself upon it. His head lay opposite to hers, and he fixed 
 
rEAlN-SISKi. WEKNEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 25? 
 
 Ilia eyes upon lier. Hagar and I came between them. In 
 broken Swedish, and great agitation of mind, Hagar said to 
 me, " Bind, bind up his wounds, or he dies !" 
 
 I folded a cloth, dipped it in cold water, and said to Bruno, 
 " For your mother's sake, let me bind your wounds as well 
 as I can, or you will bleed to death." I was proceeding, but 
 he held my hand back, and said with a tone whose severity 
 strongly reminded me of his mother — " It cannot be done. 
 She has not yet forgiven me — ^not yet blessed me. My blood 
 shall not till then be stanched ; I have sworn it." 
 
 To persuade Bruno was not to be expected ; 1 therefore 
 directed all my attention to Ma chere mere. But for a long 
 time all my endeavours to restore her to consciousness were 
 in vain. It was a moment of unspeakable agony. I feared 
 that actually mother and son would follow one another to 
 the grave. 
 
 " If we could but get her bled," said I. 
 
 " That can be done," replied Hagar, and ran out. 
 
 Nearly in the same instant Ma chere mere opened her 
 eyes, and fixed them sharply on me. "AVhere is he?" de- 
 manded she eagerly ; " I have not dreamed !" 
 
 " He is here," I answered ; "he is near ; he is bleeding 
 to death while he awaits the blessing of his mother." 
 
 " Where is he ?" demanded she again. 
 
 I stood near her pillow — I stood between mother and son ; 
 and instead of answering her question, I drew myself back, 
 and their eyes met each other. A beam of heavenly light, 
 of ineffable love, kindled in them ; and it melted their souls 
 into one. She raised herself with energy, and stretched out 
 her hand with the warmest expression of maternal feeling 
 while she said — " My son, come hither : I will bless thee !" 
 
 He stood up. The tall, gigantic man staggered like a 
 child, and sank on his knees by the bed of his mother. She 
 laid her hands on his bloody head, and said with a strong 
 voice and a deep solemnity, " I take away the curse which 
 I once laid on the head of my son. I bestow on him my 
 full forgiveness. May the man atone for the error of the 
 youth ! Let the past be as if it never had been. I acknow- 
 ledge that I owe my life to my son ; and I pray Grod Almighty 
 to bless thee, my son, Bruno Mansfelt, as I bless thee now. 
 
258 
 
 THE NEiaHBOUES. 
 
 Amen !" "With that she opened her arms ; he clasped his 
 round her ; bosom was pressed to bosom, lip to lip ; they 
 held one another in a long and close embrace. Every breatf 
 seemed to be full of reconciliation, of love, and happiness. 
 Fifteen years of bitter pangs were in this moment recom- 
 pensed and forgotten. I stood near them, and wept for joy 
 and thankfulness. 
 
 Hagar's return interrupted this moment of pure trans- 
 port. Bruno again kissed with deep love the hand of his 
 mother, then arose and cried out joyfully, " Now bind my 
 wounds! Stop the blood! I have my mother's blessing!" 
 
 He seated himself, and let us do just what we pleased, and 
 was good and quiet as a friendly child. Hagar attended on 
 him with great skill, and succeeded in stopping, in some 
 measure, the flow of blood. In the mean time I procured 
 writing materials, and hastened to send a note to Bear to 
 inform him of that which had taken place. The whole house 
 was in motion, and it was easy to find a messenger, who 
 betook himself immediately across the lake to E/Osenvik. I 
 then returned again to the reconciled ones. Bruno's wounds 
 were bound up. He was very pale but still, and his coun- 
 tenance had an expression of peace and happiness which I 
 saw for the first time in it. Ma chere mere, on the contrary, 
 appeared powerfully excited, although she endeavoured to 
 be quiet. Her whole frame trembled as with excessive cold, 
 but her eyes were mild and tender ; she scarcely ever re- 
 moved them from her son. 
 
 " Hear now what I have to beg of you," said I to them 
 both. " If you would live for each other, you must consent 
 to separate for a short time, and must each endeavour to get 
 some rest. Bruno, cannot you allow yourself to be con- 
 ducted to the next chamber? Will not Ma chere mere 
 oblige her Fransiska?" 
 
 But Ma chere mere answered, "AVTio knows how long 
 mother and son have yet to live ? It may soon be all over ; 
 separate us not." 
 
 " Separate us not," replied Bruno, with a faint voice. 
 
 " But at least you must take something composing. "Why 
 would you not live for one another ?" 
 
 Hagar put a phial containing an opiate into my hand. Ma 
 
FEA^SISKA TVERNER TO MARIA 
 
 259 
 
 ehere mere, however, refused to take any ; Bruno put it to liis 
 mouth and took a considerable draught. He must have been 
 accustomed to this means of stupefaction. 
 
 " I will willingly remain alone with my son," said Ma chere 
 mere. " When he sleeps, I will watch over him. I have done it 
 formerly, and in this very room. Thou, Fransiska, needest 
 rest. Gro, my child, and endeavour to sleep. But hear; — 
 first let it be seen that my bays are well cared for. A 
 greater ser\ice than they have rendered me to-night have 
 they never rendered me these fifteen years. Inquire after 
 the lacquey. Do that, Fransiska. Good night, my child." 
 
 I went out, and saw that Ma chere mere's commands were 
 executed. The bays were eating their oats in their stalls ; 
 the little lacquey sate in the kitchen, with a great piece of 
 bread-and-butter in hand and mouth. Prom him I heard a long 
 and not very lucid relation, of how the carriage had been on 
 the very point of upsetting into the lake, — how the strange 
 gentleman had been so much hurt by the horses, but yet had 
 mastered them, — how Ma chere mere had carried me into the 
 house, while the gentleman held the horses, and how the boy 
 did not know whether he were living or dead, etc. After I 
 had heard all this, I took a cup of coffee, and ordered that a 
 cup should also be taken to Ma chere mere, who loves coffee 
 
 Refreshed by this warm and inspiriting beverage, I went — 
 not to bed. No, I was far too much excited, too restless ; and 
 felt an indescribable desire to breathe the free air, and to see 
 Grod's heaven. I saw it. I thought I had never beheld it 
 more beautiful ; oh ! it expanded itself now over reconciled 
 and happy hearts. It was cloudy, but the clouds were growing 
 momentarily thinner, and through them glanced the friendly 
 blue, and the air was indescribably pure and mild. I seated 
 myself on the great flight of stone steps, and saw the dawning 
 morning, and thought on the reconciled ones. Sanguine 
 flames flew up from the horizon, and flushed the grey clouds* 
 these mirrored themselves ruddily in the lake, and the windows 
 of the dark house became illuminated one after another as 
 with an incarnadine light by the glow of the morning red. 
 A soft wind went soughing through the lofty oaks, and bend- 
 ing their lofty heads. All besides was still. Thus sate I long, 
 and felt deep enjoyment ; thought much, and lived over much 
 in these moments. Never had existence appeared to me so 
 
 b2 
 
20C 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 beaut Jul and full of interest; never had I more intensely 
 loved, more confidently believed in the operation of a Divine 
 power in life ; never had I enjoyed more exalted being than in 
 this hour. I shall never forget it ! I thought of Bear with 
 tenderness and pride. I felt myself happy to live for him. 
 I thought on the future ; and marvellous feelings, presenti- 
 ments full of joy and sorrow, arose in my soul : — later may I 
 perhaps speak further of them. 
 
 I perceived the approach of some one behind me. I turned, 
 and on the steps beheld Hagar, who, with an expression of 
 great anxiety, her hands crossed on her bosom, drew near me, 
 and in her broken Swedish asked eagerly — " What think you r 
 Will he live ? Say, oh say, that he will live !" 
 
 " I believe — I hope it," I answered. " My husband is ? 
 physician ; he will soon be here, and will devote all his cart 
 to him." 
 
 Hagar left me, wound her naked arms round one of the 
 granite columns of the portico, and pressed her brow against it. 
 When she had stood thus for a moment, she raised her head, 
 and looked towards the east, where the morning red now 
 burned in all its glory. I had not before regarded Hagar at- 
 tentively ! I did it now, and was astonished at her beauty. 
 She was no longer young, and the features were too marked, 
 but they were of the purest form; though the voluptuous and 
 full lips reminded one too much of the characteristic, and to 
 my taste unpleasant, peculiarity of the Hebrew form of coun- 
 tenance. The dark hue of the face was now illumined by the 
 roseate fire of the morning sun ; the black and uncovered hair 
 fell neglected on the shoulders. I forgot for a moment every- 
 thing else in the observation of this figure, which seemed grown 
 into union v\^ith the granite pillar. The expression of the coun- 
 tenance was full of passion and grief. 
 
 After some moments, Hagar left her position and ap- 
 proached me. "Believe you," asked she, stretching out her 
 arm towards the east — " believe you that He who causes that 
 light to ascend, also hears the prayers of men ?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe it," I replied, with quiet confidence. 
 
 " And answers them?" 
 
 " When they proceed from a pure heart, and He in his 
 wisdom finds it good." 
 
 Hagar was silent for a moment, bowed her head, and said 
 
TRAIfSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 261 
 
 " If you have a clean heart, pray for him who bleeds within. 
 Pray that he may live." 
 
 "Tou take a warm interest in him," said I, not without 
 curiosity. " Tou are, perhaps, nearly connected with him ; 
 or " 
 
 She cast a penetrating look at me, and then said, with an 
 expression fcdl of pride and pain, " Hngar was a handmaid. 
 At one time she was loved by her master, and for his sake 
 she forsook all, and went forth with him into strange, cold 
 lands ; then cast he her off for another woman ; but her 
 heart was true to him, and in the wilderness into which she 
 was cast forth, she prayed for him to the Lord of heaven." 
 
 " Hagar," said I, taking up her words, " was not alone in 
 the wilderness. "When she turned in her affliction to Grod, 
 he commanded a well of fresh water to spring up for her." 
 
 Hagar shook her head in a mournful scepticism, laid a 
 finger on her mouth, while with the other hand she pointed 
 to the house, and left me in haste. 
 
 I was in the act to follow her, for I found the air now to 
 become colder, but I continued standing ; for — for — what 
 thinkest thou I perceived now in the avenue, whipping and 
 trotting this way on a panting steed, fluttering through the 
 wood like a great, great bat ? No other than my own good, 
 longed-for Bear ! I scarcely dared to believe my own eyes, 
 since it was impossible that the messenger could already have 
 arrived ; and besides, why came he so miserably mounted, 
 and not perfectly at his ease in a boat over the lake ? I was 
 ready to dispute the evidence of my own eyes, but he came 
 continually nearer ; it was impossible longer to doubt. He 
 dismounted, and I flew towards him as he towards me. 
 
 " Art thou really then my own Bear, and no bat ?" I ex- 
 claimed, as I embraced him with transport. 
 
 " Art thou really my own wife, and no half-crazed moon- 
 shine princess, who sits there " 
 
 " Ah ! Bear, we have no time to joke. Say, how camest 
 thou here? Dost thou know what has happened? Hast 
 thou received my note ? But why camest thou on horse- 
 back ? How warm thou art! Ah! come in. Bear, and I 
 will tell thee all, and hear all thou hast to say." 
 
 "My sweet child! thou hast sometimes such a horrible 
 flux de bouche ; now God be praised that thou art alive, and 
 
2G2 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 hast the gift of speech and with tears in his honest ejes, 
 the good man held me long pressed to his heart. 
 
 As we went in I relateii shortly how things here stood, 
 and learned from Bear how he had come hither. He was 
 become uneasy at my long stay, and fearing that some acci- 
 dent had occurred, he prepared to set out for the city ; and 
 having had the luck to break the cabriolet, he mounted the 
 horse, and rode off like another Don Quixote in quest of his 
 Dulcinea. On the w^ay he met a servant from fiamm, who 
 liad also business in the city, and learned from him that Ma 
 chere mere had got hither, and also a certain other lady, and 
 that both were alive. " More," said Bear, I did not hear. 
 I gave the grey the whip, and here I am.'* We embraced 
 again in our joy at this double reunion, and Bear went in to 
 the patients. 
 
 I fellow^ed him not, but went and made myself at home in 
 the kitchen, and saw a hearty breakfast prepared for him. 
 The good people showed me thorough good-will in fulfilling 
 my commands, and in half an hour I had a table set out in 
 the dining-room, with hot coffee, bread-and-butter, and a 
 dish of delicious beefsteaks. My very mouth watered on 
 Bear's behalf. Whilst I was still busily arranging the table, 
 the good man entered, with a pale, serious, but contented 
 countenance. 
 
 "Now, how do you find matters?" asked I, in breathless 
 eagerness. " But, no ; say nothing ; sit down and eat ; only 
 one word — look aifairs w^ell or ill ?" 
 
 " With Bruno, well, I hope. The loss of blood is great ; 
 the wounds are deep, but so far as I can at present see, not 
 dangerous. With Ma chere mere it is not well ; at least, 
 not yet ; but it may be. I fancy thou canst go in, Fanny ; 
 and in the mean time I will send a messenger to the city for 
 Bundry requisites." 
 
 " And the cofffee — and the beefsteak?" I exclaimed in 
 consternation. 
 
 " I cannot think about them at present," replied Bear, and 
 hastened out of the room, with a look at the beefsteak, as if 
 the devil himself had taken flesh and blood in order to tempt 
 him. I covered, with a sigh, the warm beefsteak wdth a platO; 
 and went in to Ma chere mere. Scarcely had I passed the 
 door, when I saw with amazement how Bear had lorded it therB 
 
FHANSISKA WEBNEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 263 
 
 Wtat I had attempted iu vain to effect by solicitations, he had 
 ordered and settled at once. Bruno had been conveyed intj 
 the room adjoining that in which Ma chere mere lay ; Hagar 
 was beside him, and the door stood open between the rooms. 
 Ma chere mere was alone. 
 
 As I entered, Ma chere mere extended her hand, drew me 
 towards her, and embraced me with a tenderness which deeply 
 moved me. " Fransiska," said she, ''the Lord has changed 
 my heart. Before, all was so dark, so strange ; now all feels 
 80 clear and comfortable. Wonderful are the ways of the 
 Lord ! Who can comprehend them ? Who can climb into 
 the council-chamber of God ? Thus have I a son again, 
 Fransiska ! I am not childless. Bruno will make amends 
 for that which he has done amiss. He will yet do honour 
 to his mother and his native land. The Bible is right ; — a 
 man may fall seven times, and yet rise again. Transiska ! 
 and he was so long near me, and I did not know it ! My 
 senses were blinded, and my heart shut up, but the Lord has 
 opened its sluices. Thy husband, Transiska, has exercised 
 his tyranny here, and I have allowed him to do it, because 
 he asserted that otherwise he could not answer for the life of 
 Bruno ; but I will see my son again to-day ; and no one need 
 think of preventing me. I ivill see him ! AVho knows how 
 long I may see him in this world ?" 
 
 " Long, very long, I hope, if Ma chere mere will do every- 
 thing that Bear prescribes." 
 
 " See there now ! how the good wife boasts of her husband, 
 and counts him for omnipotent ! But the Lord does as he 
 wills, Fransiska." 
 
 " Do you feel ill, mother ?" I asked tenderly, and with 
 anxiety. 
 
 " No — not ill, but I feel so strangely. I have no strength 
 in my legs. I cannot stand. There is a conflict, a disturb- 
 ance within me, which seems to me as if it preceded death. 
 The Lord's will be done ! I have been permitted to bless 
 my son, and he will close my eyes. I can die in peace." 
 
 "Mother, you will not die; no, no!" exclaimed I eagerly, 
 " follow only in all things Bear's prescriptions." 
 
 Ma chere mere smiling made a sort of disdainful motion 
 with her hand, and lay still, her eyes turned towards the door 
 
264 
 
 TUE NEIGHBOUPS. 
 
 of Bruno's room. Bejoiced as I was over lier disposition ol 
 mind, I was equally uneasy as to her state of health. She 
 appeared to me feverish, and there was something fixed and 
 dry in her look. The powerful burst of tears which is wont 
 to accompany great agitation of feeling in her, had been in 
 this case absent. The storm had wholly diverted itself in- 
 wards. " Go and see whether he sleeps," said she, pointing 
 towards Bruno's room. 
 
 I went ; he lay actually in a quiet slumber. He was very 
 pale, but he seemed to me more handsome than ever. The 
 brows so often drawn together were now parted, and swept 
 in mild lines over the great arch of the eyes. A tear glit- 
 tered on his colourless cheek. Opposite to him, her arm 
 supported against the bedpost and her head on her hand, 
 stood Hagar, her gaze fixed immovably on his face. Her 
 rich black locks fell down over her arm, and left only to view 
 the profile of her countenance. Again was I compelled to 
 admire her regular and oriental beauty. She saw me not, 
 and I softly returned to Ma chere mere, and said — " He 
 sleeps." " Heaven bless his sleep !" she replied. 
 
 Soon afterwards I heard somewhat move in the dining- 
 room, and immediately thinking of Bear, I begged Ma chere 
 mere to excuse me a minute. I really found my Bear in the 
 dining-room. He had made an attack on the beefsteak, but 
 yet was not so much occupied with it as not to become aware 
 of my entrance, and to extend to me heartily his hand. I 
 placed myself near him ; saw him despatch his breakfast, and 
 rejoiced my-self in his excellent appetite. When the first 
 vigour of this was abated, I began more fully to relate the 
 occurrences of the night. To say the truth, it seemed to me 
 as if during this night, on many occasions, I had shown my- 
 self half a heroine, and I wished Bear properly to feel this, 
 and I was at some trouble to extract a little commendation 
 from him. But, to my mortification, he was invincibly dumb, 
 and only at times made abominable grimaces, which I fancy 
 were meant for bulwarks against the outbreak of tears ; but 
 when I came to the reconciliation, then they burst forth. 
 Two great tears fell, and diluted his beefsteak gravy. In the 
 mean time I paused awhile, to give the good man opportunity 
 tx) fall into ecstasies over his wife. But I heard not a word 
 
FEAlfSISKA WEENEB TO MAKIA M. 
 
 265 
 
 When, howuver, I arrived at mj administering of the opiate, 
 he broke out suddenly — " Nay, this was the most crazy of 
 all ! Opium to a man that is dying of exhaustion !" 
 
 I was like one fallen from the clouds. I sate with open 
 mouth, but could not speak. 
 
 "No, that was not the craziest," muttered Bear; "the 
 most crack-brained of all was for a married woman of thirty 
 years of age, from whom one would have expected more sense, 
 to seat herself at midnight on a stone step in the open air 
 like a mad-woman !" 
 
 " Oh, thou most abominable of all Bears !" I at length ex- 
 claimed, again regaining my voice ; " every word that thou 
 speakest is false. In the first place I am no thirty years' old 
 woman ; and in the second " 
 
 " In the second, third, last," cried Bear, embracing me, 
 " thou art my own wife ; and I promise thee, that if it 
 happen again that thou art so thoughtless, I will be very 
 angry with thee." 
 
 Did you ever hear the like, Maria ? 'For my part, I was 
 so surprised by such an overturning of all my hopes of praise, 
 that I fell quite out of the conceit, and became as still as a 
 good sheep. This naturally pleased my lord and Bear very 
 weU, and now he tyrannised further, and compelled me to go 
 to rest, during which time he would attend to the patients, 
 and make the necessary arrangements for them. "What was 
 to be done ? I must obey, and I acknowledge that I reaped 
 the benefit of it. In a little lovely boudoir, furnished with 
 red and white damask, which lay on the other side of the 
 drawing-room, I enjoyed some hours of sweet refreshing 
 sleep. When I awoke, I saw Hagar's head thrust in at the 
 door. Her countenance beamed with a joy that seemed to 
 border on wildness. "He will live! He will live!" she 
 exclaimed to me. She stooped over me, and kissed passion- 
 ately many times my hand ; raised herself again ; went to and 
 fro in the room, smote her hands together, and laughed 
 almost convulsively ; while she exclaimed — " He will live ! 
 He will live !" 
 
 She made a strange impression on me. The wild and 
 
 Eassionate in her nature, associated w'th the ideas which 
 entertain of her connexion with Brun;:, excited my aversion 
 while her love and beauty irresistibly attracted me. 
 
266 
 
 THE KEIGHBOUES. 
 
 When I entered the drawing-room it was full of people. 
 There was Elsa with a whole load of things for her mistress; 
 there was Tuttin ; there w^ere Jean Jacques and Jane Marie. 
 Bear stood like a Pasha, if a Pasha ever stands, in the middle 
 of the drawing-room, answering inquiries, issuing commands, 
 sending hither and thither. To my great amazement and joy 
 I heard that Ma chere mere had been bled. She had wil- 
 lingly consented to this proposal of Bear. Singularly enough 
 she has faith in surgery, but the most insuperable distrust to 
 medicine, and will on no condition take it. After the bleed- 
 ing she had had more rest, but as yet no sleep. 
 
 I had now to relate to Jean Jacques and Jane Marie all 
 that had occurred, and the manner with which they received 
 it gave me sincere pleasure. They were both touched, and 
 cordially glad at the reconciliation, although this will essen- 
 tially change their prospects. Elsa interrupted our con- 
 versation, to call me in to Ma chere mere. I found Bear 
 with her. 
 
 " He wishes that I should sleep," said Ma chere mere, 
 not without sadness ; "he wishes that I should close my 
 eyes in rest, and I have not yet by the light of day beheld 
 my only son ; he who has just ventured his own life to save 
 mine. But I tell you that till I have seen him I can have 
 no rest, neither in soul nor body ; and had I but strength in 
 my legs I would, upon my soul ! ask nobody's leave." 
 
 "Bear!" said I aside to him, " hinder her not. Let her 
 have her will. The will of man is, indeed, his kingdom of 
 heaven." 
 
 "Dear child, dear child, with thy kingdoms of heaven!" 
 said Bear with a fierce grimace, and rubbed his head, " such 
 kingdoms of heaven may lead to hell, or at least to death, if 
 they are permitted at improper times." 
 
 " But thou thyself seest, that here will certainly be no king- 
 dom of heaven, if Ma chere mere have not her will. And that, 
 too, is perfectly natural. I should be in her place exactly 
 the same. Let her see her son ; Bruno, indeed, can come 
 to her." 
 
 " JSTay, the devil ! he must not to-day stir from the spot. 
 If they must of necessity see one another, and agitate one 
 another, then it will be better that she be moved to him. It 
 i3 inconceivable that people cannot 
 
FEANSISKA WEKNER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 2G7 
 
 " Don't stand there talking," said Ma chere mere passion- 
 ately, "but come liither, and if you have any reason and 
 feeling, help me to my son. I promise that the interview 
 shall be short, and that we will not speak." 
 
 Bear resisted no longer. He raised her on one side, Elsa 
 and I on the other, and thus carried her, and set her in a 
 great easy-chair by Bruno's bedside. It was a silent, but 
 aifecting scene. We saw in both how complete the recon- 
 ciliation was. "WTien Ma chere mere had sate thus, probably 
 ten minutes, she laid her hand, as it were, in blessing, on 
 Bruno's forehead and breast. He would have spoken, but 
 she laid in prohibition her hand on his lips. A tear bedewed 
 his cheek. Oh ! how I longed to see such a one in the 
 eyes of the mother ; but they continued dry, although they 
 were full of love. She gave us a sign that she would be re- 
 moved ; and it was high time, for she was violently affected, 
 and deadly pale. 
 
 When she T^ as again in her bed, she lay for a moment still 
 and with folded hands seemed to pray. She then beckoned 
 me to her, and said with a proud joy, " How large he is 
 grown ; a handsome man, Fransiska ! I can now see that he 
 is very like my husband — a real Hercules ! Nay, nay, he is 
 descended from nothing weakly or ugly, on either the 
 father or mother's side. But all tliis is foolish," added she 
 wdth a sigh, which was meant to be humble, " therein consists 
 not the worth of man." 
 
 Ma chere mere allowed Jean Jacques and Jane Marie now 
 to come in, and was very friendly towards them. When 
 Jane Marie understood that I was to continue at Ramm so 
 long as Ma chere mere remained there, she became quite 
 short towards me, and took a cold leave. That gave me pain. 
 But so far as I am concerned, I must prepare myself to con- 
 tinue here so long as Ma chere mere is ill. She and Bear 
 wish it, nor I the less so. I could not possibly leave her so 
 ong as her state is at all doubtful. " If she could only 
 sleep," says Bear, " all danger would be over." But sleep 
 comes not into her eyes, and an internal restlessness wears 
 her. I have written this during the two days which I have 
 spent here, and during those two days she has not slept a 
 moment, and persists in her refusal to take anything. Evei3 
 Bruno's entreaties in this case have no influence over her 
 
268 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 Medicine, she says, has always been poison to her. I haTe 
 my desk in her bed-chamber ; she hears with pleasure tho 
 light scratching of my pen ; she says it quietens her. Bruno 
 is better ; but is not allowed to move, nor scarcely to speak. 
 Bear is really a very strict doctor ; that I see. I almost 
 think I shall not have him for mine. I told him this ; but 
 he only made a contemptuous grimace, and said, " That we 
 shall soon see." I know not how I can write in so gay a 
 mood — Ma chere mere's condition distresses me much — but 
 I have so many things to divert my attention, and besides 
 this, Ma chere mere herself is in so fresh and happy a humour, 
 that I cannot be otherwise than glad on account of it. Grod 
 only grant that this aifair have no sorrowful end ! May I be 
 able in my next letter to say that all here is, indeed, as joyful 
 as it now is well. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 Ramm, September 6th. 
 
 I AM completely inundated with inquiries, notes, and visits. 
 The rumour of that which has taken place flies about, and 
 has changed the whole neighbourhood into a committee of 
 inquiry. All stream hitherward. Everybody asks, wonders, 
 hopes, and congratulates. Ma chere mere appears to be the 
 highest notability of the country. Even the mayor and 
 aldermen of the town have sent to inquire how she is. She 
 has by degrees come to be regarded as half a magistrate 
 herself, since she so emphatically exerts herself against all 
 disorders in the town, and gives occasionally to the mayor 
 and aldermen good dinners. 
 
 The state of Ma chere mere, alas ! continues exactly the 
 same. It is now three days since she has slept, and Bear is 
 very much troubled about it ; which, however, I rather see 
 than hear. At this moment I receive a note from Serena, 
 which I here transcribe. 
 
 " Grood Fransiska, give me a word, and if possible a con- 
 solatory one. There are such strange reports ! People say 
 that Madame Mansfelt has been in great danger ; that Mr. 
 
 (thou knowest who I mean) rescued her from it ; that 
 
 she has recognised her son in him ; that i\ej are reconciled, 
 
FEAXSISKA WEENEB TO MAEIA M. 
 
 269 
 
 Dut both are now dying. It is said that th}* life has also been 
 in danger. People talk so much, and such confused things 
 are said. I called on thee yesterday at Eosenvik, but thou 
 wast not there ! thou wast at Eamm, Sissa said. Thy flowers 
 looked out of spirits. I endeavoured to refresh them with 
 water, which succeeded ; but I also, Fanny, am out of spirits, 
 and all which since yesterday I have read to grandpapa is 
 Latm for me. My good, dear Tanny, send a cheering word 
 to thy 
 
 " Seeena." 
 
 Yes, Serena ! not merely one word, but many shalt thou 
 have. I reproach myself for not having prevented thy wish. 
 Good heart ! who would not give thee comfort. I leave thee 
 a moment, Maria, in order to WTite to Serena. 
 
 8th. 
 
 Still the same and the same ! ISTo sleep — no rest. An 
 inveterate watchfulness — an incessant, internal restlessness, 
 which for those who are about Ma chere mere is something 
 indescribably painful. She herself is now fully persuaded 
 that she shall die, and has to-day made her will. I was pre- 
 sent, and must indeed admire her immovable sense of right, 
 as well as the conscientiousness with which she embraces 
 everything which in any manner is placed beneath her pro- 
 tection. Eemarkable is also the thorough knowledge which 
 she has of all, the smallest affairs, and the exactness and 
 perspicuity with which she regulates whatever concerns them. 
 It is an iron regularity, which descends even to littleness ; 
 but in taking leave of earthly concerns this is worthy of re- 
 spect. Ma chere mere showed herself on this occasion as she 
 has done her whole life through — strict, upright, and syste- 
 matic, benevolent without boasting, firm in friendship, and 
 grateful. 
 
 At the same time I cannot bring myself to believe that she 
 will die. Bear appears rather to fear for her understanding. 
 He speculates on giving her a sleeping potion ; but how she 
 is to be persuaded to drink it is another matter. She herself 
 will not hear it said that she shall live. She has, as she says, 
 taken her resolution, and has fully resigned herself to death, 
 and thinks only how best to prepare herself for it. 
 
270 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 9th. 
 
 A singular scene ! What strange jdeas can there not enter 
 into people's heads ! This morning Ma chere mere ordered 
 a joiner to be sent for — nobody could conceive wherefore. 
 When he arrived, she sent for him into her chamber, and 
 commanded him to measure her for — her coffin ! 
 
 She gave the most particular directions as to the ornaments 
 of the coffin, and made me write down what should stand 
 as the inscription on the breastplate. The door of Bruno's 
 room, during this proceeding, was carefully shut. 
 
 " And now. Master Svensson," said she, as this was aU 
 accomplished, "what is to be the price of the coffin ?" 
 
 Embarrassed and astounded with these proceedings, the 
 joiner bethought himself awhile, and then said, " Fifty dollars 
 banco, your ladyship." 
 
 " Are you mad, Master Svensson ?" demanded keenly Ma 
 chere mere. " Fifty dollars banco ! five and twenty rix- 
 doUars more than you charged for the coffin of my late hus- 
 band ? Bethink yourself what you are saying. I can show 
 you the bill for the General's coffin. Master Svensson." 
 
 " Oak, your ladyship, is become so dear since then." 
 
 " And who, the devil ! told you to make it of oak ? For 
 what I care you may use birch, or alder, or fir, or what w^ood 
 you will. The wretched body is but dust, I think, whether 
 it lie in a coffin of oak or of deal. ' Let death but strike, 
 we're all alike.' It is true I am of an old noble family, and 
 so was also my husband, the late General Mansfelt ; but what 
 then, Master Svensson, — 
 
 When Adam delved and Eve span, 
 Where was then the gentleman ? 
 
 And where is he when the body lies in the grave ? Take deal, 
 or rather birch, for my coffin, good Master Svensson, and lev 
 it be fifty rix-doUars." 
 
 " Sixty rix-dollars, your ladyship." 
 
 " Fifty rix-dollars. Master Svensson, I won't give more ; 
 and you may regulate yourself accordingly. Fifty rix- 
 dollars, money of the realm, I say. Not a shilling more; 
 but I invite you to the funeral feast which my people will 
 hold. Eemember, Fransiska, that Master Svensson is to be 
 there, or — I vn.Ll remember it myself, when I give the orders 
 for the funeral Good-bye, my good Master Svensson. Th© 
 
YEAlfSISKA WEENER TO MAKIA M. 
 
 271 
 
 agreement stands. Thanks for your trouble, Master Svensson. 
 Good-bye!" 
 
 So much as I have seen of Ma chere mere's singularities, I 
 must yet confess that this scene amazed me not a little. I 
 saw, however, clearly that no fondness for peculiarity, but an 
 inveterate propensity to manage and rule everything, led her 
 to bespeak her own coffin, and settle its character and price. 
 Ma chere mere seemed to find the whole business perfectly 
 natural ; and said to me as soon as the joiner was gone, 
 " These workpeople are always greedy animals; one must make 
 the closest bargains with them ; but their fox shall not bite 
 my goose." On this she proceeded to give the orders for her 
 funeral. She dictated, and I wrote, how the whole should 
 be arranged; how many pounds of confections should be 
 purchased, and so on. She ordered a messenger to be sent 
 to the rector of her parish, to request him to come the next 
 day to Eamm. " I will," she said, " die as becomes a Chris- 
 tian." All these things being settled, she expressed much 
 satisfaction, and asked me to give her somewhat to drink. 
 "The old beverage," said she, "I am grown quite tired of. 
 I would fain have something different, but I know not 
 what." 
 
 A lucky thought occiured to me, and I hastened to say, 
 " I have a receipt for a kind of lemonade ; properly a kind oi 
 toast and water ; in a word, a very refreshing and excellent 
 drink. Let me make Ma chere mere some of that." 
 . " Do it, Eransiska. Thou art not without resources. 
 Something always occurs to thee ; and that is a fortunate na- 
 ture. Better to be without bread than without resources." 
 
 I hastened immediately to Bear, and imparted to him my 
 proposition. He was quite delighted with my inventiveness, 
 and began immediately to brew his composing draught and 
 my toast and water ; since both of them were one and the 
 same thing. 
 
 Bruno in the mean time is in a restless and gloomy mood, 
 and is not free from the delirium of fever. He loves his 
 mother really extremely, and cannot reconcile himself to the 
 idea of her dying. Bear endeavours to pacify him with kind 
 words and hopes. Hagar is much about him, but this seems 
 to irritate him. He treats her harshly, but she bears all with 
 dlavish servility. How deep must a woman have sunk before 
 
272 
 
 THE FEIGHBOTTEB. 
 
 she can suffer herself to be so treated, and like a hound creep 
 fawning to the foot which kicks it away ! How unlike to this 
 spirit of a slave is the free but unassuming mind with which 
 an honoured and beloved wife devotes herself to the object of 
 her pure devotion. Poor Hagar ! 
 
 Ma chere mere cannot bear Hagar, and she shrinks from 
 her sharp and penetrating eye. " She is certainly his Dulci- 
 nea," said Ma chere mere yesterday to me. " I shall speak 
 to Bruno upon it. I cannot bear such things !" 
 
 The composing draught is now ready, and I will fetch it. 
 God help me ! It seems to me as if I was playing a deceitful 
 part tow^ards Ma chere mere, and that is very uncomfortable 
 to me. 
 
 Later. 
 
 It is done ! It succeeded, but it was within a hair of all 
 being lost. As I received the cup with the draught out of 
 Bear's hand, I said, " Bear, thou art, however, quite sure that 
 this will not sleep her to death?" 
 
 " Dost thou think I am a quack, Fanny ?" 
 
 " God forbid ! thou art ^sculapius himself; but — but — oh ! 
 Bear, it goes hard with me to deceive her." 
 
 " Hadst thou rather that she lose her reason, or that she 
 have a stroke ? My little Eanny, it won't do to hesitate. Do 
 it quickly, and then it is done the easiest. With the help of 
 God this draught will save her." 
 
 I went to Ma chere mere, and gave her the cup, while I 
 said as confidently as possible, " Here, Ma chere mere, is my 
 cordial." 
 
 " Ah ! that is famous !" said she, raised herself, tasted the 
 draught, started, and made a wry face. " What is this for a 
 cursed gallimathias that thou has stirred together, Fransiska?" 
 she exclaimed ; " it tastes actually poisonous." She fixed at 
 the same time one of her keenest looks on me. Had I had a 
 poison-cup in my innocent hand, I could not have trembled 
 more, or looked more criminal. 
 
 " Thou unlucky Bear," thought I, nearly ready to cry, 
 " now must I empty the cup myself to testify my innocence, 
 even if I should sleep till the day of judgment for it." 
 
 " God have mercy on thee," continued Ma chere mere, 
 with the same look, "if thou art jq conspiracy with thy hus- 
 i>and to deceive me 
 
FRANSISKA TTERKEE TO MARIA M. 
 
 273 
 
 " And if it were so," said I, as I threw mj free arm round 
 her neck, and kissed her, and wet her cheek with tears, called 
 forth half by tenderness half by fear, " if it were indeed so, 
 would not you, mother, be so good to your children as to 
 take the draught for their sakes ; and believe them, that 
 though it tastes somewhat unpleasant, it w^ill only do you 
 good?" 
 
 Ma chere mere looked at me for a moment seriously but 
 friendlily, and then said, " Thou art an artful woman, Fran- 
 siska, and a good child, and knowest how to manage the old 
 one ; and for this quality she loves thee, and will now do as 
 thou wishest, come of it what will. Skal, my child!" And 
 with one draught she emptied the cup. 
 
 I embraced her, thanked her, and wept in my joy. She 
 patted me kindly on the cheek, and seemed to experience 
 pleasure in seeing herself beloved. I ran in triumph to Bear, 
 and showed him the empty cup. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said he, " I thought it would pass, and the 
 draught not taste so bad neither ; by my troth, it was not 
 easy to prepare it." 
 
 "Thou conceited Bear!" I interrupted him; "cease to 
 boast of thy abominable draught." And I now related to 
 him that which had passed ; and I must do him the justice 
 to say that he changed the praises t^f his drink into glorifica- 
 tions of myself. I cherish a quiet hope that the draught 
 already operates. Ma chere mere does not indeed sleep, but 
 she is stiU. It is nine o'clock. I shall to-night watch by her. 
 
 llth. 
 
 Now she sleeps. Grod be praised, she sleeps sound and 
 well ! It is a pleasure to see her sleeping. Bear has driven 
 every one in the house to bed. No one dare stir ; it is still 
 as a grave. Hu ! how came that word into my pen ? I 
 erase it. I watch in Ma chere mere's chamber with Elsa, 
 whose indefatigable zeal I can but admire. Bear sits within 
 with Bruno, in order to keep him as quiet as possible while 
 they await the result of the sleep. He has the best hopes. 
 That we may maintain the greatest possible silence, Bear and 
 I have agreed to telegraph the slightest change in Ma chere 
 mere by small strips of paper, which I write upon, and stick 
 in the keyhole ; and in the mean time, to keep myself awake, 
 
 s 
 
274 
 
 THE raiGHBOURS. 
 
 I employ myself in drawing Elsa's profile, which in the ether* 
 like background of the lamp-light stands dark, sharp as if cut 
 in stone, and inimovably turned towards and gazing on the 
 sleeper. 
 
 Two o'clock. 
 
 Ma chere mere still sleeps ; sleeps deep, and perspires 
 profusely. I have telegraphed this to Bear. " Grood sign," 
 he has telegraphed back. God be praised ! now I hope all 
 is well. 
 
 Elsa's portrait is like. The original sits yet on the same 
 epot, and looks immovably in the same direction. 
 
 Four o'clock. 
 
 Elsa has just come to me, and whispered in my ear with a 
 scarce perceptible voice, " Do you think her life will be saved ? 
 Do you think she will wake ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I believe it with certainty." 
 
 "If she die, I will die too." 
 
 "Why so, dear Elsa?" 
 
 " What should I do here on the earth without her ? And 
 then — she must have some one in heaven to wait on her, and 
 be at hand day and night." 
 
 " She will then be with God's angels, Elsa." 
 
 " Yes, dear madame ; but they cannot fall so exactly into 
 her humours as I can. They have not lived with her forty 
 years as I have." 
 
 Elsa returned to her post, and took her former position. I 
 saw again the dark profile on the clear background. Elsa's 
 faithful, mountain-fast devotion touched me deeply, and re- 
 minded me of Goethe's words — " It is not our merit only, 
 but their truth which often secures to us the hearts of others." 
 
 Six o'clock. 
 
 Ma chere mere still sleeps ; sleeps sound, and by the in- 
 streaming daylight her countenance looks awfully pale. Think 
 only if she should sleep her last sleep ! Bear and I have had 
 a brisk correspondence on this long sleep through the key- 
 hole. Will you have a specimen of it ? for with the whole 
 of it I will not burden the post. 
 
 Strip 1. " She sleeps, sleeps, sleeps. I begin to fear that she will awake no more ' 
 
 2. " She will wake." 
 
 3. " Oracles have heretofore deceived themselves,** 
 
fEANSISKA WEENEB TO MABIA M. 27.^ 
 
 4 " Bnt not now." 
 
 C " Wiseman Bear, and Prophet, tell, 
 
 Know'st thou all things and so well—' 
 
 Who is that, in deepest night, 
 
 W^ho calls thee glory, crown, and light ? 
 
 6. " No one else, as I opine. 
 
 But this little wife of mine." 
 
 7. " Wiseman Bear, and Prophet, tell, 
 
 Know'st thou all things and so well — 
 
 Who is that, in deepest night, 
 
 At thy conceit who" laughs outright?" 
 
 8. " No other than my wife alone, 
 
 To me her riddles are well known ; 
 
 For conceit, read penetration, 
 
 And tagging rhymes, note — botheration. 
 
 But enougli of this child's play. 
 
 Nine o'clock. 
 
 Away with coffin, confections, and funeral ! Ma chere 
 mere lives, and shall live ! She has awoke, is quiet, quite 
 sensible, and feels quite well, though extremely faint. Bear 
 guarantees her life. We have embraced right and left in our 
 joy. And Bruno ! I must weep as I saw him clasping 
 JBear's knees. I will love Bruno, for he can love. Ma chere 
 mere herself seems somewhat astonished, but quiet and satis- 
 fied. I gave her just now her tea. As she took the cup out 
 of my hand, she looked at me with a kind and roguish coun- 
 tenance, and gave me a little blow on the cheek. She is 
 again gone to sleep, and I will now also allow myself a little 
 rest. 
 
 Eleven o'clock. 
 
 AU goes on well, extremely well ; we shall all be quickly 
 quite right, except that I shall contract a home-sickness for 
 my little Eosenvik. Ma chere mere recovers her strength 
 rapidly, and can already stand again ; but she will not go 
 hence till Bruno is well enough to accompany her to Carls- 
 fors, and earlier I am not to be allowed to return home. ' 
 " Patience !" says Bear. A detestable word. It is exactly 
 when I hear it that I become impatient. In the mean time 
 I send off this letter, embrace thee, and thank God for that 
 which is. 
 
 02 
 
276 
 
 THE KEIGHB0UB8. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 Ramm, September 16th. 
 
 Has it never happened to you, Maria, that you have re* 
 garded a certain person, exactly as Eobinson Crusoe regarded 
 his island, as a sterile ground, and suddenly a chance, a little 
 voyage of discovery, has made you, like the said Eobinson, 
 aware of a lovely region, rich in the most excellent and deli- 
 cious productions ? Voyages of discovery in the world which 
 we call " Man,'' turn out, very likely, as into other regions, 
 often ill enough ; and the explorer, not seldom, remains 
 sticking, like Captain Eoss, in the ice ; but me have they 
 most frequently conducted into a pleasant country. So to- 
 day. Will you follow me in a voyage of such discovery ? 
 My island is called Lagman Hok. 
 
 Behold him planted on a stool, like a fir-tree on its rock^ 
 in Ma chere mere's room at Eamm. See there also, sunk in 
 a deep-stuffed chair, like a bird in its nest, the lively Miss 
 Hellevi Husgafvel. See, stately, and only like herself, Ma 
 chere mere, leaning back in one corner of her sofa ; see 
 Bruno, like a beautiful night, darkening and adorning the 
 other sofa corner. See, further, two e very-day figures sitting 
 faithfully together like a pair of turtle-doves, or a bear and 
 his bearess. See comfort in the room, and satisfaction on the 
 faces of the people, and hear what in the twilight of the 
 evening rolls lightly from the heart, over the tongue, and 
 now reaches thy ear. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. Tinkle Hok ! you look this evening so 
 thoroughly finished and perfect, that I feel myself quite op- 
 pressed by it. It would really do me good, if you would but 
 in this twilight make confession of some little weakness. 
 For instance, I am persuaded that you have in some little 
 thing a slight touch of covetousness. Every man has such a 
 one, I am convinced, if he will but honestly hunt it out. 
 
 Ma chere mere, " Sweep first before your own door, before 
 you sweep before your neighbour's," says the proverb. Begin 
 with yourself, cousin Husgafvel, and confess your sins. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. I, poor sinful mortal, confess, from the 
 bottom of my heart, that I have a hankering after Dins and 
 waste paper, which approaches to a real avarice. 
 
fejlN-siska weeneb to mxeia m. 
 
 277 
 
 Lagman Hdh (gravely). And I know nothing on earth 
 which is so dear to me as bottles, be thej full or empty ; and 
 it is with the greatest difficulty that I prevent myself boxing 
 the ears of a servant when he breaks one. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. Ha ! glorious ! glorious ! my dear, excel- 
 lent uncle. Hear, you good people there, do neither better 
 nor worse than us. Confess obligingly your sins. Tour 
 avarice, good Doctor ? 
 
 Bear (laconic). Paper! 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. Good, therefore the fewer prescriptions. 
 But we cannot live without them. Madame Werner, yours ? 
 FransisJca. Needles and thread. 
 
 Miss HiisgafveL You, Madame Ifansfelt, won't you 
 throw your contribution into our little collection ? 
 
 Ma cKere mere. Why not ? But I am afraid it w<!fuld be 
 quite too much if I threw all my covetousness into the 
 scale. So content yourselves with what I do not otherwise 
 willingly give away — with ends of ribbon and old linen. But 
 remember, my friends, " He who does not waste a penny, 
 gets two " He who wastes more than he wins, soon has an 
 empty larder." " He who gathers, has." 
 
 There was a short pause. The turn came to Bruno, to 
 confess his innocent failings ; but whether he had none such, 
 and that sounds abominable, or whether he had paid no 
 attention to our gossip, he showed no disposition to shrive 
 himself, and none of us felt a desire to require it of him. 
 He sat with downcast eyes, sunk into himself, and supported 
 his bound-up head on his hand. Lagman Hok broke the 
 embarrassing silence, and replied to Ma chere mere's words 
 — " Madame Mansfelt is quite right, we must every one, in 
 his own way, be a gatherer." 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. Take care, uncle, that you do not make 
 out that our sins are virtues. You know, it is written, that 
 we must lay up our treasures there where no thief breaks in 
 and steals. 
 
 Lagman Hoh. Much there, but a little also here. It is 
 reasonable enough, if one looks rightly at the thing. 
 
 Ma chere mere. I am just of that opinion. 
 
 Fransiska. What is the whole human race but a great 
 procession of seekers and gatherers ? But, alas ! how manj 
 there are who find nothing, or preserve nothing ! 
 
278 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 Lagman Hole, And that, especially, because they have not 
 sought and found themselves. At the bottom, every man 
 seeks chiefly harmony with himself. But you must under- 
 stand what I mean ? 
 
 Fransislca. Grive us an example, Lagman Hok — a living 
 one, if possible ; then we may come to a clear perception, 
 without much beating about. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel. You, for instance, worthy uncle, have to 
 a certainty found yourself ; for never did I see a person so 
 quiet, so secure, and I may also say, so wise and good. TeD 
 us how you sought, and how you found yourself. 
 
 Fransiska. O yes ! tell us that, good Lagman. 
 
 Lagman Hok. Do you know what you ask of me, ladies ? 
 Nothing less than the grand event of the history of my life. 
 
 Miss Husgafvel and Fransiska. 0 yes, yes ! tell us the 
 history of your life. 
 
 Lagman Hok. It is impossible to refuse the request of 
 two such amiable ladies ; therefore I will begin at once with 
 the most difficult confession ; for you probably are not aware 
 that he who now addresses you is — an unsuccessful author. 
 It is well that it is now so dark. Well, after the first hard 
 step is made, the rest will be easier. 
 
 " My father was a meritorious writer, and educated me to 
 tread in the same path. My endowments seemed to foster 
 his wishes. I early wrote poems, dramatic pieces for name- 
 days and birthdays ; and received sweetmeats and praise, 
 and already saw afar off the laurel crown. I was brought up 
 surrounded by the works of poets. I read them through 
 and through, till I knew them by rote, and took their thoughts 
 for my own. My parents were ambitious, and my domineer- 
 ing desire of distinction was by them yet more stimulated. 
 Some of my poetical attempts met with approbation from the 
 public, and praise in the newspapers ; and through this, in- 
 toxicated, as well as by the encouragement of my parents 
 and the encomiums of my young friends, amongst whom was 
 most prominent one young and sanguine man, named Larka, 
 I resolved, like Byron, with one spring to plant myself on the 
 summit of the Parnassus of the present age. I wrote a 
 
 Tragedy in five acts, and ^wait a moment. I must linger 
 
 a little over this hour of apparent happiness. Really great 
 poets possess, as I believe, a certain reflective repose, even in 
 
PEANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 270 
 
 the moment of inspiration. They are given up to their 
 ^^ubject, and embody themselves with it in a sacred earnest- 
 ness. TThen they contemplate that which they have pro- 
 duced, they are rather disposed to feel dissatisfied than satis- 
 fied with their creations. This proceeds from their deep 
 comprehension of the greatness of life. It is exactly be- 
 cause they feel it thus, that they are great. Little spirits, 
 writers who are enraptured with themselves and their works, 
 should tremble, and call to mind the words of Boileau, 
 
 Le sot a chaque vers soi-meme s'admire. 
 
 " I feared nothing as I wrote my tragedy. I was trans- 
 ported, and held my enthusiasm for that of the public. I 
 marched with great strides to and fro in my chamber, declaim- 
 ing my verses. At effective passages, that is, such as ap- 
 peared effective to me, I stood still, and listened to the accla- 
 mations of the public. They elated me. I leaped for joy, and 
 came down again, but not to my senses. The partiality of 
 my parents and friends favoured my intoxication. ' Thou, 
 wilt rise high,' said Larka. I believed it ; and between 
 myself and immortal honour saw only a representation. 
 
 " It took place. My hopes were wound up to the highest 
 pitch ; my tragedy — feU. There was not a single clap of 
 approbation. Silence ; some hissing ; even laughter. Some 
 days after came the critics, in the public papers, who left not 
 a solitary hair on the head of my Christiern 11. , and sought 
 to rob me of every hope ; ay, of ever being able to win the 
 veriest little shrivelled leaf of laurel. I knew well that they 
 had done the same to many a one before, who nevertheless 
 had become a great and renowned writer ; and I resolved not 
 to suffer myself by such means to be frightened from my aim. 
 But in vain did I endeavour to console myself with these 
 thoughts, of the stupidity of the critics, and the experience 
 of great writers ; my annihilating critic was the whole public, 
 and what was still worse — mysefe That is the last tribunal, 
 from which there is no appeal. Yet in the first moments 
 after the fall of my Christiern, I was far removed from this. 
 Humbled, — but more exasperated than humbled, — I deter- 
 mined to do battle with the critics, yes, even with the public 
 itself ; with the first in a bitter reply, mth the second by yet 
 another tragedy. But thor s^epperJ forward my never-to* 
 
280 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTIES. 
 
 be-sufficiently-lionoured friend, the lady of General Mansfelt, 
 here present ; and with her powerful and sound understand* 
 ing, which ahready distinguished her in her younger years, 
 held me back. 
 
 " ' My friend,' said she, ' better fly than fight iU. It is 
 too late to cry halves ! when the sausage is eaten up. It is 
 unnecessary to carry wood into the forest ; why cast butter 
 into the fire which burns you ? Let the people cry ; and 
 see weU to it that they are not in the right. I do not pro- 
 fess to be a judge of your piece, and of such things, but I 
 tell you that it does not much please me. It appears to me 
 forced and laboured. But suppose I am wrong, and the 
 people are wrong ; good ; — ^then will your piece probably one 
 day receive justice. That, I believe, has happened before 
 now, both with books and men. But if you find, after suffi- 
 cient proof, that the people are right, then give up your 
 piece ; it will do no good to fight for it ; and if you have 
 written a bad piece, weU, you may yet write a better. And 
 if you cannot do that, then you are not fit for an author, 
 and — what then ? Are you on that account a worse man ? 
 Do not many other ways stand open to become an able and 
 happy member of society ? Dear Hok, only take care that 
 you open your eyes at the right time. It is so well to make 
 the first injury the last, and to receive the bitter teaching 
 with thankfulness.' 
 
 " I took the words of my valued friend to heart, went 
 home, and reflected in deep silence on my unsuccessful 
 tragedy. There fell a veil from my eyes. I had not been 
 prudent enough to avoid becoming intoxicated, but I was not 
 so mad as not to become sober again. I saw clearly that my 
 tragedy only resembled those of Schiller, in the same degree 
 that apes resemble men ; and I threw it into the fire. Tor 
 the rest, it was not easy for me to take my resolution in this 
 matter. I had prepared myself for the field of literature, yet 
 I discovered, more and more, my want of creative power — of 
 the poetic faculty. I had no inclination to another employ- 
 ment ; I knew not what to undertake, — what I should become. 
 I had lost the rudder, and my bark was the sport of wind and 
 wave. To this was added the disappointment and distress oi 
 my parents ; the long faces of my friends ; and their * PooH 
 Hok !' Even Larka sighed ' Poor Hok !' This was not to 
 
FEANSISKA WEENEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 281 
 
 be endured. Tlien came again my excellent young friend, 
 and procured me from my parents permission to travel in 
 foreign countries ; to drive, as she said, the affair out of my 
 heart. 
 
 " I travelled — often on foot, for my means were small — 
 through a great part of Europe ; travelled two years ; saw life 
 in manifold forms ; thought, and compared. My misfortune 
 in the world of fancy had strengthened my understanding, 
 and the suffering which I had experienced inspired me with 
 an urgent desire to comprehend that which everywhere, and 
 in all circumstances of life, with a certain degree of cultiva- 
 tion, gives to existence peace and independence. Amongst 
 many observations which I made, I will only allude to one, 
 trivial as it may appear, because it became of the highest im- 
 portance to me in life. The world is rich in the excellent 
 and the beautiful. Truly to comprehend, to value, and to 
 admire the beautiful, is a great medium of ennoblement, ol 
 peace, of happiness. Should the proud passion to create, 
 which reigns in so many young and active souls, change 
 itself into a desire for discernment, into a capacity to admire 
 the beautiful and the excellent, — then would their restless- 
 ness be converted into repose, the world would contain a less 
 amount of presumptuous and dissatisfied men, and feeble pro- 
 ductions of art ; and the really great talents would find more 
 admirers, and would rise higher. Artists and connoisseurs 
 are necessary to each other, and mutually elevate each other. 
 The best and happiest men I found amongst those who united 
 with a useful regulated activity in the middle ranks of life a 
 sublime feeling for the beautiful, and a capacity to enjoy the 
 noblest creations of art. 
 
 " After my two years of travel and observation, I returned, 
 sound in soul and body, and began a new career of life. Yet I 
 renounced not literature ; on the contrary, the more my situa- 
 tion in life became determined, with a more intimate love 
 did I attach myself to this life-giving fountain. But I had 
 learned to know myself. I strove no longer for the artist's 
 renown, for the crown of laurel and of thorns ; but I sought 
 to perfect in me the enlightened lover and judge of art. I 
 desired that, even if I myself could not produce the beautiful^ 
 no one should exceed me in the skill thoroughly to estimate 
 and to enjoy it. And I can say, that in this I have not been 
 
282 
 
 THE NEIGHBOITRS. 
 
 altogether disappointed. Since I have renounced a vain 
 endeavour, and learned to know my one talent, I have 
 become peaceful and happy. I am now old, and every year 
 removes me farther from the world; but not from the 
 eternal beauty which thus inexhaustibly renews itself in ever- 
 varying forms. I hang with firm love thereon; it endows my 
 heart with new youth ; it prevents my thoughts growing grey 
 with my hair ; and inspires me with a hope, that hereafter in 
 the true native land of beauty, I shall become one of its not 
 unworthy worshippers." 
 
 So spoke the old man, and from his mild blue eyes glanced 
 a lively satisfaction. We thanked him heartily, and I ex- 
 claimed— somewhat thoughtlessly — " Oh ! I wish that all 
 men, as well those who have found as those who have not 
 found, before they depart from this theatre of action, would 
 make their confessions. I am certain that no book would be 
 pleasanter or more beneficial than a collection of such auto- 
 biographies. They would become good guidance for the in- 
 quirers in life. Best Miss Husgafvel ! will you not at once 
 throw in your contribution ? I will undertake to sketch it 
 out. You certainly are one of those who have sought and 
 have already found." 
 
 " I cannot say wholly no to that," answered Miss Hellevi ; 
 "although much yet remains to be done before I have 
 obtained full satisfaction with myself. Yet I have already 
 found far more in the world than I dreamed of in my youth ; 
 and if you, worthy friend, will hear a tedious history, I will 
 willingly relate it to you. 
 
 " I have passed through no great misfortunes ; have to 
 complain of no great disappointments. I have gone quietly 
 enough through my world ; but I have suffered ennui, merci- 
 less ennui, and therefore can truly say that I have borne the 
 heaviest burden in the world. My father — ^be good enough, 
 my friends, to pay particular attention to this remark — my 
 father was a man of honour, upright and true. All the Hus- 
 gafvels in a direct descending line ha^e been of this character ; 
 loving the right even to inflexibility ; straightforward in 
 bodily bearing and in principles ; swerving neither to the 
 right hand nor to the left ; and I know not how it has hap 
 pened that I have become so unworthy a descendant from my 
 honour-meriting ancestors. My father, £«s observed, had ai 
 
FRAXSISKA WEBNEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 283 
 
 admirable moral character, and therefore is he now happy iri 
 heaven ; but he had extremely strict and old-fashioned no- 
 tions regarding the education of women. lie believed, for 
 instance, that it was good for young maidens to suffer tedium, 
 or as it was called, to be bridled. He was a sworn foe of all 
 those things which he called vanity; in the catalogue of 
 which stood many an innocent pleasure. He abhorred also 
 pedantic learnedness in women; but in this rubric was a 
 multitude of useful and happiness-conferring varieties of 
 knowledge laid under the ban. Above all things he prized 
 household virtues ; but those again were confined to a narrow 
 circle. We must weave, spin, sew, attend to the kitchen and 
 domestic affairs ; study Kajsa Warg,'^ — and any other book 
 he saw with great displeasure in our hands ; and by such 
 means prepare ourselves to become able wives and mistresses 
 of families. He himself maintained a strict oversight over 
 me and my five sisters. My sisters wove, I spun ; each one 
 in turn had to attend the kitchen for a week. Well, the day 
 went over ; agreeable it was not. I especially found it often 
 insupportably long, particularly as I advanced in years. My 
 spinning appeared to me whoUy useless, as I knew that we 
 possessed property. 
 
 "Years flew by. With the exception of some old rela- 
 tions, strangers were never seen in our house. The sisters 
 w^ove, and I spun — I confess it, with ever- wearier hand., The 
 emptiness of my soul and of my life oppressed me ; I had 
 often vapours and tears, I knew not rightly why. The good 
 aunt Anna Stina, who supplied the place of mother to us, 
 was a genuine Husgafvel, and obeyed in all things the will of 
 her brother ; but, for the rest, was very kind to us. She had 
 constantly on her tongue, 'Advice to my Daughter,'t and 
 often preached to us in the words — 
 
 Our household — that is our republic ; 
 Our politics, the toilet — 
 
 together with this. 
 
 And our belles-lettres, I aver, 
 
 Lie in our bracelets, gloves, and rings. 
 
 We lived on a remote estate in the country. Life in the 
 
 * Kajsa Warg, authoress of a cookery-book much used m Sweden, 
 t *' Advice to mj Daughter," a poem of the celebrated Swedish poetess, Ann*- 
 Lengrea. 
 
284 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 country maj be one of the richest on earth ; but it may also 
 be one of the poorest. If the great Book of Nature be 
 opened to the eye of him who resides there, and illumined 
 with the light of heaven, from his little knoll he can see and 
 enjoy all the glory of the world ; but if he see in JSTature only 
 the potato-field which gives him food, then is this golden vein 
 closed for him, and he himself stands like the potato-plant, 
 fast rooted in the earth. Our family was much in this con- 
 dition. I must, however, except myself. The order of 
 nature early attracted my admiration, its particular objects 
 awoke my desire of possession. I was early, though in the 
 strictest secrecy, a collector of plants, stones, and shells. 
 We must often accompany my father on the long rounds 
 which he took, in order to see how his corn prospered. It 
 must have been very edifying to see how we went along in a 
 row like a flock of snipes, sometimes in the heat of the sun, 
 sometimes in the wet. I, in the mean time, was very often 
 left behind, lost in the observation of some plant, or of some 
 small insect. On account of this, as well as of my reveries, I 
 was afterwards often rallied, in a manner which, though it was 
 very gentle, yet wounded my sensitive feeling of honour deeply. 
 My father often amused himself with throwing off" little family 
 pictures, such as our house was to present in the future. 
 Tor instance, he would say, 'Anna Maria winds, Lotta 
 weaves, Lizzy goes and gives out sugar and spice for dinner, 
 Josepha spins, G-rete Marie feeds the fowls,' and at the end 
 of the family-picture always came, * and Hellevi sits and gazes 
 at the sun,' or some such unprofitable proceeding, which con- 
 clusion always took such effect on me that I burst into tears. 
 To be the only useless member of the family ! no, that was 
 far too insupportable, far too humbling. When now came 
 my week of housekeeping, I jingled my keys actively, to let 
 my father hear how zealously I discharged the duties of my 
 office. Ah ! it was all to no purpose ! In the next family 
 sketch it was still the same ; ' and Hellevi sits and gazes at 
 the sun.' In my family it was the fixed and perpetual adage 
 — ' Hellevi will never make a good housekeeper — and then 
 what is she fit for ?' In this belief died my father and my 
 aunt ; ia this belief yet live my sisters. 
 
 " I have stated how we spent the days, I must now say a 
 word on the evenings. At seven o'clock my father assembled 
 
FEAlfSISKA WEENEE TO MAKIA M. 
 
 285 
 
 U3 every evening in his room. "We sate there, employed on 
 our sewing and embroidery, and that round a great circular 
 table with two candles, about which there generally fell out 
 some contention. My father sate at some distance from us, 
 at a little table, with an eye-shade before him, and read aloud 
 to us. This should have been a great pleasure to us ; but, 
 in the first place, the Trench history on which we were, I 
 know not how long engaged, was of a very old edition ; and 
 in the next, my father's mode of reading was extremely slow 
 and monotonous. When now in autumn and winter evenings 
 the rain and snow beat against the windows, and the storm 
 without howled its mournful song to the heavy long-drawn- 
 out words within, no one need wonder that the spirit of sleep 
 became mighty in us, tlia: we nodded to one another, as in 
 rivalry, over our embroidery. When one of us resigned our- 
 selves to the overpowering influence of Morpheus, then winked 
 and blinked aunt Anna Stina waggishly across to the rest, as 
 much as to say, ' There! the sister's gone!' 
 
 " At nine o'clock all were aroused, as well the waking as 
 the sleeping, by my father pushing back his chair ; and we 
 drew, one after another — the precedence of age being, in the 
 Husgafvel family, ever held sacred — into the dining-room to 
 supper. This was moderate, and did not last more than ten 
 minutes. Hence we returned again to my father's room, 
 where we must continue till the clock struck ten. During 
 this time we were not to work, but exclusively to devote our- 
 selves to conversation. Every one of us had her appointed 
 place in the room. Mine was by the stove, where the warmth 
 made me some recompense for the frost which reigned in the 
 discourse ; for all circumstances which might have lent a 
 living interest to it, were strongly interdicted ; and when I, 
 at times, dared to step on the forbidden ground, I was 
 speedily warned off it again, with the remark that women 
 had nothing to do with such subjects. Our conversation 
 might touch upon nothing but the little occurrences of the 
 day, especially those within the house ; of acquaintance, 
 genealogies, and matters of business. This made, according 
 to my taste, a meagre entertainment, and gladly would I 
 have stayed away ; but we were neither allowed to do that, 
 nor to be silent during this conversation hour, but every one 
 must say something. When any one of us had not opened he? 
 
286 
 
 THE NEIGIIBOUHS. 
 
 mouth for 'some time, she was called upon in a friendly voice 
 to say something. In order to vary a little our entertain- 
 ment, my father sometimes took out an old box, in which lay 
 a number of curiosities, w^hich had, probably for the twentieth 
 time, been laid out one after another, turned about, and con- 
 templated. It was taken ill of any of the daughters who did 
 not stand round the table and pay attention to tlie contents 
 of the box. It was a misfortune that my father never 
 would cease to regard us as little children : but the little 
 clasps and rings ; the profiles of grandfather and grand- 
 mother ; the little box with the feathers of the canary-bird 
 in it, which delighted the maiden of nine years old ; the 
 magic lantern, which had excited her whole curiosity ; could 
 not possibly interest the woman of five-and-twenty, now 
 compelled to stand by, and regard the contents of the box 
 with a weary and indifferent gaze. 
 
 " I observed that in the conversation hour, after supper, 
 we must always say something, though we were not allowed 
 to say what we would. Hence often arose the most ridicu- 
 lous little miseries. One example may give a conception of 
 these. My sisters and myself had one day seen how a little 
 herd of vagabond sucking-pigs had come swarming into the 
 courtyard, and how they were chased round by the three yard- 
 dogs. This precious event of real life we hoarded up in our 
 faithful memories the whole day through, in order to season 
 the evening's conversation. By chance we came this evening 
 into my father's room, not in a connected line, but with 
 sundry breaks and pauses. Anna Maria, w^ho took her place 
 first, told the story of the little pigs and the dogs ; the same 
 did Lotta, who came after her ; the same Lizzy, w^ho came 
 after her ; the same Josepha, who came after her ; the same 
 also Grrete Marie, who came after her. As I at length came 
 and took my place by the stove, and began to relate the story 
 of the swine, my father interrupted me somewhat tartly, and 
 said, ' Yes, this story I now hear for the sixth time.' 
 
 " I confess that this made a strong impression on me, and 
 more than ever showed me the narrowness of our potato- 
 plantation sort of existence. When my father two years 
 afterwards died, and my good aunt found it quite natural that 
 we should continue to live in the same way without prospect 
 of change, then gazed Hellevi actually up at the sun, and 
 
PEANSISKJl WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 287 
 
 taid, * No, thou beautiful, all-quickening sun, the world which 
 thou illumiiiest cannot be so narrow, the life which thou 
 awakest cannot be so poor ! The wells of life and of virtue 
 gush not up merely in the kitchen and the cellar. No, out 
 to thee, out into the free air, into the beauty of the divine 
 world !' I knew already what I would ; I knew my talent 
 and my place, and everlasting thanks be to the worthy man, 
 to the good and wise guardian, who extended his hand, and 
 spite of the opposition which my independent proceeding had 
 raised in the Husgafvel family, enabled me to achieve my 
 object. I was seven-and-twenty years of age, gave myself out 
 as thirty, took the Bird's Nest on lease, and so arranged my 
 affairs, that in a few years I could purchase it. How I have 
 settled myself there, you, my friends, know. For these ten 
 years have I there, every day, lifted my eyes to the sun, even 
 when it has been veiled in clouds, and praised it, and the 
 magnificent world which it illuminates ; and for this, receive 
 my thanks, my guardian and excellent uncle !" 
 
 A tear pearled itself in the living eye of Miss Hellevi as 
 she extended her hand to Lagman Hok, who affectionately 
 pressed and kissed it. 
 
 " And summa et facit of all this," said Ma chere mere, " is, 
 that there is nothing so bad out of which good may not arise, 
 if we do but receive it in the right way." 
 
 Fransiska, Yes; but why do so few hit the right way? 
 All would willingly do it. 
 
 Lagman Sole, Over the causes of this, one might read a 
 long litany. Above all, men may ascribe this failure to them- 
 selves, to their own want of courage, to their want of bravery 
 in the sense in which the ancients used the word. "We sus- 
 pect not what power and elasticity the Creator has implanted 
 in human nature. We have not the courage boldly to resign, 
 not the courage to break resolutely forth. We will not capi- 
 tulate, we will not sally, till the garrison perishes of hunger, 
 or the enemy Death comes and takes the whole by storm. 
 " Devilishly well said," muttered Bear. 
 Here Bruno raised himself, silent, and lost in thought. 
 All stood up, and the strangers prepared for their departure. 
 Miss Hellevi stood at a window. I went to her, and expressed 
 my admiration of Lagman Hok. " That is really a most 
 
288 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 " What would you say then," replied the lively MidS 
 Husgafvel, " if you knew him as I know him. If you knew 
 his active labours for the good of men ; how he works in 
 silence to serve clever but poor artists, and brings their pro- 
 ductions to the light. He is certainly one of the noblest and 
 best of men." 
 
 " He can make a will for one of my ten daughters," 
 thought I. It was long since I had thought of my ten 
 daughters, but after the conversation of this evening I 
 thought much of them. 
 
 18th. 
 
 Grod be praised ! I have a prospect of getting home. 
 They talk of to-morrow and the next day. I yearn with my 
 whole heart after my little Eosenvik. This mansion is large 
 and noble, but I am not comfortable here. It is too gloomy, 
 and a horrible number of jackdaws clamour everlastingly on 
 the old tower. I am in a melancholy mood, and I fancy I 
 get continually more and more like an old family portrait which 
 hangs in my room. Bruno and Ma chere mere are much toge- 
 ther. They say little, but appear to be liappy when they see 
 one another and sit in the same room. Bruno seems to have 
 satisfied Ma chere mere's scruples regarding Hagar ; and 
 since Bruno is better, Hagar is little to be seen. Bruno 
 wins my heart wholly by his great tenderness towards his 
 mother. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Rosenvik, September 20th, 18 — . 
 I CAME hither last evening. I cannot teU you how happy I 
 am to be here again ; how delighted I am with my rooms, my 
 cotton furniture ; with what pleasure this morning I greeted 
 the hole in the window curtain, and saw the day stream in 
 through it. I drink in the air of my home in long deep 
 breaths ; for the atmosphere of a beloved home has a peculiar, 
 a refreshing, and affecting charm. I have darted hither and 
 thither the whole day like a flame of fire, on the ground-floor 
 and into the cellar, into the barn and garden : I have scolded 
 and praised. With Sissa, and all that she has had under her 
 bands, I am extremely contented ; but the housemaid is dis- 
 
TEAXSISKA WEENEE K) MrAEIA. M. 
 
 28a 
 
 orderly, and she must hear of it. Audumbla has got a calf, 
 a bold little fellow, which, as is proper, I have named Bor. 
 I have greeted my flowers, and stood in wonder to see them 
 so fresh, and so carefully tended. It touched me deeply to 
 find that Serena had been here regularly twice in the week to 
 look after them. Dear, amiable Serena ! I loved my flowers ; 
 I kissed them, they were so beautiful. I have cut cauliflowers 
 for supper. In the day it had rained a little, and all in the 
 garden stood fresh and full of fragrance, although the frost 
 had touched here and there a leaf with yellow. It is now 
 evening, and I sit down to my writing-table. I have seen 
 the swans furrow the surface of the quiet lake, as they drew 
 towards their nest on Svano. I have gazed on the grey 
 walls of Eamm, within which I have lately passed through so 
 much. I am happy and thankful. I await the return of my 
 Bear from the city, where he has been the whole day, and 
 have prepared for him my little feast. A duck from the 
 Helga lake shall display itself large as life on our little table, 
 and in its train shall the cauliflowers and the freshest salad 
 find themselves. Pancakes with raspberry jam wiU follow 
 them with an agreeable grace. As the evening is cold, I have 
 caused the sitting-room to be warmed, and Bear's well-lined 
 dressing-gown and slippers to be displayed before the fire in 
 due state. I will spoil him ; and while I am yet waiting for 
 the good man, I will describe to you some of the scenes of 
 yesterday. 
 
 Lagman Hok came to Eamm in order to accompany Ma 
 chere mere to Carlsfors. We took our breakfast en familley 
 during which the carriages drove up. The weather was beau- 
 tiful, and we were all in high spirits. Hagar assisted with 
 the packing, but concealed herself behind the people as Ma 
 chere mere with a lofty and proud bearing appeared upon the 
 steps. Bruno conducted his mother to her carriage. She 
 had not entered it before the horses shied — the horses are 
 abominable — at the sight of a wagon which, covered with 
 a black cloth, drove slowly into the court. Bruno shouted 
 vehemently for it to stop. The wagon halted, and the driver 
 came forw^ard to Ma chere mere. It was Master Svensson, 
 and the wagon had brought the coffin which Ma chere mere 
 had ordered, and which, singularly enough, every one till t Jiis 
 moment had forgotten to countermand. 
 
 T 
 
290 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 This extraordinary rencounter threw us into the utmost 
 confusion. Ma chere mere was the first to recover presence 
 of mind, and with a loud voice she said to the joiner — " Good 
 master, I have this time, as you see, reckoned without the 
 host. I thought to die, but it pleased the Lord to let me 
 live ; praised be his will. But delayed is not defrayed ! The 
 coffin will serve me another time. At all events, I abide by 
 the agreement for the price ; and as to the feast, why, Master 
 Svensson, I invite you to a feast of congratulation at Carlsfors 
 on Sunday. And now, you can carry the coffin carefully 
 thither ; I am on the way there myself." 
 
 Master Svensson was in great perplexity. His horse was 
 tired, and besides that, he had still business in another direc- 
 tion. " Well, well," said Ma chere mere, " let the coffin, for 
 the present, remain here where it is. I will send for it one 
 of these days." 
 
 Bruno called Hagar, said something to her ; and at his 
 beck came some people who lifted the coffin from the wagon, 
 and under the wagoner's guidance bore it into the house. 
 " Mark my words," said Hagar, as she went past me, " dis- 
 aster will soon come into this house. This coffin will not be 
 borne empty out of it." 
 
 I would willingly have addressed some kind expressions to 
 Hagar at parting, for she was unhappy, and had shown her- 
 self friendly towards me, but this scene and Hagar' s words 
 confounded me ; and by the time that I had again collected 
 my thoughts, she was gone, and Ma chere mere called to me 
 impatiently to come. 
 
 Lagman Hok drove on first in his desobligeant in order to 
 clear the way. Then came Ma chere mere with Bruno in 
 her great family carriage, into which she had taken Elsa ; 
 and Bear and I closed the train in the cabriolet. We arrived 
 nappily. It was beautiful to see Jean Jacques and Jane 
 Marie standing in full dress in the gate, which they had 
 adorned with festival garlands for the reception of the ex- 
 pected ones. It was beautiful to see how the servants and 
 the multitude of tenants and dependents crowded round Ma 
 chere mere as she descended from the carriage. Deep emo 
 tion and joy appeared in herself to soften down her customary 
 pride of bearing, as supported on the arm of her son, and 
 o^^companied by a multitude of people uttering blessings and 
 
FEJL>'SISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 291 
 
 prayers for her happiness, she slowly ascended the steps be- 
 fore the house. AYhen she arrived at the top, she stood, 
 turned round, and made a sign as if she desired silence. After 
 she had hemmed several times as if she would clear her voice, 
 she made the following harangue : 
 
 ]\Iy dear friends, servants, and people ! It is with great 
 joy that I see you here once more assembled round me, since I 
 wish to announce to you that it has pleased the Almighty to 
 restore to me my son Bruno Mansfelt ; who has been long 
 absent, but is now returned, and whom you see standing at 
 my right hand. He it is, who lately saved my life at the peril 
 of his own ; yes, at the peril of his own ; as it pleased Grod 
 to terrify my horses with his lightning, by w^hich my life was 
 in danger, but through this my son was saved ; though in 
 effecting this he was so much injured by the horses that he 
 still wears a bandage on his head, as you see, my friends. 
 
 " My friends, servants, and people ! I announce to you 
 that I have really recognised and owned this man to be my 
 only son, Bruno Mansfelt ; and I desire and demand from 
 you, my friends and servants, that you conduct yourselves 
 accordingly, and treat him in all respects as my rightful son 
 and heir, and that you testify to him all reverence and obe- 
 dience which you have hitherto testified to me ; and I equally 
 hope and believe, that my son will prove himself worthy 
 thereof, and will show himself to be an upright and good lord 
 to you. And now I pray you, my dear friends, that you 
 join with me in imploring the blessing of the Lord on his 
 head." 
 
 A hearty " Long live Bruno Mansfelt !" burst forth at the 
 ponclusion of this speech, and the multitude rushed up the 
 steps, and pressed round Ma chere mere and Bruno to shake 
 hands with them. But Ma chere mere wisely cut short this 
 much too exhausting scene. Thanks ! thanks ! my dear 
 friends ! but you must now excuse it, that my son cannot 
 longer linger amongst you, since he is yet so weak from his 
 wounds that he requires rest. But on Sunday we will have 
 a longer chat with one another. I invite you all together to 
 come to Carlsfors on Sunday as my guests, and to rejoice 
 with me. Beer and wine shall flow ; and every one who 
 sympathises in my joy, and will drink a skal to my son, will 
 be heartily welcome. Adieu! adieu! my dear children!" 
 
292 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 And with this Ma chere mere took Bruno's arm and entered 
 the house. 
 
 Bruno was in reality faint and strongly affected, and Ma 
 chere mere was inexpressibly amiable in her tenderness and 
 care for him. She seemed to have received her youth again, 
 as she put Bruno's chamber in order, and made his bed her- 
 self. She was therewith as happy as a joyful young mother, 
 
 Bruno spent several hours alone in his own room. When 
 he returned to us again he was very pale ; but under the in- 
 fluence of his mother's gladness he became every moment 
 more cheerful and handsome ; and this worked wonderfully 
 on us all. Ma chere mere had entreated Bear and myself 
 most warmly to spend the evening with them ; but I could 
 not be truly happy till we rolled on our way beneath the 
 beams of the moon towards our beloved Eosenvik. When I 
 at length found myself in my own room at home, I leaped for 
 very joy, and embraced and kissed my little Sissa, who re- 
 turned my embrace with heart and soul. Bear stood and 
 laughed. This morning the good man betook himself to 
 Carlsfors before he proceeded to the city, and sent me thence 
 these lines : 
 
 " Few words are better than none, and I am desirous that 
 my Fanny should rejoice with me that all stands well here. 
 Bruno is far better to-day. Ma chere mere has not been so 
 full of the freshness and enjoyment of life for many years. 
 I rejoice — rejoice over the reconciled, over the sunshine, over 
 my wife ; and am, in time and eternity, 
 
 " Thy Beae. 
 
 " P.S. — Don't go out to-day, dear Fanny. Ma chere 
 mere said that she should fetch thee ; but don't let her fetch 
 thee. I would willingly spend another quiet evening with 
 thee at Eosenvik." 
 
 Gro out ! No, no, my own Bear ; not if the king himself 
 come for me. Hist ! I hear a carriage. It is my king — my 
 Bear ! 
 
 22ud. 
 
 Do you remember, dear Maria, a little song which begins 
 tlius — 
 
 Trust not in life, love ; 
 Trust not in gladness ] 
 
FEANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 2^3 
 
 That would I sing to-day if I had the slightest desire to sing 
 at all ; but I have not. I threw down my pen last evening 
 with such joy, and flew to meet my Bear ; but the moment I 
 saw him I stood still and dumb. He was pale and looked 
 excited, though he reached me as cordially as ever his dear 
 hand. I exclaimed, " What ails thee. Bear ? Art thou ill?" 
 
 " Has anything sorrowful happened ? Ah, tell me what 
 it is!" 
 
 " I will teU thee presently." 
 
 That presently came soon, for Bear saw my uneasiness ; 
 and as soon as we were in the room alone, he seated him- 
 self on the sofa, drew me to him, put his arm round me, and 
 said quietly and tenderly — " It is, in a word, only a worldly 
 affair, my Fanny ; a misfortune which I am persuaded thou 
 wilt be able to bear as well as myself, if not indeed better. 
 See here : read thyself." And he laid in my hand a letter. 
 It was from Peter, written in evident haste and agitation of 
 
 mind. It contained the intelligence that the house of L 
 
 and Co., in which Bear, on the advice of Peter, had placed 
 his property, was become bankrupt, and to such a degree as 
 gave no hope that the creditors would receive the smallest 
 particle of a dividend. Peter's little savings were gone too. 
 That which Bear with the labours of twenty years had 
 gathered together was now in one moment lost for ever ! 
 
 " My brother, my dearest brother," so Peter concluded 
 his letter, " what I have lost is little, and I well deserved to 
 lose it, because I was not more circumspect ; but thou — thou 
 art unfortunate through me, and that fills me with despair. 
 This is the bitterest feeling which in my life I ever expe 
 
 rienced. If I were not chained here by the W lawsuit, 
 
 I should fly to thee to throw myself into thy arms, and im- 
 plore thy pardon." Several lines which followed were most 
 indistinctly written. A spot on the paper, evidently caused 
 by a tear, made the last word illegible. On this spot Bear 
 rivetted his eyes. " My poor Peter !" said he, and now rolled 
 forth great tears over his pale cheeks. He leaned his head 
 against my bosom, and wept for a moment bitterly. I said 
 nothing, but kissed his forehead, and let him feel that I un- 
 derstood him and felt with him. He became more composed^ 
 
2di 
 
 THE lOlIGHBOirES. 
 
 ajad we soon began quite calmly to talk over this untoward 
 occurrence and our own situation. 
 
 " I am now," said Bear, "on the same point on which 1 
 found myself twenty years ago. The prospect of a care- free 
 old age is gone. I would not care for myself were I but 
 alone." 
 
 " Bear!" I exclaimed, " wouldst thou be without me ?" 
 
 " Not for the whole world," answered he ; "but I wished 
 that thou shouldst partake my prosperity and not my 
 poverty." 
 
 " Joy and trouble, Bear ! Vowed we not in the marriage 
 hour to partake together joy and trouble ? Ah ! comprehend 
 it then, man, that it is my pleasure to share thy trouble when 
 it comes, and that there is no real trouble for me so long as 
 thou lovest me as I love thee." 
 
 I must sketch no more of this conversation. Thou, Maria, 
 wilt easily represent to thyself its continuance. Ah, it is 
 indeed so natural, so easy, and so sweet, for a wife to let love 
 and comfort stream forth on such occasions. Shame on them 
 who could make a merit of it ; enjoyment is its name. Such 
 moments have their own great reward. People never love 
 each other so intensely as then. Bear seemed, indeed, to feel 
 it ; he understood my devotion — understood that at his side 
 neither courage nor joy could fail me. He was more affec- 
 tionate to me than usual — he seemed grateful for my tender- 
 ness ; but his brow did not clear itself, it was furrowed with 
 a brooding anxiety ; and with his hands behind him he paced 
 the apartment to and fro, but not spitting ; this custom he 
 has entirely laid aside now. "Poor Peter!" sighed he at 
 last, " I can understand what he suffers ; and he cannot come. 
 I wish I was able " 
 
 " To go to him ?" I suddenly added, guessing what it was 
 which so oppressed him. " But how canst thou be absent 
 from thy patients r" 
 
 " I have not many just now, and none which are seriously 
 ill. Dr. D. would attend them in my absence. Them 1 
 could very well leave ; but in this moment not — my wife." 
 
 " Oh, set off then, my Bear ! the wife is not unreasonablt. 
 Set off, give Peter peace, and satisfy thy own heart. The 
 wife will think of thee ; will see after bouse and affairs. 
 
TRAKSISKA WITRl^EE TO MARIA M. 
 
 295 
 
 Don't trouble tliyself on that account ; she will not be uneasy 
 or impatient ! she will maintain the honour of her husband." 
 
 Bear stretched out his. arms to embrace me ; now first his 
 brow cleared itself. Ob, the good man ! The suffering of 
 his brother had oppressed him more than his own loss. So 
 soon as the journey was determined on, he became quiet ; 
 and till deep in the night we sate and talked over our affairs, 
 and how he would settle our plans for the future. That the 
 joy of my little feast dissolved itself in smoke, you may well 
 imagine. For the first time since we were married was Eear 
 unable to eat, and I could not even bear the idea of it. The 
 duck remained untouched, but was secretly devoted by me to 
 Bear's travelling provision-basket. Before we went to sleep 
 our minds were again as full of peace and content as if no 
 misfortune had fallen on our house ; and we closed this day, 
 as we had done so many others, with thanks to the All-good, 
 for our happiness. 
 
 Yesterday Bear set out ; first to the city, where he must 
 spend the greater part of the day. In the evening he would 
 proceed further, and will remain away probably a fortnight. 
 That is long. Thus left, I sit here and feel that my resolu- 
 tion by no means maintains the height to which it mounted 
 in the first moments of our misfortune. But deep it shall 
 not sink ; that I have resolved with myself. The change in 
 our circumstances which goes most to my heart is that we 
 must leave our little Bosenvik, and set ourselves down fixed 
 and for ever in the city. Our means will not allow us any 
 longer to have a country residence for the mere enjoyment's 
 sake. In the depth of my own mind I propose again to teach 
 music. Oh, fie upon the tear which here has fallen upon the 
 paper ! there shall not be a second. I know, indeed, that all 
 will succeed and succeed well, w^hen one has courage in the 
 soul and peace in the heart and the house. How miserable 
 it would be of me to be in anxiety about the future, possess- 
 ing as I do one of the best chances of life, my good and 
 estimable husband ! 
 
 Bear desired that our misfortune, for the present, should 
 remain unknown in the neighbourhood. I will take care, 
 therefore, to give nobody a suspicion of it. I will keep the 
 promise I have given him, will be calm, and seek diversion in 
 work, I have much to do in the garden. I will plant manjj 
 
296 
 
 THE l^EIGHBOUES. 
 
 rose-bushes ; and if it be not allowed me to smell these rosof , 
 well then, they will at least rejoice the noses of others. 
 
 23rd, Evening. 
 
 I am quite refreshed by my garden labours. Serena has 
 spent the whole day with me, and afforded me great assist- 
 ance. We have made a strawberry bed, planted gooseberries 
 and roses. I hope they will prosper ; and how refreshing is 
 such employment ! But what has done me more good than 
 the rest is, that Serena has opened to me all her heart — that 
 good, loving, and pure heart. All is as I had suspected. 
 Serena loves Bruno — Bruno, Serena. For the present, how- 
 ever, the connexion seems to be broken off ; but that it will 
 continue so, that I do not believe. And yet, shall I desire a 
 union between them ? Ah, I know not ! To-day Serena is 
 pale ; one sees that she has suffered much. She is now getting 
 ready our tea, and stands by the table, graceful as an angel, 
 but sunk in thought, and with a sorrowful expression about 
 the mouth. I have related to her the whole of that which I 
 lately witnessed and passed through at Eamm ; and as I pro« 
 ceeded, I saw her become pale, redden, weep, suffer keenly, 
 and then rise as it were into a radiant trance of rapture. She 
 calls — "Tea is ready." "I come, dear creature." Good 
 evening, dear Maria. I reckon to-night on a good, sound 
 sleep. To-morrow I shall spend with Ma chere mere. Every 
 day I go on writing a letter to Bear. It will be a mighty 
 packet of important nothings. 
 
 Later. 
 
 I have had a fright, and I am yet full of the terror of it ! 
 As Serena set out homewards, I accompanied her through the 
 yard. The air had, for the lateness of the season, an un- 
 wonted mildness, — and nature, in her autumnal, half-sorrow- 
 ful beauty, lay peacefully around us, flushed with the clear 
 evening rose. Serena, sensibly alive to the enjoyment of the 
 hour, said, while we walked a few paces towards the garden, 
 " Dost thou not believe, Fanny, that sometimes there lives 
 in the air what one may pronounce goodness, and which im- 
 mediately operates beneficially on the heart, from which we 
 become ourselves good?" 
 
 " Serena," I said, "thou expressest my own very feeling; 
 but I must at the same time ask thee, whether thou hast not 
 
FEAKSTSKA WEES^EE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 297 
 
 discovered in raw autumn weather a proneness to become 
 also harsh in miud ?" 
 
 " O jes !" replied Serena, "but we must then seek for the 
 remal atmosphere of a higher region." 
 
 " But this is not always so easy ; and perhaps for those 
 K-ho do not love is impossible." 
 
 "Yes," said she, "happy are they who have something to 
 love on earth or in heaven. But who," added she, while her 
 look became more earnest, and, as it were, inspired, " who 
 needs be wholly destitute of this ? Is not the world full of 
 objects worthy of our love ? Does it not rest with ourselves 
 alone to open our souls to these ? And now, Tanny" — and 
 she looked around on the beautiful landscape — " are we not, 
 even now, surrounded by living and love-worthy natures ? 
 Ah ! it seems often to me, that voices proceed from trees and 
 flowers, from stars and animals, which speak to me of the 
 great and good Creator, and of the life which they have 
 received from him. Everywhere a spirit meets me, which is 
 like my own ; which I can understand, and love ; and where, 
 and in what circumstance of life, breathe not such voices from 
 the things and beings which surround us ? There is only 
 demanded of us an open ear." 
 
 "And a pure heart," rejoined I, embracing her. "Yes, 
 then would the whole of human life become one continued 
 conversation with Grod, and we should have neither bitterness 
 nor ennui. But " 
 
 "But I lose all recollection," said Serena, "while I talk 
 with you. The carriage has long waited ; I must go ; adieu, 
 dearest Fanny, adieu !" 
 
 Serena departed ; and scarcely was she out of sight, when 
 my gaze was suddenly struck with a pair of eyes whose 
 expression was unlike that of Serena's. They glanced like 
 two coals of fire out of the hedge of lilac, in which their 
 owner appeared to be purposely concealed. I started, said 
 to myself, " Lucifer !" and stared at the two burning gulphs. 
 They were now fixed on me, and Hagar darted forth from the 
 hedge. "With a countenance which gave to the wild feeling a 
 terrible expression, she stood before me, and in a vehement 
 tone demanded — " Is it she, is it she, that he loves ? Tell 
 me, is it she ?" I was about to answer her calmly, when in 
 the same moment some one approached. Hagar stamped 
 
298 
 
 THE KEIOHBOTTRS, 
 
 furiously with her foot ; wrung passionately her hands, while 
 she muttered between her teeth — "Woe! woe to her and 
 to me !" and was gone. 
 
 Horror-stricken and confounded, I entered the house; 
 saying to myself, " there is a difference between love and 
 love ; there is a difference between whom, and how, and 
 what " 
 
 This scene has startled and quite unhinged me. "Would 
 to God that Bear was but at home ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 Rosenvik, September 28th. 
 There is something strange about Ma chere mere since the 
 day that she returned to Carlsfors. She is no longer like 
 herself; she is singularly still, and, as it were, sunk in a 
 dream. Her steps and her voice resound no longer through 
 the spacious halls of Carlsfors. One hears no house-thunder, 
 no words of reproof, any longer ; but at the same time, no 
 proverbs, no fresh domestic joke and sport either. Trom 
 that day she seems no longer to take interest in what is 
 going forward. Inspector and book-keeper come to consult 
 her on the concerns of the estate, and she refers them to Jean 
 Jacques. The maids come to speak of their affairs, and she 
 refers them to Tuttin. Tuttin comes to deliver her accounts, 
 and to receive orders, and stays long, and lays many matters 
 before her, but receives no answer. Ma chere mere appears 
 at last to forget that she is in the room, and Tuttin, after she 
 has coughed and wondered, has asked and waited, withdraws 
 with a troubled mind, and still secretly charmed at the pros- 
 pect of becoming the sole ruling and ordering power in the 
 house, but presently stumbles on Jane Marie, who takes her 
 by degrees under her tyranny. Even towards Bruno is Ma 
 chere mere changed ; and when he is within, she sits silent, and 
 looks at him fixedly. Yesterday as she sate thus, with her eyes 
 directed towards him, I saw two large tears roll down her 
 cheeks. They were the first which I have seen her shed since 
 she had found her son again. What can be working in her 
 mind ? What can this brooding and unwonted silence por- 
 tend ? May no attack of hypochondria, or worse, impend? 
 
FEAXSISKA WEEKEE TO MAETA M. 
 
 299 
 
 I am very aneasy. Bruno eyen fears somewhat eyil. He took 
 me aside vesterdaj, and asked in distress, what was the matter 
 with his mother ? I could giye him no explanation, and 
 Bear is absent ; what shall we do without him ? I haye 
 written and informed him of the state of things, here so that 
 if it be possible he may hasten his return. 
 
 October 3rd. 
 
 I receiyed yesterday a letter from Bear. In his letters he 
 is still more laconic than in his conyersation, but there is 
 always a certain raciness about his words. I could draw from 
 his letter, though it did not stand literally expressed there, that 
 his arriyal had giyen new life to Peter ; and that his journey in 
 yarious respects had been advantageous. Of Ebba he says, 
 " she looks like a little bird, that when the darkness comes 
 hides its head under its wing. It is well that Peter is now the 
 wing." On the whole, Bear's letter was infinitely kind and 
 satisfactory. He hoped by the sixth of October to be here. 
 May he soon come ; his presence is highly necessary. I be- 
 come continually more uneasy about Ma chere mere. Some 
 great change is to a certainty in progress in her, and now that I 
 seriously fear for her, I feel more and more how yery dear she 
 is to me. Por some days she has been yet stiller, yet more sunk 
 in reyerie, and seems to possess a certain inward quiet ; but in 
 all her movements, in all that she undertakes, preyails an un- 
 certainty, a confusion, a want of tact and aptitude, so imlike 
 her former firm and able manner. She is, moreover, so un- 
 wontedly mild and kind, that the servants of the household 
 are astonished and affected by it. They look at one another, 
 and seem to say, " What ails her ?" So ask I also. 
 
 October 7th. 
 
 Ah ! Maria, now I know aU, and you shall learn all too. 
 Bear came home the evening before last. I received him as 
 if he had been the only human creature in the world, that is 
 to say, besides myself. What he told me of his journey, of 
 our affairs, of Ebba and Peter, I will relate to you another 
 time : I can now only talk of that which occurred yesterday. 
 
 It was Sunday, and we went to dine at Carlsfors. Bear's 
 eyes were fix:ed scrutinizingly on Ma chere mere, and his 
 grimaces portended nothing good ; that is, they aU vanished^ 
 
300 
 
 THE NETGHBOUKS. 
 
 which is a sign that his thoughts are serious and sorrowful 
 At table, Ma chere mere had Bear at her right hand, and 
 Bruno at her left. She was still and brooding, but also ex- 
 tremely pale. Her bearing was not so proud, her toilet not 
 so orderly as usual. It grieved me to see her. As the soup 
 was removed, she poured out wine for Bruno; it ran in 
 streams on the tablecloth, but she did not observe it. 
 Bruno wished to take the bottle out of her hand, saying 
 softly, " Dear mother, you pour the wine on the table." 
 
 " Do I ?" said she, with a melancholy tone ; " then I per- 
 ceive that it is all over with me, my son. Pour out wine for 
 thyself; thy mother will do it no more !" She set the bottle 
 on the table, pushed her chair from her, and arose. We all 
 arose too, with one common impulse. "Eemain sitting," 
 said Ma chere mere, with a strong and imperative voice : 
 " remain sitting ; no one may follow me." 
 
 She saluted us with the hand, and passed with slow and 
 majestic steps through the wondering servants, but ran 
 against the door, at which both Bear and Bruno sprang for- 
 ward. She turned quickly and cried, " "Whoever follows me 
 is not my friend. Eemain quietly here," she added, in a 
 softer tone, " I will presently have you called." 
 
 We knew too well Ma chere mere's temperament to 
 attempt to disregard her thus solemnly-pronounced will ; but 
 you cannot imagine the state of excitement and suspense in 
 which we found ourselves. Tor more than an hour we con- 
 tinued in this painful expectation. I suffered deeply with 
 Bruno's suffering. With darkly wrinkled brows he went 
 agitatedly to and fro in the room, and from time to time 
 wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At length came 
 Elsa. The quiet servant was no more like herself. With 
 perplexed look and faltering voice she requested us to come 
 to Madame Mansfelt. Bruno sprang forward first ; we fol- 
 lowed him ; and with mternal trembling I expected to behold 
 something horrible. But no ; no fearful spectacle met us in 
 Ma chere mere's chamber. She sate in the background in 
 her easy-chair, upright and still, but with no general's mien, 
 and only on the pale countenance, on the red and swollen eye- 
 lids, appeared the traces of a powerful but seLf-conquered 
 agitation of mind. 
 
 " Are vou all here ?" inquired Ma chere mere with a firm 
 
TBANSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 301 
 
 voice. "We replied in the affirmative, at the same time 
 gathering round her. " My children," began now Ma chere 
 mere, with a strange mixture of strength and humility, *• I 
 wished to be alone for a moment, in order to prepare myself 
 as becomes a Christian to appear before you, and to reveal to 
 you my misfortune. Chagrin has now had its full dominion, 
 it is time that reason should have its. My dear children, the 
 hand of the Lord lies heavy on me ; He has smitten my eyes 
 with darkness." 
 
 A smothered expression of grief was heard, and its echo 
 spread itself around. I seized Bear's hand, and saw in his 
 countenance that he had already suspected the real matter. 
 
 " My dear children," began Ma chere mere again, "you 
 must not distress yourselves about me. I myself grieve no 
 longer. At first, I acknowledge that it went hard with me ; 
 and for a long time I would not believe that it could be so 
 with me as it now is. No ; I would not concede to it ; I 
 resisted the idea of it; I murmured in myself; I was like 
 the old woman against the stream. But it became continually 
 darker and darker ; the calamity became more certain ; to- 
 day it became perfectly clear; and now — I have humbled 
 myself. Ah ! my children, let us, in the first place, reflect 
 that it is in vain to strive vdth our Lord Grod ; when we 
 throw little stones at Him, He throws back again great ones 
 at us. In the second, that we are shortsighted mortals, and 
 know but little what is best for us and for others ; and on 
 that account, my children, it is good for us to bow ourselves 
 beneath the hand of our Lord God, and to be obedient to 
 Him, for He knows well what He does." 
 
 I could stand quietly no longer. I threw myself with tears 
 in my eyes on the neck of Ma chere mere, exclaiming — 
 " Bear will help Ma chere mere ; he will restore her sight- 
 again to her !" 
 
 " I hope really to be able to do it," said Bear, drawing 
 near ; and as he seized her hand looked keenly at her. " It 
 is the cataract. It can be cured. In two or three years it 
 wiU probably be matured, and then an operation can be per- 
 formed." 
 
 " Lara Anders," said Ma chere mere, while she pressed his 
 hand, " I believe you, and in this faith I live happily. I will 
 wait patiently till the day comes when I may again behold 
 
302 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 the Lord's sun ; and should it never come for me on the cartli, 
 I will yet sit in my darkness in resignation. I have formerly 
 sate in a deeper darkness ; I am now in comparison happy. 
 My eyes have been permitted to see the fulness of a great 
 joy ; and if I indeed cannot see, I can yet hear my son, and 
 — yon aU," added she, as fearing to do ns an injustice. 
 
 Bruno stood leaning over his mother ; his head was bowed 
 down to hers ; she felt his breath on her forehead. " Is that 
 thou, my son ?" asked she tenderly, and lifted somewhat her 
 darkened eyes. 
 
 " Yes, my mother," answered he, in a voice melodious and 
 full of emotion. 
 
 " Give me then thy arm, my son, and conduct me into the 
 drawing-room," said Ma chere mere. " And you all, my 
 children, follow me. Eruno will play us one of his beautiful 
 pieces, and we will all be as we were before. Comply with 
 my wish in this, my children, and do not let my misfortune 
 trouble you; don't imagine that it is necessary to com- 
 passionate me. No one shall have more trouble than formerly 
 to wait on and be helpful to me. I shall soon be able to help 
 myself ; and should I need sometimes the hand or the eye 
 of another, I will ask for it, and am qnite certain that I shall 
 have it. For the rest, we will trouble ourselves as little 
 as possible abont this occurrence. ' It is old wife's com- 
 fort,' said our great Q-ustavns Adolphus, 'to grieve and 
 complain;' and I say it becomes every sensible person to 
 trust in God, and patiently to bear the cross laid upon 
 him." 
 
 "With this she ttrose, gave her arm to Bruno, but he put 
 his arm round her, while he pressed with inexpressible ten- 
 derness her hand to his Ups, and so conducted her out of the 
 room. A faint red on this flushed Ma chere mere's pale 
 cheeks, and with a smile which one might style that of 
 happiness, she leaned her head against his shoulder. So 
 they went on, and we followed. 
 
 Bruno played as his mother had desired, and played 
 divinely. I have never yet heard any one draw such tones 
 out of an instrument. " He plays not like an angel, but 
 an archangel," said Ma chere mere. But as he descended 
 to gloomier notes, " Dear son !" said she, " play something 
 more lively j that is quite woe-begone." Like the celebrated 
 
TEAITSISKA TVEENER TO MARIA M, 
 
 303 
 
 Queen Elizabeth, Ma chere mere loves, properly speaking, 
 only gladsome and stormy music. 
 
 After the music, arose a general conversation. "We drew 
 m a ring round Ma chere mere, spite of her prohibition, and 
 every one did his best to amuse and entertain her, and never 
 have I Tvitnessed so spirited and animated a party ; even Ma 
 chere mere was more lively and elated than I had ever seen 
 her. Bruno shone in interesting and finely-related stories. 
 Ma chere mere sometimes screamed quite aloud — now from 
 terror, now from astonishment and delight ; and I must 
 confess that I did the same. Wonderful, incomprehensible, 
 interesting Bruno ! Afternoon and evening flew by in such 
 discourse; everybody was amazed when supper was an- 
 Qounced ; and Ma chere mere said as she arose, " My dear 
 children, you are this evening so excessively merry and in- 
 teresting, that I could sit up all night and listen to you ; but 
 ' he that eats out of the iron pot will have nothing in the 
 dish,' and we must no more indulge to excess in pleasures 
 than in other things. I have not been very well to-day, and 
 shall do the wisest to get to bed. I thank you aU, my 
 children, for a happy evening, and wish you a blessing on 
 your supper, and a good night." 
 
 Bruno conducted his mother to her chamber, and stayed 
 some time with her. When he returned, he was still, sor- 
 rowful, but mild. After supper he talked long with Bear 
 respecting the cataract, and inquired very exactly concern- 
 ing the nature and development of it, and the operation 
 upon it ; all which the good doctor described con amove. 
 Bear regards it as probable that it has originated in her vio- 
 lent agitation of mind on the discovery of her son ; but of 
 that Bruno must suspect nothing. It is singular that thia 
 mother and this son seem conducted by fate to occasion mis- 
 chief to each other ; but now, since the blindness has shown 
 itself, the conflict will probably cease, and the angel of recon- 
 ciliation, which has descended into their souls, spread its 
 wings over their future life. But how will it be in this future 
 with Ma chere mere ? Will her strength of mind be able to 
 maintain itself ? Will her physical strength not sink ? 
 What will she do — in what employ herself ? She who has 
 been so commanding, so restless, will she not become op- 
 pressed by inactivity ? Will she not become splenetic, quar- 
 
304 
 
 THE NEIGHBOIJES. 
 
 relsome, peevish, a plague to herself and others ? Tell 
 
 me, Bear, what thou thinkest about it ?" " Hum ! we 
 
 shall see.'' 
 
 9th. 
 
 We are endeavouring to bring our affairs into order ; but 
 it is more difficult than we at first imagined. Heavy debts 
 will oppress us ; Bear's benevolence towards poor relations 
 on his mother's side now falls with a heavy burden upon him. 
 Many retrenchments must be made in our housekeeping ; 
 and yet I can see well that we shall enter the winter with a 
 complete destitution of money. But Bear is strong and 
 kind, and as soon as we get into the city I will give music- 
 lessons. "We shall remove thither very soon. Bear has taken 
 a little house of three rooms and a kitchen. It grieves me 
 now to leave Ma chere mere. Since our last being together, 
 she has not been well. I have toothache, and my heart is 
 heavy. There come times in which all is so tedious. But 
 we must not then forget that we have had enjoyment — that 
 we have been happy. I will not do it, and I will not make 
 my life bitter by too much impatience. Heaviness I hate as 
 cordially as even Miss Hellevi Husgafvel does ; but I now 
 feel that there are difficulties, burdens, of which one cannot 
 get rid ; and we must therefore do our best to bear them 
 lightly. 
 
 14th. 
 
 Long life to Ma chere mere ! No one ever can show him- 
 self more reasonable under misfortune than she does. JSTo 
 one can with more dignity bow beneath the hand of the Lord. 
 She has transferred the whole of the out-door management to 
 Jean Jacques, of the domestic to Jane Marie, and only re- 
 served the right to be consulted on certain occasions. At 
 the carrying out of this arrangement she made a great and 
 formal oration to the servants and dependents. Tuttin has 
 given warning to leave next spring. She and Jane Marie 
 are not the best friends. Ma chere mere has further written 
 
 to the B Institution in Stockholm, for a person who 
 
 shall instruct her how to employ herself with different things 
 in her blindness ; as, for instance, in writing, card-playing, 
 etc. In the mean time she works diligently at her great net, 
 and plays with great zeal on her violin. In temper she is 
 quiet, kind, and very cheerful. I must also say that so far 
 
^RA^'SISKA AVERNEE TO MARIA M. c05 
 
 Jane Marie conducts herself admirably towards her; and in 
 the evenings, with self-denial which is meritorious, plays all 
 the sonata from Steibelt and Pleyel " avec accompagnement 
 de Wolon," which Ma chere mere can play by rote on her 
 violin. Ma chere mere also shows herself more cordial to- 
 wards Jane Marie, which appears to be felt with a good effect 
 by her. Brnno is every day at Carlsfors. Ma chere mere 
 already knows the sound of his horse's feet ; her face flushe 
 when she hears it, and she says — " Now he comes !" When 
 he IS with her there prevails something more womanly and 
 amiable than usual in her disposition. Bruno is going to 
 purchase Eamm, and settle there. 
 
 15th. 
 
 We made to-day various payments which took all our 
 money. I believed that we had not a single penny left, but 
 I discovered that we still possessed a twelve- shilling piece, 
 and I rejoiced so much over it that I was obliged actually to 
 laugh at myself; then I wept ; and after that laughed again, 
 and embraced my Bear. The day after to-morrow we remove 
 into the city. I think with delight that I shall then see 
 Serena, and the excellent old Dahls. Besides this, we will 
 make no acquaintance at all, but will live quietly and to our- 
 selves. The winter will soon pass over — but in the spring ! 
 — ah ! in the spring, when all is lovely in the country, when 
 
 the air and flowers, butterflies and the song of birds no, 
 
 I will not make myself sad ; I really will not. I will have 
 flowers in my room, and I will myself be butterfly, both for 
 them and for my Bear. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 W , October 20th. 
 
 We have been in the city three days. We left Eosenvik 
 on Monday morning ; not without tears on my part, I con- 
 fess it ; but I took care not to let Bear see them. Ah ! I 
 shall never again call the dearest of little places mine ! The 
 morning was grey and raw ; snow flew in the air ; the road 
 was rough with the night frost. PoUe, the poor horse, drew 
 Bear and his Bearess heavily along. We breakfasted at 
 Bird's Nest, whither Miss Hellevi Husgafvel had preKSsinglj 
 
306 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 invited us. Her excellent coffee, with the aceompinjing 
 dainties, her lovely museum, and a cheerful gossip, revived 
 me ; and I arrived in the city in good spirits. 
 
 Our three rooms are neat and comfortable, but do not lie 
 on the sunny side, which I regret. Farewell, my flowers ! 
 Well, we can live without them. I have during three days 
 rummaged about greatly. Yesterday I put up curtains my- 
 self in our apartments. Serena was here, and helped me. 
 How interesting the conversation over this was you can 
 imagine. " My angel, give me that piece of muslin." — 
 " Have you the scissors ?" — " Where is the needle-case ?" — 
 " Here " The hammer ?"— " There " Does the valance 
 hang crooked?"— "A little, to the left."— " This nail is 
 blunted." — " Here, here is another ;" and so on. And there 
 was some joke, some laughter. With Serena work becomes 
 pleasure ; she does all easily and well. Towards noon we 
 had all in order, and when Bear came home I led him with 
 some pride into his room, which he had never before seen so 
 adorned. "Ah! the d — 1 !" he exclaimed, gaping and gri- 
 macing with all his might. 
 
 Serena dined with us. She was merry, and joked with 
 Bear. The dinner was good ; it was a pleasant little meal. 
 When Serena, after dinner, had left us. Bear fell into a sort 
 of ecstasy over her, and exclaimed, " She is an actual angel!" 
 
 " Yes, Bear ; and on that account she would be not in the 
 least suitable as a wife for thee." 
 
 " Not in the least ; even as little as I am fit for a husband 
 for her. For me there is only one that is suitable, and that 
 is my wife." 
 
 " Well, that is indeed admirable, and as it ougbt to be !" 
 
 All is now in order in my little house ; had I only a little 
 sun. But, thank God, I have the best sunshine of the house. 
 T have peace ! 
 
 November 1st. 
 
 Our misfortune is now ever3nvhere known. Do you know 
 how we first became aware of this ? By Bruno coming one 
 morning to Bear, and putting half of his property at his com- 
 mand. It troubled him that Bear would receive nothing ex- 
 cept the loan of a certain sum, and that to liquidate a debt 
 which now pressed upon him. The worthy old Dahl also 
 came to Bear, and offered him his services. All our acquaint- 
 
FBA.NSISKA WERNEE TO MAllIA M. 
 
 307 
 
 ances have shown us much kindness and sympathy ; many ol 
 the families which employ Bear as a physician, have immedi- 
 ately sent in their annual payment. By all this our present 
 cares are swept away, and I am charmed with the goodness 
 of men. 
 
 But no kindness, no visit, has yet affected me so much as 
 that of Ma chere mere. She came yesterday afternoon, so 
 friendly and cordial. . She caused me to conduct her through 
 the rooms, into the kitchen and store-chamber ; made me 
 describe all my arrangements, and lamented only that she 
 could not see my curtains, " which report said were so espe- 
 cially tasteful." To the loss we had suffered she made no 
 allusion ; but after tea she said suddenly in a scolding tone, 
 " Listen, Lars Anders : what stupid nonsense is this of which 
 people talk ? They say you are intending to leave Eosenvik ! 
 That I forbid ; and if for some years you cannot afford to pay 
 the rent, you shall have it rent-free ; the devil fetch me, that 
 shall you ! I will hear no word against it ; it is now said 
 and determined." 
 
 Bear, with his horrible independence, resolved to say much 
 against it ; but I was so transported with Ma chere mere's 
 words, that in an instant I kissed her cheek, and hands, and 
 dress. This weakened Bear's resistance ; so that he merely 
 muttered, " Too much ! we cannot accept what we cannot 
 make a return for." But Ma chere mere interrupted him 
 warmly, and said, while she held me on her knee, 
 
 " Grood Lars Anders, don't stand there and mutter like a 
 beetle in a tub. Too little, and too much, spoils all. To be 
 independent, and a churl to boot, that's all very well ; but to 
 be unwilling to accept a service from a friend is pride, and 
 does no good. Tou have had a loss ; — that was no fault of 
 yours. Well then, you need not be ashamed of it. Be will- 
 ing to concede a little, Lars Anders, and adapt yourself to 
 circumstances. Every one must do that, sooner or later: to- 
 day me ; to-morrow thee ; — but that which is offered from the 
 heart must not be rejected. Besides this, if I offer you a 
 service, my friends, I offer myself one at the same time ; for 
 I like to have you for neighbours — ^there are none that I 
 like so well. It stands as I have said. Hold Eosenvik for 
 five years rent-free ; afterwards you may pay me as you have 
 done before. Better times will soon come for you, my chil- 
 
 v2 
 
SOS 
 
 THE NEiaHBOUES. 
 
 dren, for you are diligent and careful ; and after storm and 
 rain, Grod causes his sun to shine. Don't be headstrong^ 
 Lars Anders. Ee a kind man. Look at your wife ; she is 
 far more sensible than you. Com.e now, and kiss my hand, 
 and let us be friends." And she extended her hand to Bear, 
 who, half grumbling and half thankful and tender, kissed it 
 and shook it. The affair was settled ; was no further spoken 
 of; and Ma chere mere drove away kuid and glad, as she 
 came. 
 
 I was so perfectly happy to have my Eosenvik again, and 
 there to enjoy the spring, with its flowers and birds, that 
 Bear could no longer hold out with his stubborn love of inde- I 
 pendence, but became happy with me. So then there shall \ 
 I again smell my roses, gather my gooseberries, eat my cauli- 
 flowers, and cultivate my garden. All that is divine ! 
 
 November 14th. 
 
 Tor these ten days I have given music-lessons. Serena, to 
 whom I conflded my position, has procured me four pupils. 
 They come in the forenoon, while Bear is absent ; he knows 
 nothing of it, and will in time wonder how it is that the 
 housekeeping goes on so well, and yet how little the money in 
 the box diminishes. It is a pleasure to do this for a man who 
 is so kind, and requires so little : in opposite circumstances it 
 would be a pain. The music-lessons go forward — what in- 
 deed does not when one determines it shall ? — but agreeable 
 they certainly are not. Three of my scholars are very slow 
 *n their conceptions, and have been badly taught hitherto. 
 I do all that is possible to inspire them. We thrash through 
 the " Bataille de Prague" with labour and pain. The fourth 
 pujnl is a clever girl, and gives me pleasure. 
 
 With the old Dahls I come continually into a more confi- 
 dential relation ; in Serena I have the best and most amiable 
 of friends ; Bear is so kind. Ah ! I have much good for 
 which I ought to be thankful, and yet I am heavy at heart ; 
 there hangs a cloud on me which will not disperse. I am 
 not very well either ; it is so dark here in the city ; for several 
 weeks there has been a perpetual fog, converted only now and 
 then into rain ; and then, I have certain thoughts, which 
 
 I should like to know what Ma chere mere would say to 
 this voice uf lamentation ; probably — " They who wish to sing 
 
FRVySTSKA WEUXKR TO MARIA M. 
 
 809 
 
 always find a song." Ma chere mere plays on her violin, and 
 is cheerfnl in her misfortune. Would that I were but only 
 half as rational as she ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 W , November 17th. 
 
 "We have now been a month in the city. This fog, this 
 gloomy season, oppresses the spirits, and then the everlasting 
 dirty weather ; one cannot get a mouthful of fresh air ; 
 everybody has, moreover, colds and affections of the chest ; 
 and Bear is so busy that I cannot get a sight of him, except 
 at dinner and late in the evening. The old Dahl has got a 
 fit of the gout, and Serena cannot leave him. I do not feel 
 well enough to go out often, and therefore I can see very 
 little of her. I endeavour to employ myself busily at home, 
 but that does not succeed ; I have just been trying to enliven 
 myself with the beautiful " Song of the Sun," but I had no 
 voice. Then I thought I would write a little poem, but could 
 find no rhyme to " heart," except " smart," and that put mo 
 into a weeping mood ; then I set myself to sew away right or 
 wrong, but the work turned out neither right nor wrong. 
 At last I placed myself at the window, in order, amidst the 
 grinding noise of wagons and the pattering of the eaves- 
 drops, to relate to you my bad humours. My little pupils 
 also oppress me. We get by no possibility forward with the 
 " Bataille de Prague ;" we must try something else. Bay, do 
 you know anything more wearying than the eternal dropping 
 of the eaves ? 
 
 19th. 
 
 I wished yesterday to see Serena ; I needed her friendly 
 countenance, for I was out of humour with many things, and 
 especially with myself. My pupils had in the forenoon so 
 tried me that I wept as soon as I was alone. At dinner the 
 soup was smoked; Bear was obliged to leave me the moment 
 dinner was over ; everything appeared insupportable ; and in 
 order to drive away the bad humour, I set off under the um- 
 brella, and through the mud to the Dahls. I found them 
 ialone. The little family was assembled in the sick-chamber 
 of the old gentleman. He sate in a great arm-chair, his foot 
 
BIO 
 
 THE KETGHBOXTES. 
 
 wrapped in flannel. Serena's look and friendliness would 
 have enlivened me, had not her paleness frightened me, and 
 made me suspect that all was not right here. Mr. and 
 Madame Dahl were also unusually still and serious ; yet I 
 saw clearly that the relation between the old people and their 
 darling was as entire and cordial as ever. 
 
 After tea, Madame Dahl went into her own room, and 
 asked me to accompany her, as Serena would read aloud to 
 her grandpapa, who was not disposed this evening for much 
 talk. When we were alone together, neither would any con- 
 versation move on properly between us ; the good old lady 
 was sunk in thought, and sighed deeply. I inquired tenderly 
 into the cause, and soon learned it : — Bruno, a few days ago, 
 had sought the hand of Serena from her grandparents. 
 
 " His proposal made me sorry," continued Madame Dahl, 
 " as he at once brought forward the matter in so warm and 
 manly a manner ; for I have always been much concerned for 
 Bruno, and yet we could not from many causes -think of 
 Bruno as the husband of Serena, at least not yet, while we 
 know so little of him. There were strange reports about him 
 in his youth, and respecting the occasion of his flight from 
 his mother's house. One has for many years heard nothing 
 of him ; and even now he is ambiguously spoken of, especially 
 as regards a certain woman that he has in his house. My 
 husband is strict in his demands of honour and of pure repu- 
 tation in a man, and if any one has a right to require these, it 
 is certainly he. He has, as well as myself, a great esteem for 
 Bruno, and rejoices sincerely over the good that he intends 
 and will effect here ; but he does not wish to call him son. 
 Serena is the apple of his eye — his pride, his joy — therefore 
 it is not at all to be wondered at, that he will not give her to 
 a man whose life and character are covered wich darkness. 
 He therefore received Bruno's proposal coldly; and without 
 absolutely rejecting it, begged him at present to think 
 nothing further of it; spoke of the future, of nearer ac- 
 quaintance, and so on ; and in order to bring the not very 
 pleasant conversation to a friendly termination, added sport- 
 ively — "And for the rest — when we read in the Bible that 
 J acob served seven years, and again seven, for E-achel, we 
 cannot think it unreasonable to wait a few years to deserve 
 a damsel who certainly is better and handsomer than the 
 
FRAI^SISKA WEUNEU TO MAEIA M. 
 
 311 
 
 young shepherdess in the land of Mesopotamia.' But thia 
 joke about Jacob and Eachel did not seem at all to please 
 Bruno. He took his hat with a dark glance, bowed, and left 
 us without a word. 
 
 " When he was gone, we felt it our bounden duty to make 
 all that had passed known to Serena, and to hear what she 
 would say. We did so, and her deep agitation of mind 
 strengthened what I had suspected, and what she herself 
 cordially confessed in reply to our questions ; — Serena loves 
 Bruno. Already as a child she conceived a fondness for him, 
 and this is now become love. But as my husband laid before 
 Serena the reasons which had induced him to give Bruno an 
 answer so little encouraging, she confessed, even in the midst 
 of her tears, that he had done quite right. And as he added, 
 with emotion, that his grey hairs would go down with sorrow 
 to the grave if she united herself to a man who was unworthy 
 of her, and that even now he could have no peace if Serena 
 were so bound by her affections that she could not feel her- 
 self happy unless in marriage with him, she threw her arms 
 round his neck, and begged him to make himself easy ; assur- 
 ing us that she loved us more than she did Bruno, and never 
 would dispose of her hand without our full consent ; that she 
 would always remain with us ; and said such affectionate 
 things to us, — how contented she was with her condition, how 
 happy our tenderness made her, and so on, that our hearts 
 became much lighter. 
 
 " Since then we have said no more of the affair ; but Grod 
 knows how it is, we are all somewhat out of tune, I look at 
 Serena, and see that her heart is heavy, though she shows 
 herself always so kindly towards us. My husband put a re- 
 straint on himself in the interview of that day, and the gout 
 has through that become worse. Of Bruno, too, who before 
 was here so frequently, nobody has heard a word ; perhaps 
 he has taken the refusal so ill that he will set off again to the 
 West Indies." 
 
 " Then let him go," said I; "then he is not worthy of 
 Serena. In truth, I must say with Mr. Dahl, that she is a 
 maiden who deserves to be served for and waited for ; but 
 methinks that seven years, and again seven years, may be a 
 little too much m these days, when men do not live haii 
 as long as the patriarchs.'* 
 
.^12 
 
 THE NETOn7?OFllS. 
 
 Madame Dahl laughed and said, " You have always a 
 lively word, my little Eransiska. All ! well, I myself have 
 thought so too, and said so ; but my husband, in everything 
 so wise and excellent, is somewhat obstinate in matters of 
 marriage ; and, beyond this, it by no means pleases him 
 when any one asks the hand of Serena. Ah, Fransiska ! I 
 have often thought and suspected that in our tenderness of 
 Serena we probably mingle no little selfishness, and that we 
 perhaps are as much afraid of losing by her marriage her 
 careful attentions and society, as that she should not be 
 happy in her wedded life. I have had some trouble," added 
 she with a sigh, " to make this right clear to myself. Ah ! 
 life is a conflict to the grave. The old have probably as 
 great, and even still more powerful temptations to withstand 
 than the young. The blood is so sluggish, the feelings be- 
 come so numb ; the cold which creeps into the body will 
 insinuate itself into the soul.. We feel that we need much 
 help, and begin to make demands on others ; we have many 
 little complaints, and through them we too easily forget to 
 sympathise in the sufferings and enjoyments of others. In 
 fact, these are heavy temptations, and had we not the Gospel, 
 I feel persuaded that we must sink ; and probably we suffer 
 ourselves to become more fettered than we are aware of." 
 
 During our conversation the clock had struck nine. 
 Madame Dahl and I ate a light supper ; Serena remained 
 with her grandfather. After supper we went to hinx also, 
 in order to attend the evening prayers, which for fifty years 
 have been held every evening in the house. As I approached 
 the door, I heard Serena reading aloud. " Heavens !" 
 thought I, " she surely cannot have been reading aloud the 
 whole time since we left them." We entered ; the reading 
 ceased ; the servants assembled in the room, and the old 
 Dahl read with dignity and devotion the short but beautiful 
 Evening Prayer. As this ended, the inmates and servants 
 of tlie house gave each other the hand, with a friendly " Good 
 night." The whole was a peaceful scene, which did the 
 heart good. 
 
 When we were again alone, I observed that Serena looked 
 w'eary. She coughed sometimes, and the cough did not at 
 all jjlease me ; but as I looked at her with an inquisitive 
 uneaainesa, she smiled at me so kindly and cheerfully, as ii 
 
FRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 313 
 
 she would remove from me this impression. When 1 waa 
 taking leave, and wished the old Dahl a good night's sleep, 
 ne said, " Sleep has not been for some time my friend ; but 
 T am happy enough to have a little Scheherazade by my couch, 
 who shortens a part of the night for me through her pleasant 
 histories ; and that has she done for probably more than * a 
 thousand and one nights.' But perhaps thou art tired to- 
 night, my good maiden," added he, as he looked at Serena. 
 
 " 0, I can very well read a little longer," she replied 
 zealously. 
 
 I was about to put in my opposition, by a remark on the 
 weariness of Serena's look; but at my first " But," Serena 
 laid her hand instantly on mine, so pre s singly, so forbiddingly, 
 that I closed my mouth again. When she accompanied me 
 out, " Serena," said I, in a tone of reproof, " why didst 
 thou not tell thy grandfather the truth ? Thou art weary ; 
 — I see it. Dost thou think that he can be satisfied that to 
 entertain him thou shouldst read thyself to death ? This is 
 wrong ; it is unreasonable." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! thou very reasonable creature !" said 
 Serena smiling, and caressing me, while a tear gleamed in 
 her eye. " Let me to-day follow my understanding ; another 
 time I will follow thine. Grrandfather is not well, and to- 
 day he is extremely out of spirits ; and if he imagined that 
 I was not well, he would be very uneasy. I am not at all 
 unwell ; I am only a little tired ; I shall be all right again 
 presently, like a winter moon." 
 
 " Then thou must very soon call on me, for my spirits have 
 been for some time regularly declining." 
 
 " Ah ! I suspected so. What is it, Fanny ? My dear 
 Fanny, what is it that oppresses thee so ? Sit down ; let me 
 take off your boa. Let me know, now " 
 
 " No, no, Serena, not now ! But come soon to me, Serena." 
 
 " As soon as ever it is possible to me." 
 
 Dahls' servant accompanied me home with a lantern. It 
 rained, and heavy as the rain- drops fell my thoughts. " Shall 
 Serena" — so they ran — " wither in her youth, because she 
 has endeared herself to the old people, and has made herself so 
 indispensable to them? I wish that she was carried ofi*! — 
 otherwise she will be utterly bewitched with this readir.g. 
 Bruno would be just the man for such an exploit — but Bruno 
 
314 
 
 THK KEiaHBOtJES. 
 
 ■ — this unquiet and not pure spirit — could he make her happy ? 
 Would not this be to fall out of the ashes into the fire ? My 
 poor, dear Serena ! Like the water-lily thou seemest destined, 
 now to float on stilly and now on stormy waves, and only to 
 live as the ornament or the prey of them." 
 
 22nd. 
 
 Tet the water-lily has its own root, although this lies hidden 
 in the deep ; and although its blossoms allow themselves to 
 be rocked by the waves, yet it has its own firm eye-mark — 
 Heaven ! And now from the blossom of the water to the 
 blossom of the valley — to Serena. To-day in the cold dark 
 morning she surprised me, and I confess it — surprised me in 
 tears. I was ashamed of myself; and to her affectionate 
 caresses and questions, could only say — " Don't trouble thy- 
 self about me, Serena! I am to-day rather weak. Thou 
 shouldst have come another day ; to-day I am stupidly 
 childish.'' 
 
 " No, to-day is the right day," replied Serena, with zealous 
 cordiality. "It is exactly to-day that it pleases me to be 
 here. I have had no rest since I saw thee last. Thou 
 spakest so sorrowfully, so unlike thyself. And now I am 
 here, and shall not go away till thou hast told me what it is 
 that lies so heavy on thy mind." 
 
 " Guard thyself from reprisals, Serena!" 
 
 " Ah ! thou art ready to do battle, I hear. Well, that 
 makes me easier. See, thou laughest ! Grod be praised, now 
 all will go well ! But tell me, dear Fanny, tell me " 
 
 We got into the great easy-chair together ; we gossiped, 
 we wept, we laughed together, and Serena's tenderness and 
 eensible words lightened my heart materially. But as I 
 began to be more composed in myself, I began also to make 
 assault upon her, and said — " Now comes the turn to thee, 
 Serena ! Now must thou also confess. No, no, thou canst 
 not creep out ; thou shalt not leave me till thou hast ex- 
 plained this riddle. Thou comest to-day to me ; speakest 
 with me, of me, as if there was nothing else in the world be- 
 sides to talk of. Thou hast something in thy look which 
 seems to say that eternal peace dwells in thy soul. Tell me, 
 ;;an it be so ? I know that Bruno has asked thy hand. I 
 
FRANSISKA WEK^fEU TO MARIA M. 
 
 815 
 
 know too, that if it has not been actually refused him, it haa 
 been shown to him in that distant and doubtful perspective 
 which makes it very unlikely that he will obtain it. I know 
 too, that this has wounded him deeply, — can all this be in- 
 different to thee ?" 
 
 "JS'o, not indifferent!" It seemed to be painful to 
 
 Serena to speak on this subject. 
 
 " Dearest Serena!" I exclaimed, "pardon me, I see that I 
 teaze thee, but this time thou must let me see into thy heart. 
 I know that Bruno loves thee extremely ; thou, thyself, hast 
 confessed what thou feelest for him ; canst thou renounce 
 him without pain ?" 
 
 " No, not without pain, ^but yet without much suf- 
 fering." 
 
 "Dost thou not deceive thyself? Thou sayest now — *I 
 do not suffer,' and art yet so pale. Thou wilt die one day 
 while thou art saying — ' I do not die !' " 
 
 Serena smiled sorrowfully, while she blushed, and said: 
 " 'No, Eanny ! of this trouble I shall not die. I have proved 
 myself, and I know that I can bear it. In a while I shall be 
 no longer pale; I shall become again quite composed and 
 strong. My parents have explained to me the reasons which 
 have influenced them not to comply with Bruno's wishes ; 
 and I see that they are right, and that they cannot possibly 
 think otherwise. On that account I have compelled my own 
 inclinations to silence ; yes, I have laid aside all thoughts of 
 a union with Bruno. I will live only for my parents. So 
 long as they love me, and through my attentions are rendered 
 happy, I cannot feel unhappy myself." 
 
 " Is, then, thy sense of duty so strong, is thy tenderness 
 for them so sufficing for thy own heart ; is it able to drown 
 every wish, every bitter yearning, which, if thou lovest, tliou 
 must still feel ?" 
 
 " Yes, if not indeed always, yet is it so on the whole. Seest 
 thou, Fanny, in the daytime there may come some impa- 
 tience, some yearning, some ' Ah !' as thou callest it, and 
 disquieten the heart ; but when the day is over, and I can 
 retire to rest, and say to myself that those who tenderly 
 cherished my childhood have during the day enjoyed comfort 
 and pleasure through me, and think that they now rest in 
 
316 
 
 THE NETGHBOUBS. 
 
 peace and bless their child ; — then, Eannj, it becomes all sc 
 quiet, so well about my heart, that I silence any * Ah !' ana 
 am contented and grateful for my lot." 
 
 " If thy parents yet live ten or twenty years ? Every year 
 they will require more indispensably thy care, — and then this 
 
 reading Serena, thou wilt wither away before thy time, 
 
 and become old in thy best years !" 
 
 " And if the cheeks wrinkle, and the eyes grow dim, what 
 then, dear Fanny, if we have but won the satisfaction of the 
 heart ? I have reflected on the future, of which thou speak- 
 est, and fear it not. If parents are not kind and worthy of 
 respect, it may be hard, very hard, to live entirely for them ; 
 and this may with truth be styled a sacrifice. But how diffe- 
 rent is it in this case for me ; and how many charms has my 
 life which nobody is aware of. Do I express a wish which 
 my parents do not hasten to satisfy ? How many great plea- 
 sures do not their kindness and generosity confer on me ? 
 In fact, to live for such kind and venerable parents is a beau- 
 tiful and noble lot." 
 
 "Thou speakest right well and eloquently, Serena," said I, 
 somewhat piqued ; " and no one can admire thy parents more 
 than I do ; but I cannot away with it that they can never 
 endure thy suitors ; that they always oppose themselves to 
 thy marrying ; and I would ask whether a good portion of 
 selfishness does not lie in that. They will not give thee to 
 any other because they will keep thee for themselves, that 
 thou mayst nurse them, read to them, and sing to them, 
 till " 
 
 "Fransiska!" interrupted me Serena with an expression of 
 terror, " say not so. Are they not such thoughts which 
 awaken bitterness in the heart, and cripple all our power to 
 do good. My dear Fanny, these ideas must, with all our 
 might, be banished as evil tempters. For the rest, — if parents 
 will have some return for all that they have sacrificed ; if they 
 wiU not be forsaken in tlieir old age, and will retain near them 
 the child they have cherished and brought up, is that any- 
 thing to wonder at — is it anything but reasonable ? Ah, 1 
 would appeal to all whose situation resembles mine, and say, 
 * Let us remember this, and love the fulfilment of our filiaJ 
 duty.' 
 
 " And when these duties cease ; when thv carents are gone 
 
FRANSISKA WEENER TO MARIA M. 
 
 317 
 
 and gone, too, the best portion of thy existence, will not lue 
 appear empty to thee ? Thou hast for their sakes separated 
 thyself from thy young companions, and their interests ; thou 
 hast gone out of the joyful and stirring track of life, in order 
 to accompany the dying, and to smoothen his course ; and now 
 standest thou suddenly in solitude. Will not thy soul also 
 have become a nun, which sees in the world a desert, and 
 returns mute into its chill cloister?" 
 
 " I do not believe it," said Serena, as she looked up. A 
 tear glittered in her eye ; her bosom rose, as though it would 
 fling from it a weight ; and she continued : " Life is rich and 
 beautiful. God's goodness is inexhaustible ; why then should 
 our hearts cease to receive it ? "Why should they wdther 
 aw'ay so long as there flow rich wells of enjoyment ? If they 
 do, it must be their own fault. They contract themselves ; 
 they close themselves ; they will not expand in order to rejoice 
 in the joy of others, to admire the beauty of the world. Ah ! 
 that is poverty of soul. My dear Fanny, I desire it not. I 
 will keep my soul open ; spring, and friendship, and song, live 
 perpetually on the earth. Heavy and woful times may come, 
 but they must go again ; and even while they last, shall we no 
 longer look at the sunshine which falls on our lives, as on that 
 which is turned away from it ? And exactly on this account, 
 best Fanny, lest us say no more of that which oppresses me. 
 Let me now enjoy the sun which greets us after so many 
 gloomy days. See how beautifully it lies on the green table- 
 cover." And she laid her fair hand in the sunshine, as if 
 caressing it. " Let us now be happy on thy account, and 
 since I see that thou lovest me as I do thee." And with 
 silent tears on her glowing countenance, Serena embraced 
 me, and leaned her head against my shoulder. 
 
 "But Bruno, Serena? But Bruno?" I was like the 
 devil ; I would let her have no rest. " Whilst thou consolest 
 thyself and enjoyest life, he who does not possess thy forti- 
 tude will be solitary and miserable." 
 
 Scarcely had I pronounced these words, when I repented 
 them. The happy glow which illumined Serena's brow was 
 suddenly extinguished ; a cloud, a trouble, passed over it ; but 
 she collected herself, and said with a quiet sincerity, " ISTo, 
 Fanny, no. Bruno will not be unhaopy. No, he also will 
 Ecquii'e peace." 
 
31S 
 
 THE NEIOHBOTJRS. 
 
 " And how ..... And whence is thia certaijity ?'* de* 
 manded I, in astonishment. 
 
 " Ah ! I know how it will come to pass ... I have a pre- 
 sentiment, a faith which cannot deceive me. Seest thou, 
 there will pass over a time ; it will not be joyful, but it will 
 pass over, and then Bruno will come again. Then it will be as 
 in my childhood, and in my first youth; — ^we shaU be aa 
 brother and sister ; and this bond will make us both happy. 
 Bruno will choose himself another wife, but I shall always 
 remain his friend, his sister. Thou shalt see that it will be 
 so. My parents, Bruno, and thee, — to love and to live for you^ 
 — O Fanny ! how good is Grod !" 
 
 The bears on Spitzbergen did not fall with such fury on 
 the huts of the sailors, as my Bear now on the haU. door. It 
 was noon, and Serena was obliged to hasten away home. I 
 was absent during dinner, and had to endure Bear's raiUery 
 on that account; in order to reconcile him, I ordered a 
 super-excellent cup of coffee, and while he drank it, I sate 
 down to play an air to the poem which I had composed dui'ing 
 dinner, and which I now send you. 
 
 THE WATER-LILY. 
 
 From the clear water springeth 
 
 A white and lovely flower, 
 Beholds the sun, and bringeth 
 
 Its homage to his power. 
 
 At once its eye it turneth 
 
 Aloft in truth and love ; 
 An offering pure it burneth, 
 
 To its high God above. 
 
 Over the deeps it hovers, 
 
 Like angels' prayers so sweet ; 
 No restless wish discovers — 
 
 Love is its bliss complete. 
 
 When howl the tempests chilly, 
 
 And heavy drench the rains, 
 Still calmly waves the lily 
 
 Upon the billowy plams. 
 
 Nor from the station flieth 
 
 Where God its head did raise 5 
 Heaven patiently it ey«th, 
 
 And hopes for better dAjs. 
 
FaASSISKA TOENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 Away tlie storms are winging; 
 
 The purple evening round 
 Sheds pearls ; and softly ringing 
 
 The hajps of ocean souQd. 
 
 In the sea's silver dwelling, 
 
 The Neck his song doth raise 
 Unto the lily, telling 
 
 Of love which ne'er decays. 
 
 " Come, and behold all wonder. 
 
 Which fills the deep, deep sea ; 
 In meads of rose far under, 
 
 I'll sing alone to thee. 
 
 " Come down to the woodlands dreamy. 
 To the house with its pearly dome ; 
 
 Come with sun -rays beamy. 
 Love calls thee to thy home." 
 
 But the snow- pure lily, throwing 
 
 Its glance to heaven high, 
 In the world of light yet glowing, 
 
 Gives the singer this reply. 
 
 " He who for my love pineth, 
 
 Must haste aloft to me ; 
 Alone where God's sun shineth, 
 
 Can I belong to thee. 
 
 *' Come, Poet-Prince of Ocean, 
 
 Here all is warm and bright, 
 View heaven with deep devotion 
 
 And sing of love and light." 
 
 The dream is flown ! The Necken 
 
 Sinks down to deepest gloom ; 
 Him joy no more shall waken, 
 
 But hopeless love consume. 
 
 The same ! and ever the same ! makes life wearisome, 
 especially when this monotony consists of everlasting foggy 
 and dirty weather. Nothing prospers in this atmosphere 
 except illness. I see Bear scarcely an hour per day ; and 
 yet his friendly look is as necessary for me as the sun. He 
 is now in the highest degree uneasy on account of one of his 
 patients, the esteemed father of a family, and will watch to- 
 night by him. How different can life appear at different 
 times ! At times so sportive, or clear and There felJ 
 
82U 
 
 THE NEiaHBOURS. 
 
 a poor woman m tne street and spoiled her cloak ; there the 
 wind turns a gentleman's umbrella inside out. There wag 
 a damsel covered with mud by a chaise hurrying past. All 
 three looked quite wretched. The little sparrows twitter : 
 I wish I was a sparrow ! 
 
 28th. 
 
 Bear is full of trouble. The father of the family is dead. 
 He was a man in his best years, and has left behind him a 
 widow with seven children, of whom the greater number are 
 small. Their only means of support was the earnings of the 
 father. They are but recently come hither, and have neither 
 relations nor acquaintance who can help them. The poor 
 little things ! it cuts me to the heart when I think of them. 
 
 " Hast thou nothing black that might serve for mourning 
 for those little ones ?" 
 
 " Grod help us. Bear ! to me everything looks black ! even 
 this red cloth here. Thou sayest Serena was there. How 
 did she look ?" 
 
 " Priendly and kind as an angel of comfort." 
 
 " Good Serena !" 
 
 Bruno ; one hears nothing of him. Perhaps his wretched 
 pride is so thoroughly wounded that he gives up all thoughts 
 of Serena. If he do, he will fall in my esteem. And Serena ? 
 Is she really as strong as she would represent ? Will not 
 this love, this pain, gnaw at her life like a concealed worm ? 
 Everything seems to me sorrowful. I see Serena grow pale ; 
 Bruno grow gloomy ; I think on the fatherless children, who 
 need food and comfort ; Ma chere mere sits in darkness ; 
 Bear is distressed, and I 
 
 Ah ! so many things in this life give us only a glimpse of 
 themselves, but come no further ; so many a day dawns, but 
 never becomes clear ; so many things are begun, but are 
 never ended; so that contemplating this, one should be 
 ready to let one's hands fall into utter discouragement, if it 
 were not for the consoling thought, " This is but the Be- 
 ginning !" 
 
FEANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 \V , December 4 th 
 
 YoTJ tell me, Maria, that I appear bo longer like 1113' self. 
 You find something so desponding and sad in my letters ; 
 you inquire what is the cause. I cannot resist your soft and 
 affectionate words, and will tell you all, though you should 
 find me very strange and childish. 
 
 It is true that I have for some time taken a very discourag- 
 ing view of life. I have nob found myself well in either mind 
 or body, and felt no pleasure in existence. Ah, Maria ! I feel 
 that I am a mother, and this feeling oppresses me. It has 
 awakened a world of strange and anxious thoughts. I have 
 looked forth as with a newly acquired sense into the world, 
 and I have discovered there a thousand dangers and sufferings 
 upon which I had never before reflected, and which all seem 
 to threaten my child. Every step in life seems to be encom- 
 passed with snares and misfortunes. To learn to walk, to read, 
 to think, to accommodate itself to the circumstances of life, 
 — how hard, how wearisome ! And then all the troubles, 
 from the first pains of teething to the last pains of death ! all 
 dangers of body and soul ; falls down steps, into love, and 
 sin, etc. ; how fearfully, how sorrowfully have these shapes 
 of night started up in my soul : and I could not say to them, 
 " Avaunt, deceitful phantoms!" because I looked around in 
 life and saw that they are actually the daily guests in the 
 dwellings of men. And as I became sensible of this, and the 
 heaven looked down upon me so gloomy and cloudy, then, 
 Maria, I trembled that my child should see the light, and 
 yearned to hide it from the world and from suffering. 
 
 In part I have been happy enough to overcome these sickly 
 and painful feelings ; but the worst of all, and that which op- 
 presses me unceasingly, is, that I fear my child will not be 
 welcome to my husband. I fancy that I can perceive it by 
 many signs. He never speaks of children ; never expresses a 
 wish for them ; and once, when the conversation was of some 
 one who had a great family, he threw a quick glance on me, 
 as if to say, " Thou really wilt not have such an one ?" Ah, 
 Maria, and immediately this becomes probable ! Bear knoA^ s 
 
 X 
 
^22 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 nothing of it. yet I think he must suspect ; but it is ex- 
 actly this that he does not know of it, which takes from mo 
 all courage to discover it to him. Ah ! I must also confess:, 
 that my unsettled state of mind has made me during this time 
 less friendly towards him. I have in some degree avoided 
 him ; I have withdrawn myself when he has tenderly put his 
 arm round me. I have seen that it grieved him, and yet I 
 could not alter my behaviour. Yet I have myself had, how- 
 ever, the most to endure. Bear is no longer young ; he 
 loves undisturbed quiet at home ; and it is not to be wondered ' 
 at that he should dislike the crying and noise of children, and 
 all the trouble which they occasion. And then — after the loss 
 of his property, it must be oppressive to him to have new ex- 
 penses, new cares to support, which instead of decreasing, 
 continually increase. And if I should have two girls at 
 once, and then, according to Stellan's prophecy, eight in 
 addition, what will he think ? How will he be satisfied with 
 it? Tou cannot tell, Maria, how these thoughts weighed 
 me down ! 
 
 My poor little maiden ! it is not enough that many a 
 suffering, many a bitter experience must be thy lot in the 
 w^orld, but probably thy father will not once welcome thee 
 into life with a smile ; perhaps he will press thee with a 
 secret sigh to his bosom. And if thou shouldst lose th} 
 mother early, perhaps even at thy birth — for how man} 
 women die in giving life to their children, and I am not 
 strong — who then, my little maiden, will sit fondly by thy 
 cradle ? Who will soothe thy disquiet into peace ? Who 
 will, later, comfort thee in difficulties ? Who will love thee, 
 and teach thee to conduct thyself ? Where wilt thou find 
 ever-open arms ? My tears flow, and I must conclude. 
 
 5th. 
 
 But now I dry up my tears, and proceed. Last evening I ^ 
 sate alone, and worked at a little child's cap. My heart was 
 heavy, and my unshed tears choked me. Bear was not come 
 home. The wind blew strongly without, and sounded dis- 
 agreeably to me. It also occasioned that I did not hear 
 Bear's arrival before he opened, as usual, abruptly the door 
 of the room where I sate. I hastily threw my work under a 
 shawl, blushed, and had scarcely time to bid him good 
 
FBANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 323 
 
 evening. Bear looked unwontedly cheerful, and exclaimed 
 ioudly, " Grood evening my little wife, how is it with thee 
 
 " Yery well," answered I : and in order to ward of further 
 questions, asked myself — " "What hast thou in thy hand 
 there ?" 
 
 " Only an ugly pasteboard box. An old woman bothered 
 me to buy it. We will see if thou canst make it of any use 
 to hold thy combs, hair pins, and so on. He set the great 
 pretended box on the table, loosened the cloth in which it 
 was wrapped with a horrible grimace, and before my eyes lay 
 a picture in a costly gold frame. Two figures, as it were, 
 stood living before me in it. The most beautiful Mother-of- 
 God hovered on the clouds, with the Child- Grod on her arm. 
 It was a copy of Eaphael's Madonna Sistina, in black chalk, 
 by the clever Miss Eohl. I saw the heavenly peace in 
 Mary's countenance; I saw the divine, all-illuminating 
 glance of the Child, and I became so comfortable, so heavenly 
 comfortable in my mind, I could not speak, and without 
 being aware of it, ran sweet happy tears on the glass of the 
 picture. I had forgotten all around me ; I knew not whether 
 1 was on earth or in heaven, when I found myself encircled 
 by Bear's arms, and heard him say with a tender, but affec- 
 tionately upbraiding voice — " Fanny, why should I not know 
 that I am a father ?" 
 
 In this moment I became violently affected. I hid my 
 head on his shoulder, and could scarcely stammer forth, " O 
 Bear ! I was afraid that you would not be pleased !" 
 
 My Maria ! how did I feel as I saw Bear drop on his knees 
 before me, as he kissed my hands, my dress, while with great 
 tears in his eyes, and with a faltering voice, he exclaimed — 
 " I not pleased ? I not happy ? I am delighted ! My 
 Fanny, my wife, my child !" In such emotion I had never 
 seen him, and my heart dissolved itself in inexpressible love 
 and joy. 
 
 This hour was beautiful, was divine ! But one such in this 
 earthly life, and one may be contented ; one has understood 
 what heaven is. 
 
 After our first extreme agitation had subsided. Bear seated 
 himself by me, and lectured me, half in a tender and sportive 
 and half in a serious tone, on my strange secrecy. My heart 
 was open ; I let him read it ; I let him see all which of lato 
 
 x2 
 
THE NEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 had been working there. At first he smiled, then he became 
 more serious, and at last he said, somewhat out of humour 
 
 But that is very silly, Tanny ! Where has been thy reliance 
 on the Most High ? Does this miserable fear become those 
 who believe in Him and His goodness ?" 
 
 "Ah !" I said sighing, " I believe firmly on Him, and yet 
 children fall down stairs or out of the window, and become 
 cripples or idiots for life." 
 
 " Well, and what then ?" said Bear, and looked me in the 
 face with a glance which at once was firm and clear ; — I did 
 not imagine he could have made his eyes so large. I cast 
 my eyes down, and answered softly — " And children may also 
 become unfortunate." 
 
 "Well, and what then?" exclaimed Bear, and looked at 
 me as before. 
 
 "And what then! and what then!" I cried impatiently, 
 and was very near getting angry ; but Bear's look again struck 
 me, and penetrated into my inmost soul. I understood him 
 now — understood his manly strength, his love, and piety. 
 " Bear," said I with contrition, " I will trust, with thee ; 
 come what will, I will not murmur, nor despair, but hold fast 
 my faith in the Everlasting Goodness." 
 
 Bear clasped me to his heart. 
 
 I was somewhat anxious to avoid going further into the 
 fears which I had entertained, but he had laid himself out to 
 question me, and he would not desist till he had drawn all 
 forth. When I alluded to my doubt regarding himself, he 
 became angry and said — " How couldst thou think so ill of 
 me, Fanny ? How couldst thou imagine me to be so pitiful, 
 so unnatural a wretch ? This only can excuse thee, that thou 
 wert unwell." 
 
 " But Bear now that we are become poor, it will indeed 
 
 be a matter of great anxiety to bring up and educate children, 
 especially if we have many — if we actually have ten girls !" 
 I laughed as I said this, but it was mth tearful eyes. 
 
 "That will be done even. We shall find means, never 
 fear. Children that are received in love, bring a blessing 
 with them. The more children, the more paternosters." 
 
 "But the education — the education!" sighed I; "what 
 burdens this brings with it, when we consider the demands 
 of the present day." 
 
tRANSISKA WERKER TO MAKIA M. 
 
 325 
 
 *^ I ask the d — ^1 after the demands of the time, in many 
 respects," muttered Bear ; and added with serious and cordia) 
 kindness, " We will love our children, Panny ! We will 
 bring them up in a clear and steady fear of Grod. We will 
 t^ach them order and diligence. Wliat relates to talent and 
 a finer accomplishment, they shall receive that too if we have 
 the means ; if we have them not, then do not let us trouble 
 ourselves about them. The chief thing is, that they become 
 good and useful men ; they will then find their way both here 
 and hereafter. Thou, my Fanny, wilt early teach them what 
 is in the hymn which thou art so fond of singing — 
 
 He who can read his paternoster right, 
 Fears neither witch nor devil." 
 
 Bear's words and mild and manly expression took hold on 
 and elevated my heart. "No!" I exclaimed, "I will no 
 longer be anxious and fearful. I cannot be so with thee, my 
 Bear. And thou little exiled prophet" — I took up the little 
 cap — " come forth to the light, and speak openly of the mys- 
 tery !" 
 
 How delighted was Bear with the little cap ! He had 
 never yet seen anything so neat and pretty. I now sewed 
 on the small lace round it. Bear held it on his great fist, 
 and smiled at it, as if he already saw it adorn the head of his 
 child. The whole evening was a succession of the most joyful 
 feelings and scenes. It would have been too much for me, 
 had not Bear put a bound to it. He made me drink one or 
 two cups of tea, and sought to divert my attention with bread- 
 and-butter. He himself took scarcely anything. He looked 
 at me and at the little cap with tears in his eyes, — we were 
 happy. 
 
 9th. 
 
 " Where is my sadness, Maria ? Where my discoveries of 
 evil, where are my anxious forebodings ? It is as if all these 
 had taken their flight at once, never again to return. That 
 lovely picture hangs in my bedroom. I contemplate it many 
 times in the day. I perform before it my morning and 
 evening worship, and it speaks to me : it says to me all 
 that is consolatory, beautiful, and divine. I am now writing 
 before it ; and it seems to me as if the Madonna and the 
 Jesus-child looked down upon me with a look of blessing 
 
326 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTTES. 
 
 Oh, my child ! thy mother will no longer be in anxiety on 
 thy behalf. Thou wilt have a tender protector. His glanco 
 rests on thee, as the sun's rays fall on the yet unfolded bud. 
 As He is immortal, so art thou immortal. As He went to 
 Grod, so shalt thou, by Him conducted, go to the Eternal 
 Father. Whatever may be dispensed to thee on earth, we 
 will not despair — we will not, my child, lose our confidence. 
 We will believe that He who has called thy spirit to exist- 
 ence, will sooner or later unfold it, and conduct it to himself. 
 Oh come, my child ! thy earthly father shall with joy press 
 thee to his bosom. Thy mother will live to make thee 
 happy ; she will surround thy cradle with song and joy. 
 Erom her bosom wilt thou draw thy first nourishment, and 
 there wilt thou first become acquainted with love. Then wilt 
 thou be prepared hereafter to feel and to understand how 
 Grod loves. O, I will press thee so warmly, so affectionately, 
 to my heart, that no cold wind of life shall be able to chill 
 thee ; that even when the ice of age shall freeze thy blood, 
 thou shalt become warm at the recollections of maternal love ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 W , December 13th. 
 
 Whilst time and events are passing on, I find myself 
 one fine day quite in love with Bruno. Yes, a man may 
 shoot horses and even dogs, when he is so kind towards his 
 fellow-men. Do you remember what I told you of the family 
 so much to be pitied — of the widow with the many children ? 
 Well then, they are comforted, they have found help. Bruno 
 has lent the widow a capital with which she is enabled to 
 begin a profitable business ; and besides this, has wholly 
 undertaken the bringiiig-up of the two elder boys. How 
 happy are the rich, who can render such effectual help! 
 Bruno has done all in the greatest stillness, and commanded 
 the widow to say nothing of it ; but in her joy she has com- 
 municated it to Serena, and she was here this forenoon and 
 related the whole to me. A beautiful joy animated her mild 
 countenance while she spoke of it ; but delighted as I w^as, I 
 could not avoid remarking that the action was not indeed so 
 vreat, but wds rather something natural to a rich man 
 
TRANSISEA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 327 
 
 " That is true," said Serena, " and my grandfather has often 
 done such things as these when he was in more prosperous 
 circumstances ; but I could not see Madame E.'s joy without 
 blessing him who was the cause of it." 
 
 At this moment some one came. Our conversation 
 was interrupted, and Serena went. Old Dahl is better. 
 Thank Grod! AH is now better. The weather is better, 
 the sick are better ; Bear is in good spirits, and my pupils 
 c'lre improving too. In the house we are making sausages 
 for Christmas, I am helping to make them, and singing 
 songs with Sissa and Bengta. Ma chere mere learns to 
 WTite and play at cards, and is happy in Bruno ; who, on his 
 part, behaves most admirably to her ; but, as Jean Jacques 
 says, looks gloomy and careworn. 
 
 Why does he wear himself away ? Why does he avoid 
 those who can and would pour balm into his heart ? 
 
 19th. 
 
 I went yesterday forenoon to the Dalils. Serena was in 
 the ante-room, busy with two young ladies, whom she was 
 instructing in the lovely art of making artificial flowers. 
 Her cheeks had a livelier colour than they have for some 
 time past had ; and this rejoiced me. She embraced me, and 
 said softly to me, " Thou wilt go in to my grandmamma 
 awhile, whilst I stay here ? Try to enliven her, Eanny ; 
 speak of something cheerful to her, she is to-day so cast 
 down." 
 
 I found Madame Dahl in her bedroom. She sate there 
 alone in her great arm-chair, and sighed deeply. She re- 
 ceived me with motherly kindness, spoke with me concerning 
 myself, and gave me good and prudent counsel ; and then 
 fell again into a sad silence, which she broke with these 
 words : " Tell me honestly, Eransiska, dost thou not think 
 that Serena is much gone off of late ? Does she not seem 
 to thee to grow thinner and paler every day ?" 
 
 I answered that I thought to-day she looked healthier 
 til an when I saw her last. 
 
 But at any rate dost thou not find her much changed 
 fidnce the summer ? Has she not, especially within the last 
 month, looked very much worse ?" 
 
 I could not deny that this was the case ; but added that 
 
328 
 
 THE KElGlIBOtJHS. 
 
 Sti'ena would soon be better, and that she thought so her- 
 self. 
 
 Ah ! my dear child," said Madame Dahl, "that gives mo 
 no comfort. Serena is exactly like her late mother, my dear 
 blessed Benjamina. It was exactly thus that she began to 
 look, some months before her death ; exactly such pale cheeks, 
 such an unearthly look as this. It was just so she smiled 
 and said to us, ' I am very well. I shall soon be better.' 
 And she never complained, and would never allow that any 
 one should be uneasy on her account. " So was she till her 
 last moment. Ah, ah ! Serena will soon follow her mother, 
 unless she has some help." 
 
 Madame Dahl wiped away her tears, and I did the same, 
 and then said, " Serena is not bodily ill, it is only her mind, 
 her heart, that has suffered ; and shall she not have strength 
 enough to overcome this suffering, and to regain her perfect 
 equanimity ?" 
 
 " Yes, strength to suffer without complaining ; to be per- 
 fectly resigned ; but not strength enough not to die. Ah, dear 
 child ! there is something in this love which has continued 
 since childhood, which has taken deep root in her heart. 
 Already as a child she hung on the wild boy with her whole 
 soul. When he came, she laughed and stretched out her little 
 arms towards him ; when he went, she was troubled and still ; 
 and I have observed that she now feels towards him exactly 
 as she did then. I begin to fear that this love has grown 
 with her growth ; and that I have indeed said to my husband, 
 but he w^ould hear nothing of it. It grieves me to have dis- 
 pleased him, but I had no rest after what I saw yesterday." 
 
 " What was that, my dear Madame Dahl ?" 
 
 " We had just drunk tea. Serena was with us. The dear 
 child probably saw that my eyes were fixed on her, for she 
 became suddenly more talkative and more merry than usual. 
 She related to us many things, over which we were obliged 
 heartily to laugh, and I had nearly forgotten my uneasiness, 
 and was disposed to believe that we were right happy. When 
 we had probably thus talked and laughed for an hour, Serena 
 went out, anu directly afterwards it was as if some one had 
 said to me, ' Go and see after her.' I went softly into her 
 chamber, and there fouud her, her forehead leaned against the 
 window. I grasped her head with my hands, and obliged 
 
TEANSTSKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 329 
 
 oer to turn her dear face towards me. Ah, Fransiska ! it 
 was bathed in tears. She would have hidden them from mo 
 at first ; and when she could not, she attributed them to a 
 book which she had been reading, and which had excited her. 
 I made as if I believed her ; but I perceived now what hour 
 the clock had struck, and went away with a heart heavier 
 than it ever can be in death. In the evening I would not say 
 anything to my husband to disturb his night's rest ; and 
 besides this, Serena came in, and began with her red eyes to 
 read aloud, as if nothing whatever had happened. But this 
 morning I have communicated to him my fears ; but he still 
 believes that I have frightened myself with my fancies. Ah ! 
 his eyes are dull, and cannot see what mine see." 
 
 " But if Bruno shows himself worthy of Serena, will hep 
 good parents still delay to make her and him happy ?" 
 
 " Yes — if ! That is an important — if — my dear child. It 
 seems to me very strange of him, that since the day on which 
 he solicited Serena's hand, he has not once been here. And 
 there was so much justice in what my husband said to him, — 
 Bruno must see that. If he really love Serena with his whole 
 heart, this postponement of the matter ought not to keep him 
 away from our house. It was a good action of his towards the 
 
 E family. Almost every one that w^e meet speaks of him 
 
 with distinction, but as matters now stand, we may and can 
 do nothing to call him back again. All must now depend on 
 himself and on his behaviour." 
 
 At this moment came in old Mr. Dahl. He saluted me 
 friendly, although not so cheerfully as usual ; went to his wife, 
 and tapped her on the shoulder. It seemed to me as though 
 he had somewhat good to say, and that he would fain be 
 alone ; I said, therefore, that I would seek Serena, and went. 
 In the mean time I would not disturb the flower council in 
 the ante-room, and took another way to Serena's apartment, 
 where I thought to wait for her. Her room is pretty and 
 cheerful. One sees that her affectionate parents wished that 
 she should have it very agreeable ; and I know not w^hat 
 atmosphere of peace, order, and pure taste filled the neat 
 abode, and made me there experience a peculiar pleasure. 
 Several paintings adorned the walls, some of them Serena's 
 own work. These distinguished themselves by the simplicity 
 ^f the subjects, and by the care and truth with which they 
 
THE NEIGHBOTIBS, 
 
 were finislied. After I had contemplated these, a green 
 curtain attracted mj curiosity. I drew it aside, and on well- 
 arranged bookshelves glowed the names of the classical writers 
 of Sweden and Denmark, — of Denmark, poor in people, but 
 rich in talent ; small in extent, but great in its intellectual 
 aspiration. They were all old acquaintances of mine ; and 
 charmed at finding them there, I touched the dear volumes 
 with a feeling of affection, and said, " Thanks, thanks, for all 
 the strength, all the good, and the heavenly enjoyment, that 
 you have afforded to me and to many." 
 
 On the table lay a book open. It was " Kernell's Travels." 
 A pencil lay in the open book. I saw that a part of the page 
 was underlined, and I read. 
 
 " Life must become light, if it will not change itself into a 
 lethargic sadness, into an actual death. In this gloomy dis- 
 
 Eosition of mind, man cannot prepare himself for immortality ; 
 ecause he understands it not, and strives not to make him- 
 self worthy of it. We call to mind moments of departed 
 pleasure more vividly than the past hours of sorrow. This is 
 a hint that life should be dear to us. Death must not be re- 
 garded as a liberation from prison ; it is only a step higher, 
 a step out of the valley to the top of the mountain, where we 
 enjoy a more extended prospect, and where we breathe more 
 freely, — out of the valley, into which, indeed, the light and 
 warmth of the sun penetrated, and where also the love of 
 God embraced us. Learn properly to understand and to love 
 life, if thou wilt rightly understand and love eternity. A true 
 Christian must already be happy here on earth — that is the 
 problem of life, which every one of us must with all our 
 power endeavour to solve ; that difl&cult problem whose solu- 
 tion so few have achieved, and which has cost the multitude 
 so much conflict. Yet the more and the greater are the 
 difficulties, the more honourable it is to carry off the victory. 
 Man may be disappointed in his greatest hopes in life, 
 
 WITHOUT, ON THAT ACCOUNT, BECOMINa UNHAPPY. I have 
 
 long suspected, and am daily more and more by the course of 
 the world, and through my own inward experience, convinced, 
 that there is no other actual misfortune, except this only — 
 Not to have God fob, our Friend.'* 
 
 I also underlined the beautiful and strengthening words. 
 I would wish to have them framed in gold. Ou a little loose 
 
FEAKSISKA W£R>T:E TO MAEIA M. 
 
 831 
 
 strip of paper, lay in the book by this passage, some words in 
 Serena's own hand. I read them ; they were these : " Tes, 
 all may be borne ; aU may be sanctified ; all in life and in 
 the heart may be converted to good, through prayer and 
 labour." 
 
 "A great truth, Serena!" thought I, "which I must fur- 
 ther discuss with thee." But Serena came not: I became 
 impatient, and went to seek her. I found her not in the 
 ante-room ; but in the sleeping-room I heard voices, the door 
 stood ajar, and I became witness of this scene. Serena 
 kneeled on a footstool at the feet of her grandmother, and 
 had thrown one arm around her neck ; her other hand wa3 
 given to the old Dahl, who regarded her with an unspeakable 
 expression of tenderness and care in his venerable coun- 
 tenance, while she, with a quiet exaltation in look and tone, 
 said to them : "Be not uneasy, be not troubled on my ac- 
 count, my kind, kind parents ! Believe me, I am quiet, I am 
 contented ; I am your happy and grateful child. I have 
 suffered a short struggle, it is true, and it could not be pre- 
 vented ; but I am already better, and I shall soon be perfectly 
 strong again. Only be at peace, do not be uneasy !" 
 
 I stole quietly away ; I would not listen, neither would I 
 disturb these lovmg ones. I went back to Serena's room, 
 continued there my observations, took up that page again 
 whereon Serena had written, and held it yet in my hand as 
 she entered. Serena blushed, called me curious, but em- 
 braced me with silent affection. " Don't be angry with me, 
 Serena," I said ; " thou must, on the contrary, be right good 
 and humble, since I stand here with the purpose to make 
 thee some reproaches." 
 
 " Make me reproaches!" exclaimed Serena smiling; "now 
 let me hear them !" 
 
 " Don't look so lively and secure, Serena ! I am very 
 seriously angry with thee ;" and I now related what Madame 
 Dahl had told me of the scene of last evening, as well as that 
 of which I had that moment been an eye-witness ; and added 
 zealously : " That is not honest of thee, Serena ! That is 
 needless, irrational self-torture. Why represent thyself to thy 
 parents other than what thou really art ? Wherefore infuse 
 into them a false security, while sorrow consumes thee, and 
 this the deeper, the more thou shroudest it within thyself?" 
 
832 
 
 THE KEIQHBOURS. 
 
 And what wouldest thou have me do, dear Fanny said 
 Serena, while tears forced themselves into her eyes. " Shall 
 I occasion my aged parents to suffer griefs which they have 
 not power to remove ? Shall I embitter their days with my 
 weakness ? And would this help me ? Would it do me any 
 good ? 0 no, Fanny ! That thou canst not wish ! That 
 thou canst not suppose. I am convinced that they act for 
 me right, and affectionately ; I am convinced that on our 
 side nothing now can or ought to be done. It has grieved 
 me that Bruno could absent himself so long from us, — it 
 seems to me unfriendly, yes, hard of him, but I have ac- 
 customed myself to wait, and I will yet wait more patiently, 
 for he will one day come again ; that I feel and am persuaded. 
 But, Fanny, let us not now talk of it ; let us not now think 
 of me ; we will rather think of anything else. There is now 
 much to be done in preparation for the Grolden Marriage. 
 That will be a great, a charming day, Fanny ! Think only of 
 the happy and virtuous united life of half a century ! Then 
 Christmas is also at hand ! Thou and thy good man must 
 eat your Christinas welcome with us. Madame E.'s children 
 are also coming. I have begged my parents to allow me to 
 prepare a little Christmas pleasure for them. Thou wilt 
 come ! Ah ! that is beautiful. Let us go out immediately, 
 and purchase our Christmas gifts. The weather is fine, and 
 I will be your cashier." 
 
 We went. It was a pleasure to see the people in the 
 market, and the joy and eagerness of the children, who, by 
 the side of their parents, hopped about on the new-fallen 
 snow. Serena was delighted with the scene. We exchanged 
 our remarks ; we made our purchases. I bought an Attrape 
 for Bear. Two pleasant hours fied ; and Serena seemed, in 
 her interest and activity for others, to have forgotten that 
 she herself was not happy. 
 
 CHRISTMAS-DAT. 
 
 The pleasant Christmas-eve at Dahls — the rejoicing of the 
 children over their Christmas-tree, full of lights, and presents, 
 and sweetmeats — Serena's motherly behaviour towards them 
 — my pleasure in it — the Christmas supper — the Christmas- 
 eve night, — all this I pass over in haste, in order to proceed 
 thither, where Serena, I, and Bear agreed to go together. 
 
FEA^fSISKA WEET^-EE TO MAEIA M 
 
 SS3 
 
 and wliither thou, dear Maria, must now accompany me; 
 namelvj to 
 
 THE EAELT MASS OE CHETSTMAS-DAT. 
 
 "We were in the church. Its great and beautiful arched 
 roof shone with a thousand tapers. Altar, columns, choir, all 
 glittered, — all was so full of light, and splendour, and glad- 
 ness. The organ was yet silent. There prevailed a solemn 
 stillness in the church, which by the light rustling of the 
 monng multitude seemed rather to be heightened than dis- 
 turbed. We seated ourselves in the choir ; a long row of 
 tapers opposite to us threw a powerful light upon us. " Thou 
 lookest quite glorified," said Bear to me as I seated myself. 
 Serena had to me the same appearance. My soul was full of 
 a joyful devotion. 
 
 Not far from us, with his back leaned against a pillar, and 
 overshadowed by it, stood a tall dark figure, evidently sunk 
 in deep thought. It was Bruno. His profile was beautiful, 
 but seemed to me unusually pale. He saw us not ; his head 
 was bowed down ; for him the outer world was not there ; 
 but at the first tone of the mighty organ he started and 
 looked up. His eyes and those of Serena met : he made no 
 salutation ; she made none ; they appeared to be wholly lost 
 in their mutual gaze, and I gazed on them. They seemed to 
 me like spirits which, after long sufferings, meet and are 
 again united in a happy world. Their countenances were 
 pale ; but an ineffable expression of love and a kind of blessed 
 pain as it were illuminated them. It was a glance of deep 
 and mutual recognition. Serena's eyelids sunk wet with 
 tears. Bruno was soon at her side, and kneeling down on 
 her foot-board, he said with a soft but not whispering voice, 
 "Allow me to pray with you." Serena held the hynm-book 
 so that he could see. As their voices were raised and united 
 themselves in a deep harmonious tone, there went through 
 me a presentiment that these two v^ere destined for each 
 other, that their union is. determined in heaven, since it is 
 founded in this sympathy of souls, which is the condition and 
 the guarantee of an immortal wedded felicity. 
 
 The moment that this thought arose in me, the question 
 also presented itself to my mind, whether Bear and I sym- 
 pathized? I felt a desire to ask him whnt he thought of it; 
 but aa I looked at him, as he titood beside me, and vviihinit 
 
THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 looking right or left, without being conscious of that which 
 was passing near him, was singing his song of praise with a 
 powerful bass voice and from the bottom of his heart, I was 
 ashamed of my foolish thoughts, and joined in his hymn, 
 feeling inwardly that I reverenced and loved him with my 
 whole soul. 
 
 Between Bruno and Serena were now neither word nor 
 look farther exchanged ; but as she stooped her head in 
 prayer, he bowed his also ; when her finger pointed out the 
 verse that should be sung, he followed it ; it appeared to 
 make him happy to pray with her. As we left the church he 
 was at her side, and made way for us through the crowd. 
 He conducted us to the carriage ; and when this stopped at 
 the house of the Dahls, he was there already, and assisted us 
 to dismount. His face was lit up by the moon, and had a 
 beautiful expression of soft and exalted feeling. " I shall see 
 you soon again," said he to Serena, as he kissed her hand. 
 He then shook hands with Bear and myself, and departed. 
 I have never yet seen him so cheerful and friendly. 
 
 We drank our second coffee with the aged Dahls. Serena 
 related to her grandparents with undissembled joy our meet- 
 ing with Bruno, and his promise very soon to visit them. It 
 appeared to give the old people pleasure. 
 
 "What a morning!" said Serena to me, as we were an 
 instant alone together. " O Fanny ! life has beautiful, won- 
 derful hours. As I beheld him in the clear light — as he 
 sung with me — ah ! I fear only that from this moment my 
 worship was no longer pure — all my prayers were for 
 him !" 
 
 May no one have greater sins to repent of! — ^but now I 
 must leave thee, Maria, for the carriage is come, to fetch us 
 to dine with Ma chere mere. 
 
 i January 2nd. 
 
 We have had a little quarrel, I and my Bear. You recol- 
 lect my secret — the music -lessons. They arrived at a grand 
 6clat. Bear came in one day in the very middle of the " Ba- 
 taille de Prague." He was confounded. After the battle 
 came an alarm. May all matrimonial contentions so begin, 
 and so end ; then would there much oftener be Te JDeim sung 
 in families. 
 
FBAKSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 335 
 
 5th. 
 
 Last evening we had a little, select circle, assembled and 
 united in a great enjoyment. And who were these select ? 
 Who should they be besides myself — long life to modesty ! — 
 my other self, Bruno, Serena, and the Patriarchs, in whose 
 house we were. There was yet a seventh guest there, to 
 complete the constellation, one who elevated all the rest into 
 his own heaven, and this was — Poesy. Bruno read aloud 
 Tegner's Axel ; and this splendid, and never-to-be-too-often- 
 read poem, now pronounced by Bruno's soulful voice, seemed 
 more transporting than ever. Serena's needle dreamed in her 
 hand, and her eye seemed to have become ear ; and we all, old 
 and young, were changed in heart. "We became mild, warm, 
 and affectionate. High and beautiful is the lot of the great 
 poet. His lyre is the world, and the strings on which he 
 plays are the souls of men. When he wills it, these tonea 
 are called forth, and melt together into a divine harmony. 
 
 Thus it was in our little circle. A sweet inexpressible 
 pleasure diffused itself amongst us ; we made, as it were, only 
 one happy, loving family. Bruno's otherwise now dark, now 
 flaming glance, beamed with a softened radiance, and rested 
 on Serena with an expression of deep but sorrowful love. 
 Serena was so happy, so gay, so beautiful, that it seemed as 
 if ail the darkness in the world would become light before hep. 
 She seemed in her blissful heart to desire to embrace and bless 
 every living creature. She saluted me as we went with tears of 
 joy in her eyes, while she said — " Seest thou that he comes 
 again ? Seest thou that all will turn out as I said ? We 
 shall become one family ; united, peaceful, and happy." 
 
 " Yes !" thought I, " if the holy spirit of Poetry were but 
 ever with us, and in us ; but ah !" 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 W , January 12th. 
 
 " Bless me ! what a bustle there is, both within and with , 
 out !" On all sides here we are preparing for the Golden 
 Marriage. I do not know if I have already told you that 
 the great day falls on the 20th of this month. The whole city 
 and country take an interest in it. It is as if all the peoplb 
 
in the place liere were related to the old venerable Dahls. 
 Their eight children, with all their families, are expected. I, 
 too, am in action on account of the feast. I help Serena as 
 well as I can, and practise with Bruno a choral song which is 
 to be sung at the festivity. Bruno has composed the music ; 
 he is really a master, and it is a pleasure to put oneself under 
 his direction. The persons who are to compose the choir 
 assemble at our house twice a week, and are trained by the 
 strict master, before whom we all stand somewhat in awe. 
 Serena has so much to do in preparation for the feast, and so 
 much to do for all the uncles, aunts, and cousins, that I see 
 very little of her. Once she came and mixed her voice in the 
 chorus, but then vanished all devotion out of the practising ; 
 Bruno's body, indeed, sate at the instrument, but his soul 
 was with her. He is often in the evening at the Dahls. He 
 endeavours to gain the good- will of the old people ; talks with 
 them, and reads to them. Serena takes her rest ; persuades 
 herself that she has acquired a brother, and is happy. 
 
 16th. 
 
 The young people come from east and west ; — Dahls here ; 
 Dahls there. Brave men, handsome children; how some 
 femilies do flourish! A swarm of cousins encounter one 
 another here at every step ; brotherships and friendships are 
 concluded ; the whole city is in motion. A variety of balls 
 and festivities are to follow in the train of the Golden Wed- 
 ding ; even Ma chere mere will give a great dinner-party. I 
 shall probably not see much of this pleasure and gaiety, since 
 I must keep myself quiet ; but I shall hold the joyful feast 
 in my heart. 
 
 Bruno is again in a changeable and more gloomy humour, 
 and the gladness is quenched in Serena's looks. Alas ! 
 
 Miss Hellevi Husgafvel is on this occasion invaluable as 
 counsellor and helper for the Dahl family. She has under- 
 taken the arrangement of a series of living pictures, with 
 which the aged Dahls are to be surprised. She has taken 
 Lagman Hok into her councils ; and they drape, and explain, 
 and discuss (dispute too, very likely, a little occasionally), 
 and arrange, etc. I am persuaded that we shall see some- 
 thing beautiful come out of it. There will be a great multi- 
 tude of people assembled at the Dahls on the eve of the 
 
FRANSISKA WEKIiEE TO MABIA M. 
 
 337 
 
 great day ; and this is as it should be. This marriage m ust 
 be as publicly and ceremoniously celebrated, as a first mar- 
 riage should be conducted quietly and modestly. Then, 
 people go on board to sail over a sea where winds and waves 
 are often stormy ; but here, on the contrary, in the Grolden 
 Marriage, they have completed their voyage ; they have 
 reached the hav^en, and can calmly hoist the flag of victory. 
 
 Ma chere mere comes to the feast, and I shall have the 
 pleasure of keeping her for the night with me. I will my- 
 self roast the coifee, that she may eniov in the highest per- 
 fection the beverage which she preiciw to all others. 
 
 I have a variety of things to say to thee of the younger 
 branches of the Dahl family, but must defer it till after the 
 marriage, when I shall have more time ; but, in passing, I 
 must tell thee, that I have selected a favourite from amongst 
 them. She is named Mattea ; is a tall, thoroughly plain, but 
 thoroughly good creature, of twenty years of age, who has 
 won my heart by her joyous, open-hearted disposition, her 
 sincere love for Serena, and her splendid playing on the 
 piano. 
 
 January 21st. 
 
 "With whatever thou mayst be employed — be it with the last 
 stitch of a stocking, or the last word of a compliment, or with 
 the contemplation of a portrait, or with a romance of Bulwer, 
 or a discourse on the immortality of the soul with B., or the 
 setting on of a piece of weaving, or the preparation of 
 a citron-cream, oi' the answer to a love-letter, — leave all in an 
 instant, and sit thee reverently down and read that chapter 
 which I am proposing to write, and which is entitled — 
 
 THE GOLDEN MABEIAaE. 
 
 If you wish to learn the true beauty and value of marriage, 
 if you wish to see what this union may be for two human 
 hearts, and for life, then observe not the wedded ones in their 
 honeymoon, nor by the cradle of their first child ; not at a 
 time when novelty and hope yet throw a morning glory over 
 the young and new-born world of home : but survey them 
 rather in the more remote years of manhood, when they have 
 proved the world and each other, when they have conquered 
 many an error and many a temptation, in order to become 
 only the more united to each other ; when labours and cares 
 
 T 
 
888 
 
 THE NEIGnEOUKS. 
 
 are theirs ; when under the burden of the day, as well as ii, 
 hours of repose, they support one another, and find that they 
 M-e sufficient for each other. Or survey them still further in 
 life ; see them arrived at that period when the world, with all 
 its changes and agitations, rolls far away from them ; when 
 every object around them becomes ever dimmer to them ; 
 when their house is still, when they are solitary, but yet 
 stand there hand in hand, and each reads in the other's eyes 
 only love ; when they, with the same memories and the same 
 hopes, stand on the boundaries of another life, into which 
 they are prepared to enter ; of all the desires of this being, 
 retaining only the one, that they may die on the same day; — 
 yes, then behold them ! And on that account turn now to 
 the Patriarchs, and to the Golden Marriage. 
 
 There is indeed something worth celebrating, thought I, as 
 I awoke in the morning. The sun appeared to be of the same 
 opinion, for it shone on the snow-covered roof of the house or 
 the aged pair. I availed myself of the morning hour, wrapped 
 myself in my cloak, kissed Bear, and trudged forth to carry 
 my congratulations to the old people, and to see if I could in 
 anything be helpful to Serena. The aged pair sate in the 
 ante-room, clad in festal garb, each in his own easy-chair. 
 Two snuff-boxes, a hymn-book, and a large nosegay of fresh 
 flowers, lay on the table. The sun shone in through snow- 
 white curtains. It was cheerful and peaceful in the room, 
 and the Patriarchs appeared in the sunny light as if sur- 
 rounded by a glory. With emotion I pronounced my con- 
 gratulation, and was embraced by them as by a father and 
 mother. 
 
 " A lovely day, Madame Werner !" said the old gentleman, 
 joyfully, as he looked towards the window. 
 
 " Yes, beautiful indeed," I answered; "so beautiful that 
 the angels of Grod must rejoice in it. It is the feast of love 
 and truth on the earth." 
 
 The two old people smiled, and reached each other a 
 hand. There arose a great commotion in the hall. It was 
 the troop of children and children's children, who all in 
 holiday garb and with joyous looks streamed in to bring their 
 wishes of happiness to their venerable parents. It was 
 charming to see these groups of lovely children cling round 
 the old people, like young saplings round the aged stems. It 
 
F2ANSISKA WEENER TO MAEIA M. 
 
 339 
 
 NSLS charming to see the little rosy mouths turned up to kiss, 
 the little arms stretching to embrace them, and to hear the 
 clamour of loving words and exulting voices. 
 
 I availed myself of this moment quietly to retire and to 
 seek Serena. I found her in the kitchen surrounded with 
 people, and dealing out viands ; for there was to-day a great 
 distribution of food and money by the Dahls to the poor of 
 the place. Serena accompanied the gifts with friendly looks 
 and words, and won blessings for her parents. When the 
 distribution was at an end, Serena accompanied me to her 
 room : there I looked inquiringly into her friendly counte- 
 nance, and said joyously, " Thou lookest quite happy to-day. 
 Serena!" 
 
 "And how could it be otherwise?" answered she; "all 
 around me to-day are happy. My dear old parents seem to- 
 day to have received their youth again ; and yesterday thou 
 shouldst have heard Tanny, as they sate before the evening 
 fire, and went through their whole life, and spoke of what 
 now stood before them — it was so beautiful, so solemn 1" 
 
 Miss Hellevi Husgafvel here interrupted us ; we must 
 follow her up to the second story. Here all was dust, noise, 
 and confusion. One saloon was in the act of being hung with 
 drapery and prepared for a ball ; another was preparing for 
 the proposed tableaux. Miss HeUevi, who already saw in 
 spirit how the whole would be arranged, flew lightly as a bird 
 amongst scaflblding, cordage, and a thousand things which 
 stood about, while she said, " See, dear Madame Werner, 
 this will be so, and this so. Won't that be good ? Won't 
 it have a good eflect ?" 
 
 "Madame Werner!" called Lagman Hok, down from a 
 ladder on whose top he stood aloft with the face of Den 
 Quixote, "won't this lighting-up have a fine effect against 
 the yeUow di*apery ?" 
 
 "Excellent! splendid!" I exclaimed with secret anxiety ; 
 " but Lagman Hok, that chandelier will certainly faU ! Good 
 Miss Husgafvel, this scaflblding wiU certainly come all down 
 together !" 
 
 The light and lively Miss Birdsnest laughed at my obvious 
 terror ; and I hastened, my ears deafened with the hammer- 
 ing, out of the uncomfortable purgatory which is to conduct 
 to an aesthetic paradise ; but I did not the less praise those 
 
 r 2 
 
340 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES, 
 
 v\^ho there busied themselves, although I had myself rathe? 
 pluck roses without having to feel their thorns. After I had 
 accompanied Serena to other quarters, and consulted with her 
 how various things were to be arranged, I took my leave, 
 with the promise to be there early in the evening. But 
 before I set out, I became witness to a ceremonial scene. A 
 deputation from the corporation of the city appeared in. its 
 name, and presented to the venerable pair a large gilt silver 
 cup, as a testimony of the esteem and gratitude of their 
 fellow^- citizens. I missed Ma chere mere in the place of the 
 mayor ; — what a stately speech would she not have delivered ! 
 
 I was glad at dinner to tell over all these things to Bear. 
 His mouth watered to hold his Golden Wedding. To that 
 we probably shall not arrive, but we may possibly attain our 
 silver one. Ah ! I wonder whether our ten daughters will then 
 stand round us ! It would be a lovely marriage-garland. 
 See ! there has fallen a tear at the thought of it ! 
 
 At six o'clock in the eyening. Bear and his little wife 
 strolled arm-in-arm to the wedding-house. In the street in 
 which it lay, light burned against light ; one window was lit 
 up after another ; cressets burned at the corners of the 
 street ; and presently the street was bright as day, and a 
 great number of people wandered with glad countenances up 
 and down in the still, mild, winter evening. The city was 
 illuminated in honour of its Patriarchs ; the house of the 
 Dahls itself had a sombre look in comparison with the others, 
 but the light was within. 
 
 Exactly as we were endeavouring to enter the gate through 
 a crowd of people, who had collected there in order to see 
 the arrivals, my eyes fell on a figure which stood amongst the 
 rest. It was wrapped in a great black shawl ; but the two 
 large burning eyes, which flashed forth from beneath this 
 covering, made me start, and I thought involuntarily on 
 Hagar. In the same instant the figure drew itself back ; and 
 uncertain whether I was right in my conjecture, but with a 
 secret presentiment of misfortune, I entered the marriage- 
 house. 
 
 At the door of the saloon Serena met me ; she wore a 
 white garland in her light-brown hair, and at the sight of her 
 vanished every dark thought. Ah ! how charming was sn* 
 aoi this evening in the light white dress, with her friendly 
 
JUA^fSTSKA WER^^ER TO MARIA M. 
 
 341 
 
 blue eyes, her pure brow, and tlie heavenly smile on her lips ! 
 Had I but had the power to paint her at this moment ! As 
 every flower has its moment of perfect beauty, so has a 
 human being moments in which his highest and loveliest life 
 blooms forth, in which he appears what he actually is, what 
 he is in the depth of Grod's intentions. These fleeting re- 
 relations — for there is nothing abiding on the earth — these 
 are that which the genuine artist seeks to lay hold of; and 
 therefore it is unjust to say of a successful portrait, especially 
 that of an intellectual person, that it is flattered. But 
 whither am I wandering ? I was speaking of Serena. She 
 was so friendly, so amiable to everybody ; and yet — I knew 
 it — she was not in herself happy. Friends and relatives 
 arrived ; the rooms became filled. Ma chere mere entered 
 with great stir. She was conducted by Bruno ; and although 
 blind, was as high and stately as ever. Heartily she greeted 
 the venerable pair, while she said with a loud voice — " Old 
 friends and old ways I do not quit willingly, and therefore I 
 am here. I am come to wish you happiness, my friends, on 
 this your day of honour. * Every one is the aHiflcer of his 
 own fortune,' says the proverb ; and consequently, if any 
 one would question whether you, my two honoured friends, 
 are happy to-day, it would, I say, be just the same as if any 
 one should question whether the king be a nobleman. It is 
 as certain as the Amen in the church. God bless you!" She 
 shook them heartily by the hand. 
 
 Jane Marie was richly dressed and amiable. Bruno was 
 gloomy. His dark eyes followed constantly the light Serena, 
 but received thence no illumination. He was silent and in- 
 troverted. 
 
 By eight o'clock all the guests were assembled. They had 
 drunk tea, eaten ice, and so on, and now fell at once a great 
 silence. The two old people seated themselves in two easy- 
 chairs, which stood near each other in the middle of the 
 saloon, on a richly embroidered mat. Their children and 
 children's children gathered in a half circle around them. 
 A clergyman of noble presence stepped forward, and pro- 
 nounced an oration on the beauty and holiness of marriage. 
 He concluded with a reference to the life of the venerable 
 pair ; which was a better sermon on the excellence of mar^ 
 
212 
 
 THE NEiaHBOUES. 
 
 tiage, for life, and for the human heart, than his speech itselH 
 What he said was true and touching. There was not a dry 
 eye in the whole company. Bear and I leaned against each 
 other. A solemn and affectionate mood had affected all, and 
 there prevailed a deep silence through the numerous assembly, 
 but it was not that of weariness. 
 
 In the mean time all the preparations for the second divi- 
 sion of the festival were complete ; and the company ascended 
 up the steps covered with matting to the second story. Here 
 the tableaux were presented, whose beauty and grace ex- 
 ceded everything that I had anticipated. These at some 
 opportunity I will describe. The last consisted of a weU- 
 arranged group of the whole body of the descendants of the 
 Dalils. The chorus was sung during the representation of 
 this tableau, and went off extremely well, especially when we 
 heard it the second time. The whole representation gave 
 general and great pleasure. As the chorus ceased for the 
 second time, and the curtain fell for the last time, the doors 
 of the dance-saloon flew open, a dazzling light streamed 
 thence, and lively music set all the feet and hearts of the 
 young in motion. And now, Maria, take out your eau-de- 
 Cologne bottle, and prepare yourself for a catastrophe, which 
 was as startling as it was unsDsthetic. Realities are some- 
 times sadly prosaic. 
 
 The old Dahl had ad\^anced into the dance-saloon on the 
 arm of his granddaughter ; the guests followed in lively con- 
 versation, when I suddenly became aware of a movement in 
 the great chandelier, the same which had excited my fears 
 in the forenoon. Serena, on whose arm her grandfather 
 leaned, and was speaking to some of those who were near, 
 stood at this moment exactly under it. I raised a cry of 
 terror, — " Take care ! the sconce falls !" All glanced in 
 affright upwards ; but with the speed of lightning Bruno 
 darted forward and lifted Serena out of danger, in the same 
 instant that the splendid chandelier, with its sixty lights 
 and thousand lustres, fell with a deafening thunder. Bruno 
 himself received a heavy blow on the head. He turned pale 
 and staggered. "Bruno! Bruno!" cried Serena, with the 
 unmistakable and heart-rending tone of love, and caf ght 
 him in her arms as he fell to the ground. He threw his 
 
TEA5rSISK:A WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 343 
 
 arms round her, and pressed lier to Hs bosom ; a blissful 
 smilcj like a sunbeam, appeared on his countenance as he 
 sunk and became unconscious. 
 
 It is not to be described what a sensation this created in 
 the company. In one moment a misfortune, a declaration of 
 love, and a death, or what most perfectly resembled it ! — 
 one might lose his senses with less than this. I confess that 
 I know little of what now took place, till I, a moment after- 
 wards, found myself in a still and dimly -lighted chamber. 
 
 Bruno lay upon a sofa. He had been bled, but had not 
 yet returned to consciousness. Bear stood chafing him, and 
 looked quite grim. Ma chere mere supported his head on 
 ber lap ; she was silent, but the tears streamed from her blind 
 eyes, and rolled slowly over her colourless cheeks. 'Not far 
 distant sate Madame Dahl, and Serena lay before her on her 
 knees, and hid her face in her bosom ; their arms were thrown 
 round each other. The old gentleman stood near, his eyes 
 rivetted on his child ; and I stood also by them, speaking con- 
 soling words to the nearly unconscious Serena. 
 
 "Where is she?" exclaimed Bruno, awaking out of his 
 death-like stupor, but not yet perfectly in possession of his 
 
 senses. " Ah ! where is she ? I had her in my arms she 
 
 was mine it was so beautiful. — Thus let me die ! — Serena," 
 
 exclaimed he, still more passionately, " where art thou ? 
 
 My bride, wilt thou let the world separate us ? The world, 
 
 — men, — what are they to us? We stand now in the choir 
 of the temple of Grod, and the angels sing over us the bene- 
 diction of the Most High. Whither art thou fled ?— Oh ! 
 thou hast taken my heart away with thee, Now is my bosom 
 
 so empty. Serena, come back ! Grive me my life again, 
 
 Serena!" 
 
 "Oh, that is dreadful! dreadful!" whispered Sorena, but- 
 embraced more closely the support whose support she was. 
 Bruno had now raised himself. He now saw Serena, and the 
 rest ; and with a vehemence which, whether it were the re- 
 mains of the confusion of his senses, or proceeded from his 
 own fiery nature, would now burst through every obstacle to its 
 goal, I know not ; but he exclaimed, — " Ah ! I see, I see how 
 it is. You would conceal her; you would separate her from 
 me I But why would you do this ? Wherefore would you 
 ecparate two hearts which have been already united froii; 
 
TU£ yZIGHBOURS. 
 
 t iieir cbildliooc? ? Do it not. Rather make i _.is Jay a day 
 of blessing. (Bruno was now perfectly awake.) Oh ! give 
 me to-day Serena as my bride." 
 
 " This is not the proper monieut to speak of such matters," 
 interrupted the old man, half angry, half in emotion ; an- 
 other time " 
 
 " And why not now ?" interposed Bnino, more vehemently, 
 intensely, irresistibly. " Why not this evening make my life 
 blessed ? Why not already, to-day, bind me to you by ever- 
 lasting gratitude ? Oh ! to-day, to-day, give me Serena ! I 
 will not take your darling from you, — let my house be yours ; 
 let me partake with her the care of your old age. Dear 
 mother," continued lie, while he seized Madame Dahl's hand, 
 and bathed it with his tears, "good, venerable mother, fear 
 nothing for your child ; and as you have experienced that the 
 a5*ection, truth, and reverence of a husband make the felicity 
 of a wife, give me to-day Serena '" 
 
 The two old people looked at each other, and at Serena. 
 She stood between them, white as the roses in her garland, 
 ^vith downcast eyes, evidently desiring to kneel, and offer 
 herself, — but at which altar r That was the question. 
 
 A pause ensued ; and now arose Ma chere mere, pale, 
 solemn, but not proud, and thus spoke : " Every one acts 
 best in his own affairs, and therefore I ought perhaps to 
 abstain from inteiference in this ; but as the mother, I will 
 now say one word for my son. I have tiU now done very 
 liule to make him happy, and it is very little that I can yet 
 
 do, since " Ma chere mere laid her hand on her eyes, 
 
 while she obviously contended with her emotion. She soon 
 began again, with firmer, though with a softer tone. "I 
 speak not to persuade you, my honoured friends and neigh- 
 bours ; I will only tell you this, that my son has of late made 
 me rich amends for that in which he offended me in his youth. 
 It is my belief, my persuasion, that he moreover will do ho- 
 nour to his country, that he deserves the best of wives, and 
 that in every respect he will make her happy. My son has 
 long made me the confidant of his affection, and has received 
 my approbation and blessing thereon. So, my dear friends 
 and neighbours. I will merely say that, if you see good to give 
 your granddaughter to my son, it is my opinion that you will 
 act wisely and welL And for the happiness that you will 
 
FRAXSISKA vrEB>-ZR TO MAEIA M. 3*i5 
 
 thus bestow upon my sod, shal' I, his mother, to my latest 
 davs be thankful to the Lord, and, next to the Lord, to 
 you." 
 
 Ma chere mere's words are nerer without their effect ; and 
 in this moment, as she stood blind and almost beseeching — 
 for this expression lay in her unusually soft tone — in this 
 moment her words made a deeper impression than ever. 
 Another circumstance must also have operated on the old 
 Dahls. Serena had, although involuntarily, given a public 
 evidence of her love for Bruno. It was perfectly evident to 
 them that the embrace which tinited them would on the fol- 
 lowino: day be circulated through the city and the whole 
 country round. Bruno liad withdrawn himself a step or 
 two : he seized the hand of his mother, and conveyed it to his 
 lips. The old Dahls took that of Serena, and said — Vilt 
 thou, wishett thou, to be his, Serena P li\'ilt thou I'vdaj — 
 now — give him thy hand 
 
 "Yes!" whispered Serena's lips: "oh, my parents if 
 
 you are willing if you allow it yes!" 
 
 " Xow tfien in God's name," exclaimed the old man, 
 Bruno Mansfelt receive the hand of your bride !" 
 
 " Serena mine !" cried Bruno with a voice that went through 
 heart and soul, and sprang to her. The old people yet heM 
 
 her back. " Take her then make her happy !" said they, 
 
 with a voice which trembled with emotion. " She is our 
 youngest, dearest child — the joy of our old age ; she never 
 acted contrary to our wishes." Tears fell on their withered 
 cheeks, and their trembling hands held Serena yet fast. 
 "Bemove her not far from us — let her close our eyes for us 
 — be worthy of her — love her — make her happy !" 
 
 " Happy !" exclaimed Bruno, as he took her almost forcibly 
 from her parents, and clasped her to his bosom ; " happy ! as 
 Bure as I hope through her for God's mercy." Bruno led 
 Serena to his mother, and said — " Bless us, my dear mother." 
 Ma chere mere nearly forgot her wonted stately solemnity, 
 and with a voice broken with emotion blessed her children. 
 Hereupon Bruno clas^ped her in his arms, and for some 
 seconds let his head rest on her bosom. It was beautiful to 
 see them thus stand. Afterwards Ma chere mere and the 
 old Dahls gave each other their hands, and some eordiai 
 words were on both sides sjioken. " And now to the an* 
 
346 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 nouncement," exclaimed tlie old man, who seemed to desire 
 to dissipate his feelings. " To-day must all joys be common, 
 Oome, my wife ; come, my dear children. Listen there, good 
 
 friends without ; friends, relatives, listen ! My friends," 
 
 cried the old man with a cheerful voice, " I have now to an» 
 nounce to you a betrothal ; and to beg your good wishes foi 
 my granddaughter Serena and her bridegroom Bruno Mans* 
 felt!" It was as if another chandelier had fallen. Never 
 
 probably were the inhabitants of the good city of W 
 
 within the space of one hour so overwhelmed with astonish- 
 ment. This moment a declaration of love and a death-blow 
 — the next resurrection and betrothal. 
 
 A loud murmur of amaze and of congratulation went 
 through the multitude. But I beheld that not all coun^^ 
 tenances were congratulatory. I saw long and dissatisfied 
 faces ; and I believe that Bruno perceived it too, for his dark 
 eyes flared for a moment like two lightning flashes scruti- 
 nizingly through the assembly ; the thunderbolt on his fore- 
 head stood sharp ; the eyebrows drew threateningly together j 
 and he changed colour. Ma chere mere stood forw^ard, and 
 intended, I fancy, to make a speech ; but I felt the necessity 
 of sparing this to Serena and Bruno, and on that account 
 sprang out, and exclaimed bluntly — " Now, God be praised 
 now I see the prospect of another Grolden Marriage ; and I 
 hope in fifty years to be able to wish you, Bruno and Serena, 
 heartily as much happiness as now !" 
 
 My forwardness had a good eflect. Ma chere mere let 
 fall her idea, and so many congratulations came crow^din-g in 
 between, that she never took it up again. In the mean time 
 I stole out. I had said " Grod be praised!" but yet, falsa 
 soul, I did not think so. I felt excited, frightened, and filled 
 with gloomy forebodings. I sought Bear ; he sought me ; 
 and we met. "What is amiss with thee?" said he, and 
 looked at me with terror. " Ah ! Bear, I am uneasy, unwell, 
 ill. Now, indeed, they are betrothed ! Ah ! don't make 
 such horrible faces ! It is not a laughing matter !" 
 
 " I don't laugh at that, but at " 
 
 " At me, very likely ! It were better tliat you gave me a 
 remedy for palpitation of tlie heart. Bear ! they are be* 
 fcrothed ! She, the good, the angelically pure, and he, the 
 ' ah ! it caiiiiot be well ! They will not be happy. WKa< 
 
FRANS.SKA WEKNER TO MAEIA M 
 
 347 
 
 will be the end of it ? Bruno is certainly not worthy of her 
 He is only half human ; and will he ever become wliolly so ?" 
 
 "Without giving me any reply, Bear led me into that cabinet 
 in which Bruno had now received Serena's hand. He sate 
 himself gravely down ; tore a leaf out of his pocket-book ; 
 took his pencil, and I asked, " "Wilt thou write a poem r 
 Then it is certainly the death of me !" 
 
 " I am writing a prescription for thee," added he with the 
 same phlegm. 
 
 He wrote out and gave me these words to read, " Men who 
 do not believe the Word, are by the society of women saved 
 without the Word." 
 
 " Bear," said I, as I embraced him, " thou art the best and 
 wisest doctor in the world!" 
 
 " It is never so far between the mountains, but that one 
 may meet with ghosts," cried Ma chere mere at the door. 
 " Listen, my children ! you have not yet wished me joy, and 
 yet I fancy that it would repay the trouble. I have now 
 gained another amiable daughter ; I am a happy mother ; sit 
 down beside me, and let us talk of the future couple." 
 
 We did so. Ma chere mere drove with her plans far into 
 the future ; and the pictures which she saw were distinct. It 
 appeared to be with her as with many who are blind ; as the 
 vision of the body is darkened, that of the mind becomes so 
 much the clearer and more cheerful. There we sate plea^ 
 eantly together till supper. This was served on various little 
 tables in three rooms. At the table where the Patriarchs 
 sate, were also Bruno and Serena, Ma chere mere, Lagman 
 Hok, the Clergyman, Bear, I, and some others. W^e were 
 tolerably still during the great part of the meal, and I began 
 to fancy that this feast would pass over without Ma chere 
 mere having made a speech in honour of it. But after the 
 turkey, Lagman Hok raised his glass, and begged permission 
 to drink a skal. All were attentive ; and with a low voice, 
 and a mild but confident gaze fixed on the Patriarchs, he thus 
 spoke: — " Lyres and flowers were woven into the mat on which 
 our honoured friends this evening heard the words of blessing 
 pronounced over them. They are the symbols of harmony 
 and felicity, and these are the Penates of the house. That 
 they surrounded you, venerable friends, in this festive hour 
 we cannot regard as a mere accident. I seemed to under. 
 
348 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTTRS. 
 
 stand their mute language, and as if I heard them say tc 
 you, * "We are here at home. You have, during your union, 
 so welcomed and cherished us, that we can never more forsake 
 you. Your age shall be like your youth I' " 
 
 The beautiful toast was hailed with universal joy, and 
 drunk to the touched and smiling Patriarchs. " Now ! bear 
 that Hok there !" said Ma chere mere, and, as if struck with 
 an electrical shock, she jogged my arm, saying, " Fill my 
 glass !" pushed back her chair with a great noise, coughed, 
 and spoke as follows : — " Love is more than bow and spear. 
 Love pierces through shield and mail. Love finds out uner- 
 ringly the way ! It brought the first human pair together, it 
 will also bring together the last. My friends, may we all be 
 guided by it through life ! For genuine love is not German, 
 French, nor Swedish ; it is not indeed of the earth, it is 
 heavenly ; and offers us here the hand, in order to conduct 
 us to the great marriage yonder above. The man and wife 
 who here united in true love, and in true love walk together, 
 "will there sit beside each other. And well may I to-day say 
 with the mother of King Lemuel, ' Ah ! thou son of my life, 
 to whom a virtuous wife is given, she is far more noble than 
 the most precious pearls, she will make sweet to thee all the 
 days of thy life.' My eyes are become dark, but my heart 
 sees light in my son's future, aud on that account rejoices 
 with great joy as I now drink skal to my son and his be- 
 trothed, and at the same time skal to his future parents, my 
 valued friends and neighbours." 
 
 Bruno generally looks fidgety when his mother commences 
 a speech, but now this feeling was expelled by another ; and 
 he regarded her with a look so full of love as I had never yet 
 seen in him. 
 
 " What will Bear say," thought I, when we had drunk the 
 skal proposed by Ma chere mere, " now it is his turn ? and 
 he is really no orator." 
 
 To my great consternation he said — "Now it is my wife's 
 turn ; I will drink the concluding skal." 
 
 " Horrible Bear !" thought I, quite confounded. I col- 
 lected myself, however, and said — " Love never grows old ; a 
 skal for the oldest and the youngest pair in the company." 
 
 " Bravo, Fransiska !" cried Ma chere mere. 
 
 Now foU'^wed the skals so thick and fast on each other that 
 
TEANSISXA WEENEB TO MAEIA M. 
 
 849 
 
 I kept no exact account of them. I longed that the turn 
 might come to Bear ; but it never came, for now drew near 
 the company from the other tables and rooms, one after the 
 other with brimming champagne glasses, and speeches were 
 made, skals drunk, and some truly beautiful verses for the 
 occasion sung, which gave the old Dahls great pleasure; 
 and with all this Bear and the concluding skal were forgotten. 
 The whole company arose from table with a general thunder 
 of hurrahs ! I did not omit to upbraid Bear with his shabby 
 escape from the toast ; but he protested that he had really 
 prepared a very long and very poetical speech, which he 
 wished especially to retain to the end, that he might put to 
 the skal drinking, as it were, its crown ; and that he lamented 
 sorely that the company, and pre-eminently myself, had suf- 
 fered the loss of it. I begged him at least to favour me with 
 the beginning of it ; but he replied, that he was no friend to 
 beginnings without endings, and that the time would not now 
 admit of the latter, and that I did not seem sufl&ciently to 
 hold his oratory in honour to listen worthily to it, and so on. 
 
 Immediately after supper the English dance commenced. 
 It was most lively, and no one danced so actively and lightly 
 as Miss Hellevi Husgafvel. With the English dance, accord- 
 ing to Serena's prudent arrangement, the festivities were at 
 an end, exactly at midnight ; for she feared a later hour 
 would too much fiitigue her grandparents. The lo^"^g cere- 
 mony of expressing thanks and taking leave was exhausting 
 enough, although it was enlivened by much cordiality. In 
 the very moment when the hall swarmed with people like an 
 ant-hill — ladies who were wrapping themselves in their 
 cloaks, gentlemen who were hunting their caloshes — Ma 
 ehere mere fell on one of her merry whims. Already muffled 
 in her " Januarius " and her wolf's-skin shoes, she asked for 
 a violin, and played vigorously an animated Polska.^ Every- 
 body was startled ; but in the next instant came a sort of 
 dance-madness over them all. They danced in cloaks and 
 great-coats ; they sprang hither and thither, across and 
 around : it was all laughter and merriment. They danced 
 in the hall, they danced on the steps ; they had much ado to 
 leave off dancing in the very street. 
 
 • A popular Swedish dance, full of wild activity. 
 
350 
 
 THE KEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 During the general rush and chaos of joy, I stole forth to 
 Bee where were Bruno and Serena, for they were not amongst 
 the rest. I went from room to room ; and in one of the most 
 remote, where the tumult of the dancing came but as a soft 
 murmur, I beheld two figures, a dark and a light one. The 
 dark one was Bruno ; he kneeled before — the light one — 
 Serena; and she stooped towards him, and said softly — 
 " Thou." 
 
 " Thou!" a beautiful word. I seemed for the first time to 
 understand its full harmony, and I hastened away to say it 
 immediately to Bear ; and so well had I hit the tone and 
 expression of Serena, that he instantly understood me, and 
 said also to me — " Thou!" 
 
 Ma chere mere had played the last couple out, and now 
 called for me loudly. Exactly as I entered the lobby, which 
 was full of people, my eye fell again on the same dark figure, 
 with the same gloomily flaming eyes, which had terrified me 
 on entering the house, but again drew back ; and as in sudden 
 zeal I determined to follow it, to make certain that my sus- 
 picions were right, I was stopped by Bear, who is as careful 
 of me as the Israelites were of the Ark, and does not wish me 
 to fall into the han ds of the Philistines. With an " Ah !" in 
 my heart, I followed Ma chere mere into the carriage. Tet 
 burnt the lights and flamed the cressets along the streets. 
 Ma chere mere could discern their glimmer, and was in high 
 spirits, and talkative. Many a pithy proverb issued from her 
 mouth, in honour of this remarkable day. She concluded a 
 long speech in praise of the old Dahls with these three : — 
 "It is not so easy to leap into Grod's kingdom." " He that 
 will gather roseSj must not be afraid of the thorns." " He 
 that sows virtue, reaps a good name." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 W , February 8th. 
 
 Yesterday was a great ball at the Town Hall, which the 
 city gave in honour of its Patriarchs. " Thou must go to it," 
 said I to Bear. " I must not go to it," he replied : I mean 
 to stay at home and dance a pas de deux with my wife." I 
 Diade at first some objections, but was obliged to yield ; and 
 
FRA^fSISKA WERNER TO MARIA 
 
 851 
 
 in the joy of oui- hearts we actually danced a minuet, to 
 which I sang, and Bear hummed the bass. I then sat down 
 to work on my little propliets — you already know what thia 
 name signifies, — Eear opened his conversation-box, which 
 always rejoices me greatly, and out of his copious treasures 
 of the experience of life and men, he brought forth many a 
 precious sample. I have written down some of his relations, 
 and will send them to thee another time. It is a great hap- 
 piness, Maria, when in a good husband one also possesses a 
 piece of good company. At the Dahls the wedding is already 
 talked of ; Bruno drives on with his love, and his arrant wil- 
 fulness — he must pardon the expression. It is already de- 
 termined that it shall take place in May, and that my good 
 friend Mattea shall take Serena's place with the old Dahla 
 Serena will divide herself between Eamm and her grand- 
 parents. She is the most amiable bride, and at the same 
 time the good friend and the same excellent daughter as be- 
 fore. She is still the same shy woman that she was before the 
 betrothal, and Avill probably as a wife continu_e equally so ; 
 yet her behaviour to Bruno is so fascinating that it compels 
 him almost to worship her. What else shall I say of Bruno ? 
 He is good, and not good ; happy, and not happy : day and 
 night, sunshine and storm-clouds, continually alternate in 
 him. He appears to me to be like a man who feels that he 
 does not deserve his happiness, and therefore is partly at 
 strife with himself, and in part fears that his happiness will 
 be plucked from him. May I be incorrect in my opinion ! 
 
 The other day he came into Serena's room, when I was 
 there ; but she was absent. He said a few words to me, but 
 soon appeared to forget that I was in the room. He looked 
 at Serena's books, her paintings, her sewing apparatus, with 
 a kind of painful tenderness ; he looked around the room, 
 and said softly, as to himself, " Innocence ! purity! peace !" 
 He took a little light green silk handkerchief which Serena 
 often wears, kissed it, and hid his face in it ; he then rose 
 hastily and went out. I looked at the little shawl ; it was wet 
 with tears. " Peace!" said Bruno, and sighed so deeply, so 
 painfully. Ah ! peace he has not. He cannot be absent 
 from Serena ; but in her company he cannot find peace. He 
 comes and goes continually — two or three times a day. He 
 manifests a love for her, whose vehemence he moderates only for 
 
852 
 
 THE -^TEIGHBOTTltS. 
 
 her sake ; lie heaps presents upon her, which she accepts only 
 for his sake ; but his disquiet obviously grieves her. " What 
 the d — 1 is this for a riving and driving ! I don't see the 
 use of it," muttered Bear just now, on this subject. " It is 
 far better to sit quietly and eat one's sweet groats, is it not ?" 
 said I, as I set a dish of steaming groats on our supper-table. 
 " Yes, when one's own little sweetest of wives eats with one." 
 I was quite satisfied with the politeness, though it breathed 
 somewhat of a groat warmth. But even this warmth must 
 be cherished and esteemed; without it the myrtle-tree of 
 wedlock does not flourish in the North here. 
 
 February 12th. 
 
 A horrible event has occurred at the Dahls. A night is 
 since then passed, yet my hand still trembles so that I can- 
 not guide my pen with steadiness. Ah, my forebodings ! 
 
 Last evening Bear and I were with our friends. Bear sat 
 with the old people ; Serena and Bruno w^ere in the next 
 room. I also was there. I sat at the piano, and played some 
 sacred pieces which I had recently received. By degrees I 
 played lower, and made longer pauses ; for I caught words 
 which ri vetted my whole attention. Bruno had been this 
 evening in an unusually gloomy mood, and I heard Serena, 
 who sat by him, ask him what w^as the cause of it, with that 
 tone of genuine tenderness, with those sweet affectionate 
 words, which woman's love dictates ; and he answered : 
 
 " I had last night a wretched dream, the memory of which 
 still oppresses me." 
 
 " A dream ?" 
 
 " Yes, a dream. Shall I relate it to thee ?" 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Well then, Serena, I dreamed that thou wert my wife. 
 Thou wert my own, the companion of my life, the half of 
 myself, and I — was not happy. Years had flown over ; thou 
 wert mine ; I loved thee, as now, and if possible, still more. 
 We had enjoyed quiet days ; we had already often beheld 
 the sun set, and the stars rise over the Helga lake ; in the 
 shade of night I had enclosed thee in my arms, I had reposed 
 
 on thy bosom, but I was not happy. I dreamed that it 
 
 was again evening. The stars arose, one after tl^e other, 
 and mirrored their quiet beams in the quiet waves ; tlie heaven 
 
TRANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 353 
 
 was clear, and the wood lay still and brooding. Thou wert 
 mj wife ; thou wert in my arms ; but I bad not peace. 
 There was in my heart a dull pain, as of festering wounds — 
 for the soul, Serena, can have such wounds ; but of this thou 
 knowest nothing ; and to still the agony, I pressed thee to 
 my heart, but it was only the more torturing. I seem to 
 feel it yet — lay thy hand here, Serena !" 
 
 Bruno was silent for a moment, and then proceeded. 
 " There was a change. I found myself alone in the park at 
 Eamm. I chased a stag, and my hounds pursued him with 
 open bloodthirsty mouths. I also was thirsty, I seemed to 
 thirst for blood. Over hill and dale, through wood and 
 meadow, drove furiously the chase. It was a wild hunt. 
 From glen to glen, from thicket to thicket, I pursued the 
 flying stag. Hours flew by ; the stag sped on — I followed — 
 the dogs howled in incessant eagerness, it seemed as if the 
 chase never would come to an end. The hounds grew weary ; 
 I wearied not ; my horse tired, but I spurred him forward ; 
 a demon chased me, and I chased the stag, and ever more 
 burning grew my thirst. 
 
 " For a moment the chase ceased ; I had lost sight of the 
 stag ; but as I emerged from a thicket, I suddenly saw him 
 stooping at a brook to drink. He was not far from me, but 
 thirst and weariness overcame fear, he stood still and drank. 
 I shot him down. The report of the gun gave new life to my 
 dogs, they sprung forward, seized the legs of the stag, and 
 entangled his antlers in the bushes. I flung myself from my 
 horse, and flew to give my victim his death-stroke. Already 
 I held my knife at his throat, when he turned on me his 
 beautiful, dying eyes, full of tears, and gazed on me with a 
 sorrowful and reproachful look. I felt, as it were, a dagger 
 thrust into my heart ; and dumb and gloomy I looked into 
 those eyes which every moment became more human. At 
 length — O horrible ! I saw that those eyes were thy eyes, 
 Serena, — it was thou whom I had murdered. It was thou, 
 who thus gazed on me ! Almighty God ! if ever thy look " 
 
 "Bruno ! Bruno Serena tenderly and much excited, ex- 
 claimed — " why talk in this manner ? It was but a dream 
 aud a truly hateful and irrational dream. Look at me, Bruno ; 
 no, turn not thy eyes away ; look at me, and see that never, 
 never can such a gaze from my eyes fall on thee. Ah ! that 
 
854 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 tliou didst but truly know, truly feel how' mipossible it is ! 
 Hear, Bruno ! T have also a dream to reiate, and a dream of 
 truer augury than thine. I dreamed, Bruno, that the world 
 was frozen, frozen to ice. There was no more sun, no green- 
 ness on the earth, no blue in heaven ; in their stead was 
 black and empty space. Magnificent palaces, woods and 
 mountains stood yet, but were converted into ice. Strange 
 and fearful lights, whose origin men did not see, and which 
 diffused no warmth, but on the contrary threw long and 
 hideous shadows, wandered about amongst the ice-forms. 
 All life was destroyed ; two human creatures excepted, nj^Bb 
 yet breathed with warm and beating hearts in this marble 
 world ; and these two, Bruno, were thou and I. Solitarily 
 we glided through long colonnades of ice, — we touched not 
 the earth, but yet were not in a condition to raise ourselves 
 above it. Our future was to be — slowly to freeze, the last 
 of all living creatures. 
 
 " Thy heart was bitter, my friend, and thy cheek was pala 
 As the lights came, and threw menacing shadows against 
 thee, thy arm was stretched out as to do battle with them, 
 and thy voice raised wild reverberations. But in the midst 
 of this congealed world, in the midst of this night of horror? 
 and of death, I felt a warmth in my heart which no ice and 
 no time appeared able to extinguish. There was, as it were, 
 a springing fountain of life in it, which diffused itself through 
 my whole being, and endowed me with a higher strength 
 than I had possessed in the sunny vernal days of the earth. 
 I loved thee more intensely than ever, Bruno ! It was to me 
 a genuine joy, with thee and for thee to suffer ; and as thy 
 heart became quiet and warm on mine, and thy cheek less 
 pale, then I felt an assurance that it was given to me to offer 
 my life for thine, and with the warmth of my heart to defend 
 thee against the cold and the horror-shapes of darkness. I 
 felt myself in this thought so happy, so perfectly happy, that 
 I awoke. My dream was at an end, but clearly did I feel 
 that which I had experienced in my vision ! and I have felt 
 it often, and still feel, that I would wish to bear a great pain 
 for thee, because I could then make thee better understand 
 how sincerely I love thee." 
 
 " O Q-od!" said Bruno, with a soft voice, but with an ex- 
 pression of agonised pain, " 0 God ! how little do I deserve 
 
FRANSISKA WERNEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 855 
 
 a love like this how unworthy Serena! thou sweet 
 
 angel ! thou who shalt be my wife " 
 
 Never shall she be it!" cried a wild piercing voice, and 
 Hagar, more like a fury than a woman, darted into the room 
 A dagger flashed in her hand — in the next instant it seemed 
 sheathed in Serena's heart. But with the speed of lightning 
 Bruno had seized Hagar' s arm ; the blow was turned aside, 
 and the dagger only wounded Serena's shoulder. "With the 
 gesture of a madman Bruno wrenched the murderous weapon 
 from Hagar' s hand, pushed her fiercely back, seized with one 
 hand her hair, and the steel glittered above her breast. 
 "Wretch!" he exclaimed, with a hollow voice and white 
 lips — " curse of my life ! die !" 
 
 "Bruno! O my God!" cried Serena, as she sprung for- 
 ward and hung on his arm. Bruno moderated his fury, his 
 wild look became more composed, his lips murmured — "A 
 woman!" and the dagger fell from his hand. He looked at 
 Serena, saw her blood flow, caught her in distraction in his 
 arms, and bore her to a sofa. 
 
 " Thy will shall be done !" cried Hagar wildly. " See 
 here, Bruno, thy victim ; — it would only die at thy feet !" 
 She ran to him ; plunged the dagger into her own breast, 
 and fell before him drenched in her blood. " Bruno, for 
 thee! for thee!" muttered her lips; then were silent; and 
 her eyes closed. 
 
 It was the work of a moment. It was horrible, but still 
 more horrible that which followed. Bruno's despair was 
 mute and gloomy. The old Dahl tore his grey hair, and 
 cried, " My child! my child!" Bear only retained his self- 
 possession ; he alone restored order and reflection. " It is 
 but a scratch ; there is — upon my life ! — no more danger for 
 her than for me," said he to the grandparents, as he addressed 
 himself to bind up her wound. Serena, however, pushed back 
 his hand, and pointing to Hagar, who lay there motionless, 
 cried, "Help her! help her! she needs it more than I." 
 But Bear would not leave her till she was bandaged, and 
 then he begged me to conduct her with the weeping old 
 people into another room. 
 
 ^ Hagar, who was supposed to be dead, soon however showed 
 Bigna of life ; was laid on a bed, and committed to the care of 
 Bear. With the greatest presence of mind Serena ordered 
 
 22 
 
856 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 iverything which was necessary for her accommodation, and 
 Appeared to forget that she herself had suffered. She sought 
 with the tenderest words to quieten the old people, and 
 stopped their mouths with kisses, when they atte::ipted to 
 cast reproaches on Bruno. " We really know nothing yet,'* 
 said she, interrupting them beseechingly ; " we cannot, we 
 
 Duist not yet judge. Let us wait, Bruno will explain all 
 
 all m.ay yet be well." On this she went to Bruno, who stood 
 there sunk in gloomy reverie, and said, " Gro back this evening 
 1 0 Ramm, Bruno, and come again to-morrow. Then we shall 
 all be more composed. Gro, my dear friend, now, but return 
 in the morning, and then, if thou canst, satisfy my parents, 
 and us all." 
 
 " Serena ! and thou ? and thou ? " said he, and 
 
 stared at her agonizedly. Serena turned away her face to 
 hide the suffering, the expression of which she strove in vain 
 to subdue. " I believe in thee," said she softly, " goodnight, 
 Bruno ;" and she covered her eyes with one hand while she 
 extended to him the other. 
 
 " Thou turnest away from me ; thou wilt not look at me,'* 
 said Bruno, with gloomy complaint. Then turned Serena 
 her countenance towards him ; she would have smiled at him, 
 but her eyes stood full of tears. Perhaps Bruno saw in this 
 gaze that which he had seen in his dream, for he became like 
 one wild : he uttered a curse upon himself ; struck himself 
 with his fist on the forehead, and rushed out. 
 
 Bear and I did not this night return home. He sate by 
 Hagar, who had fallen into a violent delirium of fever, and 
 now uttered words of love, and now of raving, but which were 
 alike wild, and bore the impression of an unregulated and de- 
 sparing soul. I stayed with Serena, whose chamber lies next 
 to that of her grandparents, and tried to persuade her to go 
 to bed, and to endeavour to get some sleep. She consented 
 to my request, and made as if she slept, but I often heard her 
 silently weeping. I was frequently obliged to go to Hagar' s 
 chamber, to bring news of her state. Bear does not think 
 her wound mortal. Ever and anon, too, the door of the old 
 people's chamber was softly opened, and anxious questions 
 concerning the beloved child were whispered, and received 
 ever consolatory answers. Bear was with all, growled good- 
 ^•tiiredly at all, comforted all, and gave them all some com- 
 
f KAIs^SISKA WV^ij^EE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 357 
 
 posing drops. Three times in the night came Bruno, yet 
 would not go in, but asked and received from Bear news of 
 the condition of Serena and Hagar, upon which he went off 
 again, as if driven by the Furies. 
 
 It was a long and painful night. Serena inquired often, 
 " Is it not nearly morning ? Does it not dawn Ah ! she 
 yearned for morning, because she believed that light and 
 Bruno would come together. The morning came, but Bruno 
 did not ; but merely a note from him, containing these wild 
 and disconnected lines. " I should return ; I should explain 
 — so thou entreatedest me. Oh ! that a wish of thine should 
 from me remain unfulfilled. Serena ! I cannot explain — 1 
 cannot come ! Her I will not see, and thee I cannot ; thy 
 look consumes me ; I can now give no explanation. Honour 
 
 commands, but honour also forbids —Hagar can, but will 
 
 not Farewell, adored, and to-be-compassionated one, since 
 
 thou lovest me. I cannot come ; but I will surround thee, in- 
 visibly, and in wretchedness. Was it not the punishment of 
 the outcast, to behold Paradise, but to see it closed against 
 them with flaming swords ? Retribution, dreadful retribution ! 
 Pray for me, Serena, for hell is in my heart." 
 
 After the perusal of these lines, Serena leaned her head 
 upon her hand, and sate long thus, as it were lost to the 
 world; but she must certainly have prayed to the Eternal 
 Comforter ; she must certainly have lifted her heart to the 
 Father of Love, or otherwise her countenance, as she again 
 raised her head, could not, amid so much anguish, have worn 
 so high and gentle an expression of self-denial. Her first 
 step was to her aged parents ; the first words which her lips 
 after this blow uttered were in petition to these to have 
 patience, not to be too hasty in judging, but to await the 
 moment when this mystery should clear itself up, and Bruno 
 should stand before them in a better light. She communi- 
 cated to them his letter, was skilful enough to turn its expres- 
 sion to his advantage, gave a hint at the probable solution of 
 the mystery, and achieved what she sought. The old people 
 became more composed, and left to her to manage these affairs. 
 How beautiful is such a confidence between parents and 
 children ! 
 
 I left Serena at breakfast, which with her usual solicitude, 
 she prepared for the o^i people, while she assured theoe 
 
358 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJES. 
 
 chat she felt no pain from her wound, and that she should 
 speedily be quite well again. I went home to seek rest ; I 
 was fatigued, but yet more uneasy and excited than fatigued. 
 Tn order to quieten myself, I have written to thee, my Maria, 
 because to impart our troubles to a friend is for the heart the 
 best of opiates. I feel already its beneficial operation, and 
 will now endeavour to sleep. 
 
 Bear and Serena have resolved that Hagar shall remain at 
 the Dahls till she either dies or gets better ; she could not 
 yet, without great danger, be removed. For the rest, the 
 horrible affair will be kept as still as possible, and especially 
 will they endeavour to prevent its reaching the ears of Ma 
 chere mere. Ah ! how will all this unfold itself ? I will tell 
 thee more when I know it. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 TO THE EEADEE, EROM A STRANGE LADY. 
 
 But Madame Werner knows merely the surface of the 
 following denouement. Chance made me acquainted with ita 
 interior existence, and I now proceed to lift the veil from 
 certain scenes which at this time took place in Hagar' s sick 
 chamber. Shadow-shapes I will call them, because they are 
 produced by strong darkness in strong light. They may be 
 compared to those outline profiles which one makes of the 
 faces of our friends, on a winter's evening by candle-light. 
 If the connoisseur of art and of human nature be of opinion 
 that these sketches are far too hasty, and too little finished to 
 deserve a closer attention, but yet possess too many features 
 of truth to be cast aside, I shall be quite satisfied ; and begin 
 quietly — 
 
 8HAD0W-SHAPE THE EIRST. 
 
 Jealousy knocked at the door of my heart, 
 And cried, "Kill! kill!" 
 
 In a hushed room, which looked into a garden, lay the sick 
 and guilty Hagar, nursed as if she had been a beloved child 
 of the house. A few days had passed, and Hagar lay now in 
 delirium, now in consciousness. Doctor Werner sat at her 
 bed-side, regarding with astonishment the conflict of passions 
 
TO THE EEADER, FROM A STRANGE LADY. 359 
 
 vrhieh had never disturbed his own peaceful soul. Besides 
 him, and a maid who waited on her, Hagar saw no one ; b'Jit 
 an invisible genius watched faithfully over her. The embro- 
 cations which refreshed her burning forehead, the draughts 
 which stilled the pain of her wound, were handed to her by 
 Serena. 
 
 One evening she lay in a restless slumber. Serena was 
 alone with her, and stole quietly forward to contemplate her 
 for a moment. " God be praised !" whispered her lips ; 
 " Grod be praised ! thou sleepest, poor and to-be-pitied one. 
 Thou hast destroyed my happiness ; but oh, how much un- 
 happier art thou !" 
 
 Hagar awoke. Serena drew herself hastily back, but she 
 had been observed. " Who is there ?" she cried sharply. 
 Serena was silent, in the hope that she should not be recog- 
 nised ; but Hagar continued — " Thou dost not answer, but I 
 know thee. I have seen thee before creeping about my bed, 
 pale maiden, in order to suck my blood. Do not imagine 
 that thou canst deceive me. I know that I am in thy power, 
 and I know what thou wilt do ; — thou wilt torment me, and 
 take away my life with poison. In punishment of my crime, 
 I shall perish by degrees through privation of fresh air. 
 And on that account thou hast taken him away from me, 
 that I may never more see him, never more hear his voice ; 
 for these were my pleasure and my life. He himself has 
 delivered me into thy power to be tormented. Yes, he and 
 all hate me, and rejoice in my misery : but I will deceive him, 
 and all of you ; — I will free myself,^' 
 
 While Hagar said this she sought for the bandage, in 
 order to tear it from her wound ; but Serena flew forward, 
 seized her hands, and held them back with an almost super- 
 natural power. Hagar stared wildly on that gentle counte- 
 nance, which was bathed with the tears of grief and pity, and 
 said, " Will you preserve my life in order to suffer me to 
 perish the more slowly ?" 
 
 " O no ! no, Hagar ! Mistrust me not; I wish you to live.'* 
 
 " I do not believe it. Thou lovest him that I love, him 
 who belongs to me — yes, tremble, faint — who belongs to me, 
 for I had his promise before you! My claims on him are 
 
 older, holier ; ^blood has sealed them. Ha^! thou wishest 
 
 me well ! Thou ! Awa^, I know what jealousy is ; this black, 
 
360 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 black, biacK plague, which leads to murder — to madness— 
 which in solitary hours whispers with a clear, ghastly voice, 
 ' Kill ! kill !' Ha, white maiden ! now becomest thou also 
 
 black, and hatest hu! all round me is black, black, 
 
 black 
 
 Hagar swooned. Serena called in her attendant; and 
 hastened, beside herself with grief, to her own chamber. 
 There she threw herself on her knees, and cried, " O my 
 God ! he could thus deceive me !" All was dark around her 
 now, but not long. 
 
 SHADOW-SHAPE THE SECOND. 
 Love is patient and mild. 
 
 Hagar, So you really do not desire my death ? 
 
 Serena, No, Hagar. May you live, and acquire peace. 
 
 Hagar, But if I live I shall disturb your peace. If I live 
 you will never be happy. 
 
 Serena (with quiet despondency). I have already aban- 
 doned this hope. 
 
 Hagar. His beloved you might have become ; you would 
 then be what I and many others have been ; but his wife — 
 never ! never ! 8arah drives Hagar out of the house. Will 
 you be his beloved ? 
 
 Serena (quietly) . No, Hagar ! 
 
 Hagar, You are too proud to become that ! 
 
 Serena was silent. 
 
 Hagar, You do not love him ! you will sacrifice nothing 
 for him ! 
 
 Serena, Ah, yes ! my life, my earthly happiness — how wil- 
 lingly. 
 
 Hagar, That is little. But do you know what I have 
 sacrificed for him ? Wealth, station, honour, fatherland, 
 parents, happiness, — all ! — all ! In my father's house I could 
 command a thousand slaves. I forsook all, and became his 
 slave ; and on that account he must love me — on that account 
 
 he must become mine ! Who stood by his side in the 
 
 bloody fight to the death ? Who dared with him to scorn 
 the law of damnation, if not I ? White maiden ! white and 
 cold as the snow on the mountains of thy fatherland! dost 
 thou think that thou canst tear him from me r No ! to 
 
TO THE HEADER, FROM A STRANGE LADY. 
 
 361 
 
 me will be come back ; my fire streams also in bis veins. 
 Peeble one ! fear bis kiss ; it consumes. Fly bim, for be ia 
 mine bere, and beyond tbe grave. Ob, my wound ! Goa, 
 wbat an agony ! Help ! belp ! 
 
 Serena bastened to ber. Witb tbe sootbing ointment 
 wbicb Dr. Werner bad prepared sbe dressed tbe wound, and 
 bound it up witb a gentle and skilful band. 
 
 " Tbanks !" said Hagar in a milder tone, " tbanks ! tbou 
 art kind." 
 
 " O Hagar ! love bim, but do not bate me." 
 
 " ]S'o ; I bate tbee no longer. Wbo can bate tbee ?" 
 
 SHADOW-SHAPE THE THIRD. 
 If any one compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. 
 
 Hagar (passionately) . If you wisb me to live, see tbat he 
 comes back. It were better to lie on tbe rack and enjoy tbe 
 sight of bis countenance, tban be in Paradise without bim. 
 They tell me tbat you bave much power over bim ; use it 
 then to make him come back, and if possible to forgive me. 
 Jealousy made me wild ; but his bate I do not deserve ; at 
 
 least not Hagar was silent, and sunk in tbougbt. 
 
 For some days sbe had been better ; Serena's indefatigable 
 care and gentleness operated like a bealing balm on tbe un- 
 happy one. 
 
 Later in tbe evening Serena sate by Hagar and wrote. 
 Love and sorrow bovered on ber lips, which ligbtly moved, ac3 
 if sbe wbispered tbe words into the pen ; but on ber lovely 
 brow lay a loftier tranquillity than usual — it was like tbe 
 victorious repose of Virtue and Love. Hagar observed it ; 
 and in ber bold and bitter manner sbe said abruptly — " You 
 are certainly mucb satisfied witb yourself." Serena blusbed, 
 and Hagar proceeded — " You value yourself greatly, no 
 doubt, on being so pure and virtuous. You certainly believe 
 that you stand mucb higher than sucb a wretched creature 
 as I am." 
 
 No, in trutb not," answered Serena, witb a tear in lie^* 
 
 eye. 
 
 "You would indeed be wrong if you did," continued s^e, 
 " for very dissimilar are our endowments, and still more so 
 j^ur temptations." 
 
8G2 
 
 THE KElGllBOtTES. 
 
 " That is true," answered Serena, hambly. 
 
 "What indeed has he to boast of who has never been 
 tempted ? If you had been tried, you would probably have 
 been no better than many others*'' 
 
 Serena was silent. 
 
 " Happy are they whose bosoms are never shaken with 
 passions, whose blood runs softly, whose earliest companions 
 are virtue and peace. If they continue unspotted — ^if they 
 fall not — small is their merit." 
 
 " You are right," said Serena, still and humbly as before. 
 She propped her head on her white hand. 
 
 Fate determines, and the world judges, and both alike 
 blindly," continued she in her bitterness ; " and therefore 
 the path of one man is called victory and honour, that of 
 another fall and reprobation." 
 
 " But Q-od, who sees in secret," said Serena, with a firmer 
 voice, " God, who is more mighty than fate and the world, 
 will one day make equal what here was unequal. Then, 
 Hagar, will it often happen that he who laboured only in the 
 last hour, will receive a reward equal to his who was called 
 in the first hour." 
 
 Hagar raised herself somewhat, and regarded Serena with 
 amazement. " What God lives in thy soul ?" demanded she ; 
 
 and wherefore such gentle words to me — to me, the hated 
 and the outcast ?" 
 
 " Not hated — not outcast !" said Serena, as she rose up 
 and drew nearer to the sick bed. " Oh, no, Hagar ! a milder 
 
 udge assuredly awaits thee." 
 
 With an expression of higher wonder, Hagar fixed her 
 broad and questioning gaze on that sweet countenance which 
 was now near her bed, and looked down on her with an 
 angel's compassion. Serena continued : — " Jealousy has led 
 you to a dark deed, but your love is true and great. I have 
 listened to you, Hagar, as your soul revealed its innermost 
 feelings ; I have listened in the hours of twilight and of 
 night, when you believed yourself alone, and I have learned 
 how you love, — no sordid soul, no ordinary woman, can love 
 thus ! Passions, circumstances, the darkness in your soul, 
 have led you astray even in spite of yourself; but in clearei 
 moments, and now, Hagar, descend into your heart, and ask 
 yourself whether there be anything which you would not sacri- 
 
TO THE READER, FROM A STRANGE LADY. 
 
 fice for Bruno's happiness ; whether there be a saifering which 
 you would not willingly bear for his sake ? Is not your love 
 for him your strongest, yes, is it not now the only deep feel* 
 ing of your heart ?" 
 
 " Tes!" exclaimed Hagar, " I have loved him burningly, 
 
 inexpressibly — love him yet, but this love has conducted 
 
 me to crime !" 
 
 " And if you had pierced my heart, Hagar, and I now lay 
 dying near you, I would still say that the work of the 
 moment will not condemn the heart which loves stead* 
 fastly!'' 
 
 Hagar gasped for breath. A refreshing feeling descended 
 into her desperate heart, and quenched its bitter burning. 
 With folded hands, she sunk back on her couch. " Yes,'* 
 whispered she faintly, " thou art right ! Ah, there is thus 
 one who can understand me, who can believe my words. 
 Hear me then, Serena, thou who hast an angel's gentleness 
 and an angel's serenity in thy soul ; hear me ! I wished not 
 to kill thee ! No, I would not do Bruno such an injury. 
 As I sate in the dark wood alone, and jealousy called up 
 thoughts of murder in my soul, I cast them from me in ab- 
 horrence. As I heard of Bruno's betrothal ; as I saw that 
 my fate was irrevocably sealed, I determined to kill myself; 
 and that I might acquire strength to do it, I would see him 
 with thee, with thee his betrothed bride. Ah ! as I saw thee 
 for the first time, it went like cold steel through my heart ; 
 then I felt that he would love thee differently to what he had 
 loved others. I felt that he was lost for ever to me ; and yet 
 I had his first love, his first promise. But to the matter. I 
 came one evening, and saw you together ; but as I saw thy 
 head leaned on his shoulder, as I heard him call thee his 
 wife, then a Tury rent my heart and my brain. It was 
 jealousy. My soul was wild, and my dagger thirsted for thy 
 blood, before it should cool itself in my own. Yes, it was 
 the work of a moment — a dark, dark moment! but now a 
 beam of heaven pierces through the vale of night. But thou ! 
 thou whom I would have killed, and who yet givest me life, 
 say who art thou, wonderful maiden ? Art thou a child ot 
 heaven, sent down to bring comfort to the earth, and who 
 hast nothing in common with its passions and pains ? Or 
 belongest thou to those forms of witchcraft of which I have 
 
THE XEIQHBOUKS. 
 
 heard tell, who with silver v oices and fascinating sounds a\!iiro 
 men, and suddenly change themselves into shapes of Kell, 
 and drag down the unhappy ones into eternal darkness ?" 
 
 Hagar's wild and heated fancy seemed in this moment to 
 be ready to realise to her this horrible metamorphosis. With 
 a disturbed look she gazed on Serena, who calmly said : — " I 
 am only a weak woman, to whom, however, Grod has given 
 the grace to triumph over the passions and agonies of the 
 heart. Read, Hagar, these lines, which will speedily bring 
 him thou lovest back to thee ; read, and no longer mistrust 
 me." Serena gave Hagar the letter which she had just 
 written, and she read : — 
 
 " Thou fleest me, Bruno ; thou avoidest our house. Bruno, 
 return. I ask it not only in my own name, and on my behalf, 
 I ask it on behalf of a person who can more readily dispense 
 with light and life, than with thy presence. Come, Bruno, 
 come to this most-to-be-compassionated one. By her couch 
 I await thee. Let us together recall her to life, or together 
 bestow consolation on her last hours. Let us be together, 
 Bruno ! O my friend ! in the darkness which at this moment 
 surrounds me, I yet know one thing with clearness, and that 
 is, that I love thee, and that nothing in the world can pluck 
 this feeling out of my heart. We can determine nothing at 
 this moment in regard to our future relations ; well then, let 
 us leave these to time, and have peace with one another ; and 
 should an obstacle to our union as man and wife arise, that 
 need not be an obstacle to our being friends. Hagar has 
 spoken of claims which she has on thee ; of earlier bonds 
 which bind thee to her. If she has spoken the truth, Bruno, 
 yet is my prayer still the same, — Come back, Bruno, to me 
 and to her ! 
 
 " Listen, Bruno ; let us become children once more. Let 
 us be, as we were in the days, the beautiful days when we 
 hailed together the morning sun in the woods of Ramm, and 
 when the shades of evening still found us together, full 
 of peace and watchfulness for each other. Dost thou re- 
 member an evening when it became dark in the wood, and J 
 asked thee, * Art thou not afraid to lose thy way in the dark ?' 
 and thou answeredst me, * With thee the way is clear to me 
 and I said again, 'And with thee I am never afraid in tho 
 dark.' Oh, friend of my childhood ! can it not be as it was 
 
TO THE READEK, FEOM A STRANGE LADY. 
 
 865 
 
 liien ? Life is the wood, and that can be dark — Oh ! I have 
 experienced it for some time — let us then go together on the 
 dark path, Bruno ; extend me thy hand as friend, as brother: 
 then will the way perhaps for us both yet become clear. 
 Listen to my entreaty, — I make it with tears. Eeturn, 
 Bruno ; dear, ever dear friend, return ! 
 
 " Thine, Seeena." 
 
 "With a trembling hand Hagar gave back the letter. 
 
 Thou lovest him better than I," she said. A bitter ex- 
 pression passed over her countenance, and she drew the 
 clothes over her head. 
 
 Serena despatched the letter ; and a few hours afterwards 
 Bruno was at her feet. They spoke not, but involuntarily 
 embraced each other ; and their hearts were involuntarily 
 melted together in one unutterable feeling. From this 
 moment Bruno has been frequently at Hagar' s bed-side ; and 
 the wild and bold woman is in his presence a meek and 
 humble one, whom a mere look commands. Bruno's forgive- 
 ness and presence, Serena's kindness and tenderness, her true 
 and gentle nursing, have operated beneficially on her condi- 
 tion. Dr. Werner has hopes of her life. Fransiska comes 
 sometimes in the evening to visit her friend. Between 
 Bruno and these two accomplished and amiable women have 
 arisen conversations of a high and noble interest, which 
 Hagar has drunk in with eagerness. The old Dahls also 
 have come and joined them ; and in the chamber, in the very 
 circle where so much material existed for all that is most 
 unhappy in life, have grown by degrees, through Serena's 
 influence, peace, interest, yes, even pleasure, at least for the 
 moment ; and the circumstance itself which threatened in- 
 evitably to rend asunder the bonds of confidence and love, 
 has served only to entwine them the stronger. Beautiliil 
 power of goodness, which desires nothing but reconciliation ; 
 of wisdom which, like God's own wisdom, opposes only to 
 division and scattering, a higher harmony, a profounder order 
 and love ! 
 
 What effect these conversations and their daily association 
 vrith Serena produced upon Hagar's feeling and Bruno's soul| 
 we shall presently see. 
 
366 
 
 THE NEIGHB0UB5. 
 
 ^1- f 
 
 SHADOW-SHAPE THE FOURTH. 
 
 Drop by drop the still rain pierces 
 
 Deep through the hard rock's hardest heart. — Schiller, 
 
 The storm raged without. One of those evenings waa 
 closing in, in which the legends of past ages, of the wild ex- 
 ploits of witches, seem almost to verify themselves ; in which 
 the poor wanderer in the North frequently loses his way. 
 His wife or an aged mother misses him by the evening fire ; 
 but on the next day it is related that he was found dead on 
 the snow in the wood. 
 
 Hagar's state had suffered a fresh change. Her strength, 
 which for some time had gone on increasing, and therefore 
 gave hopes of her recovery, suddenly abated, and w^as followed 
 by a condition of increasing weakness. " It is not her wound 
 only, but her mind," said Dr. "Werner, " which preys on her 
 life." It was now silent in the sick chamber ; Serena alone 
 moved about in it with quiet solicitude for the body and soul 
 of the invalid. These also were more composed since she had 
 surrendered herself wholly to her faithful and gentle nurse. 
 
 The icy shower struck against the window of the sick 
 chamber, and the tempest tossed the branches of the trees 
 which stood without ; but within burnt a lamp still and clear, 
 and a gentle feminine voice read these words : "I will arise 
 and go to my Father, and say to him, * Father, I have sinned 
 against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be 
 called thy son.' And he arose and came to his father. But 
 when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had 
 compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him." 
 
 " Blessed, blessed words !" here cried a faint voice from the 
 bed. " And if I should go home, like the prodigal son, should 
 I, indeed, be thus received ? Grreat, great is my guilt." 
 
 " But the mercy of God is yet greater," answered Serena. 
 " The prodigal son had actually wasted his whole inheritance, 
 but when he returned repentant, he was received in love." 
 
 " Well then !" said the invalid, with a burning heart, " I 
 also will return. To my earthly father I cannot return ; he 
 would only receive me with curses, but I will arise and go to 
 my Heavenly Father/' 
 
TO THE EEA.DEK, illOM A STRAKGE LADY. 367 
 
 SHADOW-SHAPE THE FLFTH. 
 
 Love takes no heed of boundary-line ; 
 
 It knows no measure, knows no grave. — St. Schuts. 
 
 It was night, and the moon sbone radiantly. The earth 
 lay deluged in its beams, so friendly and so still. The snow 
 covering was gone, and a wind of resurrection awoke the 
 glumbering to the life of spring. We will follow the beams 
 of heaven's lamp into Hagar's sick-room, and observe the 
 forms which there were illuminated by them. 
 
 They fall strongly upon a profile which has been beautiful. 
 The features now are sharp and harsh, such as passion and 
 pain are wont to carve out with their keen chisel. The eye 
 which was wont to roll wildly, is now quieter. There is a 
 sainted expression in the wasted countenance, and the hands 
 are as if placed in prayer. Hagar sits upright in bed. 
 
 Near, and supporting her, stands a young maiden. Perhaps 
 it is the light of the moon which occasions her to look so snow 
 white, as she stands there like a lily bathed in sunbeams. 
 Perhaps also it may be sufferings which have chased the 
 ruddy colour from her cheeks ; yet it has not been able to 
 steal thence the tranquil grace of her expression, nor to 
 change the delicate and almost childlike roundness of her 
 figure. She is soft, soft as goodness itself, and as capti- 
 vating. Her look is clear, mild — one might almost say — holy. 
 "Lean more freely on me,'' said she softly, to Hagar. "It 
 is Serena !" 
 
 In the shadow, and darker than it, stood Bruno, his 
 gloomily frowning gaze ri vetted immovably on these two. 
 His breast heavea slowly, but mighty feelings were battling 
 within it. At a distance from the bed, in a tempered and 
 grey twilight, sate two aged forms, still, pale, and resembling 
 apparitions. 
 
 Six weeks had fled since the evening on which Hagar had 
 laid a violent hand on her own life ; and like a dying flame, 
 which now blazes up, now sinks again, she had long hovered 
 betwixt life and death ; but the pangs of the last days had 
 been great, and she felt her end drawing near. It was night, 
 as she, awaking out of a protracted state of unconsciousness, 
 desired an interview with Serena's grandparents; but when 
 
368 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 they came, it was long before she was able to speak. Sup- 
 ported on Serena's faithful bosom, and embraced by her arms, 
 she by degrees gathered some strength, and at her request 
 the aged pair drew near. In brief but strong expressions 
 she thanked them for the kindness they had shown her, and 
 begged their forgiveness for the distress she had occasioned 
 them. " Now," added she, " I will no more distress any one 
 on the earth ; I go to meet my last judgment. But before I 
 go, let me do sacrifice to the truth ; let me in some degree 
 make restitution for the evil I have done. Hear the cocJes- 
 sion of a dying woman, and put faith in my last words — I 
 HA YE NOTHiNa TO CHARaE UPON Bruno ! I havc been the 
 shaper of my own fortune. In my father's house we loved one 
 another and were betrothed. It was I who broke the vow ; 
 my excesses and crimes awoke his abhorrence. I would 
 draw him down ; he fled from me. I pursued him ; and it 
 became my fate, that although repulsed and despised by him, 
 I was yet compelled to love him ; that I could not breathe 
 except in the fire which consumed me. My love was its own 
 punishment ; it has bowed down my soul, but it has also 
 made it better. Bruno tolerated me near him ; endured the 
 storm-wind which raged with never-ceasing commotion. This 
 gave me strength to live — yes, to hope that I might yet re- 
 gain the heart which I had lost. For this I followed him 
 into this land, in whose earth I shall soon rest. Bruno 
 attached himself to Serena, and insisted on my departure. 
 He offered me rich gifts, and implored me to return to my 
 native country. There was not merely the desire but the 
 command in his annihilating words ; and I pretended to 
 comply, but took my resolution to perish. My feelings were 
 maddened. Cold was the winter evening on which I deter- 
 mined to put an end to my life. Bruno was with his bride — 
 I was alone in the dark wood ; — cold was the winter evening, 
 and on that account my blood was stiffened, my hand be- 
 numbed, and would not obey me. I determined to see him 
 and her together; — I ran, I saw them, jealousy made me 
 
 furious and the rest you know. Yet once more, forgive 
 
 — ^yet once more hear this word ; — I have nothing of which to 
 accuse Bruno, but for much to implore his pardon. He 
 deserves your granddaughter; and in the unknown spa^e 
 into which my spirit goes, I will bless him and her. If you 
 
TO THE EEADEE, FROM: A STEANGE LADY. 3G9 
 
 can forgive me, then extend me your hands, that I may press 
 them to my lips. If yon pardon me, tell me that you will not 
 prevent this union, which my crime threatened to dissolve ; 
 give to the repentant and the dying this last consolation !" 
 
 Hagar was silent. The two old people extended their 
 hands, and spoke to her words of reconciliation ; and on this, 
 as Hagar appeared faint, they sofbly withdrew. Hagar lay 
 for a moment in unconsciouness ; but speedily revived, turn- 
 ing her expiring eyes towards Serena, and said : " And now 
 let me thank thee, thou pure, thou clear fountain, which 
 mirrors itself in the heaven of Grod. Tor my bitter words 
 thou gavest me kind ones ; for the suffering which I oc- 
 casioned thee, thou hast ameliorated and sweetened my last 
 hour. Tliou hast offered refreshing liquids to my lips ; thou 
 hast poured the oil of compassion into my wounded heart ; 
 thou hast taught me the holy nature of love ; hast effected 
 that gentle feelings now" rule in my soul ; that yet at the gate 
 
 of death I can hope. Serena, Bruno, give me your hands ! 
 
 that I, who would have separated them, may now unite them ; 
 that I may pronounce a blessing over them, before my lips 
 are silenced for ever !" 
 
 Serena, silently weeping, extended her hand, but Bruno 
 stoou immoveable. " He will not!" exclaimed Hagar, with 
 pain ; " he fears the blessing which my lips would pronounce ; 
 he abhors me even to death !" 
 
 "It is not so, Hagar," said Bruno, mildly, as he laid 
 lightly his hand on her violently labouring breast, " have 
 peace with me, even as I have with thee. Thou hast been 
 dear to me, and in this moment thou art so still." 
 
 "Have everlasting thanks for these words," exclaimed 
 Hagar, vehemently : " O speak them once more ; say that 
 thou forgivest me." 
 
 "Who am I, that I should forgive thee?" said Bruno, 
 gloomily. " What right have I to appear better than thou ? 
 We have both erred; both stand before the Eternal Eye, 
 alike in need of pardon and mercy." 
 
 " IN'o, not alike!" asserted Hagar. "Wast it not I who 
 conducted thy fiery, inconsiderate youth to deeds wherein 
 thy heart had no participation ? Was it not I who, like a 
 Berpent, wound myself about thy tree of life, and infused 
 
 2 A 
 
370 
 
 THE 2TEIGHB0TJES. 
 
 poison into its sap ? Thou it was who awoke in me a human 
 spark ; that which bound me to thee was neither thy beauty 
 nor thy bravery, it was the flame of a higher life, which again 
 and again flashed forth from the tempestuous night of thy 
 existence. In vain would men burn thy strength to ashes ; 
 like the Phoenix, thou arose from the pyre, shook the ashes 
 from thy pinions, and soared towards the ligli t. So didst thou 
 
 fly before me, and I remained in the dust ; but now ^it is 
 
 so dark ! Now I die with pleasure, since I know that my 
 death is good for thee ; yet hear this one prayer. In the 
 park at Ramm is a grotto ; there I have often rested — it is 
 cool and still; let me there be buried. And hear; — my 
 coffin stands in thy house ; it has imbided the atmosphere of 
 thy house, where thou breathest, — lay me in that. Ah ! thy 
 hand does me good ; let it there rest till that heart is still. 
 Farewell, Bruno ! I sink into the dark, still night — and 
 with me the past ! Mayest thou be happy with thy young 
 bride, — with me all is at an end !" 
 
 Hagar was silent. Her hands dropped from those of 
 Erano, her bosom became still, and the great apparition of 
 life — Death, spread over her features the veil which no mortal 
 can raise. She had ceased to breathe. The beams of the 
 moon grew dim, and the dawn of Easter morning spread its 
 uncertain light through the chamber, and its ruddy glimmer 
 hovered over the pale corpse. A solemn stillness prevailed 
 long around her. 
 
 " Dead !" at length exclaimed Bruno with a hollow voice, aa 
 he stooped over Hagar, and was visibly shaken with agonized 
 feelings — " dead — because she loved me ! Who ever became 
 happy in loving me ? To whom did I ever give joy ? 1 have 
 darkened the life of my mother ; — here lies the betrothed of 
 my youth ; and ye, unhappy victims, whose existence I have 
 blighted, you also rise up to accuse me ! It is just ! Te pale 
 shapes, come and place yourselves between me and her who 
 should be my wife, — for I am not worthy of her. I will not de- 
 ceive her, — I will not steal into her heart with a lie ; — ^no, no 
 one shall love me, no one follow me, except this spirit of evil 
 which accompanies me through life. I believed that Serena 
 would drive him forth. — Ah ! this angel-look oppresses me, 
 #111 d plunges me still deeper my usurped heaven would 
 
TO THE EEADEE, FROM A STRANGE LADY. 
 
 871 
 
 become my curse! No, I will fly fly 1 will " A 
 
 com^ilsive agitation shook Bruno, and the fixed eye showed 
 that he was no longer master of himself. 
 
 Bruno ! Bruno !" cried Serena, with tenderness and pain, 
 as she approached him. " Away !" said he, sternly and wildly. 
 " Away ! my love brings misfortune with it. Come not with 
 thy pinions too near the flame of the burning gulf. Fly ! fly !" 
 
 " Bruno," said Serena, while spite of his menacing gestures 
 she drew near, and threw her arm round his neck, " talk not 
 so wildly. Be gentle — be still. Thou art unwell, Bruno; 
 come, compose thyself. Sit down here by me ; lean on me, 
 my Bruno. I am still thy Serena, — thy bride, — who loves 
 thee so tenderly; who will follow thee through joy and 
 trouble." 
 
 The tension of Bruno's spirit gave way ; his look became 
 gentler ; he breathed more softly. " Speak, angel-voice, 
 speak !" said he, 
 
 " Thou hast watched too much ; thou hast exhausted thy- 
 self," continued Serena, tenderly and caressingly; "now 
 thou must take a little repose. I will watch thee while thou 
 sleepest ; and then we will go out together, and behold the 
 sun — the delicious vernal sun, which gives joy and life to all 
 creation. It will be a lovely day, my Bruno !" 
 
 Serena's childlike sweet words, and the testimony of her 
 love, laid the demon in Bruno's soul. He calmed himself, 
 and appeared to awake out of a painful dream. With a look 
 of inexpressible affection and inexpressible anguish he gazed 
 on Serena. " Oh !" said he with tearful eyes, " never did 
 the harp of David more soothingly charm the frantic spirit 
 to rest. But, Serena, tell me, what have I said ? what have 
 I done ? and tell me also what thou hast thought of it ?" 
 
 "Thou wert ill, Bruno; but, thank Grod! thou art now 
 better, and all is well." 
 
 " No ! with me all is not well, Serena ; for know, that the 
 frenzy of which thou hast been a witness is no strange guest 
 with me. In the activity of the day — in the silence of the 
 night — it surprises me, till I can again rise into mastership, 
 over it. Seest thou, in the moment in which my mother laid 
 the curse upon my head, my spirit received a wound which 
 since then has never healed. Wild deeds and memories have 
 prevented it. Oh, long have I yearned to lay myself at thy 
 
 2a2 
 
872 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTTBS. 
 
 feet wii ii my terrible secret ! but my strength has failed iDai 
 
 — strength, perhaps for ever but now is the hour come ! 
 
 Turn thy pure gaze away, Serena !" 
 
 Bruno described in rapid but graphic words his first aber- 
 rations. " My brother's manly kindness," said he, " snatched 
 me from the dangerous and destructive path. For a moment 
 I thought to begin a new and better life ; perhaps should 
 have done it, had not the consequences of my first digressions 
 dragged me down. I was early become a secret gambler. I 
 had seduced into the same course a young man of my ac- 
 quaintance — I was the cause of his misfortunes ; and in 
 order to rescue him, I had recourse anew to forbidden means. 
 My theft was discovered — discovered by my mother ! She 
 would punish me severely — perhaps too severely ; but no, I 
 deserved it. But I would not submit myself ; I met force 
 with force ; I opposed my mother and she cursed me !" 
 
 At these words Bruno's voice trembled ; he paused an 
 instant, and then proceeded. 
 
 " I fled the same night, my heart possessed with furies, 
 which have since then never quitted me. I went into foreign 
 service, and earned wounds and honour. When the war was 
 ended, I fell into connexions which fettered my heart, and 
 confounded the remaining ideas of right and goodness which 
 I had brought with me from the maternal home. Loaded 
 with the curse of my mother, and bearing in my bosom a 
 storm of unbridled passions, I sought to gratify these ; I 
 sought to forget that I had a home, a mother, a native land ; 
 
 to forget that I was cursed ! ah ! that was an icy feeling 
 
 in my heart which drove me continually deeper into the fire 
 of perdition. The men with whom I was now surrounded, 
 the desire of gain, the very danger with which the enterprise 
 was attended, drove me to that which I shall for ever repent ; 
 — I became a dealer in men, a trader in human souls ! I 
 tore the children of Africa from their huts ; I tore with vio- 
 lence husband from wife, mothers from their children, and 
 carried them as slaves to the Portuguese colonies. Men — 
 my brethren — I sold for gain ! They who then exerted a 
 powerful influence over my mind had represented to me these 
 unhappy people as destitute of all moral worth, — yes, as ac- 
 tually ranking below the beasts. A terrible circumstance 
 opened my blinded eyes; let me now pass it over in 
 
TO THE READEE, TEOM A STRANGE LJUDT. 873 
 
 Pilence ; I could not relate it with equanimity. Enough 
 from tliat moment I abandoned my bloody trade. Again 1 
 changed name and country. 
 
 " To forget and to enjoy were now more than ever the im- 
 pelling objects of my life. At the faro-table I wooed For- 
 tune, and she was auspicious. One evening I won a heavy 
 sum from a very young man. Grold lightened round me, and 
 blinded my eyes ; but the ashy ghastliness of desperation 
 which overspread the countenance of my opponent as he left 
 the room, recalled me to reflection. Perhaps he had a mother 
 
 who I hastened out after him. I would give him back 
 
 all that he had lost. I ran up the pitch-dark street, and 
 called the name of the unfortunate youth, which I happened 
 to know. A flash and a report were the answer to my call ; 
 fragments of the brain of the unhappy man flew to my very 
 feet. He was the only son of a destitute widow ! 
 
 " I abandoned the faro-table ; I sought to repair in some 
 degree the evils which I had perpetrated ; I sought to ame- 
 liorate the burdens of those classes of men against whom I 
 had transgressed. But what is the benevolence of the gam- 
 bler ? It is like the alms of the robber — it is a blood-penny ! 
 No atonement can thence arise to the heart. I felt it — I 
 sought love. Love, I imagined, would enable me to forget 
 the past, and enjoy the present, I plunged into love, and 
 sank into the arms of — no, holy love, not into thy arms — but 
 in those of voluptuousness was my life consumed. I per- 
 suaded myself that I loved — I was deceived. I deceived 
 others, and revelled in excess after excess. But as the waves 
 fled the lip of Tantalus, so fled peace and enjoyment from 
 me. During fifteen years I had probably moments of wild 
 pleasure, but not one hour to which I would say — ^ Eemain!' 
 not a day to which I would address the petition — ' Come 
 again !' An inexpressible emptiness, which nothing appeared 
 capable of filling — a consuming thirst after something, I 
 know not what — reigned in my soul. At times, in more 
 tranquil hours — yes, even in those of the wildest enjoyment 
 — came before my spirit an image whose fascinating and yet 
 agonizing effect ou my heart it is impossible lor me to de- 
 scribe. All that my years of childhood had possessed ot 
 innocent and beautiful — all that I had at times dreamed of 
 heaven and its peace — appeared to blend themselves into one 
 
874 
 
 THE KEIGHBOUK». 
 
 shape ; and that shape, Serena, wore thy features. Thence 
 
 arose in my soul an ineffable longing and despair. 
 
 " Once more I tore myself from my effeminate and disso- 
 lute career, I sought to employ my life, which oppressed 
 me, in a widely-extended and systematic activity. I launched 
 into speculations of commerce ; they prospered, and I be- 
 came rich. But, ah ! my heart still remained poor ; and in 
 the midst of my superfluity my soul hungered. It was at 
 this period that my affairs conducted me to England. I 
 heard Canning address the representatives of a great people 
 for the abolition of the slave trade, for liberty, and the good 
 of mankind, I saw on his brow the glory of an immortal 
 beauty ; and for the first time I comprehended the moral 
 worth and the true nobility of man, and the baseness of my 
 former life. O Serena ! then did I bewail the days and the 
 vigour which I had wasted! But I was still young; yet 
 eould I begin what ? An outcast, a son with the ma- 
 ternal imprecation on his head, what good can he commence ? 
 what blessings can he receive from ab^ve ? I was cursed ! 
 That was the brand which was stamped on my forehead — the 
 stone which lay upon my life, and doomed it to eternal dark- 
 ness. What angel could roll the stone away ? Oh, long did 
 my soul wrestle in benumbing despair ; for my mother is the 
 only being whom I have ever feared. Often since my child- 
 hood had our spirits contended; but she had always tri- 
 umphed, had always cast mine down. Bitterness grew in 
 my heart ; but long years passed away, and love came back 
 into it, and grew and overspread all the bitterness. The 
 thoughts of reconciliation with her were the only thoughts 
 in my soul. This reconciliation was the condition of a new, 
 of a better life ; without it the whole world was nothing to 
 me. I had no hope ; but if I would live, I must dare. So 
 powerfully had this feeling laid hold on my being, that I was 
 physically enfeebled by it ; at the very word ^ Mother,' I 
 could weep like a child. 
 
 " I came back : I saw my paternal home again ; I saw also 
 thee, Serena ! — the paradise of my childhood, my revelation of 
 heaven, the object of my desire, the reformation of my life and 
 being, — I saw all this in thee. "Wonder not that my arms 
 extended themselves longingly to secure thee; wonder not 
 that when I saw myself an outcast from the maternal bosaia, 
 
TO THE EEAJ)EIt, FROM A STEANaE LADY. 
 
 375 
 
 I sought to acquire througli tliee the blessedness of life and 
 love — sought to win an angel for my distempered souL 
 There hovered at this moment a doom over me, on which 
 depended more than mere life and death ; it was reconcilia- 
 tion, or the eternal perdition of my soul. There lay a 
 thunder-cloud on my heart and brain ; I neither saw nor felt 
 clearly. It was then that I tempted thee, Serena; thou 
 withstoodest me, and I believed that I loved thee less ; but I 
 deceived myself ; thou hadst sunk only deeper into my spirit, 
 and wert become one with its good genius. But this I did 
 not then feel ; my mind was dark. 
 
 " A moment of wild desperation passed over, and I became 
 reconciled to my mother. I rested my head on her bosom, I 
 heard her bless me ! Almighty God ! rich in mercy, would st 
 thou weigh out to me against this moment a hundred years of 
 Buffering, yet could I lift my hands to thee as now, and thank 
 thee for this moment ! Words cannot express its value ; it 
 has saved me both in time and eternity. 
 
 " What shall I say further to thee, Serena ? Although 
 reconciled with my mother, and loving her more intensely 
 than ever, I felt, after the first moments of heavenly blessed- 
 ness, no rest in my heart. Thee, thee must I win. Thou 
 must become my wife, if I must enjoy peace on earth. I 
 sought to win thee in the way which thou thyself hadst 
 pointed out to me — I was rejected. It was not wounded 
 pride, Serena, which induced me for a long time to absent my- 
 self from your iiouse ; no but I descended into myself, and 
 endeavoured to renounce thee. It was in vain ! a nameless, 
 irresistible power drew me back to thee ; there was a bond 
 between us which seemed to me to be twined by God him- 
 self. Thou wert mine ! Oh, moment of transport ! of god- 
 like blessedness ! Thou wert mine — and life was renovated, 
 the past was forgotten, aU was atoned for and purified. Oh ! 
 ] it was but for a moment ; the Furies speedily raised them- 
 V selves again in my heart — the chastening goddesses of memory; 
 and thy acquiescence, thy pure glance, became to me piercing 
 reproaches. I was not worthy of thee, every day made me 
 more sensible of it ; and doubly unworthy I felt myself, that 
 I would draw thee down into a life of whose darkness thou 
 wert ignorant ; for in vain would I delude myself — never can 
 I be at rest ; nevei can the blessedness of a pure heart dwelj 
 
376 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 in my bosom. What has been done, cannot be undone ; 
 there are circumstances in my life which never can be for- 
 gotten ; remembrances which will pursue me to the grave 1 
 O Serena! tliy innocent hand should not be laid in on6 
 stained with so many crimes ; thou, the pure, the blessed, 
 shouldst not stand in connexion with him on whom secretly 
 lies the bann of expulsion from civil society ; at least thou 
 oughtest not to surrender thy youth, thy beauty, thy wo- 
 manly virtue, to a deceiver. This has of late become per- 
 fectly clear to me. It has become clear that if I abused thy 
 confidence, and made thee unhappy — and happy never can 
 the partner of my days and nights be — then indeed must I 
 become an eternal reprobate. These thoughts have long 
 agitated me. Hagar's crimes and thy virtues, thy conquest 
 over me and her, have brought them to maturity. I love 
 thee now, Serena, as highly and sacredly as I before loved 
 thee wildly and egotistically, and therefore I have unveiled 
 my soul before thee, as before its eternal Creator. The altar 
 has not yet united us, thou canst yet separate thyself from me ; 
 canst yet withdraw thyself. Thou art at this moment free ; 
 and if thou rejectest me, yet shall no complaint, no reproach 
 pass my lips. If thou also turnest thyself away from me, I 
 will yet love and honour thee, and will go on my own solitary 
 and dreary path, as well as I may. 
 
 " Thou hast spoken of friendship ; of brother and sister ; 
 pardon me, if I rend away this illusion of an angellically pure 
 heart. It cannot be so between us. God created our souls 
 of far different natures ; in mine burn flames, of which thou 
 knowest nothing ; I must possess thee, or fly thee ; but if I 
 fly thee, Serena, I shall yet carry thy image in my bosom, and 
 it will make me a better man. I am not alone — I have a 
 mother. I will live for her, should it even be without pleasure 
 or enjoyment. Yet let me add but one word. I have hoped, 
 Serena, thou whom I alone have ever truly loved, — to be 
 able to begin on thy bosom, on thy angel's heart, a new and 
 better life. I believed that the better germs in my soul 
 
 would unfold themselves under thy protection and who 
 
 can say what the heart augurs and who measures the 
 
 strength of love ? Who sets bounds to the mercy of the 
 Almiglity ? With thee appeared the way to open to atonement 
 and a better life without thee but I have said enou/;k 
 
TRANSISKi. WEENEB TO MARIA M. 
 
 877 
 
 Now thou knowest all, Serena, — pronounce the judgment ovef 
 me. I stoop my head before thee, and will kiss thy beloved 
 hand, let it dispense me what it will — Life or Death." 
 
 As the Serapli Eloa, says the noble poet of the Messiah,* 
 descended at the side of the Saviour into hell, and saw there 
 the darkness and misery, its clear glance became quenched in 
 gloom. A feeling like that of Eloa had, during Bruno's con- 
 fession, oppressed Serena ; and an indescribable weight lay 
 upon her heart, and impeded its action ; but it was rolled 
 away, and vanished. As the fresh wind blows away the fog ; 
 as the clear stars come forth in the dark night ; as the glow 
 of morning ascends and illumines and fills all creation with 
 splendour, — so rose in Serena's heart the eternal love, strong, 
 abundant, sweet, and triumphant. In her soul all became 
 lighter, freer, more assured than ever, — there was no more 
 fear, no more disquiet there ; and as Bruno ceased to speak, 
 she stooped towards him with silent tears of affection in her 
 eyes, and said, — " I go with thee, Bruno. O my friend, my 
 husband ! it cannot be otherwise. Together let us wander on 
 the earth, together one day kneel before the throne of the 
 AU-merciful!" 
 
 Speechless, Bruno clasped her to his bosom. Light broke 
 in. A song arose, beautiful and peaceful, and embraced the 
 united ones in its melodious waves. It was the Easter Hymn, 
 sounding from the church for the celebration of the Eirst- 
 Born of the Eesurrection. 
 
 These scenes are at an end ; and with them my task. "With 
 hearty goodwill I surrender again the pen to the hand of 
 Madame Werner ! but just at this time, namely, after Hagar's 
 death, occurs a material gap in her correspondence, the 
 positive cause of which it is not in my power to state, and 
 which I am not enabled to fill up. Thou must therefore, 
 worthy Eeader, content thyself with proceeding to the next 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 Rosen vik, May 23rd. 
 
 Here again! I sit alone, and have despatched Bear tc 
 Kaucm, there to look well about him, and in the first place to 
 * Klopstock. 
 
878 
 
 THE NEIGHBOTJItS. 
 
 take his own pleasure, and then to confer on me that of hear- 
 ing how affairs stand after the wedding. I do not find myself 
 very well. I am heavy and dull ; look towards E/amm's grey 
 walls ; think on Serena, and long for Bear. Evening draws 
 on ; he must certainly soon appear. I have not been well 
 since Serena's wedding-day : I was too much excited. 
 Bruno's disquiet on this day, his nearly wild questions to 
 Serena, " Wilt thou become mine in joy and sorrow, in time 
 and eternity ?" what do they portend ? " I will answer thee 
 this evening," said Serena, in her sweet, sincere manner. 
 That pacified him ; and at evening, as they were affianced, 
 and the blessing was pronounced over them, he became 
 changed. A profound sense of gratitude appeared to thank, 
 exalt, and to calm his spirit. Ah ! wherefore this disquietude, 
 wherefore this pain in the bosom of happiness itself, if hia 
 conscience had peace ? 
 
 But am I not wrong to feel such uneasiness and anxiety, 
 when I have witnessed in Bruno so much genuine love ; and 
 in Serena, a tenderness, a truth and strength, which ennoble 
 and embellish everything ? In the marriage hour there was 
 something in her which seemed to elevate their union above 
 all the power of misfortune and mutability. There lay a 
 heavenly serenity on her pure brow; she pronounced the 
 words, " To love thee in joy and trouble," with such a beauti- 
 ful and lofty certainty that I involuntarily pronounced them 
 again to Bear, as I leaned on his shoulder, and stood there 
 supported by his faithful arm. How the occurrences of this 
 day still hover before my mind ! They seized powerfully, too 
 powerfully upon me ! How long Bear stays. The shadow of 
 the trees are already large, and the birds begin their even- 
 song. Grod grant that no misfortune has happened at Bamm ! 
 the old black house there looks like a place of ill-luck. Why 
 must Serena go there ? Thank Grod ! there comes Bear ; I 
 will go down towards the bridge to meet him. 
 
 24th. 
 
 FEAGMENT OF A CONYERSATION OF YESTERDAY. 
 
 " Well, Bear, it was beautiful what thou saidst of Serena, 
 that she looked so amiable, and the Patriarchs so satisfied 
 Tell me now, how was Ma chere mere ?" 
 
 " Superb, but not lively.'* 
 
TEAIfSlSKA WEEKEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 379 
 
 " Did slie make no speech ?" 
 
 " No, she was unusually still, but appeared satisfied and 
 internally thankful." 
 
 " And how behaved Bruno towards her 
 " Like the tenderest of sons." 
 
 " And towards Serena ? What did he call her ? Did he 
 look much at her. How much did he look at her ? Was he 
 much about her ? Did he talk much with her ? Did he show 
 much attention to her, much solicitude about her ? 
 
 " My dear child, it would be quite as well if thou hadst a 
 less ' flux de bouche,' then one might answer regularly. Now 
 let us see, what was the first question ! Whether Bruno be- 
 haved to his wife as became a husband ?" 
 
 " Ah ! thou art unbearable ! Did he lie at her feet ?" 
 
 " Not exactly. That would not have been quite appro- 
 priate in so great a company ; but there seemed on the whole 
 to exist a good understanding between them." 
 
 " A good understanding ! Thou talkest quite pitifully. 
 Perhaps thou wilt think that I ought to thank God that they 
 don't quarrel ?" 
 
 " That thou canst not do, for they did quarrel !" 
 
 " Good gracious ! About what ?" 
 
 " Heaven knows what was the occasion, but he said : 
 * My sweet Serena, my wife, it shall be as thou wilt !' and 
 she answered, * No, Bruno, is shall be as thou hast said ; it 
 is best so.' " 
 
 " Well, thank God ! How thou canst frighten one ! And 
 how did Bruno look as he said, * My wife ?' " 
 
 " How ? like a husband?" 
 
 " Who adored his wife ?" 
 
 " Why yes : — and who feels that he possesses in her life's 
 greatest good." 
 
 " See ! now thou speakest beautifully, my Bear ! And 
 then the dinner. Bear? Tell me now a little about the 
 dinner. Describe me all the dishes in succession. Thou dost 
 not remember them ! Oh ! it is wretched of thee ! Yes, 
 certainly thou rememberest some. Let us see ; the first 
 course, for instance, which always relishes the best, what did 
 that consist of?" 
 
 " I believe of chickens." 
 
 " Chickens ! impossible. Serena cannot have chickens for 
 
'380 
 
 THE NEiaHBOITRfl. 
 
 the first course ; she must then have ham to the roast meat.*^ 
 Bear laughed at my zeal ; and after some other unfortunate 
 attempts to come at a notion of the dmner, I was compelled to 
 give it up, and to tell Bear that he was an unworthy guest y 
 and that I would tell Serena of it. In order to divert my 
 attention, and propitiate me, he conjured up, I know not 
 how, a bottle of Bishop, and a basket of splendid preserved 
 fruits, which he had brought from Bamm ; compeDed, as he 
 said, against his will by Serena. 
 
 I was quite enchanted with this little entertainment, 
 fetched glasses, and we sate down to drink healths. We 
 drank the health of the young couple, the health of Ma chere 
 mere, our own, and that of the little unknown. We got 
 quite into a zealous mood with our health-drinking. We then 
 seated ourselves at the window : it was a lovely evening, and 
 the heaven lay clear over Ramm. A gleam from the setting 
 sun illuminated the dark wood ; and I recollected that I had 
 once before seen this, and had thought on Serena. I saw 
 the shore, before so dusky, now brightly lit up. I looked at 
 Bear, who did not turn his full-moon face away from me; a 
 warmth glanced about my heart, tears came into my eyes, and 
 I said, pointing towards Bamm, " It is more clear there, 
 Bear; now there are happy hearts there." 
 
 " No happier than here," said Bear, as he drew me ten- 
 derly to him, and held me fast on his knee. The sunshine 
 slowly died away ; the shore was again shrouded in gloom • 
 and with a deep sigh I added, " Ah 1 who knows how long 
 they will continue happy there ? God knows wli ether Bruno, 
 this unquiet spirit, can be at peace." A melodious tremor 
 passed through the air, and appeared to answer to my sigh. 
 1 was startled ; and we listened at the open window. The 
 organ at Eamm was pealing, but not as formerly ; tones like 
 those of Handel's Messiah issued from it. I leaned my head 
 against Bear's, and thus we sat in the warm May evening, 
 and listened. And till late in the evening the organ sounded 
 even more beautifully, more peacefully, as it seemed to me ; 
 and I called to mind the last words of the Legend of tho 
 Neck : " Then the Neck wept no more, but took his harp, and 
 played and sung sweetly till deep in the night, for be now 
 knew that he should be saved.** 
 
FEAJNSISKA WEENEE TO MAEIA M. 
 
 881 
 
 25th. 
 
 Jane Marie was liere yesterday ; she was gay and joyous. 
 I learned various matters from her ; and amongst them some 
 which delighted me. Ma chere mere grows ever more quiet 
 and gentle, goes often to church, and her proverbs become 
 ever more biblical. Her heart seems now more than formerly 
 to desire to make men happy. She gives much to the poor ; 
 amongst the rest old linen; and through that prepares, 
 according to the lively expression of a young and amiable 
 lady, "her heavenly purple." Jane Marie related a little 
 scene between Elsa and Ma chere mere, which gave me plea- 
 sure. Ma chere mere had to-day knocked down and broken 
 a couple of china cups which stood on a table. She was put 
 out of humour by it. She will sometimes in little matters 
 act too much the person who can see ; and in the heat of the 
 moments lets fall " the deuce !" and similar expressions of 
 anger on Elsa, for having put them in the wrong place. Ma 
 chere mere was wrong ; but Elsa, who formerly always pro- 
 tested with strong words against any injustice of the kind, 
 now let it pass very quietly for her own fault. A moment 
 afterwards, as Ma chere mere sat at her netting, and let her 
 needle fall under the sofii, Elsa — who is always at hand when 
 she can be of service— went down on her knees to pick it up, 
 and gave it to her again. Ma chere mere on this laid her 
 arm gently round her faithful servant, and said, with emotion, 
 " My dear Elsa, what should I do if I had not thee ?" Elsa 
 embraced the knees of her mistress, pressed her forehead 
 against them, and a tear of tenderness and joy quietly rolled 
 down her bony cheeKs. 
 
 Jean Jacques regulates and commands freely at Carlsfors ; 
 abolishes all abuses ; and makes many useful arrangements. He 
 is an active and highly-informed man ; and talks less since he 
 has done more. He and Jane Marie extend their influence 
 continually at Carlsfors, while Ma chere mere seems more and 
 more to withdraw herself from the affairs of the world. Music 
 gives her more pleasure than ever ; and she has once said, 
 that she could wish to die amid the tones of Bruno's organ. 
 The next week she is going to give the new-married pair a 
 great dinner. Miss Hellevi Husgafvel will also give, in 
 in honour of them, a select soiree. 
 
 It is said that ^v'ature and Art propose to make a union in 
 
S82 
 
 THE KEIGHBOURS. 
 
 the persons of young Eobert Stalmark and Adele von P. 
 They have made the discovery of each other's excellences at 
 Miss Husgafvel's soirees in the course of the winter ; have 
 fallen consequently in love, and are become thereby much 
 more amiable. 
 
 Lagman Hok has, during the spring, suffered much from 
 his liver complaint ; has been obliged to confine himself long 
 to his room, where he has been diligently visited by his neigh- 
 bours and friends. Ma chere mere has been twice a week to 
 see him, and I too have now and then passed an hour with 
 the still and interesting old man. Yesterday, Jane Marie 
 informed me, he had been again, for the first time, to Carls- 
 fors. Ma chere mere and he walked their trail together, she 
 holding by a line which was stretched across the room. 
 
 We hear that cousin Stellan will travel this summer into 
 Italy on account of his health ; in truth, in order to dissipate 
 his .ennui, but I fear that this will go along with him. 
 
 Peter and Ebba are expected in the autumn. It will be a 
 pleasure to see them again, and I shall be anxious to observe 
 how the sisters-in-law will now agree. Jane Marie expects 
 visits from some Stockholm acquaintances, and promises her- 
 self a gay summer. 
 
 But while all around me rejoice themselves ; love, dance, 
 and prepare entertainments — I go, perhaps with hasty strides, 
 towards my last hour ; but I think no longer of it with un- 
 easiness, I have arranged all my little affairs, and hold myself 
 in readiness for wliat may come. I have written a letter for 
 Bear, which, if I die, shall tell him how dear he is to me, and 
 how happy he has made me during our short union. My 
 poor, good Bear ! He is now so uneasy, so anxious about me, 
 that it internally troubles me. I see that he will never do 
 for my doctor ; I must now have courage for us both. I will 
 follow the example of a young friend who found herself in a 
 similar situation to mine, and what was worse in a solitary 
 house in the country, and hemmed in by snow-drifts ; but 
 that she might keep herself in spirits, she translated some ot 
 the finest scenes of Shakspeare. I have no Shakspeare at 
 hand, but I will set on and write an epistle to those who ara 
 more the subject of my thoughts. 
 
KIANSISKA WERNER TO MARIA M. 
 
 383 
 
 TO MY DATTGHTEES. 
 
 Above all things, my dear daughters, bear in mind that 
 you are human beings. Be good, be true ; the rest will fol- 
 low. As much as possible, be kind to every one ; tender to 
 every animal. Be without sentimentality and affectation. 
 Affectation is a miserable art, my daughters — despise it, as 
 truly as you would acquire moral worth. Do not regard 
 yourselves as very important, let you have as many talents and 
 endowments as you may ; consider nature and life, and be 
 humble. Should you be treated by nature like a hard step- 
 mother, and be infirm, ordinary, or the like, do not be dis- 
 couraged ; you may draw near to the Most High. Eequire 
 not much from other people, especially from one another. 
 The art to sink in the esteem of yourselves and others, is to 
 make great demands, and give little. 
 
 If you are straitened in this world, look up to heaven ; but 
 not as turkey-cocks, but as believing children. Should one 
 of you fall, let her immediately determine to arise again ; to 
 the failing, as well as to the unfortunate, there is always ex- 
 tended a helping hand. Lay hold on this. 
 
 Ah ! my daughters 
 
 Fourteen days later. 
 "What is become of my daughters ? They have turned 
 themselves into a son! and the young gentleman was un- 
 courteous enough to interrupt the letter to his sisters. 
 There he lies in the new wicker cradle, under the green 
 taffety canopy, well-grown, round, and fat ; and the great 
 Bear is on his knees beside his little Bear. I have a great 
 mind to join him m his idolatry ; but Bear the father con- 
 siders it more fitting that the son wait on his mother. I am 
 
 f)roud of my little boy ; but so it is, I had so certainly calcu- 
 ated on a little maiden, that I almost miss her. But as Ma 
 chere mere comforted me — " deferring prevents no recur- 
 ring." 
 
 " What shall I do with my letter. Bear ? It is not adapted 
 to the honourable gentleman there." 
 
 " I will take care of it for our girls ; — write another for 
 the youngster." 
 
 Happy, my Maria, is the wife who can, like me, give to 
 
THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 her son from heart and soul this exhortation — "Eesembk 
 thy father!" 
 
 " No, Bear ! thou mayst not see what I have written. 
 Thou mayst not take my paper away, thou tyrant ! I pro- 
 mise to conclude very soon, but I must yet add a word or 
 two." 
 
 These good people and Neighbours ! From all sides they 
 have sent me flowers, and jellies, and all sorts of good things. 
 Serena has nursed me the whole time like a sister. She ia 
 quiet, kind, sympathizing ; in one word, like herself ; and 
 seems to entertain a love for Bruno which is too inward to 
 express itself in words. My Maria, I invite you to stand 
 godmother to my little Bear. He is to be called Lars Peter, 
 and Ma chere mere will herself convey him to the font. She 
 was here the day after his birth, and laid a beautiful present 
 on his cradle. She spoke with me about my fears and trou- 
 bles on this head, and said gaily, " Well, it is in these things 
 as in life, — * all is well that ends well,' " 
 
 " No, Bear ! my paper, — my pen, — oh ! thou abominable 
 Bear!" 
 
 22ND OF THE NEIGHBOURS. 
 
I 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 1 HAD a peculiar method of wandering without very much 
 paiu along the stormy path of life, although, in a physical as 
 well as in a moral sense, I wandered almost barefoot, — I hoped^ 
 hoped from day to day ; in the morning my hopes rested on 
 evening, in the evening on the morning ; in the autumn upon 
 the spring, in spring upon the autumn ; from this year to 
 the next, and thus, amid mere hopes, I had passed through 
 nearly thirty years of my life, without, of all my privations, 
 painfully perceiving the want of anything but whole boots. 
 Nevertheless, I consoled myself easily for this out of doors in 
 the open air, but in a drawing-room it always gave me an 
 uneasy manner to have to turn the heels, as being the part 
 least torn, to the front. Much more oppressive was it to me, 
 truly, that I could in the abodes of misery only console with 
 kind words. 
 
 I comforted myself, like a thousand others, by a hopeful 
 glance upon the rolling wheel of fortune, and with the philo- 
 sophical remark, " when the time comes, comes the counsel." 
 
 As a poor assistant to a country clergyman with a narrow 
 income and meagre table, morally becoming mouldy in the 
 company of the scolding housekeeper, of the willingly fuddled 
 clergyman, of a foolish young gentleman, and the daughters 
 of the house, who, with high shoulders and turned-in toes, 
 went from morning to night paying visits, I felt a peculiarly 
 strange emotion of tenderness and joy as one of my acquaint- 
 ance informed me by writing, that my uncle, the Merchant 
 
 P , in Stockholm, to me personally unknown, now lay 
 
 dying, and in a paroxysm of kindred affection had inquired 
 after his good-for-nothing nephew. 
 
 "With a flat, meagre little bundle, and a million of rich 
 hopes, the grateful nephew now allows himself to be shook 
 up hill and down hill, upon an uncommonly uncomfortable 
 and stiff-necked peasant-cart, and arrived head-over-heels in 
 the capital. 
 
 2 B 
 
886 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 lu the inn where I alighted I ordered for myself a little — 
 only a very little breakfast, — a trifle — a bit of bread-and- 
 butter — a few eggs. 
 
 The landlord and a fat gentleman walked up and down the 
 saloon and chatted. " ^^ay, that I must say/' said the fat 
 
 gentleman, " this Merchant P , who died the day before 
 
 yesterday, he was a fine fellow." 
 
 " Yes, yes," thought I ; " aha, aha, a fine fellow, who had 
 heaps of money ! Hear you, my friend" (to the waiter), 
 
 could not you get me a bit of venison, or some other solid 
 dish ? Hear you, a cup of bouillon would not be amiss. 
 Look after it, but quick !" 
 
 " Yes," said mine host now, " it is strong ! Thirty thou- 
 sand dollars, and they banko ! Nobody in the whole world 
 could have dreamed of it — thirty thousand !" 
 
 "Thirty thousand!" repeated I, in my exultant soul, 
 " thirty thousand ! Hear, youth, waiter ! Make haste, give 
 
 me here thirty thou ; no, give me here banko — no, give me 
 
 here a glass of wine, I mean ;" and from head to heart there 
 sang in me, amid the trumpet-beat of every pulse in alterna- 
 ting echoes, " Thirty thousand ! Thirty thousand !" 
 
 " Yes," continued the fat gentleman, " and would you 
 believe that in the mass of debts there are nine hundred 
 dollars for cutlets, and five thousand dollars for champagne. 
 And now all his creditors stand there prettily, and open their 
 mouths ; all the things in the house are hardly worth two 
 farthings ; and out of the house they find, as the only indem- 
 nification — a calasch !" 
 
 " Aha, that is something quite different ! Hear you, youth, 
 waiter ! Eh, come you here ! take that meat, and the bouillon, 
 and the wine away again ; and hear you, observe well, that I 
 have not eaten a morsel of all this. How could I, indeed ; I 
 that ever since I opened my eyes this morning have done no- 
 thing else but eat (a horrible untruth !), and it just now occurs 
 to me that it would therefore be unnecessary to pay money 
 for such a superfluous feast." 
 
 "But you have actually ordered it," replied the waiter, in 
 a state of excitement. 
 
 " My friend," I replied, and seized myself behind the ear, 
 a place whence people, \^ ho are in embarrassment, are accus* 
 
HOPES. 
 
 387 
 
 tomed in some sort of way to obtain the necessary help — " my 
 friend, it was a mistake for which I must not be punished ; 
 for it was not my fault that a rich heir, for whom I ordered 
 the breakfast, is all at once become poor, — yes, poorer than 
 many a poor devil, because he has lost more than the half of 
 his present means upon the future. If he, under these cir- 
 cumstances, as you may well imagine, cannot pay for a dear 
 breakfast, yet it does not prevent my paying for the eggs 
 which I have devoured, and giving you over and above some- 
 thing handsome for your trouble, as business compels me to 
 move off from here immediately!" 
 
 By my excellent logic, and the " something handsome," I 
 removed from my throat, with a bleeding heart and a water- 
 ing mouth, that dear breakfast, and wandered forth into the 
 city, with my little bundle under my arm, to seek for a cheap 
 room, whilst I considered where I was to get the money 
 for it. 
 
 In consequence of the violent coming in contact of hope 
 and reality I had a little headache. But when I saw upon my 
 ramble a gentleman, ornamented with ribbons and stars, 
 alight from a magnificent carriage, who had a pale yellow 
 complexion, a deeply-wrinkled brow, and above his eyebrows 
 an intelligible trace of ill-humour ; when I saw a young 
 count, with whom I had become acquainted in the University 
 of Upsala, walking along as if he were about to fall on his 
 nose from age and weariness of life, I held up my head, in- 
 haled the air, which accidentally (unfortunately) at this 
 place was filled with the smell of smoked sausage, and ex- 
 tolled poverty and a pure heart. 
 
 I found at length, in a remote street, a little room, which 
 was more suited to my gloomy prospects than to the bright 
 hopes which I cherished two hours before. 
 
 I had obtained permission to spend the winter in Stock- 
 holm, and had thought of spending it in quite a different 
 way to what now was to be expected. But what was to be 
 done ? To let the courage sink was tlie worst of all ; to lay 
 the hands in the lap and look up to heaven, not much 
 better. " The sun breaks forth when one least expects it," 
 thought I, as heavy autumn clouds descended upon the city, 
 I determined to use all the means I could to obtain foi 
 2 B 2 
 
388 
 
 HOPES 
 
 myself a decent subsistence, with a somewliat pleasanter 
 prospect for the future, than was opened to me under the 
 miserable protection of Pastor Gr., and, in the mean time, to 
 earn my daily bread by eopying, — a sorrowful expedient in a 
 sorrowful condition. 
 
 Thus I passed my days amid fruitless endeavours to find 
 ears which might not be deaf, amid the heart-wearing occu- 
 pation of writing out fairly the empty productions of empty 
 heads, with my dinners becoming more and more scanty, 
 and with ascending hopes, until that evening against whose 
 date I afterwards made a cross in my calendar. 
 
 My host had just left me with the friendly admonition to 
 pay the first quarter's rent on the following day, if I did not 
 prefer (the politeness is French) to march forth again with 
 bag and baggage on a "voyage of discovery through the streets 
 of the city. 
 
 It was just eight o'clock, on an indescribably cold Novem- 
 ber evening, when I was revived with this affectionate salu- 
 tation on my return from a visit to a sick person, for whom I, 
 perhaps — really somewhat inconsiderately, had emptied my 
 purse. 
 
 I snuffed my sleepy thin candle with my fingers, and 
 glanced around the little dark chamber, for the further use of 
 which I must soon see myself compelled to gold-making. 
 
 "Diogenes dwelt worse," sighed I, with a submissive 
 mind, as I drew a lame table from the window where the 
 wind and rain were not contented to stop outside. At that 
 moment my eye fell upon a brilliantly blazing fire in a 
 kitchen, which lay, Tantalus-like, directly opposite to my 
 modest room, where the fireplace was as dark as possible. 
 
 Cooks, men and women, have the happiest lot of all serving 
 mortals !" thought I, as, with a secret desire to play that 
 fire-tending game, I contemplated the well-fed dame, amid 
 iron-pots and stewpans, standing there like an empress in 
 the glory of the fire-light, and with the firetongs-sceptre 
 rummaging about majestically in the glowing realm. 
 
 A story higher, I had, through a window, which was con- 
 cealed by no envious curram, the view into a brightly lighted 
 room, where a numerous family were assembled round a tea- 
 table covered with cups and bread-baskets. 
 
HOPES 
 
 389 
 
 I Tra« stiff in my whole body, from cold and damp. How 
 empty it was in that part which may be called the magazme, 
 I do not say : but, ah, good Heavens ! thought I, if, however, 
 that pretty girl, who over there takes a cup of tea-nectar and 
 rich splendid rusks to that fat gentleman who, from satiety, 
 can hardly raise himself from the sofa, would but reach out 
 her lovely hand a little further, and could — she would with a 
 thousand kisses — in vain ! — ah, the satiated gentleman takes 
 his cup ; he steeps and steeps his rusk with such eternal 
 slowness — it might be wine. Now the charming girl caresses 
 him. I am curious whether it is the dear papa himself, or 
 
 the uncle, or, perhaps Ah, the enviable mortal ! But nq 
 
 it is quite impossible ; he is at least forty years older than 
 she. See, that indeed must be his wife — an elderly lady, 
 who sits near him on the sofa, and who offers rusks to the 
 young lady. The old lady seems very dignified ; but to whom 
 does she go now ? I cannot see the person. An ear and a 
 piece of a shoulder are all that peeps forth near the window. 
 I cannot exactly take it amiss, that the respectable person 
 turns his back to me ; but that he keeps the young lady 
 a quarter of an hour standing before him, lets her curtsey 
 and offer her good things, does thoroughly provoke me. It 
 must be a lady — a man could not be so unpolite towards this 
 
 angelic being. But — or now she takes the cup ; and now, 
 
 O woe! a great man's hand grasps into the rusk-basket — the 
 savage ! and how he helps himself — the churl ! I should like to 
 know whether it is her brother, — ^he was perhaps hungry, poor 
 fellow ! Now come in, one after the other, two lovely chil- 
 dren, who are like the sister. I wonder now, whether the 
 good man with one ear has left anything remaining. That 
 most charming of girls, how she caresses the little ones, and 
 kisses them, and gives to them all the rusks and the cakes 
 that have escaped the fingers of Monsieur Grobble. Now she 
 has had herself, the sweet child ! of the whole entertainment, 
 no more than me — the smell. 
 
 What a movement suddenly takes place in the room ! 
 The old gentleman heaves himself up from the sofa — the 
 person with one ear starts forward, and in so doing, gives the 
 young lady a blow (the dromedary !) which makes her knock 
 against the tea-table, whereby the poor lady, who was just 
 
§90 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 about springing up from the sofa, is pushed down again — 
 the children hop about and clap their hands — the door flies 
 open — a young officer enters — the young girl throws herself 
 into his arms. So, indeed ! Aha, now we have it ! I put to 
 my shutters so violently that they cracked, and seated my- 
 Belf on a chair, quite wet through with rain, and with my 
 knees trembling. 
 
 What had I to do at the window ? That is what one gets 
 when one is inquisitive. 
 
 Eight days ago, this family had removed from the country 
 into the handsome house opposite to me ; and it had never 
 yet occurred to me to ask who they were, or whence they 
 came. What need was there for me to-night to make myself 
 acquainted with their domestic concerns in an illicit manner ? 
 How could it interest me ? I was in an ill-humour ; perhaps, 
 too, I felt some little heartache. But for all that, true to 
 my resolution, not to give myself up to anxious thoughts 
 when they could do no good, I seized the pen with stiff 
 fingers, and, in order to dissipate my vexation, wished to 
 attempt a description of domestic happiness, of a happiness 
 which I had never enjoyed. Eor the rest, I philosophised 
 whilst I blew upon my stiffened hands. " Am I the first 
 who, in the hot hour of fancy, has sought for a warmth which 
 the stern world of reality has denied him ? Six dollars for a 
 measure of fir-wood. Yes, prosit, thou art not likely to get 
 it before December ! I write !" 
 
 " Happy, threefold happy, the family, in whose narrow 
 contracted circle no heart bleeds solitarily, or solitarily re- 
 joices ! No look, no smile, remains unanswered ; and where 
 the friends say daily, not with words but with deeds, to 
 each other, 'Thy cares, thy joys, thy happiness, are mine 
 also!' 
 
 " Lovely is the peaceful, the quiet home, which closes itself 
 protectingly around the weary pilgrim through life — which, 
 around its friendly blazing hearth, assembles for repose the 
 old man leaning on his staff*, the strong man, the aftectiouate 
 wife, and happy children, who, shouting and exulting, hop 
 about in their earthly heaven, and closing a day spent in the 
 pastimes of innocence, repeat a thanksgiving prayer with 
 iimiling lips, and drop asleep on the bosom of their parents, 
 
HOPES, 
 
 391 
 
 whilst the gentle voice of the mother tells them, in whispered 
 cradle-tones, how around their couch — 
 
 The little angels in a ring, 
 
 Stand round about to keep 
 A watchful guard upon the bed 
 
 Where little children sleep." 
 
 Here I was obliged to leave off, because I felt something 
 resembling a drop of rain come forth from my eye, and 
 therefore could not any longer see clearly. 
 
 "How many," thought I, as my reflections, against my 
 will, took a melancholy turn — "how many are there who 
 must, to their sorrow, do without this highest happiness of 
 earthly life — domestic happiness !" 
 
 Tor one moment I contemplated myself in the only whole 
 glass which I had in my room — that of truths — and then 
 wrote again with gloomy feeling : — " Unhappy, indeed, may 
 the forlorn one be called, who, in the anxious and cool mo- 
 ments of life (which, indeed, come so often), is pressed to no 
 faithful heart, whose sigh nobody returns, whose quiet grief 
 nobody alle\iates with a * I understand thee, I suffer with 
 thee!' 
 
 " He is cast down, nobody raises him up ; he weeps, no- 
 body sees it, nobody will see it ; he goes, nobody follows 
 him ; he comes, nobody goes to meet him ; he rests, nobody 
 watches over him. He is lonely. Oh, how unfortunate he is ! 
 Why dies he not ? Ah, who would weep for him ? How 
 cold is a grave which no warm tears of love moisten ! 
 
 " He is lonesome in the winter night ; for him the earth 
 has no flowers, and dark burn the lights of heaven. Why 
 wanders he, the lonesome one ; why waits he ; why flies he 
 not, the shadow, to the land of shades ? Ah, he still hopes, 
 he is a mendicant who begs for joy, who yet waits in the 
 eleventh hour, that a merciful hand may give him an alms. 
 
 " One only little blossom of earth will he gather, bear it 
 upon his heart, in order henceforth not so lonesomely, not so 
 entirely lonesome, to wander down to rest." 
 
 It was my own condition which I described. I deplored 
 myself. 
 
 Early deprived of my parents, without brothers and sisters, 
 fSriends and relations, I stood in the world 3^et so solitary and 
 
802 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 forlorn, that but for an inward confidence in heaven, and a 
 naturally happy temper, I should often enough have wished 
 to leave this contemptuous world ; till now, however, I had 
 almost constantly hoped from the future, and this more from 
 an instinctive feeling that this might be the best, than to 
 subdue by philosophy every too vivid wish for an agreeable 
 present time, because it was altogether so opposed to possibi- 
 lity. For some time, however, alas ! it had been otherwise 
 with me ; I felt, and especially this evening, more than ever 
 an inexpressible desire to have somebody to love, — to have 
 some one about me who would cleave to me — who would be 
 a friend to me ; — in short, to have (for me the highest felicity 
 on earth) a wife — a beloved, devoted wife ! Oh, she would 
 comfort me, she would cheer me ! her affection, even in the 
 poorest hut, would make of me a king. That the love-fire of 
 my heart would not insure the faithful being at my side from 
 being frozen was soon made clearly sensible to me by an 
 involuntary shudder. More dejected than ever, I rose up 
 and walked a few times about my room (that is to say, two 
 steps right forward, and then turn back again). The sense 
 of my condition followed me like the shadow on the wall, and 
 for the first time in my life I felt myself cast down, and 
 threw a gloomy look on my dark future. I had no patron, 
 therefore could not reckon upon promotion for a long time, 
 consequently also not upon my own bread — on a friend — a 
 wife, I mean. 
 
 " But what in all the world," said I yet once more seriously 
 to myself, " what helps beating one's brains ?" Yet once 
 more I tried to get rid of all anxious thoughts. " If, however, 
 a Christian soul could only come to me this evening ! Let it 
 be whoever it would — friend or foe — it would be better than 
 this solitude. Yes, even if an inhabitant of the world of 
 spirits opened the door, he would be welcome to me ! What 
 wa? that ? Three blows on the door ! I will not, however, 
 believe it — again three !" I went and opened ; there was no- 
 body there ; only the wind went howling up and down the 
 stairs. I hastily shut the door again, thrust my hands into 
 my pockets, and went up and down for a while humming 
 aloud. Some moments afterwards I fancied I heard a sigh ! 
 " — I was silent, and listened, — again there was very evidently 
 
HOPES. 
 
 893 
 
 sigh — and yet once again, so deep and so mournful, that 
 I exclaimed with secret terror, "Who is there?" No an* 
 swer. 
 
 For a moment I stood still, and considered what this really 
 could mean, when a horrible noise, as if cats were sent with 
 yells lumbering down the whole flight of stairs, and ended 
 with a mighty blow against my door, put an end to my in- 
 decision. I took up the candle, and a stick, and went out. 
 At the moment when I opened the door my light was blown 
 out. A gigantic white figure glimmered opposite to me, and 
 I felt myself suddenly embraced by two strong arms. I cried 
 for help, and struggled so actively to get loose, that both my-, 
 self and my adversary fell to the ground, but so that I lay upper- 
 most. Like an arrow I sprung again upright, and was about 
 to fetch a light, when I stumbled over something — Heaven 
 knows what it was (I firmly believe that somebody held me 
 fast by the feet), by which I fell a second time, struck my 
 head on the corner of the table, and lost my consciousness, 
 whilst a suspicious noise, which had great resemblance to 
 laughter, rung in my ears. 
 
 When I again opened my eyes, they met a dazzling blaze 
 of light. I closed them again, and listened to a confused 
 noise around me — opened them again a very little, and en- 
 deavoured to distinguish the objects which surrounded me, 
 which appeared to me so enigmatical and strange that I 
 almost feared my mind had wandered. I lay upon a sofa, 
 and — No, I really did not deceive myself, — that charming 
 girl, who on this evening had so incessantly floated before 
 my thoughts, stood actually beside me, and with a heavenly 
 expression of sympathy bathed my head with vinegar. A 
 young man whose countenance seemed known to me, held 
 my hand between his. I perceived also the fat gentleman, 
 another thin one, the lady, the children, and in distant twi- 
 light I saw the shimmer of the paradise of the tea-table ; in 
 short, I found myself by an incomprehensible whim of fate 
 amidst the family which an hour before I had contemplated 
 with such lively sympathy. 
 
 When I again had returned to full consciousness, the 
 young man embraced me several times with military vehe* 
 mence. 
 
394 
 
 HOPES* 
 
 " Do you then no longer know me P" cried he indignantLj 
 as he saw me petrified body and soul. " Have you tken for- 
 gotten August D , whose life a short time since you saved 
 
 at the peril of your own ? whom you so handsomely fished 
 up, with danger to yourself, from having for ever to remain 
 in the uninteresting company of fishes ? See here, my father, 
 my mother, my sister Wilheiminal" 
 
 1 pressed his hand ; and now the parents embraced me. 
 With a stout blow of the fist upon the table, August's father 
 exclaimed, "And because you have saved my son's life, and 
 because you are such a downright honest and good fellow, 
 and have suffered hunger yourself — that you might give 
 
 others to eat — you shall really have the parsonage at H 
 
 Yes, you shall become clergyman ! I say — I have jus pa- 
 tronatum, you understand !" 
 
 For a good while I was not at all in a condition to com- 
 prehend, to think, or to speak; and before all had been 
 cleared up by a thousand explanations, I could understand 
 nothing clearly excepting that Wilhelmina was not — that 
 Wilhelmina was August's sister. 
 
 He had returned this evening from a journey of service, 
 during which, in the preceding summer, chance had given to 
 me the good fortune to rescue him from a danger, into which 
 youthful heat and excess of spirit had thrown him. I had 
 not seen him again since this occurrence ; earlier, I had 
 made a passing acquaintance with him, had drunk brother- 
 hood with him at the university, and after that had forgotten 
 my dear brother. 
 
 He had now related this occurrence to his family, with the 
 easily kindled-up enthusiasm of youth, together with what 
 he knew of me beside, and what he did not know. The 
 father, who had a living in his gift, and who (as I afterwards 
 found) had made from his window some compassionate re- 
 marks upon my meagre dinner-table, determined, assailed by 
 the prayers of his son, to raise me from the lap of poverty to 
 the summit of fortune. August would in his rapture an- 
 nounce to me my good luck instantly, and in order, at the 
 same time, to gratify his passion for merry jokes, made him- 
 self known upon my stairs in a way which occasioned me a 
 severe, although not dangerous, contusion on the temples, 
 
HOPES. 
 
 893 
 
 and the unexpected removal across the street, out of the 
 deepest darkness into the brightest light. The good youth 
 besought a thousand times forgiveness for his thoughtless- 
 ness ; a thousand times I assured him that it was not worth 
 the trouble to speak of such a trifling blow. And in fact, the 
 living was a balsam, which would have made a greater wound 
 than this imperceptible also. 
 
 Astonished, and somewhat embarrassed, I now perceived 
 that the ear and the shoulder, whose possessor had seized so 
 horribly upon the contents of the rusk-basket, and over whom 
 I had poured out my gall, belonged to nobody else than to 
 August's father and my patron. The fat gentleman who sate 
 upon the sofa, was "Wilhelmina's uncle. 
 
 The kindness and gaiety of my new friends made me soon 
 feel at home and happy. The old people treated me like 
 a child of the house, the young ones as a brother, and the 
 two little dtes seemed to anticipate a gingerbread-friend in me. 
 
 After I had received two cups of tea from Wilhelmina's 
 pretty hand, to which I almost feared taking, in my abstrac- 
 tion of mind, more rusks than my excellent patron, I rose 
 up to take my leave. They insisted absolutely upon my 
 passing the night there ; but I abode by my determination 
 of spending the first happy night in my old habitation, amid 
 thanksgiving to the lofty Euler of my fate. 
 
 They all embraced me afresh ; and I now also embraced 
 all rightly, from the bottom of my heart, Wilhelmina also, 
 although not without having gracious permission first. " I 
 might as well have left that alone," thought I afterwards, 
 " if it is to be the first and the last time !" August accom- 
 panied me back. 
 
 My host stood in my room amid the overturned chairs and 
 tables, with a countenance which alternated between rain and 
 sunshine ; on one side his mouth drew itself with a reluctant 
 smile up to his ear, on the other it crept for vexation down 
 to his double chin ; the eyes followed the same direction, and 
 the whole had the look of a combat, till the tone in w^hich 
 August indicated to him that he should leave us alone, 
 changed all into the most friendly, grinning mien, and the 
 proprietor of the same vanished from the door with the moat 
 submissive bows. 
 
396 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 August was in despair about my table, irij chair, my bed, 
 and so on. It was with difficulty that I withheld him from 
 cudgelling the host who would take money for such a hole. 
 I was obliged to satisfy him with the most holy assurances, 
 that on the following day I would remove without delay. 
 
 But tell him," prayed August, " before you pay him, that 
 
 he is a villain, a usurer, a cheat, a or if you like, I 
 
 will " 
 
 " JSTo, no, heaven defend us!" interrupted I, "be quiet, 
 and let me only manage." 
 
 After my young friend had left me, I passed several happy 
 hours in thinking on the change in my fate, and inwardly 
 thanking Grod for it. 
 
 My thoughts then rambled to the parsonage ; and heaven 
 knows what fat oxen and cows, what pleasure-grounds, with 
 flowers, fruits, and vegetables, I saw in spirit surrounding my 
 new paradise, where my Eve walked by my side, and supported 
 on my arm ; and especially what an innumerable crowd of 
 happy and edified people I saw streaming from the church 
 when I had preached. I baptized, I confirmed, I comforted 
 my beloved community in the zeal and warmth of my heart 
 — and forgot only the funerals. 
 
 Every poor clergyman who has received a living, every 
 mortal, especially to whom unexpectedly a long cherished 
 wish has been accomplished, will easily picture to himself my 
 state. 
 
 Later in the night it sunk at last like a veil before my eyes, 
 and my thoughts fell by degrees into a bewilderment which 
 exhibited on every hand strange images. I preached with a 
 loud voice in my church, and the congregation slept. After 
 the service the people came out of the church like oxen and 
 cows, and bellowed against me when I would have admonished 
 them. I wished to embrace my wife, but could not separate 
 her from a great turnip, which increased every moment, and 
 at last grew over both our heads. I endeavoured to climb 
 up a ladder to heaven, whose stars beckoned kindly and 
 brightly to me ; but potatoes, grass, vetches, and peas, en- 
 tangled my feet unmercifully, and hindered every step. At 
 last I saw myself in the midst of my possessions walking 
 upon my head, and whilst in my sleepy soul I greatly won 
 
HOPES. 
 
 397 
 
 iJered Low this was possible, I dep , soundly in the remem- 
 brance of my dream. Yet then, nowever, I must uncon* 
 sciously have continued the chain of my pastoral thoughts, 
 for I woke in the morning with the sound of my own voice 
 loudly exclaiming, " Amen !" 
 
 That the occurrences of the former evening were actual 
 truth, and no dream, I could only convince myself with diffi- 
 culty, till August paid me a visit, and invited me to dine with 
 his parents. 
 
 The living, "Wilhelmina, the dinner, the new chain of hopes 
 for the future which beamed from the bright sun of the pre- 
 sent, all surprised me anew with a joy which one can feel very 
 well, but never can describe. 
 
 Out of the depths of a thankful heart, I saluted the new 
 life which opened to me, with the firm determination, that let 
 happen what might, yet always to do the right, and to hope 
 for the test. 
 
 Two years after this, I sate on an autumn evening in my 
 beloved parsonage by the fire. Near to me sate my dear little 
 wife, my sweet Wilhelmina, and spun. I was just about to 
 read to her a sermon which I intended to preach on the next 
 Sunday, and from which I promised myself much edification, 
 as weU for her as for the assembled congregation. Whilst I 
 was turning over the leaves, a loose paper fell out. It was 
 the paper upon which, on that evening two years before, in 
 a very different situation, I had written down my cheerful 
 and my sad thoughts. I showed it to my wife. She read, 
 smiled with a tear in her eye, and with a roguish countenance 
 which, as I fancy, is peculiar to her, took the pen and wrote 
 on the other side of the paper : 
 
 " The author can now, thank GTod, strike out a description 
 which would stand in perfect contrast to that which he once, 
 in a dark hour, sketched of an unfortunate person, as he him- 
 self was then. 
 
 " JN'ow he is no more lonesome, no more deserted. His 
 quiet sighs are answered, his secret griefs shared, by a wife 
 tenderly devoted to him. He goes, her heart follows him ; 
 he comes back, she meets him with smiles ; his tears flow not 
 unobserved, they are dried by her hand, and his smiles beam 
 :^ain in hers ] for hinj she gathers flowers, to wreath around 
 
398 
 
 HOPES. 
 
 his brow, to strew in liis path. He has his own fireside, 
 friends devoted to him, and counts as his relations all those 
 who have none of their own. He loves, he is beloved ; he can 
 make people happy, he is himself happy." 
 
 Truly had my Wilhelmina described the present ; and, ani- 
 mated by feehngs which are gay and delicious as the beams 
 of the spring sun, I will now, as hitherto, let my little troop 
 of light hopes bound out into the future. 
 
 I hope, too, that my sermon for the next Sunday may 
 not be without benefit to my hearers ; and even if the obdu- 
 rate should sleep, I hope that neither this nor any other of 
 the greater or the less unpleasantnesses which can happen to 
 me, may go to my heart and disturb my rest. I know my 
 Wilhelmina, and believe also that I know myself sufficiently, 
 to hope with certainty that I may always make her happy. 
 The sweet angel has given me hope that we may soon be able 
 to add a little creature to our little happy family, I hope, in 
 the future, to be yet multiplied. Eor my children I ha^e 
 all kinds of hopes in petto. If I have a son, I hope that he 
 will be my successor ; if I have a daughter, then — if August 
 would wait — but I fancy that he is just about to be mar- 
 ried. 
 
 I hope in time to find a publisher for my sermons. I hope 
 to live yet a hundred years with my wife. 
 
 "We — that is to say, my "Wilhelmina and I — hope, during 
 this time, to be able to dry a great many tears, and to shed 
 as few ourselves as our lot, as children of the earth, may 
 permit. 
 
 We hope not to survive each other. 
 
 Lastly, we hope always to be able to hope ; and when the 
 hour comes that the hopes of the green earth vanish before 
 the clear light of eternal certainty, then we hope that the 
 All-good Father may pass a mild sentence upon his grateftU 
 and in humility hoping children. 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 Two charming rosebuds (the last in my garden) are frozen 
 in this October night. I had so heartily pleased myself with 
 the thought of delighting my old mother, who is a great friend 
 of flowers, and, especially at this season, calls them her jewels, 
 with two beautifiil roses. Now my two hopeful buds hang 
 without life and colour on the stem ; they are gone — and 
 with them my little birthday pleasure. 
 
 I contemplated them long, and felt the while tears come 
 to my eyes. They were consecrated to the memory of two 
 rosebuds of a nobler kind, which, hopeful as these lovely 
 flowers, like these also withered away early before the night- 
 frost of life. 
 
 Edward and Ellna, my young friends, how often in lonely 
 hours does your friendly image visit me ! Like mild breezes 
 of spring are the remembrances of you wafted to me from the 
 time when I was so often with you, — ^heard you, saw you, and 
 in you the loveliest things which Grod had created on earth. 
 
 When I now see splendid fruit which has fallen before its 
 maturity, a blossom with a worm in the bud, anything beau- 
 tiful and good which soon vanishes, then I think on — Edward 
 and Ellna ! 
 
 Behold there, the beautiful country-seat surrounded by a 
 magnificent park, where they dwelt with their happy mother ! 
 They were the youngest of many children which she had 
 borne, the only ones for which she had not yet wept. 
 
 They were her darlings, her all. 
 
 They were so lovely that one could not contemplate them 
 without emotion. The eye, wearied with the many unplea- 
 santnesses and adversities which everywhere meet it, would 
 repose with delight upon these charming beings, who in the 
 pure glory of child-like innocence stood there, like promises 
 of a fairer and better creation. 
 
 Their smile was particularly charming — oh, it was mirrored 
 in their souls, that depth of innocence and joy ! Two dew- 
 drops, sent down from heaven in order to refresh the earth, 
 reflect their image in their breast. 
 
 " Happy childhood!'* have I heard thousands exclaim, who 
 had already drank deeper from the cup of life, to whose edgfl 
 
400 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 children have only set their lips, and kissed away the fiery 
 foam. "Happy childhood!" to thee is vouchsafed to drink 
 amid pastimes the pure nectar of joy — whilst we, amid wea- 
 riness and labour, seek in vain for a refreshing drop in the 
 mournful draught which is extended to us. 
 
 And yet for all that, it appears to me that it is not with 
 justice that childhood is called so happy. How many tears 
 are shed by children ! Tears of impatience, of desire, of 
 anger ; tears which shame and reproaches wring out ; tears 
 of envy, of indignation, and of despair, — in one word, all the 
 passions which poison the draught of life to maturer hearts. 
 
 It is true that they need not shed these tears, if a wise 
 commiserating hand always removed the thorns from the 
 path which the little pilgrims of life tread. But often, quite 
 too often, they are not removed — they are strewn upon it. 
 Constraint, unjust reproaches, grow up like poisonous nettles 
 around the poor little ones. How often have I seen it ; how 
 often have I exclaimed, " You poor children, you poor little 
 children ! why did they give a life to you, whose few spring- 
 flowers they do not permit you to pluck ?" 
 
 ^Freedom — freedom, this west-wind of joy, whose pure spirit 
 alone is able to bring forth to perfection every flower of crea- 
 tion — if they gave but freedom to you innocent little ones, 
 to you — born for immortality — who must wander through a 
 stormy land ! The breezes of freedom, not the simoom-wind 
 of constraint, should attend your first steps, and the world 
 then would not see so many feeble wanderers sink down 
 powerless, and crawl wearily along their way. 
 
 The first years of Edward and Ellna's life passed on in 
 innocent freedom. Beautiful, friendly nature was their 
 cradle. In the fields, in the woods and groves, now they 
 played, and now they rested. Often, as with their arms 
 clasped round each other they lay upon the soft carpet of 
 grass, had they been heard to talk of the angels, whose wings 
 they saw in the clouds, which, parted by light gales, floated 
 away in the blue heaven, high above the dark green summit 
 of the wood. They have been seen to smile, — yes, some- 
 times to talk confidentially and child-like with them, praise 
 their beauty, which (as they said) was far greater than their 
 own. Often did they raise their small child voices to accom- 
 pany the tones of heavenly harps, which they heard mingled 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 401 
 
 willi the voices of tlie wood. Their mother, who was always 
 near them, believed in the reality of these appearances. 
 Anc what, indeed, can one say against them ? — that one has 
 not oneself experienced anything of the kind. But how 
 rarely was any one so angel-like and happy as Edward and 
 Ellna! 
 
 Every one who knew them was obliged to acknowledge 
 that they had never seen their like ; and many a one ques- 
 tioned in pious rapture, whether these children were really 
 like other mortals. 
 
 Around their white foreheads fell light-brown curls ; like 
 stars beamed forth their eyes below, in soft magical bright- 
 ness. The charming smiles of childhood parted constantly 
 their lovely lips, and formed in the rose-tinted cheeks little 
 dimples, which people, I know not rightly why, so gladly 
 kissed. 
 
 Their whole bodies were so beautifully formed, their hands 
 in particular were so perfect, that I once saw how a sculptor 
 fell into rapture over their contemplation ; and how an old 
 gardener, not otherwise distinguished for his politeness and 
 fine breeding, borrowed a pair of gloves that he might be 
 able to conduct the little Ellna about his garden, the most 
 beautiful flowers of which soon lay in her muslin apron. 
 
 Accustomed therefore to be admired without knowing why, 
 Edward and Ellna showed themselves gladly to every one who 
 wished to see them, and quietly smiling, allowed themselves 
 to be praised and caressed. 
 
 " We are so beautiful," said they in their innocence, with- 
 out knowing what beauty was, and that the world considered 
 the possession of this a piece of good fortune. The agreeable 
 impression which, as they knew, they made, seemed, however, 
 to give them pleasure, but only because it was so agreeable to 
 others. 
 
 " Look at us !" said they to an old man, who wept the loss 
 of his only son — " look at us, and weep no more !" 
 
 Accustomed to call forth a smile upon all countenances, 
 they betrayed astonishment that any one could see them and 
 yet weep, and in their grief, not to be able to give satisfac- 
 tion, they began also to weep with him. That which their 
 smiles could not do, they now effected by their tears. Tho 
 Old man took them in his arms, and felt himself refreshed, 
 
 2 c 
 
402 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 by the sympathy of angels. They were then heard to say tc 
 the mourner, Look at us, we weep with you !" 
 
 Thus did these little Christians already in childhood follow 
 the example of their Master. 
 
 People call children good. I declare that I have seen few 
 which were not severe and cruel. Unthinking (therefore in- 
 nocent) savages, they often torment in the most horrible 
 manner creatures which are small and defenceless enough to 
 become their victims. They curiously contemplate their con- 
 vulsive movements amid torture, and rarely avoid causing 
 them pain. O that so many people, who already know, who 
 have already experienced themselves what pain is, should 
 resemble these cruel little ones ! They are not like them — 
 innocent ! 
 
 Often have I exclaimed with murmuring pain on the ob- 
 servation of their cruel pleasures, and the torments which 
 their so-called necessary wants, their desire of knowledge, 
 their inhumanity causes to millions of innocent creatures — 
 " Man, this being that more than all suffers on the earth, 
 and causes most suffering — O why was he created ?" 
 
 Yet I know that all will be good one day, — no more tears 
 will be shed — there will be no more pain. Humbling my 
 head, I will quietly hope and wait for that higher light which 
 is here denied to us. There is a Grod ; therefore let the 
 murmurs of man be silent ! 
 
 Edward and EUna were not cruel, as the children of earth 
 are commonly. They knew not, however, what suffering, 
 what pain, were ; but it was as if they had a presentiment of 
 it, and their most earnest endeavours were used, when they 
 saw its horrible expression, to render help, and to alleviate it. 
 If a poor worm crawled in the dust, hunted forth by ants, it 
 was immediately released by their hands, placed upon the 
 soft grass in safety, where there were no ants. Whenever 
 they saw a little bird which, accustomed to the freedom of 
 the woods, with ineffectual flutterings struck its little head 
 against the iron wire of its cage, the tears came to their 
 eyes, they besought for its release ; and if their prayers were 
 indeed in vain, they put together their hoarded pence and 
 purchased it. Then it went out in the field with the happy 
 little ones. The door of its cage was opened ; and when the 
 little emancipated one, amid exultant twitterings, described 
 
TnE TWINS. 
 
 4oa 
 
 circle ^-ithin circle above their heads, then did the children 
 clap their hands, and their hearts beat loudly with de 
 light. 
 
 Xot a day passed on which they did not operate against 
 something which was bad, or for that which was good. Tg 
 be sure the spliere of the children's activity was but small^ 
 and that which they could do but unimportant. They were 
 young artists, who early accustomed themselves to the beau- 
 tiful and noble parts which they were later to play upon the 
 great theatre of the world. 
 
 As for the nests, in the robbing and plundering of which 
 boys often find pleasure in the bold and cruel exercise of 
 their strength, Edward and Ellna supplied provision. They 
 laid tliis at the foot of the trees or hedges, where the 
 little airy families had built their summer-dwellings. " The 
 mother need not now fly so far," said they, "and her little 
 ones need not wait and be famished !" They approached the 
 places carefully, where the mother had bedded her eggs in the 
 grass, silently scattered corn, and were very careful not to 
 terrify the timid bird, which often by degrees, accustomed to 
 the visits of the little angels, only flew ofl" twittering, set 
 itself upon a bush near, and waited quietly the going-away of 
 the children, who joyfully, and not a little thankful for this 
 proof of confidence, stole away so softly and lightly that the 
 grass rose again under their footsteps as if it had only been 
 bowed by soft breezes. 
 
 In order that they might not tread upon ants, which 
 always streamed across the path on journeys of business, 
 or upon frogs which hopped before their feet, the children 
 remained standing, or made a little circuit. They never 
 intentionally killed an animal, nor a fly, nor even a gnat, 
 those Farias of the air, which find no mercy from the edu- 
 cated part of the human race. " It is really so delightful to 
 live!" said the amiable little ones. I once even saw the 
 little Ellna give up her white arms and hands as prey to 
 these rapacious bloodsuckers. "I give them their suppers," 
 said she, smiling ; " and — it does not hurt me much," added 
 she for the sake of her brother, who now, for the first time, 
 showed the somewhat imperious temper the man, and for- 
 bade his sister to do this again, if she did not wish that he 
 Bhould extirpate the whole race of gnats, which probably did 
 
 2 c2 
 
404 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 £Lot seem more diflScult to him tlian the conquest of the world 
 to Alexander. 
 
 Ellna was obliged to submit. The gnats were chased 
 away, and then Edward endeavoured by kisses to prevent the 
 bitten places from swelling. The fresh smiles of childhood 
 beamed from their countenances as they thus sportively con^ 
 tended, Edward to give kisses, and Ellna to avoid them. 
 
 I said that they never intentionally killed an animal, — I was 
 wrong. If they saw a little creature tortured by the pangs of 
 death, a fly or a moth, which had burned themselves in the 
 candle, a trodden, but yet living worm, then Edward, as the 
 least tender-hearted, hastened, with averted eyes and com- 
 passionate foot, the moment when pangs and pains would 
 vanish. 
 
 " It is better to die than to suffer," said they, and turned 
 away with pale faces. 
 
 " These children are too good for this earth," said those 
 who knew them ; " they certainly will not live long." 
 
 And yet, heavenly Father, it would be well amid so many 
 pains, amid so much evil, if thou wouldst let these phe- 
 nomena tarry longer here, which as it were reveal again to us 
 the stars of which we have lost sight, which gently and re- 
 freshingly remind us of whence we are come, and whithei 
 we go. 
 
 You good and amiable mortals — when I wish that you 
 should tarry here, I do so for our sakes, and not yours ! If the 
 Vll-merciful call back again to his bosom these sparks of his 
 spirit, which have illumined and warmed the unworthy world 
 for a. moment — how well done is it of Him, how good for you ! 
 
 The May-day of childhood was passed for Edward and 
 Ellna, — their youth dawned. They counted fifteen years. 
 
 Their child-like mind, however, was not much changed. 
 The first violet which looked forth from under the snow, the 
 first strawberry which was reddened by the beams of the sun, 
 still called forth the purple joy upon their cheeks ; and the 
 joy or the pain of their fellow-creatures drew from them now, 
 as before, a smile or a tear. Only now they regarded more 
 than formerly their fellow-beings as the worthiest objects of 
 their care. 
 
 There was not witliin tlie compass of some miles a single 
 cottage which they bad not visited. The goodness of theif 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 405 
 
 mother gave them unceasing opportunities of enjoying the 
 blessed pleasure of benefiting their fellows. " Tell us what 
 you need," said they to the poor and sick ; " if we can, we will 
 help you." Now there was a softer bed ; now more healthy 
 food ; now a little support in money ; now a petition on be- 
 half of the indigent, which, always accompanied by gentle, 
 kind words, spoken by two of the sweetest voices, made as 
 deep as beneficial an impression. "When help was not neces- 
 sary, they sought at least to prepare a little pleasure ; little 
 presents were given to the parents, confections to the chil- 
 dren, who of all the benefits most highly prize those TA hich 
 are conferred upon their sugar-loving gums ; all these young 
 lovers of noise and sweetmeats alv;ays attended on and sa- 
 luted Edward and Ellna with loud cries of joy. 
 
 People warned their mother of the manner in which so 
 much goodness might be abused. She replied, *' Do not let 
 us be too anxious. One single opportunity to do good which 
 is lost, as is often the case from mistrust, is an irreparable 
 loss. I acknowledge that we are often deceived by others 
 from want of prudence ; but with too much prudence we de- 
 ceive ourselves. And then — ^if you only knew that which I 
 feel when I hear every mouth blessing my children !" 
 
 If people would rightly thank Edward and Ellna according 
 to their wishes, it were thus that they must speak to them : " I 
 am now better, my pains are alleviated or, " I am now more 
 joyful, and happier;" or, " God is good, he will not allow us 
 to despair ;" then were their hearts filled with the purest joy, 
 and they thanked their Maker. 
 
 In the mean time their happy endeavours, their charitable 
 cares, were not extended alone to the poor and the less edu- 
 cated classes of the people ; they sought to assuage not 
 merely the care which weeps, the suffering which expresses 
 itself aloud, the silent sorrow, the consuming unrest, those 
 small but insupportable afflictions which people do not will- 
 ingly confess, but which are so painful, — all those adverse 
 circumstances which hang like chains about the slaves of the 
 polite and educated world, they imagined, and endeavoured 
 with compassionate hands to lighten. One look, which in an 
 unwatchful moment betokened a depressed heart, — one ges- 
 ture, one move^ment, which betrayed embarrassment — a con- 
 sequence mostly of uneasiness of mind^ — seldom escaped 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 their eyes ; and they always discovered some means to make 
 at least a few moments agreeable to those who seemed to be 
 deprived of peace and satisfaction of heart. 
 
 When EUna saw in society a sister-being to whom nature 
 had dealt hardly, and who, in one way or another, seemed to. 
 betray the painful consciousness that she was unpleasing, she 
 sought immediately to become acquainted with her ; she went 
 towards her, caressed her, and endeavoured in all ways to 
 convince her that she found her loveable, and that she was 
 gladly in company with her. Edward also came immediately 
 to her assistance ; and the attentiveness with which he offered 
 a thousand of those little favours which one can never 
 demand, but which are received with so much pleasure, — his 
 unconstrained lively politeness, — made, in connexion with 
 the charming friendliness of the sister, an irresistible impres- 
 sion. If, on the other hand, Edward saw a youth who was 
 neglected, or overlooked, or dejected, he always tried to get 
 into conversation with him immediately. If they danced, he 
 introduced his sister Ellna, who in the goodness of her heart 
 preferred him to all the rich, handsome, and elegant young 
 gentlemen who sought for one of her beaming glances. 
 
 How often have I seen countenances which betrayed minds 
 depressed, displeased, or embittered, clear themselves up 
 under the influence of the twins, and by degrees reflect back 
 their gentle and beaming smiles. Plain features became 
 thereby beautified, and one read long afterwards, in their 
 more agreeable expression, " We can nevertheless be found 
 to be amiable !" 
 
 One eveniug, at a dance in tbe open air, I perceived that 
 Ellna had no longer a little bouquet which her brother had 
 made for her out of the loveliest flowers of the garden. I 
 asked her whether she had lost it. " I have given it away," 
 replied she, reddening, and left me to dance at the same 
 moment. I looked curiously around me among the young 
 and loveable persons of the ball ; no one had Ellna's little 
 bouquet. Afterwards I perceived, upon a bench Avhich stood 
 at some distance, a deformed, feeble being, whose limbs were 
 all twisted ; he held EUna's flowers in his emaciated hand, 
 and repeated softly, with an expression of devotion, " The 
 angel ! — the angel ! she thought, she said, that flowers would 
 do me good; yes, they do me good, — 0 w^hat an angel! ' 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 407 
 
 How tappy they were, these young, so lovely and so good, 
 brother and sister ; how worthy of love they were, and how 
 much beloved ! People prided themselves on them in the 
 whole country, just as they pride themselves on the gifts 
 which nature has bestowed on the country or neighbourhood 
 which we call our own, and of which we are so proud. Peo- 
 ple call them the angels ; and, in fact, when one saw them, 
 when one heard their melodious voices united in a simple song 
 of praise in honour of the Creator, one could forget every- 
 thing else, and for some moments fancy oneself in heaven. 
 
 The tenderness which twin-children commonly cherish for 
 each other, was so deep, so inward, between Edward and 
 Ellna, that I fancy they had scarcely a notion of an existence 
 apart from each other. They thought, they acted together ; 
 they always said we ; they felt only their I in each other ; 
 this J, which, when it is felt quite alone in oneself, is so 
 heavy, so painful a burden. 
 
 The beautiful life of the twins had hitherto flowed on with- 
 out a cloud. No sickness, no care, no disaster, had cast one 
 shadow on their pure brows. Life, which otherwise is so 
 severe a teacher, seemed to hold her children in honour, and, 
 for the first time, as if she could not be stern. Each new day 
 brought with it something to beautify them. Their counte- 
 nances became more oval, and took ever more and more the 
 lovely Grecian form. Their figures increased in more beau- 
 tiful pliability, like two young trees which have entwined 
 their crowns together. Their smiles were fuller of expres- 
 sion, and the goodness of their hearts beamed ever clearer 
 forth from their large blue eyes. 
 
 People approached these favourites of Heaven and men 
 almost with adoration ; people could have ofiered sacrifices to 
 them ; and yet, if one would contribute anything to their 
 happiness, one must receive something from them. It was 
 to me as if I saw in them young priests at the altar of Mercy, 
 who imparted with humility the gifts of the divinity. 
 
 Their mother, — so much has been said, perhaps all that 
 can be said in words, of maternal love and maternal felicity, 
 but the love and felicity of this mother cannot be described 
 by words, can, perhaps, only be compared to the felicity of 
 the mother who saw the most holy glory of Heaven around 
 the head of her son. 
 
408 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 At the age of sixteen, they stood in the full bloom of earthly, 
 and at the same time, of celestial beauty. The world opened 
 itself to them full of joy, love, and happiness. Before them 
 lay a light, flower-strewn, peaceful way, upon which they 
 could wander together, beloved and loving in return, happy 
 and making happy. They could be the benefactors and ex- 
 amples to their fellow-creatures ; they could be so, and yet 
 they could not, — at the age of sixteen they must die ! 
 
 At the beginning of winter, Edward's Apollo-countenance 
 began to burn with a hectic crimson, which kindled up and 
 dyed his youthful cheeks with brighter red ; but which, in 
 the course of a few hours, faded like a feeble flame, and left 
 behind the paleness of death. His strength began to fail, 
 his beautiful slender figure bent forward like a tender young 
 tree which has been bowed by the storm ; his breath became 
 short ; his hitherto so ardent movements slow and languid, 
 and his eyes had a clearness which promised the speedy light- 
 ing up of the whole being. The opinion of the physician was 
 this — Consumption, and only yet a few months to live. 
 
 O now, how was everything changed ! As he approached 
 the grave, Edward looked around him upon life, that seemed 
 passed away from his eyes like his native shore from the sight 
 of the seaman. 
 
 " I am so young," said he, amid deep sighs ; " and must 
 die already ! I shall leave thee, Ellna — must part from thee 
 and our mother! And this beautiful life, this charming 
 earth, good people, all, all I must leave, and die 1 O the dark 
 grave, wherein I shall be laid alone — how horrible !" 
 
 Everything that Ellna said and did had alone for its object 
 consolation and alleviation for her brother. And neverthe- 
 less she was so wholly unhappy ; but she never thought of 
 herself 
 
 She said to Edward, " The sun has a wonderful power, my 
 brother ; come to the window, and let it shine on thee ; see, 
 here is a soft chair ; here are lilies of the valley, which I 
 have fetched for thee ; enjoy their delightful odour ; they 
 send, especially in winter, presentiments of spring over all 
 our feelings." Or she said, " Eest on me, my brother ; thus 
 thou wilt sit comfortably, and I will not stir." And with 
 her brother's head on her breast she sate whole hours im* 
 uiovable there, taking pains to keep time with liis breathing, 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 409 
 
 and to repress the uneasy beating of her heart. Another 
 time she said, " Dost thou see how the clouds divide, how the 
 heavens clear themselves up ? It opens, as it were, and 
 beams so mildly and blue above us. It is the answer of the 
 All-good to my prayer, which I just now fervently put up to 
 Him. The heaven of our happiness has dimmed itself — it 
 will clear up again — thou wilt not die 
 
 Sometimes she sought also to awaken hope in his and her 
 own breast, by jest and sport. She danced before him, threw 
 playfully around him the light scarf which her hands wreathed 
 in a thousand graceful forms around her own ethereal figure. 
 She sang to him those little ballads and songs which life so 
 easily takes hold of, and makes it also easy to those who listen 
 to their attractive tones. But when only a feeble smile, a 
 melancholy reflection of the former blissful one, appeared on 
 Edward's pale lips, then suddenly were extinguished aU beams 
 of hope in Ellna's eyes, and the twins wept together. 
 
 Often did she encourage him to make use of those means 
 for the renewal of life's strength which, particularly in con- 
 sumption, are resorted to, in order that the weak thread of 
 life may not too suddenly be torn asunder. All these she 
 prepared with her own hand. Who can number all that her 
 inventive love discovered, to procure for him alleviation and 
 amusement ? Without the knowledge of her brother, she 
 held her hands in ice-cold water, that she might afterwards 
 cool his burning forehead as she laid them upon it. When 
 she watched by his bed through sleepless nights, she read 
 aloud to him, and told him such things as she thought would 
 best please his then state of mind ; for his state of mind 
 iN'as, as is the case with consumptive patients, unsteady and 
 ^.hangeable. And in those gloomy moments in which Edward 
 shuddered at the prospect of dying so young, and being alone 
 — for he could not conceive to himself that he should not miss 
 his sister in the grave — then Ellna would promise to follow 
 him. " How could I do otherwise ?" added she ; " I reaUy 
 feel my life in thine !" 
 
 Yes, she could console; — and what woman, what true 
 woman cannot ? I ought, perhaps, seeing that I myself am 
 a woman, to be more modest, — but if I believe it, if I ex- 
 press it, it is because I love, — and because, although I cannot 
 turn aside the stroke of fate from the beings who are dear to 
 
*10 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 me, I liave set the hope of my whole life on alleviating it. 
 Yes, I "believe it is we alone who can solve the enigma of pain 
 in its least parts ; and that it is given alone to us, in the in- 
 spiration of feeling and of love, to have a presentiment of the 
 evil which pain occasions, of that which is concealed in the 
 gnawing disease of the sick. I hope and believe, and let 
 nobody gainsay me, that as in the beginning of time, the 
 genius of evil sowed poisonous seed in the flower-garden of 
 creation, still that a mitigating balsam was placed by the All- 
 good in the hands of woman, which could make the power 
 of these less operative. 
 
 Ellna had said to Edward, " I will follow thee !" — and she 
 soon followed him. The same symptoms of disease showed 
 themselves at the beginning of the spring in her, and the 
 mischief made rapid progress in her tender frame, weakened 
 by disquiet and night -watching. 
 
 To her the sentence of death was also announced by an 
 honest and candid physician, who feared, above all things, to 
 add new troubles to what was already incurable by fruitless 
 attempts at recovery. 
 
 "We are so young, and yet we must, indeed, die!" said 
 now Edward and Ellna, painfully. But this ive, that united 
 them, was already a drop of comfort in the bitter cup. 
 
 They took leave together of the flowers of spring, took 
 leave of every day which unmercifully dragged away with it a 
 drop of their life's strength. People saw them often, as, 
 supported on each other, they wandered about with feeble 
 steps and sorrowful looks in the wood, in the fields, in the 
 groves, where they had once played so happily ; they took 
 leave of everything ; of the earth, even of heaven, which 
 seemed, however, only so glorious to them, because it arched 
 itself above an earth which was a paradise to them. 
 
 "Farewell, everything which we have loved!" said they; 
 " we must leave all, we must soon die !" 
 
 When people spoke in their presence of future enjoyments, 
 or of future good deeds, with the intention to amuse them, 
 or, as it were, to enlarge the view, which an approaching 
 night shut in ever more narrowly — they said, with tearful 
 eyes, " We shall not be there ; we must die !" 
 
 " Come to me in the autumn," said one of their neigh- 
 bours, " when my grapes and peaches are ripe, and there 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 411 
 
 yliall be served-up to you an actual angel's entertain- 
 ment." 
 
 " In autumn we cannot come," returned they, — " in autumn 
 we shall be no more." 
 
 "IN^ext month," said a lively old gentleman, who was their 
 friend, " my grandchildren, Alfred and Signild, come to me. 
 They are good and beautiful ; not, indeed, like the angels, 
 but, believe my spectacles and my heart, not far, not very far 
 from it. Alfred shall be Ellna's husband ; and the little 
 Signild, who is the apple of my eye, Edward shall have for 
 his wife. Quick and merry, like the chain in the quadrille, 
 shall all go on in a twinkling, — falling in love, betrothal, and 
 marriage. And a little kingdom of heaven one shall then 
 find here." 
 
 "Ah!" replied the angels, sorrowfully smiling, " we can- 
 not be married, we must really die !" 
 
 And in all ways, and from all sides, came this death to- 
 wards them sternly and severely, forbidding and disturbing all 
 joy, and changing everything into twilight and night. 
 
 And yet they must learn to love this death, which appeared 
 to them so fearful. 
 
 Pain — the condition of life, and the terrible side of life — 
 which hitherto had not ventured to approach these angelic 
 beings, struck now its hysena-claws into their breast. 
 
 I had heard them say " we must die !" with an expression 
 that bewailed "we must leave the festival!" Soon after- 
 wards I heard them speak the same words, but in a tone 
 which expressed, " we shall soon repose !" 
 
 Thank Heaven, this time of suffering was of short dura- 
 tion ; repose came before the grave, and only a slow, almost 
 painless wasting away, led them unobservedly down to the 
 shore of life, where they might still gather a few flowers. 
 
 In the mean time they had suflered, gained experience, and 
 from before their eyes vanished the fading prism which had 
 clothed the whole world with purple. 
 
 They looked around them, and the paradise had vanished, — 
 they saw tears, crimes, sufferings, circumstances of terror, for 
 the alleviation of which they stretched out their feeble hands 
 in vain. Human misery, with whose signification they were 
 now first acquainted, raised itself like a dark image of hor 
 
412 
 
 THE TWINS, 
 
 ror, a-^: spread a veil of mourning over the whole beautifiil 
 earth. 
 
 " People suffer/' said they, " animals suffer ; all that 
 breathe suffer, or must suffer — it is not good to be here — 
 this is the home of suffering !" and they no longer wished 
 to live — except, thought they, to be able to console a little 
 and to help. " But that which we can do is really so very 
 little !" and a melancholy glance of thought embraced the 
 globe. 
 
 About this time a good, enlightened clergyman began to 
 give them instructions in the religion to which they were 
 baptized. In their angelically pure souls sprang up the 
 heavenly seed, and bore a hundred-fold, as if in the good 
 earth of which the Gospel speaks. 
 
 Their looks brightened by degrees with the increase of the 
 light within them ; they were often, it is true, cast down upon 
 the earth, and they sighed, " This world is not good !" but 
 they soon raised them beaming to heaven in the joyful feel- 
 ing, " there is a better world 1" 
 
 The night which had encompassed them for a time, became 
 ever brighter and brighter, and glorious was the path which 
 opened itself to them in the splendour of a celestial light. 
 Thither they directed their looks, thither all their hopes, all 
 their desires. Presentiments of eternity penetrated them, 
 and as they looked upon each other with a blessed smile, they 
 whispered, " We are immortal." 
 
 When they, for the first time, had enjoyed the holy com- 
 munion, peace alone was in their hearts, and the beam of 
 their eyes was only a faint reflection of their inward bright- 
 ness. 
 
 One anxiety, one only one, remained to them still, and this 
 often expressed itself softly amid sweet tears, when they knelt 
 adoringly before the eternal Fountain of Life; " O Father,'* 
 said they, " if thy love, thy power should sometime penetrate 
 and surround us with brightness, like this glorious image of 
 thee, how — how shall we be able to thank thee ?" 
 
 So passed the summer, whilst the angels, cheerfully and 
 submissively, resigned day by day, flower by flower, the crown 
 of life. 
 
 Autumn approached — with it, at the same time, the earthly 
 
411 
 
 transfiguration of the twins. The nights passed iav them 
 sleeplesslj. When it was possible, they passed them in the 
 open air, where their oppressed lungs breathed more freely, 
 and the moist coolness mitigated the fever that burned in 
 their blood. 
 
 Whilst the August nights mildly and peacefully wrapped 
 slumbering nature in mournful twilight, there burned in the 
 souls of the dying brother and sister the clear torches of hope 
 and of joy. 
 
 I have heard them, those words ; I have seen them, those 
 looks, full of immortality — for which there already existed no 
 longer any night. And afterwards, for a long time, every- 
 thing in life seemed to me pale and colourless. 
 
 Autumn was come. Feebly sank the lovely heads of the 
 twius upon the cushions which were placed around them on 
 the sofa, from which they were never more able to rise. 
 Those who loved them, now counted the seconds. 
 
 Suffering themselves, Ellna and Edward sought, neverthe- 
 less, to comfort and to enliven the mourners whom they must 
 reave. " We will watch over you,*' said they, "when we are 
 angels, — we will entreat Grod for you.'* 
 
 They looked farewell upon all when they were no more 
 able to speak; and when their weary eyelids closed, they 
 blissfully smiled. 
 
 Towards the last, however, a troubling disquiet crept into 
 their hearts. They feared that they might not die at the 
 same time — might not pass away together to that home of 
 light, of peace, and of joy, for which they alone longed. 
 
 Sitting near to each other, they watched, with secret 
 anguish in each other's countenance, the progress of the 
 disease. " How brightly beam thy eyes !'* said Edward to 
 Ellna. " Thy countenance has no longer anything earthly in 
 it. It seems to me as if thou couldst spread forth glittering 
 wings every morning, and float forth into the clear heaven, 
 far, far from me!" And catching her round the waist, he 
 pressed her to his heart with all the power of his feeble 
 strength. Another time it was Ellna who said with a 
 trembling voice, " Edward, how sunken are thy cheeks, how 
 dim thy eyes ! Oh, look at me ! look at me ! Thy breath 
 becomes weaker — it ceases ! Let me give to thee of mine— 
 I have yet enough for us both." And seizing the head of her 
 
THE rwiis's. 
 
 brotlier with her weak hand, she endeavoured, amid kisses, tc 
 communicate some of the feeble breath of life which she felt 
 in her own breast. 
 
 Thus did the dying brother and sister endeavour to hold 
 back, as it were, each other, whilst they felt how they were 
 rapidly led forward by a mighty, invisible hand. 
 
 Friends, acquaintance, all who had known and loved the 
 angels, assembled around them. As if to an altar, everything 
 which people thought pleasant and gladdening, was brought 
 into their sick room. They did not give them, no, they 
 offered to them, as it were, flowers, fruits, together with 
 heartfelt wishes — honest tears — which were received by the 
 twins with grateful smiles, and this promise — " We will soon 
 pray for you!" 
 
 They placed harps in the room adjoining the sick chamber, 
 and often played and sung them into quiet slumber. When 
 people contemplated them in those moments when the soul 
 had taken a freer flight into the spiritual land of dreams, 
 wanting no longer time and space, but floating forth over 
 wondrous lands, having a presentiment of their future free 
 and beautiful existence — then they saw, in the indescribable, 
 expression of their calm features, that they were removed far, 
 far from the earth, and that for them the eternity of bliss had 
 already arrived. 
 
 In the evening, they sometimes said to each other, with 
 gentle smiles, " Shall we awake to-morrow in heaven ?" 
 
 During a tempestuous October night, sleep descended un- 
 usually quietly and mildly upon the loving angels. Counting 
 every stroke of the clock, the mother and her friends watched 
 in the quiet room. 
 
 " How well they sleep !" whispered they who ventured to 
 speak. " It strikes twelve. See how they smile in delightful 
 dreams ! The morning dawns, — they yet sleep. The storm 
 has ceased — heaven brightens — the day breaks beautifully, — 
 yet they sleep. Hark ! they sigh. Or was it the wind which 
 passes the window ?" 
 
 The sun ascended, caressingly shone the golden beams on 
 the angel-faces of the twins. They sleep no longer. They 
 were awake — but in heaven ! Pure flames, kindled from, the 
 same spark, which had burned together ; now also are they 
 extinguished here i pon earth at the same time ! 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 415 
 
 Thej had been earthly angels, they are now heavenly ; and 
 when an unexpected consolation, an unexpected joy refreshes 
 one who is troubled and cast down, he says, " TJie^ have 
 prayed for me." 
 
 And their mother, their poor mother ? 
 
 Do you see, by the wall of the churchyard, that female 
 figure, which sits there upon a stone, as immovable as it ? 
 Negligently fall down upon her shoulders locks of grey hair 
 — the wind plays with her tattered garments. She is old 
 and stilF, but not merely through the influence of years. Do 
 not pass coldly by — give her your sympathy — she will not 
 much longer trouble you. Look at her crutches, at her 
 dimmed eyes, at the pain of her silent mouth. Why does 
 she sit here ? Because she cannot be anywhere else. She 
 is where her heart also tarries, by the grave of her children. 
 Grrief for them has troubled the light of her eyes and of her 
 reason. She does not observe how the leaves of autumn fall 
 around her — she feels not when the winds of spring melt the 
 snow upon the grave, — but every day she goes there, and the 
 summer's heat and the winter's cold find her alike uncon- 
 scious. No one whom she knows speaks to her, and she 
 speaks to no one. She has, nevertheless, an object ; she 
 waits — for what ? — for death ! Through the course of many 
 years has she seen the graves around her open and receive 
 weary wanderers to their quiet peaceful bosom — but she still 
 sits a dead one among the dead, and waits. 
 
 April 1st. 
 
 Be ye saluted by me, mild breezes, which melt away the 
 winter-snow ; be thou saluted, bright spring-sun, whicli pe- 
 netrates with warmth and life the dust of the grave ! Trom 
 the home of the dead, from the still churchyard, have I to-day 
 saluted life. I love this peaceful place, where the unquiet, 
 throbbing heart, where everything, comes to repose. I also 
 feel in a breast, which has not been able to wait the time, the 
 unquiet captive, which now in pain, now in joy, throbs so 
 restlessly and violently, and it does me good when I can 
 think that a time will come, when mine also will be among 
 the reposing hearts. 
 
 The larks sang in the clear air above the trees, on the 
 grave of the twins. There sate, as before, the mother still 
 and immovable upon a stone. A whistling Avind parsed over 
 
416 
 
 THE SOLITARY, 
 
 the churchyard, I saw a shudder thrill through her frame. I 
 approached her, she bowed her head against one of the lime- 
 trees on the grave, and still smiled. I saw with joy, ihat 
 also her time of trial was at an end — that she waited no 
 longer ! 
 
 YoLi beautiful flowers of the spring, now where the May 
 sun calls you forth out of the renovated earth, cover and 
 brilliantly adorn the grave, which will no longer be moistened 
 with bitter maternal tears ! 
 
 Lovely lilies of the valley, soft periwinkle, grow upon the 
 hillock — 
 
 Even as the scai grows over the dosed wound}— -Tegner, 
 
PREFACE TO TRALIfflM 
 
 (THE BONDMAID). 
 
 A BELOVED friend, to whom I would communicate my 
 warm interest in the Northern Legends of the Gods, lead 
 aloud with me, during solitary autumn evenings in the country, 
 a learned disquisition upon them. Her countenance con- 
 tinued steadfastly cloudy and dissatisfied during the whole, 
 and when she came to the words — " Loke, found the half- 
 roasted heart of a woman," she flung the book vehemently 
 from her and exclaimed, — " Nay ! I can bear this no longer ! 
 It is too monstrous ! too disgusting ! It makes me actually 
 iU!" 
 
 " And yet," I zealously interposed — " I assure you there 
 is much and deep meaning in this mythology, and the greatest 
 interest, if we " 
 
 " That may be," interrupted my friend somewhat impa- 
 tiently, " but to comprehend it, I promise you I must take 
 another method. Do you write something about this mean- 
 ing that you consider so deep, and then I shall see whether 
 I can comprehend or endure it." 
 
 The challenge was accepted with laughter ; the execution 
 of it drew forth tears, — for the misery and the darkness of 
 the past arose, and was felt as present. Three days after our 
 little conversation, the Bondmaideis' was written ; and I 
 proposed to read it aloud to my friend, while by way of pro- 
 logue I said, " I have here endeavoured to collect into one 
 tangible picture what our forefathers believed respecting gods 
 and men, about life and death, heaven and hell, as well as 
 earthly things. In the dawn of the world, as in that of the 
 day, we see first the shadows of night still rest on the earth, 
 yet at the same time we behold the morning red of the eternal 
 truth, and herald of the sun, in whose light our race has 
 acquired light, and the slave his freedom." My friend lis- 
 tened to my prologue in silence, and I commenced my read- 
 ing. 
 
 2 D 
 
418 
 
 PREFACE TO TRALINNAT?". 
 
 It is always a hard matter to go through with, as my friend, 
 whenever I begin to read to her any of my compositions, is 
 sure to begin mercilessly to gape. I say "to go through 
 with," because I have found that if the article rivet her at- 
 tention, which heaven knows is not always the case, the 
 gapings quickly disappear, and give place to most lively and 
 enchanting sympathy. As now, therefore, with a secret 
 glance at my friend, I began to read aloud " the Bondmaiden," 
 and with a dreadful feeling saw her let one undisguised yawn 
 follow another, I pretended not in the least to perceive it, 
 but read on, and soon beheld, to my great consolation, the 
 mouth close itself, and the eyes and ears become profoundly 
 attentive. The result of the reading was, nevertheless, but 
 little edifying. 
 
 " Ah, my poor soul!" said my friend with a deep sigh, 
 " that truly was no amusing history ! Eor your Krumba, or 
 Tumba, or Katakumba, is too hideous ; and then the con- 
 clusion — ah ! it is horribly tiresome altogether !" 
 
 I defended my Bondmaiden the best that I could, at the 
 same time observing that her name was Kumba, and not 
 either Tumba or Katakumba. My friend's last words were, 
 It may be very true that she is beautiful. I would willingly 
 wish to believe so ; but I beg to be excused liking her. There 
 is interest enough about her ; but the conclusion, the con- 
 clusion !" 
 
 The Bondmaid continued a good while after this in silence, 
 undergoing, the while, first one and then another change, but 
 still without being able to win my friend's favour.' I have 
 now resolved to make the public, from whose decision, as 
 from that of Grod himself, there is no appeal, the judge be- 
 tween us ; and to hear what it says of the Bondmaiden. My 
 friend assures me, that no one can desire more cordially than 
 she, that " Katakumba" — she has perversely taken a deter- 
 mined whim to call my Bondmaiden thus — may be admired 
 and I protest to my friend, that no one can more heartily 
 chime in with her desire than 
 
 The AuTnoEEss. 
 
TRALIMM: 
 
 A SKETCH FROM THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 Eeid, King's Daughter, betrothed to King Dag. 
 
 i Bondmaids. 
 
 Grimgerda, a Sorceress. 
 A Spirit of Light. 
 A Spirit of Darkness. 
 
 The Scene is a woody mountain region. Amongst the rocks rises the Castle of 
 a Viking. On one side is the Sea; on the other a Flower- Garden. 
 
 Act I. — Scene I. 
 
 The Flower Garden. Teima hinds ujp flowers to their sup^ 
 ports. KuMBA waters them, 
 Frtd. The morning is delicious and clear. Yet glitters 
 in the grass the honey-dew from the Mima tree. The 
 Nornor sprinkle its crown with water from the sacred foun- 
 tain, and let it softly rain down in heavenly sweetness over 
 the flowers and leaves of the field. The bee sucks it from 
 the bosom of the flowers, and then bestows the precious juice 
 on man, which is delicious both to the sick and the sound. 
 How beautiful, how rich, is Nature, how full of wisdom are 
 all her arrangements ! How great is the goodness of Grod, 
 who shaped the earth for mankind like a cup filled with 
 honey ! Brightly advances the sun on his hero path, de- 
 ceive my greeting, thou illuminator of spirits ; thou at 
 whose fire spirits of light and spirits of darkness assemble 
 themselves aflectionately to prepare the golden harvest of 
 the earth ! Here all burns, here all rejoices in the splen- 
 dour of the All-Father's eye ! The All-Father is light, 
 is fire. Love, too, is fire^ is an animated flame sprung from 
 the All-Father's bosom. O Sun ! thou, the image of his 
 person ; thou, warm and glorious as love ; I bow myself in 
 adoration before thee, and pray thee to protect a flame 
 pure and powerful as thine. A beam of thy fire kindle thou 
 in the eyes of King Dag ; it burns yet more beautifuUv in 
 2 D 2 
 
420 
 
 kis heart ; he is the descendant of a divine race -protect 
 him ; illumine his voyage over the great sea ! Make hia 
 path light, his arm strong and victorious ! Conduct him 
 home to the court of his fathers, to his faithful bride • and, 
 kneeling by his side, I will consecrate to thee a better 
 offering than now, thou glorious king of day! (She ap- 
 proaches KuMBA a7id Feima.) Bond-maidens, it is good! 
 The flower-garden is well tended. The beauty of the plants 
 gladdens both eye and heart. Soon, too, will King Dag see 
 it, and reward your care. He has commissioned me to give 
 you a testimony of his favour. He will one day give you 
 more beautiful ones himself. Teima, take this silver chain. 
 Thou shalt wear it on thy wedding-day. The same sun 
 which blesses my union with King Dag shall witness thy 
 marriage with thy faithful Hreimer. He shall be my master- 
 gardener. The cottage, which I have caused to be built for 
 you, will soon be completed. I wish you always to remain 
 with me and the king. Thou shalt brew the mead for our 
 wedding ; and thou wilt do well, Feima, to call the good 
 Disor to thy aid, that it may be clear and strong. 
 
 Feima. (Falh doivn and kisses Feid's feet. Frid ea^- 
 tends to her her hand.) Princess ! thy favour is great ! We 
 will live and die for thee ! How beautiful is thy hand ; how 
 white, how silken. Only King Dag has hands as beautiful 
 as thine ! 
 
 Feid. More beautiful, Feima, because they are stronger. 
 Kumba, thou art the most favoured of my attendants. From 
 the years of childhood have we been together. Thou shalt 
 alw^ays be near me. Ta]?:e this golden ring. 
 
 KiJMBA. King's daughter, that is not for me. 
 
 Feti). I give it thee. 
 
 Kumba. My hand is brown ; my fingers are short and 
 bony — what shall the golden ring do there ? It does not 
 become me. Eetain thy gift. Thy favour is all that I desire. 
 
 Feid. O, very well ! I will keep my ring, but — till thy 
 wedding-day. I know that Klur loves thee. Thou wilt not 
 always be hard with him. He shall put the ring on thy 
 finger. (Kumba turns away.) If thou hast a wish, thou 
 shalt tell it me, that I may gratify it. I desire that all should 
 be happy. Ah ! see, see here reddens a rosebud ! Wel- 
 come, thou little harbinger of the highest happiness ! {Kisses 
 
TRALIKNAN. 
 
 421 
 
 it) Kumba! Feima! tend it well. Protect it from the 
 night chill ; moisten its root with the clearest water. " "When 
 the rosebuds redden, then shall I be near thee !" wrote last 
 to me, King Dag. This rose is the first which reddens this 
 year in the flower-garden. Perhaps when this flower opens, 
 shall my life's happiness be in bloom. Tend well the delicate 
 bud, bondmaidens ! Te shall not do it in vain. Kumba., in 
 about an hour I shall expect thee to attend me to the bath. 
 Kumba. I will be punctual. 
 
 Feii). Once more — take care of my rosebud. \_SJie goes. 
 
 Scene II. — Kumba. Peima. 
 
 Feima. How good she is ! 
 Kumba. She is happy ! 
 
 Feima. How beautiful she is, and proud! "Well is she 
 worthy to be beloved by a king like King Dag. Kumba ! 
 What art thou doing ? Thou breakest off the bud which she 
 bade us cherish ! 
 
 Kumba. She can have so many others. 
 
 Feima. O Kumba ! that was ill done. Ought not her 
 slightest wish to have been a law to thee ? She, thy lady, 
 thy benefactress ! 
 
 Kumba. I am her slave ! 
 
 Feima. And yet is she so gracious, so condescending to 
 thee ! Fie ! Kumba ! 
 
 Kumba. E/Cproach me not. My mind is embittered. I 
 will die ! 
 
 Feima. Die ! Wherefore ? 
 
 Kumba. I am a slave ! 
 
 Feima. And has one of our race ever been treated better 
 than thou ? Has not the king's daughter exempted thee 
 from laborious occupations ? Hast thou not from childhood 
 been allowed to be near her, and treated better than all the 
 servants ? Does she not give thee better clothes, better food ? 
 Dost thou not go freely about in the royal halls ? Hast thou 
 not there been instructed in much that thralls are not wont 
 to know ? 
 
 Kumba. Feima ! Why dost thou call me fortunate ? Call 
 me mifortunate ! Why was I not left in the humble cottage, 
 with poverty and hardship.^ and taught by custom to end ars 
 
422 
 
 the stern lot to which I was born ? "Why did the bondmaid 
 receive a dwelling in the halls of kings, and learn to compare ? 
 Why did I learn to love beauty and greatness, when my lot 
 was ugliness and insignificance ? Why did I receive instruc- 
 tions which taught me only to despair ? 
 
 Feima. Ah ! it was thy proud heart which taught thee to 
 feel thus ! It is thy haughty spirit which converts the sweet- 
 ness into poison ! 
 
 KrMBA. Frid too is proud, and yet in her that is no fault ! 
 
 Teima. No! for pride becomes her; but pride does not 
 become us. She is of the race of the Jarls ; we of that of the 
 ThraUs. 
 
 KiiMBA. And yet, Teima, the Saga says, that the father of 
 our race was a god — yes, the same god who afterwards be- 
 came the father of the haughty race of the gods. We are the 
 elder brethren and sisters. Why are we suffered to creep in 
 the dust, when the younger brethren are exalted to Grod's 
 heaven ? 
 
 Feima. I do not know. But this I know, that it would 
 not befit thee to wear Erid's crown on thy head, her golden 
 girdle around thy waist, and to walk so slowly and proudly as 
 she does I feel that I could not help laughing at that. 
 
 KuMBA. Woe is me ! I knoAv it too. In me that were 
 ridiculous, which in her is beautifuL I am called, and I am, 
 Kumba.^ But it is precisely of that that I complain. Why 
 am I so ? 
 
 Eeima. And I know too that there are much good and 
 many joys for us if we can but bridle our minds and our 
 desires. Have we not the sun's light and warmth ? Have 
 we not the fragrance of flowers as well as the king's daughter ? 
 Have we not the enjoyment of the cottage which protects us ; 
 of food which we eat ? Can we not, under the guardianship 
 of good masters, possess husbands and children as well as 
 the Jarls ? 
 
 KuMBA. Slaves ! 
 
 Eeima. Hreimer is a slave ; yes, and his hand is sunburnt, 
 but diligent and faithful is that hand ; his heart is good, and 
 his glance tells me how dear he holds me. By his side I 
 Btiall live happy and free from care, for we love one another, 
 and we love our masters, and know that they will ivot sepa* 
 * Clumsy. 
 
423 
 
 rate us, or sell our children away from us. We desire 
 nothing better than always to live in their service. 
 KuMBA. Happy thou ! 
 
 Feima. The same happiness may be thine if thou wilt ; 
 Klur loves thee. 
 
 KuMEA. Fie, fie, fie then ! I speak not of him. 
 
 Peima. And if thou wilt not have a husband ; if thou wilt 
 remain single, what more pleasant lot canst thou have than 
 to serve the noble Frid, and live in the royal halls, and see 
 around thee men and women of the race of the Jarls ? That, 
 indeed, is great and beautiful. 
 
 KuMBA. Miserable ! Know, Feima, fartlier towards the 
 north, towards the region where giants and horrible dragons 
 liave their abode, there is found amid ice-clad mountains a 
 people not far removed from beasts. Their clothes are the 
 skins of wild beasts ; their dwellings, caves and clefts of the 
 rocks ; their speech, a bestial noise. Well, then, amongst 
 this people, in their woods, I should feel myself happier than 
 here, in the halls of the king's daughter ! 
 
 Feima. Thou wouldst prefer living amongst detestable 
 monsters of the woods rather than with the good and beau- 
 tiful Frid ? Thou wouldst rather freeze in their caves, and 
 hunt in their v oods, than plait her golden hair and bathe in 
 a silver ewer her white feet ? 
 
 KuMBA. Yes, that would I. 
 
 Feima. Wonderful ! And why ? 
 
 KuMBA. Because there I should be free ! Because amongst 
 them I should be somewhat. 
 
 Feima. I do not understand thee. But if thou findest 
 thyself so unhappy here, wherefore, Kumba, dost thou not 
 make thy prayer to Frid for thy freedom ? She loves thee, 
 and could certainly not refuse thy request. Wherefore dost 
 thou linger where thou art in torment ? 
 
 Kumba. Ask me not ! 
 
 Feima. Thou art very strange. Thou wilt and thou wilt 
 not. 
 
 KiJMBA. Woe is me! It is so. My feet are rivetted to 
 the spot which bears me. 
 
 Feima. Sister ! poor sister ! I compassionate thee ! 
 
 KuMBA. Well may est thou. But the powers who made 
 the races of the Jarls and the slaves, who gave to the one 
 
424 
 
 TTIALINNAN. 
 
 gold and to the other dust — of these will I demand, Was it 
 'ust that ye dealt thus ? 
 
 Peima. Kumba, tempt not tae gods ! 
 
 KuMBA. They who require of men worship because they 
 conferred on them a wretched life — who demano. praise and 
 offerings for the clod of earth which we cultivate with the 
 sweat of our brow for others — to them will I say, In your 
 unjust, selfish existence 
 
 Eeima. Silence ! O silence ! It is horrible to hear thee ! 
 Thy eyes flash, Kumba ! Thou blasphemest ! 
 
 KuMBA. But if I do murmur and blaspheme in despair 
 over my lot, what then ? In a little time I shall grow dumb 
 in the world — in a little time the blaspheming spirit will dis- 
 appear like a vapour in space, and be as it had never been. 
 But it has not disturbed the rejoicing songs of Valhalla ; 
 aloft there is not heard its pain and complaint. And when 
 the achievements of the mighty shall live immortally in the 
 songs of the Scalds on the earth — when their glory shall be 
 admired by succeeding generations — who shall know any- 
 thing of the life of slaves, of their virtues, their sufferings ? 
 Dumb, beneath the burden of their labours, they have sunk 
 into the earth, and are forgotten. Where is found justice fOr 
 them, in heaven or upon earth ? We are born to no end. 
 
 Teima. JSTay, that I cannot believe. Say not our holy 
 Sagas, that for us, too, shall be found room after death, there, 
 where every one shall receive his reward for what he has done 
 on the earth, whether it be good or evil ? 
 
 KrMBA. Seest thou the pale grey cloud in the distance, 
 which sails over the wild heath ? Seest thou, far off in the 
 marshes, the vapours tossed about by the wind ? There 
 beholdest thou the life of a slave after death. Seest thou the 
 sun, how he warms the world from the inward glow of his own 
 happiness ; the stars by night, beaming down tranquilly, as 
 kings from their thrones, as happy spirits in the courts of 
 the gods — there hast thou the immortality of the noble-born 
 of the hero-race. Dark is our life on the earth, dark on the 
 other side of the grave ! It is not good to go poor to Odin — 
 the poor find in his halls no room. Alone for a nobly-born 
 hero, alone for a king who carried far and wide the blood- 
 dripping sword, resounds the road to Valhalla; for him only 
 are adorned its couches, for him its cup is burnished, and the 
 
TEALIKNAlSf. 
 
 425 
 
 Valkyrior bring wine. The joys of heaven are made only for 
 tlie great, the happy on earth. 
 
 Feima. But it is said likewise, that the servant who comes 
 in the train of a great lord can slip into the glorious Asgard ; 
 therefore, often do the servants of kings kill themselves on 
 their master's corpse. 
 
 KuMBA. Fools ! Yes, to become slaves to them after 
 death as they have been here. " Wretches" are the slaves 
 termed by the Scalds ; and justly, for wretched is their lot 
 even there, beyond Hela's nocturnal halls. Thraldom and 
 fatigue await them there as here. And for those of us who do 
 not accompany some mighty lord in death, there shall be no 
 resurrection — we have here lived in vain. 
 
 Feima. Ah ! my heart tells me different. It says that 
 the gods will never forsake the being whom they have 
 created. 
 
 EuMBA. Seest thou the worm in the sand which is tortured 
 and dragged along by ants ? See how it writhes, how it is 
 agonized ! Let it be ! If thou rescuest it, a thousand others 
 will still be tortured. In vain dost thou writhe, worm. Thy 
 tormentors drag thee to the hillock, to the unhonoured 
 funeral-pile, from which no glorifying flame ascends, and 
 where thou shalt speedily become nothing. Is not the worm 
 created by the gods as well as we ? They regard not the 
 worm ; they look not down on us. Our fates are alike. 
 
 Feima. Xo, no ! I would not believe that, if thou said it 
 a thousand times. They who have served in truth shall 
 certainly hereafter dwell in peace and joy. Eut, were it 
 indeed not so, were it otherwise 
 
 Kumba. What then ? 
 
 Feima. From the dust was I taken. The goodness of God 
 gave me life. I have seen the beauty of the sun; I have 
 enjoyed the fruits of the earth, the freshness of the water, the 
 cool shade of the trees — I have loved. If the gods shall one 
 day reduce to nothing the dust which they have raised up, I 
 will then praise them for the life which I have enjoyed ; and 
 will deliver again into their hands what from their hands I 
 have received, if not without regret, at least without com- 
 plaining. 
 
 Kumba. Shall I admire, or shall I despise fchee ? 
 
 Feima. AVe are small ; let us in humility acknowledge it* 
 
426 
 
 HumiLty is the soul's repose. 0 Kumba, Kumba! Leavo 
 thy proud thoughts — humble thyself. See, it is only by stoop- 
 ing that thou canst gather this beautiful flower. Quit the 
 regal palace if thou art not happy there, but go not amongst 
 the wild, people. Come to us, sister ; come and remain with 
 us. Hreimer and I will love thee, cherish thee, perform the 
 heaviest tasks for thee. Choose a husband, possess a cottage, 
 and press a child to thy bosom. My mother has told me, 
 that when she gave me birth the world became light to 
 her, and that she would not have exchanged me for a king- 
 dom. The animals, w^iich are so much beneath us, how they 
 love, how they rejoice themselves in their young ! Become a 
 wife and mother, Kumba ! become good and happy. 
 
 Kumba. The cradle and the bier are the seats of the 
 Nornor, and no one can escape his fate. I will not give birth 
 to a being doomed to unhappiness. 
 
 Feima. Hreimer and I are happy, and yet we are the 
 children of slaves. 
 
 KiJMBA. My mother was amongst the slaves of Queen 
 Gunnild — she was the most faithful of her servants. Poor 
 and heavy was her lot, yet did she wish to live. My father 
 was a free-born person, who thought little of forsaking the 
 woman who loved him, and the child she had born to him. I 
 remember a night — that night has stretched itself over my 
 whole life. Flames arose from a pile — they ascended high 
 into heaven. It was the corpse of the queen which was 
 burned. My mother was amongst those who tended the pile ; 
 she, with many others, were cast alive into the flames ! The 
 queen, it was said, needed her attendants in the other world. 
 I stood amongst the people, still a child, and heard my 
 mother's cry, and saw her burn. Fatherless and motherless, 
 I went thence into the world alone, and wandered in the 
 woods without knowing whither. There came people, who 
 seized me, and carried me back to the court of King Atle. 
 They said that I wished to run away, and I was conducted to 
 the presence of the king. I answered haughtily to his 
 questions, and he caused me to be whipped till the blood 
 came, in punishment, as he said, of my disobedience. Thou, 
 Feima, then lay on thy mother's bosom — thou didst not 
 understand what I felt. 
 
 Feima. But Frid, King Atle's beautiful niece, understooa 
 
427 
 
 it. She begged thee from the king, and cherished thee like 
 a mother, although she was scarcely older than thyself. She 
 endeavoured to recompense thee for all that thou hadst 
 Buffered. 
 
 KrMBA. Then did I sit in the nights, and gazed on the 
 wandering stars, on the flying clouds. I asked them of my 
 mother's fate ; I called her name, and listened. The night 
 wind flew complaining oyer the heath, and the fog bedewed 
 me with tears. See, there, the only answer that I received. 
 
 Feima. O canst thou not forget the horrors of thy childish 
 years in all the kindness which has been showered on thy 
 youth ? And what dost tliou know ? Perhaps thy mother's 
 soul lies happily in the sunshine which now closes thee in its 
 warm embrace. O that it would become light in thy soul, 
 and that thou couldst see life and thy own destiny in a 
 clearer vision ! It is long since thou hast offered to the gods. 
 Come, sister, come ! Let us go to the holy fountain of offer- 
 ing on the mountain. Dost thou see this silver-penny ? I 
 received it once from King Dag. I will now offer this for 
 thee. Carry thou also thither an offering of something dear 
 to thee, that we may win the favour of the Powers, and that 
 they may hear our prayers. 
 
 KuMEA. And what wouldst thou that I should solicit ? 
 
 Feima. A pious, a contented mind. 
 
 KrMBA. Am I then so wicked, Feima? 
 
 Feima. Sister, pardon me the hard word ; — thou art not 
 good. 
 
 KrMSA. Thou speakest the truth. But, Feima, I have 
 wished to be good. O ! had the gods heard my sighs, Feima, 
 I should now have been pious ; like Frid, I would wish to 
 make all happy. Seize, torment a bee, and it will sting, and 
 leave poison in the sting ; but leave it in its freedom, let it 
 possess its wings and its flowers, and it will suck and confer 
 only delicious sweetness. 
 
 Feima. And what wouldst thou desire of the gods ? 
 
 KuMSA. Beauty, high birth, wealth, and — a king's love ; 
 room m the halls of Odin after death, for me and all my race. 
 
 Feima. Kumba, thou art mad. Thy glance is wild. Poor 
 sister ! Thy mind is diseased. Come, O come with me to 
 cool thy brow with the holy water, and offer and pray with 
 me in the still momin^:, while the tumult of the world is 
 
428 
 
 hushed, and when Heimdal's ever-listening ears can 00 
 reached even by the lowest prayers. Come ! 
 
 KuMBA. I will not, sister. At the prayers which now 
 arise within me, thou wouldst be horrified, and the gods 
 would reject me. Thou art right* My soul is sick. There- 
 fore go, leave me alone. Gro ! 
 
 Feima. And what shall I say to the king's daughter, when 
 she inquires after her rosebud ? 
 
 KuMBA. Tell her that a bitter north wind broke it off. 
 
 Feima. Then thou wilt not accompany me ? 
 
 KuMBA. No, I say ; no ! Leave me alone. 
 
 Feima (aside, as she goes away) . I will then go alone, and 
 pray for her. Yet — Hreimer, will gladly accompany me to 
 ojQfer with me for the unhappy sister. \_S}ie goes. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 KiiMBA (alone), Tes, go ! Offer, pray to the mercenary, 
 the unjust gods. I am not childish enough to do that. But 
 she is good and pious. Were I but pious as she ! Can I 
 not be so ? No ! for I know more than she ; my eyes have 
 pierced deeper into the dark disposal of events ; and a poison 
 corrodes me, which she does not know. " Why dost thou 
 not fly ?" she demanded. " Wherefore dost thou not solicit 
 thy freedom?" Unhappy power, which binds my will and 
 my soul ! Abhorred, beloved torment, which causes me to 
 court what I never can win, and to seek what I ought to fly 
 from, thou wilt tyrannise over me in life and in death. Ah ! 
 why saw I the glorious object that I am not to possess ? Why 
 should I behold a day which will never shine for me ? Why, 
 stern and terrible fate, didst thou allure me up into the ligbt, 
 only to plunge me deeper into my darkness ? The mischief 
 is now done ; my eyes are dazzled, my glance is fascinated, 
 my heart is doomed, my life is given over to misery. Here 
 is my torment, and here must I remain ; so will the inexor- 
 able Powers. I must, because I must hear his name pro- 
 nounced. Not to hear him mentioned, is not to get air to 
 breathe. I must see him again, once more hear his voice, 
 and live in the lustre of his eyes. O King Dag ! wilt thov 
 notice the bondmaiden? Wilt thou give one look, one 
 thought, to her who would gladly die for thee ? Thou wilt 
 
429 
 
 clap ihj proud steed with thy strong victorious hand ; but it 
 would be defiled by the touch of the hand of Kumba. !For 
 Frid — for the king's daughter — is thy hand ; for her, thy 
 embraces, thy kisses, thy great, proud hero-heart. And her 
 do I tend and adorn every day, that she may become more 
 beautiful for thee, and all the happier in thy love. Every 
 day shall I see her beauty and happiness, and feel myself 
 devoured by envy. O depth of anguish ! O bottomless pit ! 
 In thee am I doomed to live and move for ever ! 
 
 \_SJie pauses. 
 
 In the cold, foggy Nifelhem is the fountain Hvergelmer. 
 Streams of poison rush from it ; and in its depth, amid count- 
 less snakes, lies the great snake Nidhogg, which gnaws at the 
 root of the tree of the world — gnaws, gnaws till it decays. 
 When I was very young, the Saga easily made me shudder. 
 I am now quite at home in it. I seem sometimes indeed to 
 be myself the fountain, that mist is my w^orld, and that the 
 worm gnaws at the tree of my life. \_Again silent. 
 
 Sometimes dark thoughts rise up within me. It is said 
 that elves of darkness, which live on the northern edge of the 
 earth, beneath the deepest roots of the Tree of the "World, 
 sometimes ascend thence, and speak words with the children 
 of men, which fright the light of day. Hell sends them forth 
 to execute its commissions and aifairs. It seems to me as if 
 at times the voice of evil spirits spoke within me and ex- 
 horted me to ... . \_Anotlier silence. 
 
 If I could but die, and find rest ! Could my life, after 
 death, but become pleasant ; might once the freed spirit but 
 look down from heaven upon the earth, where it had suffered 
 and been tormented .... Did I but know that a 
 merciful Grod had prepared for his tired and weary child a 
 peaceful and bright abode, where it might repose after its 
 hard conflict, O then could I still submit myself! could then 
 renounce, then .... [Weeps. 
 
 But, O ye gods ! ye have forgotten us, and therefore is my 
 spirit exasperated. To your favourites you have given all, to 
 us nothing. Nothing ? Yes, bitterness ! poison ! Eut with 
 the poison there is strength. Ye Gods! if from the drops 
 which from hour to hour you cause to drop into my bosom, 
 there swells a stream which burns and destroys, the guilt fall 
 — on you ! 
 
430 
 
 Scene IV. — Frid's Bedchamber, 
 
 FUID. KlJMBA. 
 
 EiiiD. Kumba! Plait my hair, and anoint it with the oil 
 
 of the south, which I received from King Dag. 
 
 Ktjmba. "What thou commandest I will do. 
 
 Frid. And while thou plaitest it, relate to me some of the 
 Sagas which thou knowest so well. It is justly said that the 
 dwelling of the Sagas is surrounded by the murmurs of cool 
 billows, to whose rushing Odin gladly listens. Enlivening 
 and soothing at the same time are Sagas and song, — a worthy 
 pastime for the race of the gods. 
 
 Kumba. Wilt thou, king's daughter, hear the ancient 
 Sagas of Eig ? * 
 
 Erid. Grladly. 
 
 Kumba. Heimdal-— so it is said ; the trusty and wise god, 
 went once on a time to walk in the country, and came on the 
 sea-shore to a house which he entered. The door stood wide 
 open ; a fire burnt on the hearth, and within sate the inha- 
 bitants, grown grey with labour, Ae and Edda, in old-world 
 garments. Edda took out of the ashes the heavy, thick, 
 seed-mingled cake, brouglit forth tlie soup in a bowl ; but the 
 greatest delicacy was the sodden calf. Heimdal, who called 
 himself Rig, continued three nights there, and nine months 
 after his departure, Edda gave birth to a son, which was bap- 
 tized and named Tral (Slave). He grew and flourished, was 
 of a dark complexion, had wrinkled skin on his hands, con- 
 tracted knuckles, thick fingers, an ugly countenance, a hump- 
 back, and long heels. A beggar-girl came to the house ; her 
 feet sore, her arms sunburnt, her nose hooked. She was 
 called Tralinna (bondwoman, or female slave). She lived 
 there with Triil the heavy days, and bore him sons and 
 daughters. Their employment was to twine boat ropes, to 
 drag loads, to carry firewood, to keep and fatten cattle, herd 
 swine, watch the goats, dig turf. Erom her came the race of 
 slaves. 
 
 E/ig went farther, and found in another house another pair. 
 The door stood a-jar ; fire burned on the hearth. The hus- 
 band was shaping a tree into a weaver's beam ; his beard was 
 
 Introduced into the older Edda. See Geijer's " Svea Rkes Hafder 
 
TRALINKAN. 
 
 431 
 
 trimmed, his' hair cut on the forehead ; he had a close shirfc, 
 which was fastened by a clasp at the neck. The wife 
 twirled the spinning-wheel, spun thread, and converted it 
 into clothing. She had a fillet on her head, a brooch on her 
 bosom, a cloth round her neck, and ribbon on the shoulders. 
 The couple were called Afe and Amraa. Kig was hospitably 
 entertained, and stayed with them three nights. Nine months 
 afterwards, Amma gave birth to a son, rosy and blooming, 
 with sparkling eyes. He was baptized and called Karl. 
 He grew and throve, learned to tame oxen, to cultivate land, 
 to build houses, forged horsenails, made carts, drove the 
 plough. To him was conducted home as a bride, Snor, hung 
 round with keys, in kirtle of goat's hair. They exchanged 
 rings,spread the sheet, built a house. Theyhad sons anddaugh- 
 tors, and of them are come the race of Karls, or free men. 
 
 E-ig went farther. He came to a hall. The door was 
 closed, and adorned with a ring. He entered. The floor was 
 strown. There sate the couple, looking each other in the 
 eyes — Fader and Moder. Their work was play. The hus- 
 band shaped bows, twisted strings, polished arrows. The 
 wife ironed and starched her sleeves, and made up a head- 
 dress. She had a jewel on her breast, a silken kirtle, blue 
 figured linen, a countenance more beautiful, a bosom more 
 charming, a neck more white than the recent snow. Moder 
 spread the figured white cloth on the table, set on it the thin 
 white wheaten cakes, and dishes of embossed silver, full of all 
 kinds of meat, pork, and roasted birds. There was wine in 
 flagons and embossed cups ; they drank and talked till the 
 day dawned. Eig remained three nights there also, and after 
 nine months, Moder brought forth a son, who was wrapped 
 in silk, was baptized, and called Jarl. His hair was flaxen, 
 his cheeks bright, his eyes keen as those of a young eagle. 
 He grew up, twisted bow-strings, shaped bows, flung the 
 spear, shot arrows, shook lances, rode horses, hunted with 
 hounds, drew the sword, and exercised himself in swiinming. 
 Then came Eig again to the court, taught him Eunes, gave 
 him Jiis name, and acknowledged him as his son. The young 
 Eig therefore marched over the rocks in war, won victori.^s 
 and lands, distributed goods and estates, and married the 
 daughter of Herve, the slender, fair, noble Erna. Of theif 
 sons, the youno:est was Konr. He contended with his father 
 
432 
 
 Rig in the knowledge of Eiines, and Won. Then was it the 
 son's lot to be himself called Eig, and thenceforth to under- 
 stand Eunes beyond all others. From him are descended the 
 Jarls and kings. 
 
 Here ends the Saga about Eig. 
 
 Teid. Thanks, Kumba ! The Saga is beautiful and full of 
 meaning. 
 
 (aside). Beautiful! Yes, for her. 
 
 Frid. Bat my attention was distracted while I listened to 
 it. A great, a precious, and almost terrible recollection came 
 vividly on my soul. To-day, three years ago, I saw, for the 
 first time. King Dag. 
 
 Kumba. Ah ! speak of that ! (aside.) The poison is sweet ! 
 
 Erii). Thou knowest that my father's brother, the gloomy 
 Atle, had in an engagement killed King Dag's father, the 
 victorious King Ifvar. King Dag, and his brother Eagnar, 
 revenged their father's death, and stormed my uncle's castle. 
 Shut up in the inner room of the castle with my tender 
 brother Arild, I heard the din of arms, and the battle-cries 
 of the warriors. Arild clenched his little hands in wrath. 
 I prayed to the gods for his life, for I held him as dear as a 
 mother. Suddenly I heard a cry, accompanied by a wild jubi- 
 lation of victory. " Atle is fallen ! The brave Eagnar has 
 slain him !" But immediately thereon — " Eagnar is wounded ! 
 Eagnar is dead! Eevenge! revenge!" Amid a horrid din, 
 steps drew near the room. Before the strokes of war-axes 
 the door went to pieces. At this moment I felt not fear, but 
 wrath and a proud desperation. I had seized spear and 
 shield, and stood there resolved to die, rather than to surrender 
 rryself a prisoner ; and till my last breath to defend the little 
 f/ne- " i^ack !" thundered a lordly voice to the on-pressing 
 martial throng; and environed by the flashings of bloody 
 swords, as by a thousand jagged lightnings, I beheld before 
 me a man — a god he seemed to me to be. 
 
 Kumba. It was he ! 
 
 Erid. Yes, it was he ! It was King Dag ! " Yield thy- 
 self!" exclaimed he to me. In answer I sought his breast 
 with my spear. My trembling hand was arrested by his 
 sword, and fie disarmed me. lileeding, I sunk by my bro- 
 ther's side, exclaiming, "Mercy for him! Mercy for the 
 child!" "Death to the traitor's son!" cried wildly the 
 
TRALINNAN. 
 
 433 
 
 warriors, and rushed on. King Dag turned himself to his 
 people, and covered us with his shield. " Back !" exclaimed 
 he once more commandingly to the wild troop. " With 
 women and cinldren we contend not. The 'victory is won. 
 Down with your weapons !" But a frantic lust of murder 
 had taken possession of Ragnar's people, and they cried — 
 "Blood for blood!" Then shouldst thou have seen King 
 Dag ! Glorious and strong as the god Thor, he lifted his 
 broadsword in defence of the helpless. Like lightning flew 
 its strokes whistling through the air, and fell on the blood- 
 thirsty warriors. Heaps of dead were round his feet. 
 KiJMBA. The brave ! the glorious ! 
 
 Frii). Seized with amaze at his superhuman strength, 
 Eagnar's people began to give way. Then cried King Dag 
 — "Hither, my men! Every true friend follow me !" He 
 lifted up Arild, and placed him in the arms of one of his 
 warriors ; he took myself in his own, and guarding me with 
 shield and sword, he broke through the tumult of war. I 
 saw nothing more. A swoon overpowered my senses ; my 
 eyes were closed. 
 
 KuMBA. But he watched over thee ? 
 
 Eeid. When I opened them again, it was night ; but a 
 night lighted up by a red and wild splendour. I saw from 
 the distant strand a castle stand all in flames ; but cool winds 
 fanned my cheek, and farther and fartlier over the dancing 
 waves, conveyed me the winged sea-dragon, and my little 
 brother stood beside me under the purple pavilion, and 
 clapped his hands in childish joy over the novel spectacle. 
 Before me, on his knee, his godlike beautiful countenance 
 illumined by the flames of the burning, and with uncovered 
 head, lay King Dag, and I was his captive ! 
 
 Is^UMB A (aside). Happy lot ! 
 
 Erid. Ah, yes ! His captive. For my heart had he con- 
 quered, — the brave, the noble one ; and I could not then, as 
 I wished, in proud anger turn from the victor my glance. 
 By his strength he had disarmed my hand, by his love he now 
 sought to win ray love ; and when he prayed me as beau- 
 tifully, as mildly as Balder, when he beo^ged me, as a favour, 
 to accept his kingdom and his crown, then I let him see what 
 my heart felt, and he pressed me to his heart, and called lue 
 his bride. 
 
 2 E 
 
434 
 
 KuMBA. Thou liappy one ! 
 
 Frid. Yes, I was happy. Days and nights went on, and 
 life was to me like a beam of the light of God's heaven — all 
 around me was so beautiful. The sea-dragon flew over the 
 blue sea, under the dark-blue heaven, and the waves danced 
 merrily around the prow, covered with golden shields, and 
 the wind sung in the purple silken sails, splendidly embroi- 
 dered with rich silver vine-branches. By day. King Dag 
 exercised his men in martial manoeuvres, and fired them to 
 an almost frenzied, yet joyous daring, while I watched them 
 from the royal pavilion. When the evening came, and sea 
 and winds were lulled, then took King Dag his harp, and 
 played and sung by my side, which made my heart beat with 
 transport. Then burned the stars clearer, and the spirits of 
 the sea arose in enchantment to the surface of the water ; 
 then seemed the sea to burn with a strange light, and we 
 floated onward as on waves of fire. All things did homage 
 to the glorious one, and he did homage to me ; yes, happy 
 was I, happy, amid the dangers of war ! My father's castle 
 was plundered and burnt. Enemies' hosts invaded King 
 Dag's realm. We possessed no home. Then the son of 
 Valhalla conducted me to the temple of Upsala, and gave me 
 there an asylum, while he advanced against his enemies. He 
 returned, and brought me to this strong castle ; but was 
 liimself again soon obliged to leave me, in consequence of a 
 vow which forbade him to celebrate a joyous feast before he 
 had freed his unfortunate sister Grudrun out of her ignomi- 
 nious captivity. Here should I remain, guarded by his 
 trusty men, till he should return from the Saxon coast. 
 
 KiJMBA. x^nd if he do not return ? If he perisli in strife 
 on the distant strand ? 
 
 FiiiD. No, no ! I fear nothing. A far-presci<'iit Vala, a 
 renowned prophetess, who visited the temple of Upsala, has 
 told me his fate. His course will be long and victorious. 
 From this campaign he will return happily, and rich in ho- 
 nours and treasures. 
 
 KuMBA. Thou hast seen the temple of Upsala, the magni- 
 ficent court of the gods ! Thou hast lived amongst Diar and 
 Disor. Were they beautiful and happy ? 
 
 Frit). Yes, yes, beautiful and blessed. A noble tranquil- 
 iitv, an infinite dignity repose on their features, and breathe 
 
TRALINNAIS'. 
 
 435 
 
 througli their whole being. The cares and the joys of earth 
 touch them not ; they stand high above them, gazing into 
 the clearness of the heaven of the gods. The countenance 
 of the chief priest is majestic as we conceive of that of Odin, 
 full of power and mildness. All disquiet dies in him who 
 contemplates it : the before stormy heart hushes itself invo- 
 luntarily at his glance, and is at peace. 
 
 KuMBA (aside) . Peace, ah I And I ? {aloud.) And the 
 temple and its happy abodes are really splendid ? 
 
 Prid. Beyond all description. Of gold and precious stones 
 are the walls ; a radiance glows thence, w hich illuminates the 
 country far around. The gorgeous splendour of the interior 
 of the temple testifies to the power of the divinity ; while the 
 silence in the sacred groves, in the lofty halls, interrupted 
 only by the solemn songs of the Diars, speaks of its sublmiity, 
 and draws the spirit to contemplation. Had I not so deeply 
 loved King Dag, I should have dedicated myself to the ser- 
 rice of the gods, and continued there amongst the sacred 
 Assynior. 
 
 KuMBA {aside). She chooses between the throne and the 
 temple. But I ? 
 
 Peid. When I recal those days, a wonderfully delightful 
 and solemn feeling seizes me. Ah ! it was beautiful in the 
 courts of the temple, in its lofty halls 1 Pondering on the 
 counsel of the gods, silently walked the deep-thinking 
 Diars 
 
 KuMBA. And didst thou learn their secret wisdom — the 
 verses which teach how to quiet waves, quench fire, and dis- 
 sipate care ? Didst thou get to know about the beginning 
 and the end of all things ? 
 
 Prid. No ! I w^as too young, and too much engrossed by 
 the outward splendour of life, and by my love. My voice, 
 indeed, blended with the songs of the Assynior, and I took 
 part in their nocturnal dances, in their ceremonies ; but their 
 meaning I understood not. They regarded me — and justly 
 — as not worthy to comprehend them. 
 
 KuMBA. And what, indeed, is all the wisdom of the priests 
 m comparison with the love of such a king as King Dag ? 
 
 Prid. Thou sayst truly, Kumba. But had I never seen 
 him, then could I have preferred, beyond any earthly throne, 
 to live as a priestess in the holy temple, Asgard, as it is also 
 2 E 2 
 
486 
 
 called, is an image of the celestial Asgard, the eternally green 
 Grudhem ; and beautiful is it, amid offerings and son2;s of 
 praise, to walk before the gods on earth, and up to their ever- 
 iasting abodes above us. 
 
 KuMBA. That I can believe. Are there always offerings in 
 the temple ? 
 
 Feid. Yes, often; but there are in particular three great 
 annual festivals, which were instituted by Odin. Eecently 
 has been celebrated the Sacrifice of Victory, that takes place 
 in spring, when the open waters invite to Viking-voyages. 
 
 Ktjmba. And do they indeed sacrifice men ? 
 
 Feid. Yes. Most commonly slaves and malefactors. 
 
 Ktjmba. Slaves and malefactors ? 
 
 Feid. Yes ; but sometimes also the noblest life. The 
 victim is led forth festively adorned ; the seats of the gods are 
 tinged with blood; it is also sprinkled on the assembled 
 people. The smoke which ascends from the flame of sacrifice 
 is delicious, and fills the halls with a delicious aroma. Sweetly 
 sound in accordance the songs of the priests. 
 
 KuMBA. But the victims, the victims ! do they complain 
 not ? do not their shrieks of misery ascend above the songs 
 of the priests ? 
 
 Feid. Their wailings are prevented ; or are drowned in 
 the songs of praise. 
 
 Ktjmba. They are drowned by the songs of praise ? 
 
 Teid. Yes, and no dissonance disturbs the majesty and 
 beauty of the lofty solemnity. — But what is this, Kumba ? 
 I hear the tramp of steeds, the pealing of horns ; the draw- 
 bridge is raised! There must be tidings — important ones! 
 Good Kumba, go, fly, and bring me word what it is. 
 
 [Kumba ^oes. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Feid (alone). It is certainly a messenger from King Dag! 
 My heart assures me of it ; — how it beats ! Still, tliou un- 
 quiet one, still ! O the pleasures and the pangs of love ! 
 And yet, beloved pan^^s, I would not exchange you for the 
 Assynior's eternal reposc3 1 O my king ! to love thee, that is 
 my life ; but if my lieart beats thus at the anticipation of a 
 message from thee, how sliall I be able to see thy face and 
 not die of joy ? 
 
437 
 
 Scene VI. — Ebid. Kumba. 
 
 KiTMBA. A letter from King Dag ! "With it there 
 
 are costly presents 
 
 Erid. a letter ! Grive it me, give it me ! O ye dear 
 Eunes ! (kisses the Bunic tablet and reads) . He comes, comes 
 soon ! Eefore the next new moon he is here ! Victorious, 
 rich in honour and spoil, comes he to his bride, " the eternally 
 beloved." O my bridegroom! O my Dag ! 
 
 Kumba {aside). And I ? 
 
 Fb-id. I will myself make the arrangements for the mes- 
 senger's reception, I will myself speak with him. I must 
 see the man w^ho has lately seen my beloved ; I must hear 
 him talk of King Dag. Kumba, go thou and work on the 
 golden girdle, and be diligent, Kumba, that it may be quickly 
 ready. I will wear it on the king's arrival. I desire that he 
 should find his bride beautiful. I shall then really see him 
 soon ! Happy I ! [ Goes, 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 Kumba {alone). But I ! Why was I born ? Shall I now 
 see them, their embraces, hear their sighs of love and vows of 
 truth ? Shall I adorn her for him ; help to make her still 
 more beautiful in his eyes ? So has she commanded. O ye 
 great ! ye dream not that a slave also has a human heart. 
 You trample it under your feet, and give it not a thought, 
 and take not the slightest heed of its death-pangs. " They 
 dro^n their complaints," said she, " that the joy of the high 
 solemnity may not be disturbed." They dragged them forth 
 to the stone of sacrifice ; they murdered them, and drowned 
 their complaints. Out of the fire which devoured their 
 quivering limbs there arose a sweet odour for the chief priest 
 who sung the praises of the gods. But the men ! the slaves ! 
 the poor! no help, no escape. They must submit. They 
 were dragged forth spite of prayers and resistance. They 
 must submit. Horrible doom of the jNTorna! Hard neces- 
 sity ! And for me to but why necessity for me ? If I 
 
 will, who can constrain me ? Can I not, if I will it, command 
 botli my own fate and that of others ? !N'ecessity exists only 
 
438 
 
 for the weak. The strong makes his own laws, and compels 
 even the gods. My stature indeed is low, but my will is 
 strong. Let the sacrificers tremble. 
 
 If I should kill Trid, and clothe myself in her garments, 
 and deceive King Dag in the obscurity of night ? Loke was 
 cunning, and Loke was successful. I feel that his fire burns 
 in my veins. {She piUs on Frid's mantle, and puts her crown 
 on her head.) In truth a glorious costume. Well may the 
 heart beat proudly beneath this splendour. Now am I the 
 king's daughter. (She gazes at herself in a burnished steel 
 shield.) Woe is me ! I am it not. My figure is short and 
 thick, my eyes small, my hand rough. Woe ! I am the bond- 
 woman's daughter, and my lot is fixed, woe! {Flings doivn 
 the robe and crown, and stamps violently.) No, I will not ; I 
 will not long endure this torture. The snake rages in my 
 vitals, and I long after something which may still its hunger. 
 It must be done — by some means ! Shall I go to the temple, 
 and gaze into the divinely-tranquil countenance of the chief 
 priest, which allays all disquiet ? No ; I see the sacrificial 
 knife in his hand ! — the victim bleeds, — the sacrificers cry — 
 it is the tranquiliity of the gods ! 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS OF LIGHT UP IN THE AIR. 
 
 Look to heaven, 
 
 To the sun look, 
 
 They deceive men never ; 
 
 Shrieks of victims 
 
 Shall have ending, 
 
 God's sure goodness never ! 
 
 Offer hatred. 
 Offer vengeance. 
 Meed of vengeful will, — 
 'Tis but torture ; 
 But the true heart's 
 Lot is lovely still. 
 
 Wonder not then 
 At the lofty 
 
 Peace of powers subljmflu 
 See how brighten 
 Earth's own fortunes 
 In the far-o£r tioM I 
 
TKALIlWiir. 
 
 439 
 
 From the depths, and 
 
 From the heights, will 
 
 There be heard voice, 
 
 That to captive 
 
 And to mourner 
 
 Shall proclaim — " rejoice 1" 
 
 Dumb shall grow each 
 
 Elfin chorus ; 
 
 But in heaven's acclaim 
 
 Loftier spirits 
 
 Shall adore the 
 
 World-Redeemer's name. 
 
 KuMBA (wahes out of deep thought^ and says slo'tioly). But, 
 
 perhaps, after tlie conflict after the sacrifice, after the last 
 
 bitterness, the last eclipse it will become light it will 
 
 be calm, for the victim ! If one surrenders oneself freely, 
 
 bleeds quietly, prays, and dies ! 1 hear happy voices speak 
 
 of peace and reconciliation, but, perhaps, they are only 
 
 seductive illusions. I have had such before ! 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS OF DARKNESS UNDER THE EARTH. 
 Sweet is revenge, for 
 It strengthens and quiets 
 Feelings of storm iu 
 The suffering heart. 
 Drink of its fountain, 
 Heart, thirst-consumed, 
 Deep be thy draught, 
 And thy thirst is no more. 
 
 Slavish souls waver — 
 They will and they will not; 
 Dare, then shrink trembling, 
 And perish in pain ! 
 Spirits heroic 
 Dare, and accomplish, 
 Quenching their pangs 
 In the conqueror's blood. 
 
 KuMBA {as "before). Yes. Yes, they were illusions — and I 
 was merely weak. I hear well-known voices ascend out of 
 the depth, and reproach me witli it. Despicable is the 
 eternally-complaining, eternally-hesitating soul. Despicable 
 1 will not be. I know what I will do. Yonder, far amongst 
 the rocks, on the desolate shore, which the traveller dreads 
 
440 
 
 Til VLINNAIN-. 
 
 and the mariner sliuns, dwelleth a sorceres.-s, noted for hef 
 various knowledge, and exercising the mighty magic art — Seid, 
 To her I will go — Avill bestovv on her the most precious thing 
 which I possess, on condition that she exerts her magic art 
 for me, and gives my heart rest. Ha ! this thonght invigorates 
 my soul. It is said that snakes and wolves are her com- 
 panions. Them I fear not. I have known them as they 
 raged here within me. Away ! away ! To her ! to her ! 
 
 Scene VIII. — Feid (alone, standing in a windoiv of the 
 Castle) . 
 
 Eeid. What a storm ! The night is wild, and in vain have 
 I sought rest upon my bed. The sea-gull's cries sound shrill 
 amid the roar of the waves. Ean's daughters, the dolorous, 
 the poison- mixing, who, with pale hair, wander from rock to 
 rock, seeking warm human hearts that they may press to 
 their cold bosoms, how they now rave and foam, tumbling 
 over each other — the terrible ones ! "Wildly dash pale light- 
 nings from the careering clouds. O ye friendly powers, who 
 desire the good of men, protect my beloved one on his voyage. 
 Conduct him victoriously through the storms and the waves! 
 He is a true descendant of the race of the gods, and so is his 
 bride. Protect, bless us both ! [She is silent. 
 
 Is it the gloom of night which thus operates on my mind, 
 or — is it an unhappy foreboding ? But there is a strange 
 feeling in my bosom, and gloomy thoughts arise there, like 
 the black elves out of the earth. Frid was not formerly 
 weak and easily terrified ; she has not trembled at the 
 thunders of war ; and when the winter-night came black and 
 threatening, then I thought on King Dag and remained 
 cheerful. Why then now ? Now that he is no longer far 
 off, now that he approaches every moment nearer to me, when 
 I shall speedily look into his clear eyes — wherefore now this 
 unquiet, this secret quaking in my heart ? [Fauses, 
 
 The sky is dark and wild. On the desolate coast gleam 
 meteor lights. I know that they are base creatures, and seek 
 to injure mankind. But ouglit, indeed, flames, gleaming 
 spirits of witchcraft, to work evil to a descendant of Balder ? 
 Ought King Da^j'a bride to fear them. She will not. 
 
 [Another silence. 
 
441 
 
 "What strange power is it wliich moves itself in the air — 
 BO strong, so mighty to disturb ? And this light, so mild, 
 almost faint, like a feeble petitioner — whom does it guide 
 through the dark night ? Why is this light so different to 
 that of the sun in splendour, and in its effect on the heart ? 
 How it battles with the dark clouds ! Now it is quenched. 
 Strange world, strange dark deep ! 
 
 I have been very happy. I have gone through life as in 
 the radiance of a strong sunshine. If at any time the night 
 threatened me, there came only a brighter day. But if the 
 night should now come in earnest, and change my life into 
 darkness ! 
 
 I have not reflected much on life. The very happy merely 
 enjoy, and do not think. I have enjoyed life, and praised 
 the goodness of the gods. But many are not so happy as I 
 am. Many have little or no gladness. How do the world 
 and the gods appear to them ? 
 
 Thoughts arise in me which I never had before. The lot 
 of life seems to me strangely dealt on the earth. "Why do 
 some men receive so much, and others so little ? The god- 
 desses of fate sprinkle the branches of the tree of the world 
 with life-giving streams ; but the drops fall unequally. 0 ! 
 but the fresh, the richly-sprinkled branches will bend them- 
 selves over the dry ones, and impart to them of their mois- 
 ture. This is certainly the will of the benevolent gods, and 
 Frid's highest happiness shall be to follow it. And if some 
 time my hour should come, my hour to suffer — what is that ? 
 Te gods ! what a hideous shape rides there on the pale moon- 
 beams ! He is little and black as a son of Hel. Is it one 
 of the spirits which was born to Loke by the witch Angur- 
 boda ; or is it a creation of my sick imagination ? No, it 
 
 draws nearer ! It is no illusion ! Speak, hideous one ! 
 
 Who art thou ? What is thy will ? 
 
 Black-Elf. From the under-earth I come on a message 
 to thee. 
 
 Erid. To what end ? Wherefore ? 
 
 Black-Elf. Misfortune awaits thee. Death threatens 
 thee. 
 
 Erid. Death ! Ah, no ! I will not die, no ! 
 Black-Elf. Death is near thee. 
 
 EfiiD. Nay, nay ! Ah ! What dost thou at my heart ? 
 
U2 
 
 It is become so heavy. Away, black one, away Tbou iDayst 
 not injure me ! I am of the race of the gods. 
 
 Black-Elf. Hel waits for thee in his dark dwelling. 
 
 \^IIe vanishes, 
 
 Frid. I will not ! No, I will not ! Away ! Ha ! What 
 a frost there is in my veins ! Kumba ! Kumba ! 
 
 Scene IX. — Kijmba* Frid. 
 Kumba. Princess ? 
 
 Erid. Kumba! I am ill! Nay, turn not so pale, Kumba. 
 It will pass away. Is he gone, the hideous one ? Seest thou 
 nothing, Kumba ? there, in the moonshine ? 
 
 Kumba. I see nothing — except the shadow of thy own 
 head on the wall. Look thyself. 
 
 Frid. I have, indeed, had a bad dream. It was a miser- 
 able dream — a very miserable dream. It agitated me deeply. 
 It was a weakness. Grive me something to drink. 
 
 Kumba. Take this draught. It will strengthen you. 
 
 Frid. Thanks — I need it. How thy hand trembles, good 
 Kumba. The drink was good. Thanks, Kumba ! 
 
 Kumba (after a moment's silence) . Dost thou feel thyself 
 better ? 
 
 Frid. Yes — I am better. I am calmer now. Gro again 
 to thy bed, Kumba. I, too, will go to rest, and endeavour to 
 forget this dream. Grood night. 
 
 Kumba. Good night ! \_She withdraws, 
 
 Frid. I will try to sleep. I will no longer think on this 
 hideous apparition. It was, perhaps, only a deception, a 
 night shadow, which will vanish in the light of day. I will 
 sleep, — I will sleep. 
 
 Act IL — Scene I. — The Flower Garden, The evening. 
 Kumba. Feima. 
 
 Kumba. Thou weepest, Feima. — Wherefore ? 
 
 Feima. Canst thou ask ? Is not the daughter of kings 
 sick, sick to death ? Do not her steps every day become 
 fainter, her cheeks paler ? See we not the traces of bitter 
 tears on that countenance which before beamed only with 
 Bmiles ? Is not her very voice weak and faltering ? 
 
443 
 
 KrMBA. And therefore dost thou weep ? 
 
 Eeima. Yes; I weep, I will weep, that the lovely, the 
 divinely-good Trid shall go away from the earth ; that Hreimer 
 and I shall lose our beloved mistress ; that the young king 
 will come home, and find his beautiful bride grown pale. 
 How desolate will the rose-garden be, when we no longer see 
 there the daughter of kings, no longer hear her silver voice • 
 no longer see her beautiful countenance, she, the queen of 
 all flowers ! O, it was a feast for me even to look upon 
 her ! 
 
 Ktjmba. Thou callest her the divinely-good. Why sayst 
 thou that ? 
 
 Teima. Is she not so ? Does she not desire to make 
 every creature happy ? 
 
 KuMBA. Out of her rich treasure, she takes some gold-dust 
 and throws it around her. Who could not do that ? What 
 endures, what suffers she for the help of her fellow-creatures ? 
 Does she, indeed, touch with a finger the burden under which 
 thou art bowed down ? Does she stoop in order to alleviate 
 thy fatigue ? 
 
 Teima Kumba, thou art strange! Can, indeed, one of 
 the race of the gods do thus ? 
 
 KuMBA. Why not, if it be good ? Is not goodness, is not 
 mercy divine ? 
 
 Eeima. Yes ; but the high gods, and their descendants, 
 cannot perform the labours of slaves. It is not befitting 
 them. Every one has his proper part. 
 
 Ktjmba. See then — it is therefore that I cannot do homage 
 to thy gods, because they deem themselves too good to do 
 good to us. My God, he before whom I would bow my 
 knee, must do otherwise. 
 
 Eeima. And how ? 
 
 Ktjmba. He should cause himself to be born in a lowly 
 hut ; he should participate in our burdens and our sufferings ; 
 he should choose his friends from amongst the despised and 
 poor. He should, like the slaves, be scorned by the high, 
 and partaking in their whole fortune, should, although inno- 
 cent, be put to death as a malefactor. But after death, he 
 should come again in his glory to his own, and say to them, 
 
 " I have suffered this with you and for you, that you might 
 
not despair, but believe that the Father of all looks down 
 upon you ; for, on the other side of Hel's dwellings, he has 
 prepared a place for you, where you shall rest from your 
 labours, where your tears shall be wiped away, and where 
 fou shall live in glory mth me to the end of the world!" 
 Oh, many other words should he say, at which the earth 
 should tremble — power should be thrown down — chains 
 should burst, and the fate of the slaves be changed . . . . 
 the earth be bathed in blood ! . . . . Ha ! glorious, glorious ! 
 
 Teima. What spirit speaks through thee ? Foam stands 
 around thy pale lips. And thy words ! How wild and 
 strange they sound ! Kumba ! listen ! Thou terrifiest me ; 
 but I understand thee not. 
 
 Ktjmba. That I believe. 
 
 Feima. But this I understand, that she is good who gave 
 me this chain, who built for Hreimer and me a cottage ; who 
 every day made my heart glad with her friendly words. I 
 know that I would rather bear burdens twice as heavy than 
 see her oppressed by the least thing. When she commands, 
 and I obey her, I know that it ought so to be, and that it is 
 best for us both that it should be so. 
 
 Ktjmba. Thou art a slave, body and soul. Eemain in thy 
 dust ! 
 
 Feima. I will so, Kumba, and it shall not hinder me from 
 being contented, and from believing in the goodness of the 
 gods to great and small. To the gods will I now pray for 
 the daughter of kings, that she may be restored to life, to 
 her young consort and us. Blessed be he who heals her ; 
 blessed be he who averts from her Hel's cold hand ! But 
 cursed be he who desires her suiFering ! And if it be a human 
 hand, may it be thus cursed ! May Nifelhem's cold poison- 
 stream drop for ever on the traitor's heart; may he never 
 enjoy gladness on the earth ! 
 
 Kumba. Sister, speak not thus ! 
 
 Feima. Yes, thus will I speak ! I will work evil to the 
 evil one who desires the death of the good one ! But I will 
 not yet despair. I will sacrifice and pray for her. Seest 
 thou this beautiful chain ? I received it from her ; for her 
 will I offer it for the reconcilement of the unfriendly powers ! 
 
 [ Goes, 
 
TEALINNAS'. 
 
 445 
 
 SCEKE II. 
 
 KuMBA {alone). Blessings, curses, all are alike to menow^ 
 and stir my heart scarcely more than a faint evening breeze 
 stirs the leaf of the aspen. Thus has it been within me since 
 I ate of the she-wolf's heart, at the old w^oman's in Jernskog. 
 It made my heart hard and cold. The swelling, its scathing 
 torture, ceased. Hunger for revenge grew strong for action. 
 I took courage to give to the proud daughter of kings the 
 poison-draught w^hich the sorceress had prepared. Since 
 then there lies a trance upon my soul — it seems to me to 
 sleep heavily, heavily ; — will it not awake ? {A pause.) Frid 
 is dying. Js'ow is her joyous career closed. Now she par- 
 takes the mortal fate of others, and can learn what suffering 
 is. Now will she not embrace, and be embraced by King 
 Dag. All this beauty, this pride, this splendour will wither, 
 moulder into dust ! No more w ill she pass like a reproach 
 over my lite, my feelings. I shall get rest ! 
 
 Rest ! Thou didst promise it me, mighty, dark Grrim- 
 gerda ; but yet lives a gloomy disquiet in the depth of my 
 soul. I thirst after her tears. Methinks they w^ould cool 
 my tongue. A hunger devours me to see her sufferings, 
 hear her lamentations. That must proceed from the she- 
 wolf's heart. Before, I was not so hard. And yet — if it 
 could but be undone — if I could in the fountain of Urda 
 purify myself from this guilt .... could I yet go away 
 and die innocent ! . . . . 
 
 But it is too late. Therefore away, foolish thoughts ! It 
 is too late ; I cannot return ; and therefore forward, forward 
 into the night, till all becomes dark ; forward into hardness, 
 till all becomes rigid and dead. Powers of Afgrund, strengthen 
 my heart ! I cannot win reconcilement with heaven. Well 
 then, Afgrund! give to me then the benefit of my crime. 
 Frid approaches. I will fix my attention on her feel3le gait, 
 on her pale countenance, her dimmed glance. Ha ! now be 
 proud, daughter of kings ! Boast now of love and honour 
 I will hide myself behind the hedge of roses, and listen to 
 her bewailings. Sweeter w^ill they be to me than the song ol 
 the nightingale in the evening. 
 
446 
 
 TRALINNAN. 
 
 Scene III. — Feid {her appearance hetrays a great dehilitt/y 
 wasting sitffering') , 
 
 !Prid. This is the hour when all things weep the death of 
 Balder. There is no tree, no leaf, no flower, which is not 
 bathed in silent tears ; the very stones are bedewed with sad- 
 ness. Now is Nature weak ; her soul is moved ; now can 
 she perhaps feel sympathy with the sufferings of a daughter 
 of humanity ; and will hear her prayer, and put an end to 
 her torment. 
 
 \_Ske supports herself tJiougJitfully against a tree. 
 
 He died, the good — wounded by the hand of a subtle foe, 
 and in the same instant Peace quenched her torch, and Dis- 
 cord kindled her crackling flames. Pain and tears made their 
 home on the earth. Before, it was not thus ; before, it wa^ 
 very different. The gods played joyously on the green earth, 
 and in love created the race of men. But giant maids came 
 and excited woe ; and monsters arose, and strife .... 
 
 . I did not notice this before, but now I see it, for the agony 
 which consumes my body, opens my eyes to the world's 
 suffering. What is good what is pure in life ? Does not 
 the serpent of Midgard coil his venomous circle round the 
 earth ? Does not Nidhogg gnaw at the root of the Tree of 
 the World ? Is there not found a concealed worm in every 
 human heart, in the bosom of every flower ? It slumbers 
 for a while, and the flower diffuses its fragrance, and the 
 man smiles. But it wakes, comes forth, and stings, and the 
 flower withers, and the man dies. 
 
 My hour, too, is come ; my hour of suffering. Since the 
 night when the Black-elf came with its message of terror, a 
 secret disease corrodes my heart, and my days and my nights 
 are without repose. My eyes are weak, my lips parched, my 
 knees tremble — my strength of life dies away ! . . . . 
 
 O Dag ! O my bridegroom ! What wilt thou say when 
 thou comest to thy castle, and findest thy bride changed into 
 a pale ghost ? Yes, perhaps before .... but no ! 
 that were too cruel ! To die without having seen thee were 
 eternal misery. No ! so savage the Nornor are not ! O no I 
 Stands not the All-Father's heaven above me so clear and 
 mild ? Stand not the beings of nature all around me so 
 tearful and tender ? Why, then, should I despair ? Why 
 
447 
 
 Bhould I not yet hope to regain life and happiness ? Perhaps 
 this suffering was merely sent to make me better, and more 
 grateful. I will bow myself before the gods of nature, and 
 implore them for help ; for great is my suffering, great my 
 need of alleviation. 
 
 O ye friendly powers which murmur in the green trees ! 
 Strong and healing are the juices which the sun pours into 
 your bosoms. Proud and strong do ye stand against storm 
 and winter, but on the head of the weary wanderer you 
 stretch your protecting arms, and give a covert to the young 
 of the bird. Hear, ye gentle existences, my lamentation and 
 my prayer. Torture consumes my limbs, and will sink by 
 degrees my body to the grave ! Tell me, O tell me ! have 
 you strength which can give life to my strength ; manna, 
 which can invigorate mine ? 
 
 The Spirits or the Tree. We have it not ! 
 
 Frid. Ye spirits which sport in the bosom of the flowers, 
 which glance up so beautifully and joyously at the light, ye 
 whom I trusted, and loved, and kissed ; say, ye lovely, gracious 
 beings, can ye alleviate, can ye help me ? 
 
 Spirits oe the Plowers (softly/ and sadly), "We can 
 not. 
 
 Prid. Te pale dwarfs, which dwell in cliffs and stones ! 
 I turn to you now, and implore, implore with tears, for great 
 is my suffering ! You, too, weep the death of Balder. O 
 certainly, goodness like gold dwells within your bosoms. 
 Deny me not. Grive healing ; give help ! 
 
 The Dwarfs {roughly). ISTo ! 
 
 Prid. Everywhere refusal ! . . . that is hard. Nature 
 abandons me. Mighty All-Pather ! wilt thou also do so ? 
 To thy heaven I venture to lift my hands, and pray for that 
 life which I received as a gift from thee. Burns not tliv 
 evening-heaven so gloriously in the light of thy countenance ? 
 Dost thou not look down upon the earth with love, and on 
 the beings whom thou hast created ? All-Pather ! listen to 
 my prayer ! Let me live ! Let me, at least, once more wit- 
 ness the return of my bridegroom ; let me yet once see, and 
 embrace my Dag! And if thou grantest my request — send 
 me a sign. Let a star fall, let a sough pass through the 
 grove ! {Pauses.) All is hushed ! It is silent as the grave. 
 The red flames of evening expire, ar d the welkin grows dark, 
 
448 
 
 TRALINKAN. 
 
 Denied even here ! Denied or unheard. It is then certain! 
 I must die ! [^Retires in silence, 
 
 ILxjWBK {comes for tJi). Beautiful! glorious! She sighed; 
 she prayed like me, and was unheard like me. Now are we 
 alike, daughter of kings. Pleasure sits like a eramp in my 
 heart. Eor this moment of enjoyment have thanks, mighty 
 Grrimgerda ! 
 
 Scene IV. — A Boom in the Castle. Feid lies on a couch. 
 It is deep twilight. 
 
 Feid. Long, long hours, how heavily ye stride on ; and 
 nothing affords one moment of rest or forgetfulness. The 
 worm gnaws, and eats even deeper into the tree of my life. 
 Hresvelger, devourer of corpses ! — thou who sittest at the 
 northern end of heaven, and waftest with thy wings — I hear 
 thy cold wind murmur around me. O, I am sick, sick even 
 to the soul ! Darkness has obtained power over me ! My 
 Dag is absent ! I shall die. I shall quit the friendly earth. 
 I shall relinquish my chosen consort, never more to be en- 
 'Jghtened by his glance, never more led by his hand. How 
 will it be with me ? They tell of heavenly dwellings, 
 where the noble and the just find entrance when they issue 
 from Hel's dark realm. What are they? Are they indeed 
 for me, and how will it be with me in them ? Shall I never 
 see again my beloved king ? Shall I love him still when 
 death chills my heart ? Ah, what is my life without my 
 love ! How uncertain, how desolate, pale, and wild is all in 
 the realm of shadows ! I shall die ! I feel how my life 
 dwindles away. Shall it sink into eternal night ? But if all 
 here in life — love, virtue, suffering, patience, should be in 
 
 vain O bitter, bitter thought! Good All- Father, no I 
 
 That cannot be. I will hope, I will trust in thee. Thou 
 didst create the sun and love — thou must be as good as thou 
 art powerful. I will put my head beneath thy hand, and will 
 praise tliee even in the embrace of torture. When tr.y tears 
 fall, they shall not accuse thee. Forgive my weakness, my 
 complaints ! They will soon be over. I have loved thee, and 
 trusted m thee. I will love thee and trust in tliee still, and 
 in my love will find strength to bear my fate. [A pause. 
 
 How ])eaceful is it become within my bosom ! I breathe 
 
TEALHSKAI^". 
 
 449 
 
 more easily. Methinks that a breath of life is breathed upon 
 my forehead. It grows light. 
 
 \_A radiant JjiauT'lEiijY appears at the foot o/Eeid's bed. 
 What an apparition ! My eyes are dazzled ! 
 
 l_She covers her eyes with her hands. After a moment^ shs 
 again looks up. 
 
 Is it still there ? Beautiful, radiant being ! whose splen- 
 dour is like that of the sun, whose countenance is mild as 
 that of a vernal sky. Who art thou ? And whence ? 
 
 Light-Elf. My home is the pale azure space. I am of 
 the race of elves, a guardian genius for mankind. 
 
 Ebid. O thou comest to me as a messenger of life and 
 gladness ! Thou bringest me certainly some of the apples of 
 Iduna, which have power to renew the youth even of the 
 gods. Thou comest to restore to me health and happiuess — 
 my heart tells me so. Or why else shouldst thou come so 
 kindly and radiantly ? The gods have sent thee to me to 
 put an end to this bitter trial, to give me again my Dag ! 
 Why is thy mild glance so powerful ? Why dost thou 
 quench thy clear beams ? Ah, shine, shine, gracious being ! 
 Kindle with thy light the beams of life again in my bosom. 
 
 Lioht-Elf (sorrowfully). Daughter of man ! I cannot! 
 
 Eeid. Cannot? Art thou not sent hither by gracious 
 powers to raise and gladden ? 
 
 Light-Elf. I came to console thee — to make thy death 
 less bitter. 
 
 Erid. Must I then die ? 
 
 Light-Elf. The Nornor have determined it. 
 
 Erid. The goddesses of Eate ? The inexorable, the fear- 
 ful ! What have I done to them ? Why do they desire my 
 death ? 
 
 Light-Elf. Daughter of man, I do not know. Tlie chd- 
 dren of Alfhem are permitted to know the will of the IMigbty 
 One, but not to penetrate its causes. 
 
 Erid. Then why comest thou to me ? Why shouldst 
 thou, by awaking fresh hopes, awaken fresh pangs ? Leave 
 me ! I can die without thee. Leave me ! Thy light gives 
 me pain. 
 
 [_TJie Light-Elf retires, and waits at the bottom of th6 
 room like afaintqlimmer, 
 2 F 
 
450 
 
 Frid. Is ho ^one ? I was impatient, hasty ! Hovt wealr 
 
 I am ! And he came to give me consolation But what ? 
 
 Do I not see yonder, although feeble, his friendly gleam ? O 
 come again, thou lovely, gracious being ! Pardon the weak- 
 ness of the dying. Come back ! and If thou hast comfort to 
 
 give me, speak to me, and strengthen my soul 
 
 \_The LiaHT-ELF returns, hut surrounds himself only with 
 a feeble gloiu. Fhid proceeds. 
 
 Thou art very good, and it does my heart good. I feel 
 that to thee I can open my innermost heart. See, friendly 
 being, I have suffered much in a short time ; and my own 
 anguish has made my eyes quick to perceive the sufferings of 
 mortals. It has seemed to me that nothing was good on 
 earth ; and there have been moments in which I have doubted 
 of the goodness of the gods — of all that makes life valuable ; 
 for all under the sun was uncertain and changeable — all 
 flowers blooming only to wither — all creatures born only 
 to die. 
 
 Light-Ele. Does not the heaven vault itself eternally over 
 the changeable earth, embracing it from morning till even- 
 ing ? So does the All-Father surround the world, and bear 
 it in his faithful embrace. The sun continues for ever the 
 same ; and in the sun thou beholdest an image of the All- 
 Father's ever-watching eye ! 
 
 Feid. Yet war exists on earth ; and the old legends prog- 
 nosticate a fearful strife, in which the earth, and men, and 
 gods shall perish. 
 
 Light-Elf. They will rise again, glorified. One God, 
 mighty, just, and good, will then reign in all. Balder will 
 again live upon the earth, and all evil will disappear from it. 
 O daughter of man ! the path of life is strife ; but the goal 
 is peace, and the means reconciliation. A day shall come 
 when heaven and earth become one, and gods and men, as of 
 old, shall on the green Idavall play happily together. 
 
 Frii). But when the powers contend, when worlds perish 
 and are born again, O say ! where shall the souls who are 
 already gone hence find their home ? 
 
 Li gut-Elf. Many good houses has the All-Father for the 
 just on earth. But the most beautiful is the lofty Gimle ; a 
 house more fair than the sun, and roofed with gold. There 
 ehall fciithful and word-keeping men dwell. 
 
TBALINNAN. 
 
 451 
 
 Feid. Is tliere a home there for me ? Shall my d^\^elliiig 
 be Gimle the lofty ? 
 
 Light-Elf. Daughter of man ! I cannot tell thee that ; for 
 many are the races of man, and many are the houses. Per- 
 haps Trigga will take thee up into her glorious Yingolf, 
 amongst the blessed troops of the Assynior. Perhaps wilt 
 thou become one of the chosen virgins who dwell with Grefion 
 in her heavenly palace. Thy dwelling I cannot declare ; but 
 one thing I can promise thee, in the name of the mighty gods 
 — life after de^.th ! 
 
 Prid. And tell me, 0 tell me ! — for, of all things, that is 
 to me the most important — shall I, beyond death, see again 
 my beloved king, my bridegroom ? 
 
 Light-Elf. Is thy soul strong in its love to him ? 
 
 Prid. Without him life has no value for me ; but to pur- 
 chase immortality for him, I will myself become nothing. 
 
 Light-Elf. O then rejoice, daughter of man ! Por if thy 
 love is stronger than death, then death can never again have 
 power to separate you. 
 
 Prid. Almighty and good gods ! What say est thou ? 
 
 Light-Elf. After death thou shalt become his Pylgia, and 
 guide him through all life's dispensations. In his dreams 
 thou canst approach him, and whisper in his ears thy eternal 
 truth ; thou canst warn him of the dangers which menace 
 him, of the foe who seeks his life. When he reposes from 
 his fatigues in war, thou canst draw near to him in the shape 
 of a bird, and enchant his soul with song. Changed into the 
 loveliest rose, thou canst breathe fragrance for him, and in 
 fragrance impart thy love. When a treacherous enemy lies 
 in wait for him, thirsting for his blood, thou canst take his 
 form, and the traitor shall cast his spear at thee, and pierce — 
 only the air ! But thou weepest ? 
 
 Prid. Por joy ! How delightful are thy words, beautiful 
 child of the azure welkin. Why do they not let death become 
 bright ? I shall no longer fear the time which separates me 
 from earthly life, since, O my Dag ! I shall then better be 
 able to accompany and serve thee than I am in this mortal 
 shape. But tell me more, O spirit of light ! tell under what 
 circumstances his death-hour also shall arrive ! 
 
 Light-Elf. His Pylgia can cause him to fall with honour 
 amid the glory of battle and victory. Por him the house of 
 2 F 2 
 
452 
 
 TRALINNAlir. 
 
 spirits cannot be dark, for thou wilt be there to receive him 
 The King of Shadows will unite thee to thy consort. 
 
 Erid. Beautiful, but wild sound thy words. Shudderinga 
 pass through me. Dark seems to me life in the kingdom of 
 the dead. Yet love lives there, and in the Spirit's house I 
 shall meet my consort. But afterwards, 0 Spirit of Light ! — 
 afterwards — shall he leave me ? May I accompany him to 
 Odin's radiant halls ? May I not sit there on the seat by his 
 side, and fill his cup with wine ? 
 
 Light-Elf. Mortal! ask no more. No more can I telL 
 Deep are the councils of the gods, and the children of Alfhem 
 cannot fathom them. Many a secret rests yet in the breast 
 of the mighty ; many a beauty, many a strength, which one 
 day shall be revealed. Many stars, yet unknown, shall be 
 kindled in the All-Father's heaven. 
 
 Frid. And the life which shall be kindled in this celestial 
 home — shall it no more die ? 
 
 LiaHT-ELr. That is known to the gods ; we know it not. 
 
 Frid. Eadiant pictures hast thou given me, but surrounded 
 by darkness. My soul is sorrowful. 
 
 LiaHT-ELE. O daughter of man ! Complain not, but 
 humble thyself before the will of the gods. For too insigni- 
 ficant is man, that the gods on his account should lay open 
 their sacred depths. Be satisfied with the light which their 
 goodness bestows, and sink consoled into the All-Father's 
 embrace. \_IIe disappears. 
 
 Scene V. — A wild Scene of Hocks. It is night, 
 
 KiJMBA. Where am I ? .... I have lost my way. Around 
 me glide the spectres of night, and over me thunders the 
 Avenger. It is so dark both without and within my bosom ; 
 is so stifling. Air ! light ! 
 
 [^Thunder and lightning, A tree near Kumba falls 
 headlong. She darts forward, and seeks refuge in a 
 cleft of the rocks. 
 What was that ? Ha ! merely a tree which fell, struck 
 by the thunderbolt. Why do I tremble ? Why am I ter- 
 rified ? Are not these bare uplands familiar to me ? Are 
 they not pale scenes out of my soul's thunder-night ? 
 
 [A pame* 
 
TfllLINNAJS". 
 
 453 
 
 Why is it now so hushed, so silent ? This silence is tor- 
 ture. Why gleam the wan stars so wildly over the crags ? 
 The whole sky is one cloud. Can they see through the 
 clouds ? What comes sailing there over the black ridge of 
 rocks ? Ah, merely a cloud, a dark thunder-cloud. It shrouds 
 the stars ; — good ! — I am tired of wandering about ! — I have 
 long gone round as in a magic circle ; — I must rest. 
 
 [Pauses, KuMBA leans against a rock, and afterwards 
 proceeds more calmly. 
 
 It is the hour when the wilderness is alive ; when its mis- 
 creations, born at midnight, roam forth to visit the dwellings 
 of man. The moon, the sun of dark spirits, sends abroad 
 her wan beams to light them in their nocturnal way. There 
 rides Mara on her dragon-steed, she who stifled King Yan- 
 land in his pleasant sleep, before he could say farewell to his 
 family. There rise the dead and Dvalin's daughters from the 
 bogs, and with peering eyes creep small spirits forth from 
 their caves. Painful feelings, wicked thoughts go they to 
 awaken in the souls of tliose who rest on their beds. They 
 seek to create disquiet, I seek rest. I seek the sorceress, she 
 who deceived me. I 'will compel her to ke6;p her promise. 
 But it is so dark ; I cannot find again the way to her house. 
 Who shall show it to me ? [A whirlwind. 
 
 Ha ! the whirlwind, the spirit of the sorceress ! That 
 tells me that the old woman is not far olF. 
 
 [Afresh ivhirlwind* 
 
 Again ! Good. I come, Grimgerda. Have thanks for 
 thy strengthening summons. [Thunder and lightning. 
 
 Why quakes t thou, tree, till thy very roots tremble ? Why 
 this howling in the wood ? Joturen makes such a riot 
 amongst the rocky hills that the giant-cauldrons ring. 
 Startled creep the dwarfs back into their hiding-places, ter- 
 rified at the thunder of the gods. Cowardly creatures of 
 earth ! Cold drops of perspiration, indeed, stand on my 
 brow ; but I shrink not away like you ! Lighten, lighten, 
 Father Thor, angry ruler of the cloudy air ; and if I must be 
 thy Thrall after death, then is it only reasonable that for 
 once thou shouldst serve me, and light up my earthly waf 
 with thy flaming glances. 
 
 [Fierce lightnings, amid which Kumba disappears amon^ 
 the crags. 
 
454 
 
 Scene VI. — A llach mountain Cave. Within glimmers a tea 
 fire. A Jcettle stands on the fire ; three Vipers hang over 
 it, out of whose mon ths venom drops. The Sorceress Grim-^ 
 gerda stirs the kettle, while she mutters softly and makes 
 mystic signs. JBlack-elves, wicked Disor, and Imps, move 
 themselves restlessly in the cave. Two Wolves watch its 
 entrance. 
 
 Imps. 
 
 Wliat is that wliich rustles ? 
 
 What is that which bustles 
 
 In the wood and the dark out there ? 
 
 A woman cometh hither ! 
 
 Ah ! now for a sly joke with her ! 
 
 Quick ! and we'll seize her ere she is aware ! 
 
 G-RIMGEEDA. Silence, witch-pack! to your places, or I shall 
 teach you ! If I receive company, what is that to you ? If 
 ye hold not your ungovernable tongues, I will turn you into 
 stones — as I once did with some of you — and you shall have 
 to lick up the rain. Back into your caves, I say ! Intoxicate 
 yourselves with the substantial poison-fumes, and sleep in 
 peace till I need you. Only my choice attendants shall re- 
 main near me. Out of the way, bantlings ! 
 
 [^The Imps heing terrified away, four Shadow-shapes of a 
 wild aspect remain ahout the Sorceress. The Wolves 
 raise themselves and howl. At the same time enters 
 KuMBA ivith a pale hut defying face. GtHIMGEEDA 
 strikes with her magic wand on thefioor. The Wolves 
 lie down, and Ktjmba remains standing at the entrance 
 of the Gave. 
 
 G-RiM GERDA. Silence there, presumptuous child of man ! 
 I know thee. 
 
 KuMBA. Dost thou know Kumba, the bondwoman's daugh- 
 ter ? My feet mayst thou chain down, but not my will, my 
 tongue. 
 
 GitiM GERDA. Perhaps that too — if I wish it. But I wish 
 it not — now. Come nearer. "Why art thou come hither ? 
 
 Kumba. To warn thee, witch, to keep thy vow. 
 
 Grimgerda. What ? thou do^^t not speak civiUy. 
 
 Ktjmba. Give me rest ! Give me rest ! Thou promised 
 to give me rest. But thou hast deceived me. 
 
455 
 
 Geimgekda. Speak not so loudly. Thou wiH waken my 
 iittle ones who sleep. 
 
 KuMBA. They sleep ! It is now long since I ha^e slept at 
 aU! 
 
 G-EiMGEB-DA. What dost thou want ? 
 
 KuMBA. Everything. O Grrimgerda! if thou hast a 
 human hearc in thy bosom, then conceive my distress, and 
 help me. The strength which thou gavest me is gone. The 
 tranquillity which I felt at one time is gone ; an anguish con- 
 sumes me, more tormenting, more horrible, than that which 
 I experienced before my crimes. The liglit of the sun ter- 
 rifies me ; the murmur of the trees makes me tremble ; no 
 sleep rests on my eyelids ; no tear refreshes them ; and I 
 cannot look upon her whom I have murdered, upon her whc 
 now wears away patiently in despair, without feeling my 
 heart transpierced as with a poisoned dart. The dart is 
 called — remorse. Bemorse drives me to thee to-day. I w^ill 
 have my crime undone. Grrimgerda ! tliou who gavest the 
 disease, knowest also the antidote. I entreat thee for a 
 means to counteract the poison which kills the daughter of 
 kings, the means to restore her again to life. 
 
 Gkimgeeda. Doth the arrow, once discharged, stop and 
 turn back in its fliglit ? Ask the stream to flow back to its 
 source ; the ridge of rocks to bend itself according to the 
 changing current of the wind. ! roolish mortal ! That 
 which is done cannot be undone ; and a strong spirit denies 
 not its own work. 
 
 KuMBA. Thou canst not. 
 
 Grimgerda. Cannot, because I will not ; will not, be- 
 cause Jernskog's daughter cannot vacillate and repent. 
 
 KuMBA. Can gold purchase salvation for the daughter of 
 kings ? 
 
 Grimgerda. I love gold ; but I will not deceive thee< 
 Gold and treasure cannot save her. She must die. 
 
 KuMBA. It is determined then. She must die, and I 
 
 I am miserable ! 
 
 Grimgerda. Poor child ! 
 
 KuMBA. Dost thou pity me ? Thou understandest me 
 then: and there lives a heart in thy bosom. O Grimgerda! 
 be good to me ! I have suffered so much ! Hast thou, too, 
 suffered ? Knowest thou the sorrow which devours the heai-t ? 
 
456 
 
 GrRiMGEBDA. I understand thee, and — it grieves me for 
 thee. Here, my child, eat and strengthen thyself. Thenwa 
 will talk further. 
 
 KuMBA. No, no ! I cannot eat. 
 
 Grimgekda. Such good is not often offered. It gives 
 clearness and learning iu a variety of ways. 
 
 KuMBA. Grive me peace ! Grive me a draught out of the 
 cup of forgetfulness. 
 
 GrRiMaERDA. The dead only drink that. 
 
 KuMBA. Give me death then ! Let one of thy serpents 
 sting me. 
 
 Grim aE ED A. Serpents do not sting their like. 
 
 KuMBA. Thy words, Grimgerda, sting all the more. But 
 I will forgive thee all, if thou wilt but give me death and 
 forgetfulness, — eternal, if possible. 
 
 Grimgerda. They only, who have not done something on 
 earth memorable, something great, in good or in evil, can in 
 death taste of the cup of oblivion. 
 
 KuMBA. Woe is me ! The draught is not for me then. 
 Listen ! There is a sleep, a trance, between life and death, 
 in which man feels neither snow nor rain, neither day nor 
 the heat of the sun ; knows nothing, feels nothing, except a 
 reluctance to awake. Say, canst thou not plunge me into 
 that ? 
 
 Grimgerda. Thou desirest that which can alone be the 
 lot of mighty spirits. Kumba, daughter of the bondwoman, 
 thou art not ripe for that. 
 
 Kumba. That, too, dost thou deny me ? (wildly?) Well 
 then, witch ! discharge thy vow in another manner. I 
 bought it dearly, and will not have done it for nothing. Thou 
 promised my soul rest, and thou shalt keep thy promise, or I 
 swear by Nastrand .... 
 
 Grimgerda. Silence, wretched slave! Darest thou to 
 menace me? Abase thyself! Creep like a worm in the 
 dust at my feet, or thou slialt ride on the wolf, and be stung 
 by serpents. Fall down this instant, and beg pardon, or . . . 
 
 Kumba. Or what ? Dost thou think that thou canst 
 frighten me, Grimgerda ? The pure light of the sun can 
 terrify me, and the wliispering of spirits in the wood can make 
 tne tremble ; but thee — thee 1 fear not ! Show me the torture 
 which thou hast in thy power that is o^rcater than mat whic^i 
 
457 
 
 I ab eady know. Let thy wolves tear me to pieces. I will 
 laugh at it. But in the hour itself of my death, dread 
 thou me, Glrimgerda! It is not equal between us. What 
 have I to lose, to fear ? JN'othing ! But thou, witch, canst 
 lo-se thy power and thy wealth. Tremble then ! for I feel in 
 my suffering heart a power which is greater than thine ! 
 Tremble, at the curse which in the hour of death shall issue 
 from my pallid lips — tremble ! 
 
 GiiiM(^iim>A (aside). Ha! Strength! strength! G-reat 
 strength ! Grood ; thou shalt serve a still greater cunning. 
 
 [Aloud. 
 
 Kumba! To what purpose this childish insolence and 
 defiance ? Why wilt thou provoke only an increase of tliy 
 misery ? Be quiet, be obedient, and I both can and will 
 keep thee. 
 
 Kumba. Ah, say how ! Pardon my defiance, O Grim- 
 gerda. I am still and obedient. Speak, speak ! 
 
 GiiiMGEEDA. All the torments of thy soul proceed from 
 this, that thou standest on the half-way. The escape from 
 thy misery is called completion ! 
 
 XuMBA. Speak more plainly. 
 
 G-EiMGERDA. Enter fully and for ever into my service. 
 The first matter which I will give thee to complete shall be 
 the ratification of our compact. 
 
 Kumba. And what shall be my reward ? 
 
 G-RiMGEBDA. Thou shall acquire great power already in 
 this life. After death, I will awake thee, and doubly great 
 power shall be given thee to injure the great on the earth, 
 for no power exceeds that of the departed spirit. Thou shalt 
 become r^s one of mine own, as one of the mighty Disor 
 which thou hast seen around me. 
 
 Kumba. Have they peace ? 
 
 Geimgerda. Observe them. 
 
 Kumba. I see no pain in their features. There seems to 
 play over their sallow lips a smile ; but it is not glad. The 
 countenances of some appear restless, and yet on the point 
 of being changed into stone. 
 
 Grimgerda. Thou seest them now in their twilight cos- 
 tumes, in their night mantles, in which they recently made a 
 journey into the world ot men. But they do not always 
 appear thus dim. When I will it, they glitter in their h^li- 
 
458 
 
 duy attire, and at my beck a splendour surrounds them wliicli 
 surpasses that of the temple of Upsala. See for thyself. 
 
 \_The Sorceress ivaves a wand, and the Cave all over a/p^ 
 'pears as heaming with gold. The Witch and the Disor 
 are seen in splendid dresses, and with jewelled crowns 
 on their heads. After a pause, GrRiMaEEDA speaks. 
 Now, what thinkest thou ? 
 
 Ktjmba. That is grand ! (aside?) But they are none the 
 Handsomer for it. 
 
 GrRiMaERDA. "What say est thou ? 
 Ktjmba. I say that is grand ! 
 
 G-RiMaEEDA. Yes, I think so. The like shall not be seen 
 in the dwelling of the most ostentatious Jarl. 
 
 \_She makes another sign with the staffs and the splendour 
 disappears. 
 
 Kttmba. But it seemed to me that the gold was red as 
 glowing fire, and that I saw lizards and spiders running 
 about amongst the precious stones. 
 
 GrEiMGEBDA. That is because thou art unaccustomed to 
 such pomp ; and therefore it causes, as it were, spiders' webs 
 before thy eyes. But not only splendour and affluence are 
 here offered by us, but joy too ; and thou mayst well believe 
 that it goes often right merrily here. Here one knows 
 neither anguish nor remorse. Here we eat and drink well, 
 — sleep when we will ; and between whiles, dance and frisk 
 to our hearts' content. Thou shalt have a specimen. 
 
 [GrRiMGERDA hlows a hom. The Cave see7ns at once to 
 become alive. Black-JElves, Dwarfs, and Spirits swarm 
 forth, and riot ahout in a wild dance. 
 KuMBA {aside). Afgrund's music to Afgrund's dance. Is 
 this joy ? No, it is frenzy ! 
 
 (Aloud to the Imps, that icill drag her into the dance.) 
 Away from me, ye wild beasts ! ye foiil hobgoblins ! I 
 have no desire for your joy. Grrimgerda, let the tasteless 
 dance have an end. It is irksome. 
 
 Gbimgerba. It is not so easy to compel them to cease 
 when they are become well heated in the dance. Cold water 
 mast then be had recourse to. 
 
 \_She strikes with the witch-wand on the rocks. Streams 
 of water spring forth upon the dancing goblins, who fly, 
 hon^ling and hurrying, terrified into their dens* Th6 
 Witch laugf*^. 
 
TEALINNAN. 
 
 459 
 
 Gkimgekda. This merriment moves thee not, becauso 
 thou art unused to it. But ask my imps whether they think 
 the dance tedious. When thou hast been some time with 
 us, thou wilt find it as delightful as they do. 
 
 KuMBA {sighs). 
 
 GkimgekijA. Well, bondmaiden, has thou a desire to be- 
 come free in my service ? 
 
 KuMBA (indignantly). Like one of these ? 
 
 GrRiMGERDA. No, freer. Listen, Kumba. I mean well 
 by thee, and have something great in store for thee. I have 
 discovered in thee a higher power than exists in all those who 
 are about me, a power worthy of mine. I will give thee a 
 commission, which an ordinary spirit could not accomplish. 
 If thou executest it according to my instructions, the tor- 
 ment in thy bosom shall not only cease for ever, but I will 
 regard thee as my daughter. Thou shalt partake of my 
 wealtli ; and thy power to injure the great, and to command 
 the low, shall become like mine. Thou shalt partake with me 
 my dwelling ; and when thou wilt, thou shalt change it into 
 a gorgeous palace, and adorn thyself with .... 
 
 Kumba. Let us make the business short. At what price 
 wilt thou have soul ? 
 
 GriiiMGERDA. Listen! and observe well my words. In the 
 strongly-fortified castle, on the other side of the water, dwells 
 a Jarl, named Harald Sigurdson 
 
 Kumba. I know him. A handsome, and a brave man, and 
 a friend of King Dag. 
 
 GrRiMGERDA. I hate him ; but still more fiercely do I hate 
 his wife, the proud Herborg. 
 
 Kumba. Very well. 
 
 G-EiMGERDA. They have a child — a boy of three years old. 
 His parents' greatest delight. 
 
 Kumba. That beautiful child I have carried in my arras ! 
 Grimgerda. ThoLi shalt kill that child. 
 Kumba. I ? A little child ? 
 
 Geimgerda. And before its heart' s-blood cools, thou shalt 
 — drink it. 
 
 Kumba. Detestable! 
 
 Geimgerda. That only can for ever take away thy soul's 
 sickness. 
 
 Kumba, No, no ! I cannot do it. 
 
460 
 
 GrBiMaERDA By this means only canst thou acquire my 
 friendship, and participate in my affluence and my power ; by 
 this alone can the bondwoman's daughter become a free and 
 mighty being. 
 
 KuMBA. &reat gods preserve me ! 
 
 GrEiMGERDA. Dost thou imagine that the gods will trouble 
 themselves about thee ? But I understand thy remorse, 
 Kumba. Nature shudders at extraordinary deeds ; but it is 
 precisely this which separates the strong from the despicable 
 spirit, — the power to conquer the weakness of nature. 
 
 KiJMBA.. Short and good, I will not do it ! Do with me 
 what thou wilt — I do it not ! 
 
 G-RiMGEEDA. Do it uot ? Do it not ? We will see that ! 
 Thou shalt, thou must, thou shalt ! Thou goest not hence 
 alive, if thou refusest to do it. 
 
 Kumba. Let thy wolves rend me to pieces, — I will not do 
 it. My hate, impelled by wild passions, I could seek to gra- 
 tify ; but an innocent child, which never offended me — no ! 
 so fallen I am not. Thanks, Grrimgerda, that thou restorest 
 my strength. I can now, miserable as I ain, detest and 
 despise thy treasures. 
 
 G-RlMaERDA. Art thou proud of thy cowardice ? Offspring 
 of wretches, go ! Thou art not worthy to be near the sor- 
 ceress. Gro, paltry one, and remain the slave of the Jarls. 
 
 Kumba. Better that, than to be like thee. 
 
 G-RiMaERDA. Wretch ! dost thou exalt thyself above me ? 
 Miserable, cowardly murderess ! who hast not the strength to 
 resist evil, hast not the courage to be strong in crime. Con- 
 temptible slave, begone ! My wolves would loathe thy spongy 
 carcase ! Go ! but bear with thee the curse which I an- 
 nounce to thee — " Thou shalt neither find rest here, nor here- 
 after ! Vacillating, dizzy, wavering, thou shalt wander about 
 from morrow to morrow, and wear away thy life in anguish. 
 Thou shalt wither as the thistle withers in the narrow clefts 
 of the rocks. Thou shalt faint in the desert like the hunted 
 wolf, and tlie sons of lamentation shall extend to thee a bitter 
 drink of the poisonous tears of regret. After death shall thy 
 dastard soul reside amid the fog in the marshes of the corpse- 
 coast, and in vain shalt thou attempt to lift thyself out of it 
 to the high land. In vain shalt thou stretch forth thy shadowy 
 arms to embrace a creature that can love thee. Alone and 
 
TEALINNAIS". 
 
 461 
 
 niiserable, sbalt thou be tossed about by the wind, and seek 
 earth's abodes only to terrify the innocent child which losea 
 itself in thy neighbourhood ; and thy Life and thy being shall 
 be — unblessedness 
 
 KuMBA (coldly). Thou tellest only what I already know. 
 Hast thou no better curse, witch ? 
 
 GrEiMaERDA. Tes, I have ; and tbougb it costs me dear, it 
 shall be pronounced — to crush thee. Know then, Kumba, 
 that there is one who could save thee ; who could give thee 
 rest here on the earth, and after death bear up thy spirit to 
 a glorious lot in the everlasting light — yes ; if thou hadst 
 sacrificed to him thy presumption, thy revenge, thy hate, as 
 he desired of thee. But against bim hast thou raved ; the 
 deliverer hast thou cast from thee, and eternally hereafter 
 shall his shape haunt thee, punishing and avenging Be- 
 hold him, and tremble ! 
 
 [GrRiMGEEDA waves Tier magic wand, and pronounces the 
 following words with great exertion and with averted 
 face. 
 
 Thou whom I saw with the pale Hel ! Thou whose coun- 
 tenance I cannot endure to behold ! White god without 
 
 spot, without malice ! Darling of the creator ! Balder the 
 good ! Thee do I evoke to the circle of the earth ! Thee do 
 I call in the might of the powers of Afgrund to appear upon 
 this spot, in order to avenge thyself ! In the awful name of 
 
 the eternal justice 
 
 \_A hright light fills the lottom of the Cave, In the midst 
 of it appears the beautiful shape of a youth, full of 
 majesty and mildness, who fixes on Ktjmea a severe 
 and painful looh. GtEIMGEEDA re^^zam^ standing, hut 
 tvith averted head, as if turned to stone. Kumba gives 
 a piercing shriek of inexpressihle agony, and falls with 
 outstretched arms on the earth. The scene vanishes ; 
 all becomes dark again, and a shrill laugh of mockery 
 is raised hy the Goblins who come into active motion. 
 
 Scene VII. — Eeid reclines in a half sitting posture on a 
 splendid Couch near the window. Kumba stands at her 
 feet and contemplates her. The sun is going down. 
 
 Frid. Soon — soon will all be over ! Soon shall T journey 
 to the second light. For the last time do I bow my head 
 
4G2 
 
 before thee, O earth's glorious sun ! Thanks that thou yet 
 a while wilt w^arm my bosom with thy beams. Thanks foi 
 this last friendly caress. I see, but I feel it not. My life's 
 sun also goes down, but the peace of even has descended on 
 my heart, and I feel it — it is beautiful to die ! Ah ! even in 
 death my dim gaze turns towards the sea, and looks earnestly 
 for the sail of the beloved, and calls him hence. But when 
 he comes, he will no more find his bride. She has gone away, 
 but merely the better to follow and serve him. My soul is 
 reconciled to death. 
 
 KuMB A (aside) . That which stirs within me no mortal can 
 comprehend. 
 
 Ekid. Yes, my spirit is reconciled ; all murmuring, all 
 complaint, is departed. Mine eye, indeed, is dim ; but one 
 thing is yet clear and certain to me — death will not destroy 
 my love, wall not separate me from the beloved. See, there 
 shines already in the cloud Asabron, surrounded by the roar- 
 ings of the heavenly water. Welcome to me, O sign of the 
 favour of the gods, which shows me the way that I shall 
 travel. I come quickly ! All-Father ! I am ready, for I 
 am at peace with heaven, at peace with the earth ! 
 
 Ktjmba (aside). How bright she grows! How I blacken! 
 Woe! I hate her no longer. Hate has turned its point 
 against myself. 
 
 Frid. Kumba ! My faithful attendant ! Thanks for the 
 affection thou hast shown me on earth. Take this costly 
 jewel in remembrance of me. Be free, Kumba ; be rich and 
 happy! 
 
 Kumba. Daughter of kings, I desire only one thing of thee. 
 Frid. And what ? 
 
 Kumba. Thy hatred. Know that thou diest by my hand ; 
 by the poison received from the bondmaiden. Know that 
 she, like a snake, bit fast into thy heart, and sucked pleasure 
 from thy torments ; know that she long hated thee .... 
 
 Frid. Almighty gods ! Thou, Kumba ? Ah, wherefore ? 
 
 Kumba. For thy happiness ; for thy beauty ; for thy union 
 with King Dag, whom I love; for the injustice of the gods, 
 who gave thee all, and me nothing ; for the pangs which envy 
 and jealousy occasioned me ! For all this have I hated thee, 
 and taken revenge. 
 
 Frfd. O Kumba! Kumba! Thou couldat think thus of 
 me J and I held ihee so dear, and put such trust iji thee. 
 
463 
 
 KuMBA. I have deceived thee. This hand has murdered 
 thee. Abhor me ; hate me ! 
 
 Erid. I sink into the All-Father's embrace. Thy hand 
 gave me poison ; but a higher hand has sealed my doom. I 
 have gained by it, for I know that life and love will continue 
 beyond death. For myself I complain no more, but for thee 
 my soul sorroweth. Before I go, take my forgiveness. 
 
 Ktjmba. Canst thou forgive me ? 
 
 Frid. O Kumba, hate not ; I cannot hate, and therefore 
 has my soul peace ; but bitterness only is a torment in death. 
 Thou hast not done me much wrong, Kumba ! Thy mind 
 was exasperated, — I understand it now. Pardon me, that 
 in thy presence I was so happy, and did not notice thy 
 suffering ! Nay, — gaze not so wildly upon me ; — give me 
 thy hand. Let a tear of reconciliation moisten thine eye. 
 Thou wert unhappy. That was the fault. 
 
 Ktjmba (aside). Exists goodness so great, love so un- 
 bounded ? Woe is me ! What have I done ? My heart will 
 burst! 
 
 Erid. Thy lips move wildly, but I hear no sound. Dost 
 thou remember, Kumba, the years of our childhood ? "JRe- 
 memberest thou, Avhen thou first came to me wounded, mis- 
 handled. These hands healed thy wounds, these eyes wept 
 over thee. I loved thee at that moment, and I have loved 
 thee ever since, — and now my spirit cannot depart in peace 
 if thou hatest me. A stern power of witchcraft must have 
 bound up thy heart. But thou shalt not thus harden thyself. 
 Come nearer, Kumba, I will yet once more weep over thee. 
 
 Kumba. Thou has transpierced me ! . . . . Behold me at 
 thy feet. Hear my last prayer ! 
 
 Erid. My Kumba ! speak. 
 
 Kumba. Let me die with thee. Let the same pile which 
 sends thy soul on high, bear also to the other world that of 
 thy guilty servant. In the realm of shadows I will sla\'e 
 for thee. 
 
 Erid. Eollow me in death. The God of gods will then 
 determine our fate. Perhaps in a higher light, the daugliter 
 of kings and the bondmaiden are merely empty names. Let 
 thy soul cling to mine ; never was it nearer to me. We will 
 both watch over him, whom we both loved. 
 
 Kumba. O these tears! they are a transport. Let mo 
 bathe thy hand with them. 
 
464 
 
 !FiiiD. Bathe my hand with them ; they warm my heart. 
 
 0 look out on the sea, Kumba ! 
 KuMBA. Grods ! it is he ! 
 
 Peid. He comes ! Me thought that was his white flag . . 
 my eyes are dim. He comes ! 
 
 Kumba. Thou wilt not see him ! Thou diest ! O thou 
 must, must hate me ! 
 
 Teid. No .... I forgive thee. Eorgive thyself! 
 
 Ktjmba, Now ! thou diest ! 
 
 Frid (with arms extended towards the sea). I go .... to 
 the second light ! Thou, O my Dag, never shall I see thee 
 again! \_ She dies. 
 
 Kumba. Dead? Yes, dead ! It is over! I will die also. 
 Powers of vengeance, your judgment is upon me. She par- 
 doned me, but can you pardon ? In your hands I leave my 
 guilty soul. IMighty Thor, accept the offering ; and if with 
 wild wings thou pursue round the earth my peace-abandoned 
 soul, I will not sigh, I will not complain ! I have deserved 
 it. But one day — I know it — comes a greater than thou ! . . . . 
 Will he take compassion on me ? Will he permit the re- 
 pentant spirit to find a quiet shore ? O, can there be 
 
 pardon ? can there be atonement ? 
 
 \_Ske sinks down at the foot of Teid's hed. 
 
 LOW AND DISTANT CHORUS OF SPIRITS OF LIGHT. 
 
 From the depths, and 
 From the heights, will 
 There be heard a voice, 
 That to captive and to mourner 
 Shall proclaim — " Rejoice !" 
 
 Dumb shall grow each 
 Elfin chorus, 
 
 But in heaven's acclaim — 
 Loftier spirits 
 Shall adore the 
 World-Redeemer's name. 
 
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