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Fredrika Bremer's Works.
STRIFE AND PEACE.
Translated by Mary Howitt.
London:
Henry G. Bohn, York Street, Covent Garden.
1853.
CONTENTS
OLD NORWAY
HEIMDAL.
THE POULTRY. THE WATER OF STRIFE.
FIRST STRIFE.
MRS. ASTRID.
THE BREWHOUSE.
THE GARRET.
THE DAIRY.
EVENING HOURS.
CHRISTMAS.
QUIET WEEKS.
A MAY DAY.
SPRING FEELINGS.
MAN AND WIFE.
A FRESH STRIFE.
ALETTE.
AN EVENING IN THE SITTING-ROOM.
RETREATING AND ADVANCING.
A GLANCE INTO NORDLAND.
THE RETURN.
THE HALLING.
AASGAARDSREIJA.
THE MOUNTAIN JOURNEY.
THE AWAKENING.
THE LAST STRIFE.
AN AFTER-WORD.
STRIFE AND PEACE.
OLD NORWAY.
Still the old tempests rage around the mountains,
And ocean's billows as of old appear;
The roaring wood and the resounding fountains
Time has not silenced in his long career,
For Nature is the same as ever.
MUNCH.
The shadow of God wanders through Nature.
LINNÆUS.
Before yet a song of joy or of mourning had gone forth from the valleys
of Norway--before yet a smoke-wreath had ascended from its huts--before
an axe had felled a tree of its woods--before yet king Nor burst forth
from Jotunhem to seek his lost sister, and passing through the land gave
to it his name; nay, before _yet_ there was a Norwegian, stood the high
Dovre mountains with snowy summits before the face of the Creator.
Westward stretches itself out the gigantic mountain chain as far as
Romsdahlshorn, whose foot is bathed by the Atlantic ocean. Southward it
forms under various names (Langfjeld, Sognefjeld, Filefjeld,
Hardangerfjeld, and so forth), that stupendous mountainous district
which in a stretch of a hundred and fifty geographical miles comprehends
all that nature possesses of magnificent, fruitful, lovely, and
charming. Here stands yet, as in the first days of the world, in Upper
Tellemark, the Fjellstuga, or rock-house, built by an invisible hand,
and whose icy walls and towers that hand alone can overthrow: here
still, as in the morning of time, meet together at Midsummer, upon the
snowy foreheads of the ancient mountains, the rose-tint of morning and
the rose-tint of evening for a brotherly kiss; still roar as then the
mountain torrents which hurl themselves into the abyss; still reflect
the ice-mirrors of the glaciers the same objects--now delighting, now
awakening horror; and still to-day, even as then, are there Alpine
tracts which the foot of man never ascended: valleys of wood, "lonesome
cells of nature," upon which only the eagle and the Midsummer-sun have
looked down. Here is the old, ever young, Norway; here the eye of the
beholder is astonished, but his heart expands itself; he forgets his own
suffering, his own joy, forgets all that is trivial, whilst with a holy
awe he has a feeling that "the shadow of God wanders through nature."
In the heart of Norway lies this country. Is the soul wearied with the
tumults of the world or fatigued with the trifles of poor every-day
life--is it depressed by the confined atmosphere of the room,--with the
dust of books, the dust of company, or any other kind of dust (there are
in the world so many kinds, and they all cover the soul with a great
dust mantle); or is she torn by deep consuming passions,--then fly, fly
towards the still heart of Norway, listen there to the fresh mighty
throbbing of the heart of nature; alone with the quiet, calm, and yet so
eloquent, objects of nature, and there wilt thou gain strength and life!
There falls no dust. Fresh and clear stand the thoughts of life there,
as in the days of their creation. "Wilt thou behold the great and the
majestic? Behold the Gausta, which raises its colossal knees six
thousand feet above the surface of the earth; behold the wild giant
forms of Hurrungen, Fannarauken, Mugnafjeld; behold the Rjukan (the
rushing), the Vöring, and Vedal rivers foaming and thundering over the
mountains and plunging down in the abysses! And wilt though delight
thyself in the charming, the beautiful? They exist among these fruitful
scenes in peaceful solitude. The Säter-hut stands in the narrow valley;
herds of cattle graze on the beautiful grassy meadows; the Säter-maiden,
with fresh-colour, blue eyes, and bright plaits of hair, tends them and
sings the while the simple, the gentle melancholy airs of the country;
and like a mirror for that charming picture, there lies in the middle of
the valley a little lake (kjoern), deep, still, and of a clear blue
colour, as is generally peculiar to the glacier water. All breathes an
idyllian peace."
But a presentiment of death appears, even in the morning hour of
creation, to have impressed its seal upon this country. The vast
shadows of the dark mountain masses fall upon valleys where nothing but
moss grows; upon lakes whose still waters are full of never-melted
ice--thus the Cold Valley, the Cold Lake (Koledal and Koldesjö), with
their dead, grey-yellow shores. The stillness of death reigns in this
wilderness, interrupted only by the thunderings of the avalanche and by
the noise which occasions the motion of the glaciers. No bird moves its
wings or raises its twittering in this sorrowful region; only the
melodious sighs of the cuckoo are borne thither by the winds at
Midsummer.
Wilt thou, however, see life in its pomp and fairest magnificence? Then
see the embrace of the winter and the summer in old Norway; descend into
the plain of Svalem, behold the valleys of Aamaadt and Sillejord, or the
paradisaically beautiful Vestfjordal, through which the Mån flows still
and clear as a mirror, and embraces in its course little, bright green
islands, which are overgrown with bluebells and sweet-scented
wood-lilies; see how the silver stream winds itself down from the
mountains, between groups of trees and fruitful fields; see how, behind
the near hills with their leafy woods, the snow-mountains elevate
themselves, and like worthy patriarchs look down upon a younger
generation; observe in these valleys the morning and evening play of
colours upon the heights, in the depths; see the affluent pomp of the
storm; see the calm magnificence of the rainbow, as it vaults itself
over the waterfall,--depressed spirit, see this, understand it, and----
breathe!
From these beautifully, universally known scenes we withdraw ourselves
to a more unknown region, to the great stretch of valley where the
Skogshorn rears itself to the clouds; where Urunda flows brightly
between rocks,--the waterfalls of Djupadahl stream not the less
charmingly and proudly because they are only rarely admired by the eyes
of curious travellers. We set ourselves down in a region whose name and
situation we counsel nobody to seek out in maps, and which we call--
HEIMDAL.
Knowest thou the deep, cool dale,
Where church-like stillness doth prevail;
Where neither flock nor herd you meet;
Which hath no name nor track of feet?
VELHAVEN.
Heimdal, we call a branch of Hallingdal, misplace it in the parish of
Aal, and turn it over to the learned--that they may wonder at our
boldness. Like its mother valley it possesses no historical memories. Of
the old kings of Hallingdal one knows but very little. Only a few
monumental stones, a few burial-mounds, give a dim intelligence of the
mighty who have been. It is true that a people dwelt here, who from
untold ages were renowned as well for their simplicity and their
contentedness under severe circumstances as for their wild
contest-loving disposition; but still, in quiet as in unquiet, built and
dwelt, lived and died here, without tumult and without glory, among the
ancient mountains and the pine-woods, unobserved by the rest of the
world.
One river, the son of Hallen-Jokul, flows through Heimdal. Foaming with
wild rage it comes through the narrow mountain-pass down into the
valley, finds there a freer field, becomes calm, and flows clear as a
mirror between green shores, till its banks become again compressed
together by granite mountains. Then is it again seized upon by disquiet,
and rushes thence in wild curves till it flings itself into the great
Hallingdal river, and there dies.
Exactly there, where the stream spreads itself out in the extended
valley, lies a large estate. A well-built, but somewhat decayed,
dwelling-house of wood stretches out its arms into the depths of the
valley. Thence may be seen a beautiful prospect, far, far into the blue
distance. Hills overgrown with, wood stretch upward from the river, and
cottages surrounded with inclosed fields and beautiful grassy paths, lie
scattered at the foot of the hills. On the other side of the river, a
mile-and-half from the Grange, a chapel raises its peaceful tower.
Beyond this the valley gradually contracts itself.
On a cool September evening, strangers arrived at the Grange, which had
now been long uninhabited. It was an elderly lady, of a noble but
gloomy exterior, in deep mourning. A young, blooming maiden accompanied
her. They were received by a young man, who was called there "the
Steward." The dark-appareled lady vanished in the house, and after that
was seen nowhere in the valley for several months. They called her there
"the Colonel's lady," and said Mrs. Astrid Hjelm had experienced a very
strange fate, of which many various histories were in circulation. At
the estate of Semb, which consisted of the wide-stretching valley of
Heimdal, and which was her paternal heritage, had she never, since the
time of her marriage, been seen. Now as widow she had again sought out
the home of her childhood. It was known also and told, that her
attendant was a Swedish girl, who had come with her from one of the
Swedish watering-places, where she had been spending the summer, in
order to superintend her housekeeping; and it was said, that Susanna
Björk ruled as excellently as with sovereign sway over the economical
department, over the female portion of the same, Larina the
parlour-maid, Karina the kitchen-maid, and Petro the cook, as well as
over the farm-servants Mathea, Budeja, and Göran the cattle-boy,
together with all their subjects of the four-footed and two-legged
races. We will now with these last make a little nearer acquaintance.
THE POULTRY. THE WATER OF STRIFE.
FIRST STRIFE.
"For Norway!"
"For Sweden!"
DISPUTANTS.
The morning was clear and fresh. The September sun shone into the
valley; smoke rose from the cottages. The ladies-mantle, on whose fluted
cups bright pearls trembled; the silver-weed, with its yellow flowers
and silver glittering leaves, shone in the morning sun beside the
footpath, which wound along the moss-grown feet of the backs of the
mountains. It conducted to a spring of the clearest water, which after
it had filled its basin, allowed its playful vein to run murmuring down
to the river.
To this spring, on that beautiful morning, went down Susanna Björk, and
there followed her "cocks and hens, and chickens small."
Before her waddled with consequential gabblings a flock of geese, which
were all snow-white, excepting one--a grey gander. This one tottered
with a desponding look a little behind the others, compelled to this by
a tyrant among the white flock, which, as soon as the grey one attempted
to approach, drove it back with outstretched neck and yelling cries. The
grey gander always fled before the white tyrant; but bald places upon
the head and neck proved that he had not come into this depressed
condition, without those severe combats having made evident the
fruitlessness of protestation. Not one of the goose madams troubled
herself about the ill-used gander, and for that reason Susanna all the
more zealously took upon herself, with delicate morsels and kind words,
to console him for the injustice of his race. After the geese, came the
well-meaning but awkward ducks; the turkey-cock, with his choleric
temper and his two foolish wives, one white and the other black; lastly,
came the unquiet generation of hens, with their handsome, quarrel-loving
cocks. The prettiest of all, however, were a flock of pigeons which,
confidingly and bashfully at the same time, now alighted down upon
Susanna's shoulders and outstretched hand; now flew aloft and wheeled in
glittering circles around her head; then settled down again upon the
earth, where they neatly tripped, with their little fringed feet,
stealing down to the spring to drink, whilst the geese with great tumult
bathed themselves in the water and splashed about, throwing the water in
pearly rain over the grass. Here also was the grey gander, to Susanna's
great vexation, compelled by the white one to bathe itself at a distance
from the others.
Susanna looked around her upon the beautiful richly-coloured picture
which lay before her, upon the little creatures which played around her
and enjoyed themselves, and evident delight beamed from her eyes as she
raised them, and with hands pressed together, said softly, "O heavens!
how beautiful!"
But she shrunk together in terror, for in that very moment a strong
voice just beside her broke forth--
"How glorious is my fatherland,
The old sea-circled Norroway!"
And the steward, Harald Bergman, greeted smilingly Susanna, who said
rather irritated--
"You scream so, that you frighten the doves with your old Norroway."
"Yes," continued Harald, in the same tone of inspiration--
"Yes, glorious is my fatherland,
The ancient, rock-bound Norroway;
With flowery dale, crags old and grey,
That spite of time eternal stand!"
"Old Norway," said Susanna as before; "I consider it a positive shame to
hear you talk of your old Norway, as if it were older and more
everlasting than the Creator himself!"
"And where in all the world," exclaimed Harald, "do you find a country
with such a proud, serious people; such magnificent rivers, and such
high, high mountains?"
"We have, thank God, men and mountains also in Sweden," said Susanna;
"you should only see them; that is another kind of thing!"
"Another kind of thing! What other kind of thing? I will wager that
there is not a single goose in Sweden which could compare with our
excellent Norway geese."
"No, not one, but a thousand, and all larger and fatter than these.
Everything in Sweden is larger and more excellent than in Norway."
"Larger? The people are decidedly smaller and weaker."
"Weaker? smaller? you should only see the people in Uddevalla, my native
city!"
"How can anybody be born in Uddevalla? Does anybody really live in that
city? How can anybody live in it? It is a shame to live in such a city;
it is a shame also only to drive through it. It is so miserably small,
that when the wheels of the travelling-carriage are at one end, the
horse has already put his head out at the other. Do not talk about
Uddevalla!"
"No, with you it certainly is not worth while to talk about it, because
you have never seen anything else besides Norwegian villages, and
cannot, on that account, form any idea to yourself of a proper Swedish
city."
"Defend me from ever seeing such cities--defend me! And then your
Swedish lakes! what wretched puddles they are, beside our glorious
Norwegian ocean!"
"Puddles! Our lakes! Great enough to drown the whole of Norway in!"
"Ha, ha, ha! And the whole of Sweden is beside our Norwegian ocean no
bigger than my cap! And this ocean would incessantly flow over Sweden,
did not our Norway magnanimously defend it with its granite breast."
"Sweden defends itself, and needs no other help! Sweden is a fine
country!"
"Not half as fine as Norway. Norway reaches heaven with its mountains;
Norway comes nearest to the Creator."
"Norway may well be presumptuous, but God loves Sweden the best."
"Norway, say I!"
"Sweden, say I!"
"Norway! Norway for ever! We will see whose throw goes the highest, who
wins for his country. Norway first and highest!" and with this, Harald
threw a stone high into the air.
"Sweden first and last!" exclaimed Susanna, whilst she slung a stone
with all her might.
Fate willed it that the two stones struck against each other in the air,
after which they both fell with a great plump down into the spring
around which the small creatures had assembled themselves. The geese
screamed; the hens and ducks flew up in terror; the turkey-hens flew
into the wood, where the turkey-cock followed them, forgetting all his
dignity; all the doves had vanished in a moment,--and with crimsoned
cheeks and violent contention as to whose stone went the highest, stood
Harald and Susanna alone beside the agitated and muddied water of
discord.
The moment is perhaps not the most auspicious, but yet we will make use
of it, in order to give a slight sketch of the two contending persons.
Harald Bergman had speaking, somewhat sharp features, in which an
expression of great gravity could easily be exchanged for one of equal
waggery. The dark hair fell in graceful waves over a brow in which one
saw that clear thought was entertained. His figure was finely
proportioned, and his movements showed great freedom and vigour.
He had been brought up in a respectable family, had enjoyed a careful
education, and was regarded by friends and acquaintances as a young man
of extraordinary promise. Just as he had left the S. seminary, and was
intending a journey into foreign countries, in order to increase still
more his knowledge of agriculture, chance brought him acquainted with
the widow of Colonel Hjelm, at the time in which she was returning to
her native country, and in consequence thereof he altered his plans. In
a letter to his sister, he expresses himself on this subject in the
following manner:
"I cannot properly describe to you, Alette, the impression which she
made upon me. I might describe to you her tall growth, her noble
bearing, her countenance, where, spite of many wrinkles and a
pale-yellow complexion, traces of great beauty are incontrovertible; the
lofty forehead, around which black locks sprinkled with grey, press
forth from beneath her simple cap. I might tell of her deep, serious
eyes, of her low and yet solemn voice; and yet thou couldst form to
thyself no representation of that which makes her so uncommon. I have
been told that her life has been as much distinguished by exemplary
virtue as by suffering--and virtue and suffering have called forth in
her a quiet greatness, a greatness which is never attained to by the
favourites of fortune and of nature, which stamps her whole being. She
seemed to me as if all the frivolities of the world passed by her
unremarked. I felt for her an involuntary reverence, such as I had never
felt before for any human being; and at the same time a great desire to
approach her more nearly, to be useful to her, to deserve, and to win
her esteem--it seemed to me that I should thereby become somewhat
greater, or at least better; and as I was informed that she sought for a
clever and experienced steward for her sorely decayed estate, I offered
myself as such, in all modesty, or rather without any; and when
accepted, I felt an almost childish joy, and set off immediately to her
estate, that I might make myself at home there, and have everything in
readiness to receive her."
Thus much for Harald, now for Susanna.
Barbara Susanna Björk was not handsome, could not be even called pretty
(for that, she was too large and strong), but she was good-looking. The
blue eyes looked so honestly and openly into the world; the round and
full face testified health, kindness, and good spirits; and when Susanna
was merry, when the rosy lips opened themselves for a hearty laugh, it
made any one right glad only to look at her. But true is it, that she
was very often in an ill humour, and then she did not look at all
charming. She was a tall, well-made girl, too powerful in movement ever
to be called graceful, and her whole being betrayed a certain want of
refinement.
Poor child! how could she have obtained this in the home abounding in
disorder, poverty, and vanity, in which the greater part of her life had
been passed.
Her father was the Burgomaster of Uddevalla; her mother died in the
infancy of her daughter. Soon afterwards an aunt came into the house,
who troubled herself only about the housekeeping and her coffee-drinking
acquaintance, left her brother himself to seek for his pleasures at the
club, and the child to take care of herself. The education of the little
Susanna consisted in this, that she learned of necessity to read, and
that when she was naughty they said to her, "Is Barbra there again? Fie,
for shame, Barbra! Get out, Barbra!" and when she was good again, it
was, "See now, Sanna is here again! Welcome, sweet Sanna!" A method
which certainly was not without its good points, if it had only been
wisely applied. But often was the little girl talked to as "Barbra" when
there was no occasion for it, and this had often the effect of calling
forth the said personage. In the mean time, she was accustomed as a
child to go out as Barbra, and to come in again as Sanna, and this gave
her early an idea of the two natures which existed in her, as they exist
in every person. This idea attained to perfect clearness in Susanna's
religious instruction,--the only instruction which poor Susanna ever
had. But how infinitely rich is such instruction for an ingenuous mind,
when it is instilled by a good teacher. Susanna was fortunate enough to
have such a one, and she now became acquainted in Barbra with the
earthly demon which should be overcome in Sanna, the child of heaven,
which makes free and enlightens; and from this time there began between
Barbra and Sanna an open strife, which daily occurred, and in which the
latter, for the most part, got the upper hand, if Susanna was not too
suddenly surprised by a naturally proud and violent temper.
When Susanna had attained her twelfth year her father married a second
time, but became a second time a widower, after his wife had presented
him with a daughter. Two months after this he died also. Near relations
took charge of the orphan children. In this new home Susanna learned
to--bear hardships; for there, as she was strong and tall, and besides
that made herself useful, and was kind-hearted, they made her soon the
servant of the whole house. The daughters of the family said that she
was fit for nothing else, for she could learn nothing, and had such
unrefined manners; and besides that, she had been taken out of charity;
she had nothing, and so on: all which they made her feel many a time in
no gentle manner, and over which Susanna shed many bitter tears both of
pain and anger. One mouth, however, there was which never addressed to
Susanna other tones than those of affectionate love, and this was the
mouth of the little sister, the little golden-haired Hulda. She had
found in Susanna's arms her cradle, and in her care that of the
tenderest mother. For from Hulda's birth Susanna had taken the little
forlorn one to herself, and never had loved a young mother her
first-born child more warmly or more deeply than Susanna loved her
little Hulda, who also, under her care, became the loveliest and the
most amiable child that ever was seen. And woe to those who did any
wrong to the little Hulda! They had to experience the whole force of
Susanna's often strong-handed displeasure. For her sake Susanna passed
here several years of laborious servitude: as she, however, saw no end
to this, yet was scarcely able to dress herself and her sister
befittingly, and besides this was prevented by the multitude of her
occupations from bestowing upon her sister that care which she required,
therefore Susanna, in her twentieth year, looked about her for a better
situation.
From the confined situation in which Susanna spent such a weary life,
she was able to see one tree behind a fence, which stretched out its
branches over the street. Many a spring and summer evening, when the
rest of the inhabitants of the house were abroad on parties of pleasure,
sate Susanna quietly by the little slumbering Hulda, within the little
chamber which she had fitted up for herself and her sister, and observed
with quiet melancholy from her window the green tree, whose twigs and
leaves waved and beckoned so kindly and invitingly in the wind.
By degrees the green leaves beckoned into her soul thoughts and plans,
which eventually fashioned themselves into a determined form, or rather
an estate, whose realisation from this time forth became the paradise of
her soul and the object of her life. This estate was a little farm in
the country, which Susanna would rent, and cultivate, and make
profitable by her own industry and her own management. She planted
potatoes; she milked cows and made butter; she sowed, she reaped; and
the labour was to her a delight; for there, upon the soft grass, under
the green, waving tree, sate the little Hulda, and played with flowers,
and her blue eyes beamed with happiness, and no care and no want came
near her.
All Susanna's thoughts and endeavours directed themselves to the
realising of this idea. The next step towards it was the obtaining a
good service, in which, by saving her wages, she could obtain a sum of
money sufficient to commence her rural undertaking. Susanna flattered
herself, that in a few years she could bring her scheme to bear, and
therefore made inquiries after a suitable situation.
There were this year among the visitors at the watering-place of
Gustafsberg, which lay near to Uddevalla, a Norwegian Colonel and his
lady. He was lame from a paralytic stroke, and had lost the use of his
speech and of his hands. He was a large man, of a fierce, stern
exterior; and although he seemed to endure nobody near him but his wife,
and perpetually demanded her care, still it was evidently not out of
love. And although his wife devoted herself unweariedly and
self-denyingly to his service, still this evidently was not from love
either, but from some other extraordinary power. Her own health was
visibly deeply affected, and violent spasms often attacked her breast;
but night or day, whenever it was his will to rise, it was her patient,
bowed neck around which his arm was laid. She stood by his side, and
supported him in the cold shower-bath, which was intended to re-awaken
his dormant power of life, at the same time that it destroyed hers. She
was ever there, always firm and active, seldom speaking, and never
complaining. By the painful contraction of her countenance alone, and by
the peculiarity of laying her hand upon her heart, it could be seen that
she suffered. Susanna had an opportunity of seeing all this, and
admiration and sympathy filled her breast. Before long she was fortunate
enough to assist the noble lady, to offer to her her strong youthful arm
as support, and to watch over the sick man when his wife was compelled
to close her eyes from fatigue. And fortunately the invalid endured her.
Susanna was witness of the last horrible scenes by the death-bed of the
Colonel. He seemed to make violent efforts to say something, but--he
could not. Then he made signs that he wished to write something; but his
fingers could not hold the pen. Then presented itself a horrible
disquiet on his distorted features. With that his wife bowed herself
over him, and with an expression of the greatest anxiety, seized one of
his hands and whispered--"Give me only a sign, as answer! Tell me! Tell
me! does he yet live?"
The sick man riveted upon her a strong gaze, and--bowed his head. Was
this an assenting answer, or was it the hand of death which forbad an
answer? No one could tell, for he never again raised his head. It was
his last movement.
For many days afterwards a quick succession of spasmodic attacks seemed
to threaten the widowed lady with approaching death. Susanna watched
incessantly beside her, and felt herself happy in being able to watch
over her and to serve her. Susanna had conceived an almost passionate
devotion for Mrs. Astrid; such as young girls often feel for elderly,
distinguished women, to whom they look up as to the ideal of their sex.
And when Mrs. Astrid returned to Norway, Susanna kissed with tears her
little Hulda, but yet felt herself happy to follow such a mistress, and
to serve her in the rural solitude to which she betook herself. Susanna
journeyed to the foreign country, but retained deep in her heart her
little Hulda and her life's plan.
MRS. ASTRID.
Did ye but feel, O stars! who see
The whole earth's silent misery,
Then never would your glances rest
With such calm radiance on her breast.
HENR WERGELAND.
As Susanna withdrew from Harald, and from the water of discord, she was
quite in an excited and bad temper; but as soon however as she
approached the wing of the house which Mrs. Astrid inhabited, she became
calmer. She looked up to her window, and saw there her noble but gloomy
profile. It was bent down, and her head seemed as it were depressed by
dark thoughts. At this sight, Susanna forgot all her own ill humour.
"Oh!" sighed she, "if I could only make her happier!"
This was Susanna's daily subject of thought, but it became to her every
day a darker riddle. Mrs. Astrid appeared to be indifferent to
everything around her here. Never did she give an order about anything
in the house, but let Susanna scold there and govern just as she would.
Susanna took all the trouble she could to provide the table of her
mistress with everything good and delicious which lay in her power; but
to her despair the lady ate next to nothing, and never appeared to
notice whether it was prepared well or ill.
Now before Susanna went into the house, she gathered several of the most
beautiful flowers which the autumn frost had spared, made a nosegay of
them, and with these in her hand stept softly into Mrs. Astrid's room.
"Bowed with grief," is the expression which describes Mrs. Astrid's
whole being. The sickly paleness of her noble countenance, the depressed
seldom-raised eyelids, the inanimate languor of her movements, the
gloomy indifference in which her soul seemed to be wrapped,--like her
body in its black mourning habiliments, when she sate for hours in her
easy-chair, often without occupation, the head bowed down upon the
breast; all this indicated a soul which was severely fettered by long
suffering.
Suffering in the north has its own peculiar character. In the south it
burns and consumes. In the north it kills slowly; it freezes, it
petrifies by degrees. This has been acknowledged for untold ages, when
our forefathers sought for images of that which they felt to be the most
terrible in life; thus originated the fable of the subterranean dwelling
of Hela, of the terrors of the shore of corpses--in one word, the "Hell
of the North, with its infinite, treeless wildernesses; with cold,
darkness, mist, clammy rivers, chill, distilling poison, cities
resembling clouds filled with rain, feetless hobgoblins," and so on.
In the Grecian Tartarian dance of the Furies there is life and wild
strength, there is in its madness a certain intoxication which deprives
it of its feeling of deep misery. The heart revolts not so much from
these pictures of terror, as from the cold, clammy, dripping ones which
the chill north exhibits--ah! not alone in poetry.
As Susanna entered the apartment of Mrs. Astrid, she found her sitting,
as usual, sunk in deep melancholy. Upon a table before her lay paper and
pens, and a book, in which she appeared to have been reading. It was the
Bible; it lay open at the book of Job, and the following passages were
underlined:
My soul is weary of my life, for my days are vanity.
Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards.
Mrs. Astrid's eyes were riveted upon these last words, as Susanna
softly, and with a warm heart, approached her, and with a cordial "Ah!
be so good," presented to her the nosegay.
The lady looked up at the flowers, and an expression of pain passed over
her countenance as she turned away her head and said, "They are
beautiful, but keep them, Susanna, they are painful to my eyes."
She resumed her former position, and Susanna, much troubled, drew back;
after a short silence, however, she again ventured to raise her voice,
and said, "We have got to-day a beautiful salmon-trout, will you not,
Mrs. Astrid, have it for dinner? Perhaps with egg-sauce, and perhaps I
might roast a duck, or a chicken----"
"Do whatever you like, Susanna," said the lady, interrupting her, and
with indifference. But there was something so sorrowful in this
indifference, that Susanna, who had again approached her, could not
contain herself; she quickly threw herself before her mistress, clasped
her knees, and said:
"Ah, if I could only do something to please my lady; if I could only do
something."
But Susanna's warm glance, beaming with devotion, met one so dark, that
she involuntarily started back.
"Susanna," said Mrs. Astrid, as with gloomy seriousness she laid her
hand upon her shoulder and gently put her back, "gratify me in one
thing, attach not thyself to me. It will not lead to good. I have no
attachment to give--my heart is dead! Go, my child," continued she more
kindly, "go, and do not trouble thyself about me. My wish, the only good
thing for me, is to be alone."
Susanna went now, her heart filled with the most painful feelings. "Not
trouble myself about her!" said she to herself, as she wiped away a
tear; "not trouble myself about her, as if that were so easy."
After Susanna was gone, Mrs. Astrid threw a melancholy glance upon the
papers which lay before her. She seized the pen, and laid it down again.
She seemed to shudder at the thought of using it; at length she overcame
herself, and wrote the following letter:
"You wish that I should write to you. I write for that reason; but
what--what shall I say to you? My thanks for your letter, my paternal
friend, the teacher of my youth; thanks that you wish to strengthen and
elevate my soul. But I am old, bowed down, wearied, embittered--there
dwells no strength, no living word more in my breast. My friend, it is
too late--too late!
"You would raise my glance to heaven; but what is the glory of the sun
to the eye that--sees no longer? What is the power of music to the deaf
ear? What is all that is beautiful, all that is good in the world, to
the heart that is dead, that is turned to stone in a long, severe
captivity? Oh, my friend, I am unworthy of your consolation, of your
refreshing words. My soul raises itself against them, and throws them
from herself as 'words, words, words,' which have sounded beautifully
and grandly for thousands of years, whilst thousands of souls are
inconsolably speechless.
"Hope? I have hoped so long. I have already said to myself so long, 'a
better day comes! The path of duty conducts to the home of peace and
light, be the way ever so full of thorns. Go only steadfastly forward,
weary pilgrim, go, go, and thou wilt come to the holy land!' And I have
gone--I have gone on through the long, weary day, for above thirty
years; but the way stretches itself out farther and farther--my hopes
have withered, have died away, the one after the other;--I see now no
goal, none, but the grave! Love, love! Ah, if you knew what an
inexpressibly bitter feeling this word awakens in me! Have I not loved,
loved intensely? And what fruit has my love borne? It has broken my
heart, and has brought unhappiness to those whom I loved. It is in vain
that you would combat a belief which has taken deep root in me. I
believe that there are human beings who are born and pre-ordained to
misfortune, and who communicate misfortune to all who approach them, and
_I believe that I belong to these_. Let me, therefore, fly from my kind,
fly from every feeling which binds me to them. Why should I occasion
more mischief than I have already done?
"Why do you desire me to write? I wish not to pour my bitterness into
the heart of another; I wish to grieve no one, and--what have I now
done?
"There is a silent combat which goes through the world, which is fought
out in the reserved human heart, and at times--fearfully! It is the
combat with evil and bitter thoughts. They are such thoughts as
sometimes take expression, expression written in fire and blood. Then
are they read before the judgment-seat and condemned. In many human
hearts, however, they rage silently for long years; then are undermined
by degrees, health, temper, love, faith, faith in life and faith in--a
good God. With this sinks everything.
"Could I believe that my devoted, true pilgrimage by the side of a
husband whom I once so tenderly loved, and for whose sake I dragged on
life in the fortress of which he was the commander, in comparison of
which the life of the condemned criminal is joy; whom I followed
faithfully, though I no longer loved him, because it was needful to him;
because, without me, he would have been given over to dark
spirits--followed, because right and duty demanded it; because I had
promised it before God--Oh! could I believe that this fidelity had
operated beneficially--that my endeavours had borne any fruit--I should
not then, as now, ask 'why was I born? why have I lived?' But nothing,
nothing!
"Could I think that on the other side of the grave I should meet the
gentle loving look of my only sister--would I gladly die. But what
should I reply to her, if she asked after her child of sorrow? How would
she look upon the unfaithful protectress?
"Oh, my friend! My misfortune has nothing in common with that of
romances, nothing with that of which most the deep shades only serve to
set off the most beautiful lights. It is a wearisome winter twilight;
which only conducts to a deeper night. And am I alone in this condition?
Open the pages of history, look around you in the present day, and you
will see a thousand-fold sufferings, unmerited sufferings, which, after
a long agony lead--to despair. But another, a happier life! Only
consolation, only hope, only true point of light in the darkness of
earthly existence!--no, no! I will not abandon thee! I will trust in
thee; and in this belief will be silenced the murmurings which so often
arise against the Creator of the world.
"I am ill, and do not believe that I shall live over this winter.
Breathing is difficult to me; and perhaps the inexpressible heaviness
which burdens me may contribute to this torment. When I sit up sleepless
in my bed through the long nights, and see the night in myself, behind
me and before me, then dark, horrible phantasies surround me, and I
often think that insanity, with ashy cheeks, stony and rigid gaze,
approaches me, will darken my reason and bewilder my mind. How can I
wish to live? When it is evening, I wish it were morning; and when it is
morning, I wish that the day was over, and that it were again evening.
Every hour is to me a burden and a torment.
"For this cause, my friend, pray God for me that I may soon die!
Farewell! Perhaps I may write no more. But my last clear thought will be
for you. Forgive the impatience, the bitterness, which shows itself in
this letter. Pray for me, my friend and teacher, pray that I may be able
to compose myself, and to pray yet before I die!"
NEW CONTENTIONS.
We're living a peculiar life,
With serious words and serious strife.
MUNCH.
Whilst we leave the pale Mrs. Astrid alone with her dark thoughts, we
are led by certain extraordinary discords to look around in
THE BREWHOUSE.
Harald found himself there for the purpose of tasting the new beer which
Susanna had brewed; but before he had swallowed down a good draught, he
said, with a horrible grimace, "It is good for nothing--good for nothing
at all!"
Somewhat excited, Susanna made reply, "Perhaps you will also assert that
Baroness Rosenhjelm's brewing-recipe is good for nothing!"
"That I assert decidedly. Does not she give coffee-parties? And a
coffee-bibber is always a bad housewife; and as Baroness Rosenhjelm is a
coffee-bibber, therefore----"
"I must tell you," interrupted Susanna, vehemently, "that it is
unbecoming and profane of you to talk in this way of such an excellent
lady, and a person of such high rank!"
"High! How high may she be?"
"A deal higher than you are, or ever can be, that I can assure you!"
"Higher than me! then of a certainty she goes on stilts. Now, I must say
that is the very tip-top of gentility and politeness. One may forgive a
lady giving coffee-parties, and decorating and dressing herself up, but
to go on stilts, only on purpose to be higher than other folks, and to
be able to look over their heads, that is coming it strong over us. How
can such a high person ever come down low enough to brew good beer? But
a Swedish woman can never brew good beer, for----"
"She will not brew a single drop for you abominable Norwegians, for you
have neither reason, nor understanding, nor taste, nor----"
Out of the brewhouse flew Susanna, in the highest indignation, throwing
down a glass of beer which Harald had poured out during the contention
for her, but which now would have gone right over if he had not saved it
by a spring.
Towards the evening of the same day we see the contending parties again
met in
THE GARRET.
"Are you yet angry?" asked Harald, jokingly, as he stretched in his head
through the garret-door, where Susanna was sitting upon a flour-tub, as
on a throne, with all the importance and dignity of a store-room queen,
holding in her hand a sceptre of the world-famous sweet herbs--thyme,
marjoram, and basil, which she was separating into little bundles,
whilst she cast a searching glance around her well-ordered kingdom.
The bread-chests were heaped up, for she had just baked oaten-bread;
bacon-sausages and hams hung full of gravy, from the roof, as well as
great bundles of dried fish; little bags full of all kinds of vegetables
stood in their appointed places, and so on.
Harald looked also around the garret, and truly with the eye of a
connoisseur, and said, although he had yet received no answer to his
question--
"It is certain that I never saw a better provided or better arranged
store-room!"
Susanna would not exhibit one gleam of the pleasure she felt at this
praise.
"But," continued Harald, "you must confess that it does not require so
very much skill to preserve the store-room and cellar well supplied in a
country so rich in all the good things of life as our Norway--
Well-beloved land, with heaven-high mountains,
Fruit-bearing valleys, and fish-giving shores!"
"Fish also have we, thank God, in Sweden," replied Susanna, drily.
"Oh, but not to compare with our fish! Or would you seriously set your
perch and carp against our mackerel, herrings, haddocks, flounders, and
all our unparalleled quantities of fish?"
"All your Norwegian kind of fish I would give for one honest Swedish
pike."
"A pike! Is there then in Sweden really nothing but pike?"
"In Sweden there are all kinds of fish that there are in Norway, and a
great deal bigger and fatter."
"Yes, then they come from our coasts. We take what we want, and that
which remains we let swim to Sweden, that down there they may have
somewhat also. But I have forgotten that I myself am going a-fishing,
and will catch little fishes, great fishes, a deal of fish. Adieu,
Mamsel Susanna. I shall soon come back with fish."
"You had best stop with your Norwegian fishes," cried Susanna after him.
But Harald did not stop with the fishes. On the morrow we see him
following Susanna into
THE DAIRY.
"I see that we are going to have to-day for dinner onion-milk, one of
our most delicious national dishes, and my favourite eating."
"Usch! One gets quite stupid and sleepy when one only thinks on your
national dishes. And still more horrible than your onion-milk, and more
unnatural too, is your fruit-soup with little herrings."
"Fruit-soup with little herrings! Nay, that is the most superexcellent
food on the earth, a food which I might call a truly Christian dish."
"And I might call it a heathenish dish, which no true Christian man
could eat."
"From untold ages it has been eaten by free Norwegian men in the
beautiful valleys of Norway."
"That proves that you free Norwegians are still heathens."
"I can prove to you that the Norwegians were a Christian people before
the Swedes."
"That you may prove as much as you like, but I shall not believe it."
"But I will show it to you in print."
"Then I shall be certain that it is a misprint."
Harald laughed, and said something about the impossibility of disputing
with a Swedish woman. Should now anybody wish to know how it happens
that one finds Harald so continually in Susanna's company in the
brewhouse, in the store-room, in the dairy, we can only reply that he
must be a great lover of beer, and flour, and milk, or of a certain
spice in the every-day soup of life, called bantering.
Mrs. Astrid always breakfasted in her own room, but dined with Harald
and Susanna, and saw them often for an hour in the evening. Often during
dinner did the contention about Norway and Sweden break out; for the
slightest occasion was sufficient to make the burgomaster's daughter
throw herself blindly into the strife for fatherland; and, strange
enough, Mrs. Astrid herself sometimes seemed to find pleasure in
exciting the contest, as she brought upon the carpet one question or
another, as--
"I should like to know whether cauliflower is better in Norway or in
Sweden?" or, "I should like to know whether the corn is better in Sweden
or in Norway?"
"Quite certainly in Norway," said Harald.
"Quite decidedly in Sweden," cried Susanna. And vegetables, and fish,
and the coinage, and measures and weights, were all handled and
contended for in this way.
Of the corn in Norway, Susanna said, "I have not seen upon this whole
estate one single straw which may bear a comparison with that which I
have seen in Sweden."
"The cause of that," said Harald, "is because you saw here good corn for
the first time."
Of the Norwegian weights, Susanna said, "I never know what I am about
with your absurd, nasty Norwegian weights."
"They are heavier than the Swedish," replied Harald.
Whenever Susanna became right vehement and right angry, then--it is
shocking to say it--Harald laughed with his whole heart, and at times a
faint smile brightened also Mrs. Astrid's pale face, but it resembled
the gleam of sunshine which breaks forth in a dark November sky, only to
be immediately concealed behind clouds.
Susanna never thought in the least, on these occasions, of putting the
bridle on the Barbra temper. She considered it as a holy duty to defend
the fatherland in this manner.