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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d--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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sert that Baroness Rosenhjelm"s brewing-recipe is good for nothing!"
"That I a.s.sert 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 a.s.sure 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 gla.s.s 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 sh.o.r.es!"
"Fish also have we, thank G.o.d, 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 quant.i.ties 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."