EVA.
Among the agreeable circumstances which occur in a happy home may
certainly be reckoned the return to its bosom of one of its beloved
members. So returns the bee to the safe hive with her harvest of honey,
after her flight abroad over the meadows of the earth. How much is there
not mutually to relate, to hear, to see, and to enjoy! Every cloud in
the heaven of home vanishes then; all is sunshine and joy; and it must
be bad indeed if they do not find one another lovelier and improved, for
when everything goes on right here, every advancing footstep in life
must tend in a certain manner to improvement.
Bright, indeed, did Eva's return make the hours of sunshine in the Frank
family! The mutual love which demonstrated itself in embraces, smiles,
tears, laughter, sweet words of greeting, and a thousand tokens of joy
and tenderness, made the first hours vanish in a lively intoxication,
and then, when all had become quieter and they looked nearer about them,
all looks and thoughts gathered themselves still about Eva with rapture;
her beauty seemed now in its full bloom, and a captivating life seemed
to prevail in her looks, in her behaviour, in her every motion, which
hitherto had not been seen. Her dress of the most modern fashion, a
certain development and style about her, a bewitching case of manner,
all evinced the elegant circles of the capital, and exerted their magic
over her friends, and charmed them all, but especially Gabriele, who
followed her beautiful sister with beaming looks.
Bergstroem gave way to his feelings in the kitchen, and exclaimed,
"Mamselle Eva is quite divine!" Never had the blond Ulla so entirely
agreed with him before.
Leonore was the only one who regarded Eva with a tender yet at the same
time troubled eye. She saw a something worldly in Eva's exterior and
demeanour, which was a presage to her that a great and not happy change
had taken place in her beloved sister. Nor was it long before Leonore's
foreboding proved itself to be right. Eva had not been many hours in the
house before it was plainly visible that domestic affairs had but little
interest for her, and that parents and family and friends were not to
her all that they had been before.
Eva's soul was entirely occupied by one object, which laid claim to all
her thoughts and feelings, and this was Major R----. His handsome
person, his brilliant talents; his amiability, his love; the parties in
which she had met him, the balls in which she had danced with him; the
occasions on which they had played parts together--in short, all the
romantic unfoldings of their connexion, were the pictures which now
alone lived in her heart, and danced around her fancy, now heated by
worldly happiness.
The grave expression of her father's countenance, as he heard her first
mention the Major, prevented her during this first evening from
repeating his name.
But when afterwards she was alone with her sisters, when the sweet hour
of talk came, which between dear friends, on such occasions, generally
extends itself from night till morning, Eva gave free course to all with
which her soul was filled, and related to her sisters at large her
romance of the last year, in which several rival lovers figured, but of
which Major R---- was the hero. Nor was it without self-satisfaction
that Eva represented herself as the worshipped and conquering heroine
amid a crowd of rival ladies. Her soul was so occupied by all these
circumstances, her mind was so excited, that she did not observe the
embarrassment of her sisters during her relation; she saw neither their
disquiet, their constrained smiles, nor their occasionally depressed
looks.
Nor was it till when, with eyes beaming with joy, she confided to them
that Major R---- would soon come to the city, where he had relatives;
that he would spend the Christmas with them, and then ask her hand from
her parents, that the veil fell from her eyes. Louise expressed herself
strongly against Major R----, wondered at her sister, and lamented that
she could endure such a man; it was not, she said, what she had expected
from her. Eva, very much wounded, defended the Major with warmth, and
talked of intolerance and prejudice. In consequence of this, Louise's
indignation was increased; Gabriele began to weep, and Louise bore her
company; she seemed to look upon Eva as on one lost. Leonore was calmer;
she spoke not one word which could wound her sister, but sighed deeply,
and looked with quiet grief upon the beloved but misguided sister; and
then seeing what a tragical turn the conversation was taking, said, with
all that expression of calm sincerity so peculiarly her own:
"Do not let us this evening speak further on this subject; do not let us
disturb our joy. We have now Eva with us at home, and shall have time
enough to talk and to think--and then all will be cleared up. Is it not
quite for the best that we sleep on this affair? Eva must be weary after
her journey, and our 'blue-eyed one' must not weep on this first
evening."
Leonore's advice was taken, and with a mutual "forgive," Louise, Eva,
and Gabriele embraced and separated for the night. Leonore was happy to
be alone with Eva, and listened undisturbedly through the whole night to
her relations. The good Leonore!
Major Victor R. was universally known as one of those who make sport
with female hearts, and Judge Frank regarded sport of this kind with a
severity very uncommon among his sex, especially where, as was the case
in this instance, selfishness, and not thoughtlessness, led to it. The
Major, ten years before this time, had married a young and rich girl
connected with the Judge's family; and the only fault of the young wife,
then sixteen, had been that of loving her husband too tenderly--nay,
even in adoring one who repaid her love with relentless severity and
faithlessness, under which the poor Amelia drooped, and, in the second
year of her marriage, died; but not without having bequeathed to the
unworthy husband all the property over which she had any control.
These were the very means by which R. now was enabled to pursue his
brilliant and reckless career. He always made his court to one of the
beauties of the day. He had been several times betrothed, but had broken
off the affair again without the smallest regard to the reputation or to
the feelings of the girl, upon whom by this means he had cast a
stain--nay, indeed, he secretly regarded it as an honour to himself to
make such victims, and to cause hearts to bleed for him--that cooled the
burning thirst of his self-love.
The world did justice to his agreeable and splendid talents; but the
noble of his own sex, as well as of the other, esteemed him but very
lightly, inasmuch as they considered him a person without true worth.
The thoughts of a union between this man and his beloved daughter
occasioned a storm in the bosom of the Judge.
Such was the information regarding the man whom she loved that met Eva
on her return home. Everybody was unanimously against him. What Eva
spoke in his excuse produced no effect; what she said of his true and
deep devotion to her, evidently nobody credited; and over her own love,
which had made the world so beautiful, which had produced the most
delicious feelings in her breast, and had opened to her a heaven of
happiness, people mourned and wept, and regarded it as a misfortune,
nay, even as a degradation. Wounded to the inmost of her soul, Eva drew
herself back, as it were, from her own family, and accused them to
herself of selfishness and unreasonableness. Louise, perhaps, deserved
somewhat of this reproach; but Leonore was pure, pure as the angels of
heaven; still Leonore mourned over Eva's love, and on that account Eva
closed her heart against her also.
The variance, which in consequence of all this existed between Eva and
her family, became only yet greater when Major R. arrived, shortly after
her, at the city. He was a tall handsome man, of perhaps
five-and-thirty; of a haughty, but somewhat trifling exterior; his
countenance was gay and blooming, and his look clear and bold. Great
practice in the world, and an inimitable ease and confidence, gave to
his demeanour and conversation that irresistible power which these
qualities exercise so greatly in society.
On his visit to the Franks, the Judge and he exchanged some glances, in
which both read that neither could endure the other. The Major, however,
let nothing of all this be seen; was perfectly candid and gay; and while
he directed his conversation especially to Elise, spoke scarcely one
word to Eva, though he looked much at her. After the first stiff
salutation, the Judge went again into his study, for the very appearance
of this man was painful to him. Leonore was polite, nay, almost friendly
to him, for she would willingly have loved one whom Eva loved. Assessor
Munter was present during this visit; but when he had seen, for a few
minutes, the glances which the Major cast upon Eva, and their magic
influence over her, and had observed and had read her whole heart in a
timid glance which she raised to her beloved, he withdrew silently and
hastily.
The Major came but seldom to the house, for the eye of the Judge
appeared to have the power of keeping him at a distance; on the
contrary, he managed it so that he saw Eva almost daily out of the
house. He met her when she went out, and accompanied her home from
church. Invitations came; sledging-parties and balls were arranged; and
Eva, who formerly was so well pleased with home, who had often given up
the pleasures of the world for the domestic evening circle, Eva appeared
to find nothing now pleasing at home; appeared only to be able to live
in those circles and those pleasures in which Major R. shone, and where
she could see herself distinguished by him. Precisely, therefore, on
account of these rencontres of the two, the family went as little as
possible into society. Still, notwithstanding all this, Eva's wishes
upon the whole were favoured. Leonore accompanied her faithfully
wherever she wished. The Judge was gloomy and disturbed in temper; the
mother was mild and accommodating; and as to Eva, she was in a high
degree sensitive; whilst whatever concerned her love, or seemed to
oppose her wishes in the slightest degree, brought her to tears and
hysterical sobs, and her friends became ever more and more aware how
violent and exclusive her love was to Major R. The mere glimpse of him,
the sound of his steps, the tone of his voice, shook her whole frame.
All earlier affectionate relationships had lost their power over her
heart.
It not unfrequently happens that people, whether it arises from physical
or moral causes, become wonderfully unlike themselves. Irritability,
violence, indiscretion, and unkindness, suddenly reveal themselves in a
hitherto gentle and amiable character, and, as if by a magic stroke, a
beautiful form has been transformed into a witch. It requires a great
deal, under such circumstances, to keep friends warm and unchanged. A
great demand of goodness, a great demand of clearness of vision, is made
from any one when, under these circumstances, he is required to remain
true in the same love, to persevere in the same faith, to wait patiently
for the time when the magic shall lose its power, when the changed one
shall come back again; and yet he, all the time, be able only to present
himself by quiet prayers, mild looks, and affectionate care! Probably
otherwise he never might have come back again. I say _great purity of
vision_, because the true friend never loses sight of the heavenly image
of his friend; but sees it through every veil of casualty, even when it
is concealed from all, nay, even from the faulty one's self! He has
faith in it; he loves it; he lives for it, and says, "Wait! have
patience! it will go over, and then he (or she) comes back again!" And
whoever has such a friend, comes back indeed!
So stood the quiet, affectionate Leonore on the side of her altered
sister.
All this time Henrik was beneficial to his whole family, and appeared to
have regained all his former amiable animation, in order therewith to
eradicate every disturbing sensation from the bosom of home. He
accompanied his family, more than he had ever done before, into society,
and had always a watchful eye on his sister and the Major.
Before long the Major declared himself, and asked for Eva's hand. Her
parents had prepared themselves for this event, and had decided on their
line of conduct. They intended not to make their child unhappy by a
decided negative to the wishes of her heart; but they had determined to
demand a year of trial both from her and her lover, during which time
they should have no intercourse with each other, should exchange no
letters, and should consider themselves as free from every mutual
obligation; and that then again after this interval of time, if they
two, the Major and Eva, still wished it, the question of their union
might again he brought forward. This middle path had been proposed by
Elise, who, through a progressively inward, and more perfect fulfilment
of duties, had acquired an ever-increasing power over her husband, and
thus induced him to accede to it, at the same time that she endeavoured
to infuse into him the hope which she herself cherished, namely, either
that Eva, during the time of probation, would discover the unworthiness
of the Major, and won over by the wishes and the tenderness of her
family, would conquer her love, or, on the other hand, that the Major,
ennobled by love and constant to her, would become worthy of her. It was
one of the most favourite and cherished axioms of the Judge, that every
man had the power of improving himself, and he willingly conceded that
for this end there existed no more powerful means than a virtuous love.
The Judge now talked energetically yet tenderly with his daughter;
explained clearly to her the terms of this connexion, without concealing
from her how bitter to him had been, and still was, the thought of this
union, and appealed to her own sense and reason whether too much had
been required in this prescribed time of trial.
Eva shed many tears; but deeply affected by the goodness of her parents,
consented to their wishes, and promised, though not without pain, to
fulfil them. The Judge wrote to the Major, who had made his declaration
by letter, a candid and noble, but by no means sugared, answer; wherein
he required from him, as a man of honour, that he should by no means
whatever induce Eva to swerve from the promises which she had made to
her parents, and by this means disturb her hitherto so happy connexion
with her own family. This letter, which the father allowed his daughter
to read, and which occasioned her fresh tears, whilst she in vain
endeavoured to persuade him to remove expressions which she considered
too severe, but which he, on the contrary, considered too mild, was
despatched the same day, and all was again quieter.
Probably Eva would strictly have adhered to the wishes of her parents,
which they endeavoured to make pleasant to her by much kindness, had not
a letter from the Major been conveyed to her on the next evening, which
quite excited and unhinged her again. He complained violently therein of
her father's unreasonableness, injustice, and tyranny; and spoke, in the
most passionate terms, of his love, of his unbounded sufferings, and of
his despair. The consequence of this letter was that Eva was ill--but
more so, however, in mind than body, and that she demanded to have an
interview with Assessor Munter.
The friend and physician of the house came immediately to her.
"Do you love me?" was Eva's first question when they were alone.
"Do I love you, Eva?" answered he, and looked at her with an expression
of eye which must have moved any heart to tenderness that had been
otherwise occupied than hers was.
"If you love me, if you desire that I should not be really ill,"
continued Eva, speaking with quickness and great warmth, "you must
convey this letter to Major R----, and bring his answer back into my
hands. My father is set against him, everybody is set against him;
nobody knows him as well as I do! I am in a state of mind which will
drive me to despair, if you have not compassion on me! But you must be
my friend in secret.--You will not? If you love me you must take this
letter and----"
"Desire all things from me, Eva," interrupted he, "but not this! and
precisely because you are so dear to me. This man in fact is not worthy
of you; he does not deserve----"
"Not a word about him!" interrupted Eva, with warmth: "I know him better
than you all--_I_ alone know him; but you all are his enemies, and
enemies to my happiness. Once again I pray you--pray you with tears! Is
it then so much that I desire from you? My benefactor, my friend, will
you not grant this prayer of your Eva?"
"Let me speak with your father," said he.
"On this subject? No, no! impossible!" exclaimed she.
"Then, Eva, I must refuse your prayer. It gives me more pain than I can
express to refuse you anything in this world; but I will not stain my
hand in this affair. I will not be a means of your unhappiness.
Farewell!"
"Stop, stop," cried Eva, "and hear me! What is it that you fear for me?"
"Everything from a man of R----'s character."
"You mistake him, and you mistake me," returned she.
"I know him, and I know you," said he, "and on that account I would
rather go into fire than convey letters between him and you. This is my
last word."
"You will not!" exclaimed she; "then you love me not, and I have not a
friend in this world!"
"Eva, Eva, do not say so! you sin against yourself. You know not--ask
everything from me--ask my life--ah, through you, life has already lost
its worth for me!--ask----"
"Empty words!" interrupted Eva, and turned impatiently away. "I desire
nothing more from you, Assessor Munter! Pardon me that I have given you
so much trouble!"
Munter looked at her for some moments in silence, laid his hand hastily
on his heart as if he had a violent pain there, and went out more bowed
than commonly.
Not long after this, an unexpected ray of light gladdened the painful
condition of affairs between Eva and her family. She was calmer. The
Major removed from the city into the country, to pass the Christmas with
a relation of his there; and on the same day Eva came down into the
library at the customary hour of tea, after she had passed several days
in her own room. Every one received her with joy. Her father went
towards her with open arms, called her sweet names, placed her on the
sofa by her mother, and took her tea to her himself: a lover could not
have been more tender or more attentive to her. One might see that Eva
was not indifferent to these marks of affection, and that yet she did
not receive them altogether with joy. A burning red alternated with
paleness on her cheek, and at times it seemed that a tear, a repentant
tear, filled her eyes.
From this time, however, the old state of feeling, and the old quiet,
returned in part to the bosom of the family. Nobody named the Major; and
as, when spring-time comes, the grass grows and the leaves burst forth,
although the heaven is yet dark, and many a northern blast yet lingers
in the air, so did affectionate feelings and joyful hours spring up
again in the family of the Franks, from the spontaneous vernal spirit
which reigned there.
You might have seen the mother there, like the heart of the family,
taking part in all that went forward, making every one so cheerful and
comfortable, as she moved about here and there, so rich in grace and joy
and consolation! Wherever she came, there came with her a something
pleasant or animating, either in word or deed; and yet all this time she
was very far from being herself calm. Care for her daughter was
accompanied by anxiety on account of Henrik's prospects and happiness.
She understood, better than any one else, his feelings, his wishes, and
his thoughts; and on this account glances of friendly understanding were
often exchanged between them, and from this cause also was it that on
those days on which the post came in from Stockholm, she became paler
and paler the nearer post-time came--for it perhaps might bring with it
important news for Henrik.
"My dear Elise," said the Judge, jesting affectionately, "to what
purpose is all this unquiet, this incomprehensible anxiety? I grant that
it would be a happiness to us all, and a piece of good luck, if Henrik
could obtain the solicited situation--but if he do not get it--well,
what then?--he can get another in a little while. He is yet a mere
youngster, and can very well wait for some years. And his poem--suppose
it should now and never more be regarded as a masterpiece, and should
not obtain the prize--now, in heaven's name! what does it matter? He
would perhaps, from the very circumstance of his having less fortune as
a poet, be only the more practical man, and I confess that would not
mortify me. And I shall wish both the poem and the appointment at the
place where pepper grows if you are to become pale and nervous on its
account! Promise me now next post-day to be reasonable, and not to look
like the waning moon, else I promise you that I shall be downright
angry, and will keep the whole post-bag to myself!"
To his children the father spoke thus: "Have you really neither genius
nor spirit of invention enough to divert and occupy your mother on the
unfortunate post-day? Henrik, it depends upon you whether she be calm or
not; and if you do not convince her that, let your luck in the world be
whatever it may, you can bear it like a man, I must tell you that you
have not deserved all the tenderness which she has shown you!"
Henrik coloured deeply, and the Judge continued: "And you, Gabriele! I
shall never call you my clever girl again, if you do not make a riddle
against the next post-day which shall so occupy your mother that she
shall forget all the rest!"
The following post-day was an exceedingly merry one. Never before had
more interesting topics of conversation been brought forward by Henrik;
never before had the mother been so completely seduced into the
discussions of the young people. At the very moment when the post-hour
arrived she was deeply busied in solving a riddle, which Henrik and
Gabriele endeavoured to make only the more intricate by their fun and
jokes, whilst they were pretending to assist her in the discovery.
The riddle ran as follows:
Raging war and tumult
Am I never nigh;
And from rain and tempest
To far woods I fly.
In cold, worldly bosoms
My deep grave is made;
And from conflagration
Death has me affrayed.
No one e'er can find me
In the dungeon glooms;
I have no abiding,
Save where freedom blooms.
My morning sun ariseth,
Light o'er mind to fling;
O'er love's throbbing bosom
Rests my downy wing!
Like our Lord in heaven,
I am ever there
And like him of children
Have I daily care.
What though I may sever
From thee now and then,
I forget thee never----
I come back again!
In the morning's brightness,
Dear one, if thou miss me,
With the sunset's crimson
Come I back and kiss thee!
This riddle, which it must be confessed was by no means one of
Gabriele's best, gave rise to a fund of amusement, and occasioned the
maddest propositions on Henrik's part. The mother, however, did not
allow herself to be misled; but exclaimed, whilst she laughingly
endeavoured to overpower the voices of her joking children,
"The riddle is----"
What the riddle was, the reader may see by the title of our next
chapter.