ELISE TO CECILIA.
_Two months later._
"When I last wrote to you, my Cecilia, it was winter. Winter, severe icy
winter, had also gathered itself about my heart--my life's joy was
wrapped in his winding-sheet, and it seemed to me as if no more spring
could bloom, no more life could exist; and that I should never again
have the heart to write a cheerful or hopeful word. And now--now it is
spring! The lark sings again the ascension-song of the earth; the May
sun diffuses his warming beams through my chamber, and the grass becomes
already green upon the grave of my first-born, my favourite! And I----Oh
Lord! thou who smitest, thou also healest, and I will praise thee! for
every affliction which thou sendest becomes good if it be only received
with patience. And if thou concealest thyself for a season--as it
appears to our weak vision--thou revealest thyself yet soon again,
kinder and more glorious than before! For a little while and we see thee
not, and again for a little while and we see thee, and our hearts
rejoice and drink strength and enjoyment out of the cup which thou,
Almighty One! fillest eternally. Yes, every thing in life becomes good,
if that life be only spent in God!
"But in those dark wintry hours it was often gloomy and tumultuous
within me. Ah, Cecilia, I would not that he should die! He was my only
son, my first-born child. I suffered most at his birth; I sang most
beside his cradle; my heart leapt up first and highest with maternal joy
at his childish play. He was my summer child, born in the midsummer of
nature and of my life and my strength, and then--he was so full of life,
so beautiful and good! No, I would not that he should die, or that my
beautiful son should be laid in the black earth! And as the time drew
nearer and nearer, and I saw that it must be--then it was dark in me.
But the last night--Oh, it was a most wonderful night!--then it was
otherwise. Do you know, Cecilia, that I sung gaily, triumphantly, by the
death-bed of my first-born! Now I cannot comprehend it. But this
night--he had during the foregoing day suffered much, and his
sufferings had reconciled me to his death. They abated as death
approached, and he besought of me, as he had often done in the years of
his childhood, to sing him to sleep. I sang--I was able to sing. He
received pleasure from the song, which increased in power, and with a
heavenly smile, whilst heavenly pictures seemed to float before his
eyes, he said, 'Ah, it is divine!' and I sang better and ever clearer. I
saw his eyes change themselves, his breath become suspended, and I knew
that then was the moment of separation between soul and body--between me
and him! but I did not then feel it, and I sang on. It seemed to me as
if the song sustained the spirit and raised it to heaven. In that moment
I was happy; for even I, as well as he, was exalted above every earthly
pain.
"The exclamation of my name awoke me from my blessed dream, and I saw
the dead body of my son--after this I saw nothing more.
"There was a long, deep stupor. When I recovered consciousness, I felt a
heart beating against my temples. I raised my eyes and saw my husband;
my head was resting on his breast, and with the tenderest words he was
calling me back to life. My daughters stood around me weeping, and
kissing my hands and my clothes. I also wept, and then I felt better. It
was then morning, and the dawn came into my chamber. I threw my arms
around my husband's neck, and said, 'Ernst, love me! I will
endeavour----'
"I could say no more, but he understood me, thanked me warmly, and
pressed me close to his bosom.
"I did endeavour to be calm, and with God's help I succeeded. For
several hours of the day I lay still on my bed. Eva, whose voice is
remarkably sweet, read aloud to me. I arose for tea, and endeavoured to
be as usual; my husband and my daughters supported me, and all was peace
and love.
"But when the day was ended, and Ernst and I were alone in our chamber,
a fear of the night, of bed, and a sleepless pillow, seized hold of me;
I, therefore, seated myself on the sofa, and prayed Ernst to read to me,
for I longed for the consolations of the Gospel. He seated himself by me
and read; but the words, although spoken by his manly, firm voice,
passed at this time impressionless over my inward sense. I understood
nothing, and all within me was dark and vacant. All at once some one
knocked softly at the door, and Ernst, not a little astonished, said,
'Come in;' the door was opened, and Eva entered. She was very pale, and
appeared excited; but yet at the same time firm and determined. She
approached us softly, and sinking down on her knees between us, took our
hands between hers. I would have raised her, but Ernst held me back, and
said, mildly but gravely, 'Let her alone!'
"'My father, my mother!' said Eva, with tremulous voice, 'I have given
you uneasiness--pardon me! I have grieved you--I will not do it again.
Ah! I will not now lay a stone on your burden. See, how disobedient I
have been--this ring, and these letters, I have received against your
will and against my promises from Major R. I will now send them back.
See here! read what I have written to him. Our acquaintance is for ever
broken! Pardon me, that I have chosen these hours to busy you with my
affairs, but I feared my own weakness when the force of this hour shall
have passed. Oh, my parents! I feel, I know, that he is not worthy to be
your son! But I have been as it were bewitched--I have loved him beyond
measure;--ah, I love him still--nay, do not weep, mother! You shall
never again shed a tear of grief over me--you have wept already enough
on my account. Since Henrik's death every thing in me is changed. Fear
nothing more for me; I will conquer this, and will become your obedient,
your happy child. Only require not from me that I should give my hand to
another--never will I marry, never belong to another! But for you, my
parents, will I live; I will love you, and with you be happy! Here, my
father, take this, and send it back to him whom I will no more see!
And--Oh, love me! Love me!'
"Tears bedewed the face which she bowed down to her father's knee. Never
had she looked so lovely, so attractive! Ernst was greatly affected; he
laid his hand as if in blessing upon her head, which he raised, and
said:
"'When you were born, Eva, you lay long as if dead; in my arms you first
opened your eyes to the light, and I thanked God. But I thank him
manifold more for you in this moment, in which I see in you the joy and
blessing of our age--in which you have been able to combat with your own
heart, and to do that which is right! God bless you! God reward you!'
"He held her for a long time to his bosom, and his tears wetted her
forehead. I also clasped her in my arms, and let her feel my love and my
gratitude, and then, with a look which beamed through tears, she left
us.
"We called her 'our blessed child' at that time, for she had blessed us
with a great consolation. She had raised again our sunken hearts.
"Ernst went to the window and looked silently into the star-lighted
night; I followed him, and my glance accompanied his, which in this
moment was so beautiful and bright, and laying his arm around me he
spoke thus, as if to himself:
"'It is good! It is so intended--and that is the essential thing! He is
gone! What more? We must all go; all, sooner or later. He might not
perfect his work; but he stood ready, ready in will and ability when he
was called to the higher work-place! Lord and Master, thou hast taken
the disciple to thyself. Well for him that he was ready! That is the
most important for us all!'
"Ernst's words and state of mind produced great effect upon me. Peace
returned to my spirit. In the stillness of the night I did not sleep,
but I rested on his bosom. It was calm around me and in me. And in the
secret of my soul I wished that it might ever remain so, that no more
day might dawn upon me, and no more sun shine upon my weary, painful
eyes.
"How the days creep on! On occasions of great grief it always appears as
if time stood still. All things appear to stand still, or slowly and
painfully to roll on, in dark circles; but it is not so! Hours and days
go on in an interminable chain; they rise and sink like the waves of the
sea; and carry along with them the vessel of our life: carry it from the
islands of joy it is true, but carry it also away from the rocky shores
of grief. Hours came for me in which no consolation would appease my
heart, in which I in vain combated with myself, and said--'Now I will
read, and then pray, and then sleep!' But yet anguish would not leave
me, but followed me still, when I read; prevented me from prayer, and
chased away sleep; yes, many such hours have been, but they too are
gone; some such may perhaps come yet, but I know also that they too will
go. The tenderness of my husband and of my children--the peace of
home--the many pleasures within it--the relief of tears--the eternal
consolation of the Eternal Word--all these have refreshed and
strengthened my soul. It is now much, much better. And then--he died
pure and spotless, the youth with the clear glance and the warm heart!
He stood, as his father said, ready to go into the higher world. Oh!
more than ever have I acknowledged, in the midst of my deep pain, that
there is pain more bitter than this; for many a living son is a greater
grief to his mother than mine--the good one there, under the green
mound!
"We have planted fir-trees and poplars around the grave, and often will
it be decorated with fresh flowers. No dark grief abides by the grave of
the friendly youth.--Henrik's sisters mourn for him deep and
still--perhaps Gabriele mourns him most of all. One sees it not by day,
for she is generally gay as formerly; a little song, a gay jest, a
little adornment of the house, all goes on just as before to enliven the
spirits of her parents. But in the night, when all rest in their beds,
she is heard weeping, often so painfully--it is a dew of love on the
grave of her brother; but then every morning is the eye again bright and
smiling.
"On the first tidings of our loss Jacobi hastened to us. He took from
Ernst and me, in this time of heavy grief, all care upon himself, and
was to us as the tenderest of sons. Alas! he was obliged very soon to
leave us, but the occasion for this was the most joyful. He is about to
be nominated to the living of T----; and his promotion, which puts him
in the condition soon to marry, affords him also a respectable income,
and a sphere of action agreeable to his wishes and accordant with his
abilities, and altogether makes him unspeakably happy. Louise also looks
forward towards this union and establishment for life with quiet
satisfaction, and that, I believe, as much on account of her family as
for herself.
"The family affection appears, through the late misfortune, to have
received a new accession: my daughters are more amiable than ever in
their quiet care to sweeten the lives of their parents. Mrs. Gunilla has
been like a mother to me and mine during this time; and many dear
evidences of sympathy, from several of the best and noblest in Sweden,
have been given to Henrik's parents;--the young poet's pure glory has
brightened their house of mourning. 'It is beautiful to have died as he
has died,' says our good Assessor, who does not very readily find any
thing beautiful in this world.
"And I, Cecilia, should I shut my heart against so many occasions for
joy and gratitude, and sit with my sorrow in darkness? Oh no! I will
gladden the human circle in which I live; I will open my heart to the
gospel of life and of nature; I will seize hold on the moments, and the
good which they bring. No friendly glance, no spring-breeze, shall pass
over me unenjoyed or unacknowledged; out of every flower will I suck a
drop of honey, and out of every passing hour a drop of eternal life.
"And then--I know it truly--be my life's day longer or shorter, bear it
a joyful or a gloomy colour,
The day will never endure so long
But at length the evening cometh.
The evening in which I may go home--home to my son, my summer-child! And
then--Oh then shall I perhaps acknowledge the truth of that prophetic
word which has so often animated my soul: 'For behold I create new
heavens and a new earth; and the former shall not be remembered nor come
into mind. But be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which I create.'
"I have wept much whilst I have written this, but my heart has peace. It
is now late. I will creep in to my Ernst, and I feel that I shall sleep
calmly by his side.
"Good-night, my Cecilia."