The Home; Or, Life in Sweden Part 51

"And do you know," interrupted Louise, with animation, "what I have been thinking of? In the spring she shall come to us and try the milk cure: she shall occupy this room, with the view towards the beautiful birch grove, and shall enjoy the country air, and all the good things which the country affords and which I can obtain for her--certainly this will do her good. Don't you think that then she will recover? Don't you think that it is a bright idea of mine?"

The sisters thought that really it was bright, and Louise continued:

"Now I must show you what I have brought for her. Do you see these two damask breakfast cloths, and these six breakfast napkins?--all spun in the house. I have had merely to pay for the weaving. Now, how do they please you?"

"Oh, excellently! excellently!" said one sister.

"How very handsome! How welcome they will be!" said the other.

"And you must see what I have bought for my father--ah! Jacobi has it in his carpet-bag--one thing lies here and another there--but you will see it, you will see it."

"What an inundation of things!" said Gabriele, laughing. "One can see, however, that there is no shortness of money."

"Thank G.o.d!" said Louise, "all is comfortable in that respect, though you may very well believe that it was difficult at first; but we began by regulating the mouths according to the dishes. Ever since I married I have had the management of the money. I am my husband's treasurer; he gives over to me whatever comes in, and he receives from me what he wants, and in this way all has gone right. Thank G.o.d, when people love one another all does go right! I am happier than I deserve to be, with such a good, excellent husband, and such well-disposed children. If our little girl, our little Louise, had but lived! Ah! it was a happiness when she was born, after the eight boys; and then for two years she was our greatest delight. Jacobi almost worshipped her; he would sit for whole hours beside her cradle, and was perfectly happy if he only had her on his knee. But she was inexpressibly amiable--so good, so clever, so quiet; an actual little angel! Ah! it was hard to lose her. Jacobi grieved as I have never seen a man grieve; but his happy temperament and his piety came to his help. She has now been dead above a year. Ah!

never shall I forget my little girl!"

Louise's tears flowed abundantly; the sisters could not help weeping with her. But Louise soon collected herself again, and said, whilst she wiped her eyes, "Now we have also anxiety with little David's ankles; but there is no perfect happiness in this world, and we have no right to expect it. Pardon me that I have troubled you; and now let us speak of something else, whilst I get my things a little in order. Tell me something about our acquaintance--Aunt Evelina is well?"

"Yes, and sits as grandmother of five nephews at Axelholm, beloved and honoured by all. It is a very sweet family that she sees about her, and she has the happiest old age."

"That is pleasant to hear. But she really deserved to be loved and honoured. Is her Karin also married?"

"Ah, no! Karin is dead! and this has been her greatest sorrow; they were so happy together."

"Ah, thou heaven! Is she dead? Ah, yes, now I remember you wrote to me that she was dead----Look at this dress, sisters--a present from my dear husband; is it not handsome? and then quite modern. Yes, yes, dear Gabriele, you need not make such an ambiguous face; it is very handsome, and quite in the fashion, that I can a.s.sure you. But, _a propos_, how is the Court-preacher? Exists still in a new form, does it? Now that is good! I'll put it on this afternoon on purpose to horrify Jacobi, and tell him that for the future I intend to wear it in honour of his nomination to the office of court-preacher."

All laughed.

"But tell me," continued Louise, "how will our 'great astonishment' go on? how have you arranged it?"

"In this manner," returned one of the sisters. "We shall all meet for a great coffee-drinking in the garden, and during this we shall lead the conversation in a natural sort of way to the piece of ground on the other side the fence, and then peep through the cracks in it, and then express that usual wish that this fence might come down. And then, at this signal, your eight boys, Louise, are to fall on the fence and----"

"How can you think," said Louise--"to be sure my boys are nimble and strong, but it would require the power of Berserkers to----"

"Don't be alarmed," answered the sisters, laughing, "the fence is sawn underneath, and stands only so firm that a few pushes will produce the effect--the thing is not difficult. Besides, we'll all run to the attack, if it be needful."

"Oh, heaven help us! if it be only so, my young ones will soon manage the business--and _a propos_! I have a few bottles of select white sugar-beer with me, which would certainly please my father, and which will be exactly the right thing if we, as is customary on such occasions, have to drink healths."

During this conversation little Alfred had gone round ineffectually offering two kisses, and was just on the point of growing angry because his wares found no demand, when all at once, summoning resolution, he threw his arms round Gabriele's neck, and exclaimed, "Now I see really and thoroughly, that Aunt Gabriele has need of a kiss!" And it was not Aunt Gabriele's fault if the dear child was not convinced how wholly indispensable his gift was.

But Louise still turned over her things. "Here," said she, "I have a waistcoat-piece for Bergstrom, and here a neck-kerchief for Ulla, as well as this little brush with which to dust mirrors and tables. Is it not superb? And see, a little pair of bellows, and these trifles for Brigitta."

"Now the old woman," said the sisters, "will be happy! She is now and then out of humour, but a feast of coffee, and some little present, reconcile her with all the world; and to-day she will get both."

"And see," continued Louise, "how capitally these bellows blow: they can make the very worst wood burn--see how the dust flies!"

"Uh! one can be blown away oneself," said Gabriele, laughing.

While the sisters were still occupied with cleaning and dusting, and Louise was admiring her own discoveries, the Judge came in, happy and warm.

"What a deal of business is going forward!" exclaimed he, laughing. "I must congratulate you," said he, "Louise; your boys please me entirely.

They are animated boys, with, intellects all alive--but, at the same time, obedient and polite. Little David is a regular hairbrain, and a magnificent lad--what a pity it is that he will be lame!"

Louise crimsoned from heartfelt joy over the praise of her boys, and answered quickly to the lamentation over the little David, "You should hear, father, what a talent he has for the violoncello; he will be a second Gehrman."

"Nay, that is good," returned the Judge; "such a talent as that is worth his two feet. But I have hardly had time to notice you properly yet, Louise. Heavens! it's glorious that you are come again into our neighbourhood; now I think I shall be able to see you every day! and you can also enjoy here the fresh air of the country. You have got thin, but I really think you have grown!"

Louise said laughingly, that the time for that was over with her.

The sisters also, among themselves, made their observations on Louise.

They were rejoiced to see her, among all her things, so exactly herself again.

Handsomer she certainly had not become--but people cannot grow handsomer to all eternity. She looked well and she looked good, had no more of the cathedral about her; she was an excellent Archdeacon's lady.

We transport ourselves now to Sara's chamber.

When a beloved and guiltless child returns, after sufferings overcome, to the bosom of parents into a beloved home, who can describe the sweet delight of its situation? The pure enjoyment of all the charms of home; the tenderness of the family; the resigning themselves to the heavenly feeling of being again at home? But the guilty----

We have seen a picture of the prodigal son which we shall never forget!

It is the moment of reconciliation: the father opens his arms to the son; the son falls into them and hides his face. Deep compunction of the heart bows down his head, and over his pale cheek--the only part of his countenance which is visible, runs a tear--a tear of penitence and pain, which says everything. The golden ring may be placed upon his hand; the fatted calf may be killed and served up before him--he cannot feel gay or happy--embittering tears gush forth from the fountains of memory.

Thus was it with Sara, and exactly to that degree in which her heart was really purified and enn.o.bled. As she woke out of a refreshing sleep in her new home, and saw near her her child sleeping on the soft snow-white bed; as she saw all, by the streaming in light of the morning sun, so festally pure and fresh; as she saw how the faithful memory of affection had treasured up all her youthful predilections; as she saw her favourite flowers, the asters, beaming upon the stove, in an alabaster vase; and as she thought how all this had been--and how it now was--she wept bitterly.

Petrea, who was reading in the window of Sara's room waiting for her awaking, stood now with cordial and consoling words near her bed.

"Oh, Petrea!" said Sara, taking her hand and pressing it to her breast, "let me speak with you. My heart is full. I feel as if I could tell you all, and you would understand me. I did not come here of my own will--your father brought me. He did not ask me--he took me like a child, and I obeyed like a child. I was weak; I thought soon to die; but this night under this roof has given me strength. I feel now that I shall live. Listen, to me, Petrea, and stand by me, for as soon as my feet will carry me I must go away from here. I will not be a burden to this house. Stained and despised by the world, as I am, I will not pollute this sanctuary! Already have I read aversion towards me in Gabriele's look. Oh, my abode here would be a pain to myself! Might my innocent little one only remain in this blessed house. I must away from here! These charms of life; this abundance, they are not for me--they would wake anguish in my soul! Poverty and labour beseem me! I will away hence. I must!--but I will trouble n.o.body: I will not appear ungrateful. Help me, Petrea--think for me; what I should do and where I should go!"

"I have already thought," replied Petrea.

"Have you?" said Sara, joyfully surprised, and fixed upon her searchingly her large eyes.

"Come and divide my solitude," continued Petrea, in a cordial voice.

"You know that I, although in the house of my parents, yet live for myself alone, and have the most perfect freedom. Next to my room is another, a very simple but quiet room, which might be exactly according to your wishes. Come and dwell there! There you can live perfectly as you please; be alone, or see only me, till the quiet influence of calm days draw you into the innocent life of the family circle."

"Ah, Petrea," returned Sara, "you are good--but you cannot approach a person of ill-report--and you do not know----"

"Hush! hush!" interrupted Petrea; "I know very well--because I see and hear you again! Oh, Sara! who am I that I should turn away from you? G.o.d sees into the heart, and he knows how weak and erring mine is, even if my outward life remain pure, and if circ.u.mstances and that which surrounds me have protected me, and have caused my conduct to be blameless. But I know myself, and I have no more earnest prayer to G.o.d than that: 'Forgive me my trespa.s.ses!' May I not pray by your side?

Cannot we tread together the path which lies before us? Both of us have seen into many depths of life--both of us now look up humbly to the cheerful heaven! Give me your hand--you were always dear to me, and now, even as in the years of childhood do I feel drawn to you! Let us go; let us try together the path of life. My heart longs after you; and does not yours say to you that we are fit for one another, and that we can be happy together?"

"Should I be a burden to you?" said Sara: "were I but stronger, I would wait upon you; could I only win my bread by my hands, as in the latter years I have done--but now!"

"Now give yourself up to me blindly," said Petrea. "I have enough for us both. In a while, when you are stronger, we will help one another."

"Will not my wasted life--my bitter remembrances make my temper gloomy and me a burden?" asked Sara; "and do not dark spirits master those who have been so long in their power?"

"Penitence," said Petrea, "is a G.o.ddess--she protects the erring. And if a heathen can say this, how much more a Christian!--Oh, Sara!

annihilating repentance itself--I know it--can become a strength for him, by which he can erect himself. It can raise up to new life; it can arouse a will which can conquer all things--it has raised me erect--it will do the same for you! You stand now in middle life--a long future is before you--you have an amiable child; have friends; have to live for eternal life! Live for these! and you will see how, by degrees, the night vanishes, the day ascends, and all arranges itself and becomes clear. Come, and let us two unitedly work at the most important business of life--improvement!"