FOOTNOTES:
[18] "Lefse" are thin cakes of dough, which are cut in pieces and baked.
THE AWAKENING.
I woke, for life assumed victorious sway,
And found my being in its weakness lay.
There the beloved ones round my couch I saw.
Rein.
Months went on, and life was for Susanna merely a wild, uneasy dream. In the delirious fantasies of fever she again lived over the impressions of the mountain journey, but in darker colours. She saw the subterranean spirits, how in terrible shapes they raged about in the now wilderness, and sought to suffocate her beneath piles of snow and ice, which they flung upon her. Susanna combated with desperate exertions against them, for she knew that if she fell, the defence for those she loved would be taken away, and that the subterranean ones could seize upon it; and therefore any mass of snow which the spirits cast upon her, she cast back upon them. Finally, the subterranean ones desired a parley, and promised that if she would voluntarily accompany them, they would permit her friends to be at peace; yes, even heap upon them wealth and happiness. Then strove Susanna no longer; but saluting the beautiful heaven, and earth with its green dales and beloved people, whom she should behold no more, let herself be dragged down in silence by the spirits, into their subterranean dwellings, and experienced there inexpressible torments. But she was contented to suffer for those she loved; and out of the dark, cold abyss, where she was doomed to dwell, she sent up the most affectionate, moving farewells to her Hulda, to her mistress, to Harald, and Alette, revealing thereby, unknown, to herself, all her heart's secrets, conflicts, and sufferings.
One day it seemed to her that she had already dwelt hundreds of years in the under world, and she was now in their church, for her time was up, and she should now die, and in death (that she knew) should she be delivered from the power of the mountain spirits. But she could feel no joy over this, so faint was her heart, so chilled was her bosom. She lay stretched out upon a stone floor, and over her vaulted itself a roof of ice. That was her funeral vault, and there should she die. And by degrees all feelings and senses grew benumbed, all torments vanished, and there came a sleep so deep, but so secret and peaceful, that Susanna, who still retained her consciousness, regarded death as a salutary repose, and wished not to awaken. But it seemed to her that the door of the vault opened, and she saw a light, like that of the sun; and some one approached her, and touched her lips with a flame—a flame as of life. Then beat her heart more rapidly, the blood streamed warmly through her veins, and she looked up and saw a female figure stand by her pillow, which bent over her with a look full of love and compassion. The look, the beautiful life-giving look, Susanna seemed to have seen some time before, and the longer she gazed on the face of this female shape, the better she seemed to recognise familiar features—the noble and beloved features of her mistress. But she looked younger and fairer than formerly. At her feet she saw roses standing, and the sun shone upon them; but all appeared to her so beautiful, so wonderful, that she involuntarily whispered:
"Are we now in heaven?"
"Still on the earth," replied a voice, full of tenderness. "Thou wilt here live for those who love thee."
"Ah! who loves me?" said Susanna, faint and spiritless.
"I!" answered the voice; "I and others. But be calm and quiet—a mother watches over thee."
And Susanna continued calm and quiet, and resigned herself, in her great state of weakness, with gratified confidence to the motherly guardian. Mrs. Astrid's presence, the mere sound of her light tread, the mere sight of her shadow, operated beneficially on her mind; all that she received from her hand was to her delicious and healing. There arose between them a relationship full of pleasantness. Mrs. Astrid, who saw the young girl as it were born anew under her hands, conceived for her an attachment which surprised herself, much as it made her happy. The strong and healthy Susanna had stood too distant from her; the weak, and in her weakness the so child-like affectionate one, had stolen into her heart, and she felt her heart thereby bloom, as it were, anew.
Such is the operation of all true devotion, all true affection, and that in every stage of life; for affection is the summer of life and of the heart.
So soon as strength and clear memory again revived in Susanna, she begged to be informed of the fate of all those who had made the mountain journey. With astonishment and joy did she then learn how Mrs. Astrid had discovered in Harald her sister's son; and how, by this, much darkness had vanished from her life.
Through Sergeant Rönn, and the subsequent inquiries to which his statement led, within a short time perfect clearness was obtained on all that concerned the circumstances of Harald's childhood. It was then discovered that Mr. K. had been a confidant of Colonel Hjelm's, and was of a sufficiently worthless character to enter, for the sake of gain, into the plans of the Colonel, and to receive Harald, and cause him by degrees to forget his former circumstances. Sickness came in aid of severe treatment; and after a sojourn of some months in K.'s house, he found the poor boy so much stupified, that he could, without fear of the betrayal of the secret, yield to the solicitations of Mr. Bergman, and make over to him a child whose daily aspect was a torment to him. But we return now to the present.
Harald, under skilful medical care in Bergen, after the mountain journey, was quickly restored to health. When he had attended the marriage of Alette, he had travelled abroad, but would, in the course of the summer, return to Semb, where he would settle down, in order to live for the beloved relative whom he had again discovered.
The guide, the honest old peasant of Hailing, had met with his death on the mountains. His grandson wept by his corpse till he was himself half dead with hunger and cold, when the people from the dales, sent by Mrs. Astrid and Harald, succeeded in making a way through the snow-drifts to the Björöja-säter, and in rescuing him.
Susanna dropt a tear for the old man's fate, but felt within her a secret regret not to have died like him. She looked towards the future with disquiet. But when she could again leave her bed, when Mrs. Astrid drove her out with her, when she felt the vernal air, and saw the sea, and the clear heaven above the mountains, and the green orchards at their feet; then awoke she again vividly to the feeling of the beauty of the earth, and of life. And she contemplated with admiration and delight the new objects which surrounded her, as well the magnificent forms of nature, as the life and the changing scenes in the city; for Susanna found herself in the lovely and splendidly situated Bergen, the greatest mercantile city of Norway, the birthplace of Hollberg, Dahl, and Ole Bull.
Yet would she speedily separate herself from all this, and what was still harder, from her adored mistress; for Susanna had firmly determined never again to see Harald. Crimson blushes covered her cheeks when she recollected her confession in the mountains, at the moment when she thought herself at the point of death, and she felt that after this they could not meet, much less live in the same house without mutually painful embarrassment. She would, therefore, not return again to Semb; but, so soon as her health would permit it, would go from Bergen by sea to Sweden, to her native town again, and there, in the bosom of her little darling, seek to heal her own heart, and draw new strength to live and labour.
But it was not easy for poor Susanna to announce this resolve to her mistress. She trembled violently, and could not restrain her tears.
It was at the same time calming and disturbing to her feelings, when Mrs. Astrid, after she had quietly listened to Susanna, answered with much composure—
"You are at liberty, Susanna, to act as you find it best; but in three or four months, for so long will my affairs yet retain me here—in a few months I shall again return, to Semb, and it would be a trial to me to be without you on the journey."
"Then I shall accompany you," replied Susanna, glad that she was needed, "but then ..."
"Then," began again Mrs. Astrid, "when you will leave me, I shall arrange for your safe return to your native place."
"So then yet some months!" thought Susanna with a melancholy pleasure. And these months were for her inexpressibly pleasant and strengthening. Mrs. Astrid occupied herself much with her, and sought in many particulars to supply the defects of her neglected education. And Susanna was a quick pupil, and more affectionately than ever did she attach herself to her mistress, while she on her part experienced even more and more the truth of the adage: "the breath of youth is wholesome."
In the beginning of the month of July, Mrs. Astrid travelled again with Susanna over the mountains which had once threatened them with death; but at this season of the year, the journey was not dangerous, though always laborious. Mrs. Astrid was the whole time in the highest spirits, and seemed every day to become more joyous. Susanna's mood of mind, on the contrary, became every day more depressed. Even Mrs. Astrid's gaiety contributed to this. She felt herself infinitely solitary.
It was a beautiful July evening when they descended into Heimdal. Susanna's heart swelled with sadness as she saw again the places and the objects which were so dear to her, and which she should now soon quit for ever. Never had they struck her as so enchanting. She saw the sun's beams fall on the Kristallberg, and she called to mind Harald's sagas; she saw the grove of oaks where Mrs. Astrid had sate and had enjoyed the fragrance which Susanna's hand had prepared for her in silence. And the spring where the silver-weed and the ladies-mantle grew, the clear spring where she had spent so many happy hours; Susanna seemed to thirst for it. The windows in Semb burned with the radiance of the sun, the house seemed to be illuminated;—in that house she had worked and ordered; there she had loved; there the flame of the winter evenings had burned so brightly during Harald's stories. Silently ascended the pillars of smoke from the cottages in the dale, where she was at home, knew each child and each cow, knew the cares and the joys which dwelt there, and where she had first learned rightly to comprehend Harald's good-heartedness—always Harald—always did she find his image as the heart in all these reminiscences. But now—- now should she soon leave all this, all that was beautiful and dear!
They arrived now in Semb, and were greeted by Alfiero with barkings of clamorous delight.—Susanna, with a tear in her eye, greeted and nodded to all beloved acquaintances, both people and animals.
The windows in Mrs. Astrid's room stood open, and through them were seen charming prospects over the dale, with its azure stream, its green heights and slopes, and the peaceful spire of its church in the background. She herself stood, as in astonishment, at the beauty of the grove, and her eyes flashed as she exclaimed—
"See, Susanna! Is not our dale beautiful? And will it not be beautiful to live here, to make men happy, and be happy oneself?"
Susanna answered with a hasty Yes, and left the room. She felt herself ready to choke, and yet once more arose Barbra in her, and spoke thus—
"Beautiful? Yes, for her. She thinks not of me; troubles herself not the least about me! Nor Harald neither! The poor maid-servant, whom they had need of in the mountain journey is superfluous in the dale. She may go; they are happy now; they are sufficient to themselves. Whether I live or die, or suffer, it is indifferent to them. Good, I will therefore no longer trouble them. I will go, go far, far from here. I will trouble myself no farther about them; I will forget them as they forget me."
But tears notwithstanding rolled involuntarily over Susanna's cheeks, and the Barbra wrath ran away with them, and Sanna resumed—
"Yes, I will go: but I will bless them wherever I go. May they find a maid equally faithful, equally devoted! May they never miss Susanna! And then, my little Hulda, then my darling and sole joy, soon will I come to thee. I will take thee into my arms, and carry thee to some still corner, where undisturbed I may labour for thee. A bit of bread and a quiet home, I shall find sufficient for us both. And when my heart aches, I will clasp thee to me, thou little soft child, and thank God that I have yet some one on earth whom I can love, and who loves me!"
Just as Susanna finished this ejaculation, she was at the door of her room. She opened it—entered—and stood dumb with astonishment. Were her senses yet confused, or did she now first wake out of year-long dreams? She saw herself again in that little room in which she had spent so many years of her youth, in that little room which she herself had fitted up, had painted and embellished, and had often described to Harald;—and there by the window stood the little Hulda's bed, with its flowery coverlet, and blue muslin hangings. This scene caused the blood to rush violently to Susanna's heart, and, out of herself, she cried—"Hulda! my little Hulda!"
"Here I am, Sanna! Here is thy little Hulda!" answered the clear joyous voice of a child, and the coverlet of the bed moved, and an angelically beautiful child's head peeped out, and two small white arms stretched themselves towards Susanna. With a cry of almost wild joy Susanna sprang forward, and clasped the little sister in her arms.
Susanna was pale, wept and laughed, and knew not for some time what went on around her. But when she had collected herself, she found herself sitting on Hulda's bed, with the child folded in her arms, and over the little, light-locked head, lifted itself a manly one, with an expression of deep seriousness and gentle emotion.
"Entreat, Susanna, little Hulda," said Harald, "that she bestow a little regard on me, and that she does not say nay to what you have granted me; beg that I may call little Hulda my daughter, and that I may call your Susanna, my Susanna!"
"Oh, yes! That shalt thou, Susanna!" exclaimed little Hulda, while she, with child-like affection, threw her arms about Susanna's neck, and continued zealously: "Oh, do like him, Susanna! He likes thee so much; that he has told me so often, and he has himself brought me hither to give thee joy. And seest thou this beautiful necklace he has given me, and he has promised to tell me such pleasant stories in winter. He can tell so many, do you know! Hast thou heard about Rypan in Justedale, Sanna? He has told me that! And about the good lady who went about after the Black Death, and collected all the motherless little children, and was a mother to them. Oh, Sanna! Do like him, and let him be my father!"
Susanna let the little prattler go on without being able to say a word. She buried her face in her bosom, and endeavoured to collect her confused thoughts.
"Susanna," prayed Harald, restlessly and tenderly. "Look at me! Speak to me a kind word!"
Then raised Susanna her burning and tear-bathed countenance, saying, "Oh! how shall I ever be able to thank you?"
"How?" said Harold. "By making me happy, Susanna. By becoming my wife."
Susanna stood up, while she said with as much candour as cordiality, "God knows best how happy I should feel myself, if I could believe—if words were spoken for your own sake, and not merely for mine. But, ah! I cannot do it. I know that it is your generosity and goodness——"
"Generosity? Then am I right generous towards myself. For I assure you, Susanna, that I never thought more of my own advantage than at this moment; that I am now as completely egotistical as you could desire."
"And your sister Alette," continued Susanna, with downcast eyes; "I know that she does not wish to call me her sister, and——"
"And since Alette once was so stupid," said now a friendly female voice, "therefore is she here to deprecate it." And Alette embraced heartily the astonished Susanna, whilst she continued—"Oh, Susanna! without you I should now no longer have a brother. I know you better now, and I have read in the depths of his heart and know that he can now no longer be happy but through you. Therefore I implore you, Susanna, implore you earnestly, to make him happy. Be his wife, Susanna, and be my sister."
"And you, too, Alette," said Susanna, deeply moved; "will you too mislead me with your sweet words? Ah! could you make me forget that it is my weakness——that is, I who, through my confession have called forth—— But that can I never; and therefore can I not believe you, ye good, ye noble ones! And therefore I implore and adjure you——"
"What fine speeches are making here?" now interrupted a solemn voice, and Mrs. Astrid stood before the affectionately contending group, and spoke thus with an assumed sternness. "I will hope that my young relatives and my daughter Susanna do not take upon them to transact and to determine important affairs without taking me into the council. But yes, I perceive by your guilty countenances that this is the fact; and therefore I shall punish you altogether. Not another word of the business then till eight days are over; and then I demand and require, as lady and mistress of this house, that the dispute be brought before me, and that I have a word to say in the decision. Susanna remains here in the mean time in safe keeping, and I myself shall undertake to watch her. Dost thou believe seriously, Susanna," and Mrs. Astrid's voice changed into the most affectionate tones, while she clasped the young maiden in her arms, "dost thou believe that thou canst so easily escape me? No, no, my child! Thou deceivest thyself there. Since thou hast saved our lives, thou hast become our life-captive—thou, and with thy little Hulda! But supper is laid under the lime-trees in the garden, my child; and let us gather strength from it for the approaching strife."
THE LAST STRIFE.
The wingéd troops hie
From the black woods outpouring;
Under them fly
Storms and waves roaring.
Over them waken
Mild stars, and beckon
The troop to the sheltering palms.
Autumn Song, by Velhaven.
There is on earth much sorrow and much darkness; there is crime and sickness,—the shriek of despair, and the deep, long, silent torture. Ah! who can name them all, the sufferings of humanity, in their manifold, pale dispensations? But, God be praised! there is also an affluence of goodness and joy; there are noble deeds, fulfilled hopes, moments of rapture, decades of blissful peace, bright marriage-days, and calm, holy death-beds.
Three months after the strife just mentioned, there was solemnised at Semb, in Heimdal, one of those bright wedding-days, when the suns of nature and of men's hearts combined to call forth on earth a paradise, which is always to be found there, though frequently hidden, fettered, deeply bound by the subterranean powers.
Yet from the faces of the fallen shine out
The lofty features of their heavenly birth,
And Daphne's heart beats 'neath the rugged bark.
Tegner.
It was an autumn day, but one of those autumn days when a sun warm as summer and a crystally pure air cause the earth to stand forth in the brightest splendour before the azure-blue eyes of heaven; when Nature resembles a novice, who adorns herself the most at the moment that she is about to take the nun's veil, and to descend into her winterly grave. The heights of the dale shone in the most gorgeous play of colours. The dark pines, the soft-green firs, the golden-tinged birches, the hazels with their pale leaves, and the mountain ashes with their bunches of scarlet berries, arranged themselves on these in a variety of changing masses; while the Heimdal river, intoxicated with the floods of heaven, roared onward more impetuous and powerful than ever. Many-coloured herds, which had returned fat and plump from the Säters, wandered on its green banks. The chapel-bells rung joyously in the clear air, while the church-going people streamed along the winding footpath from their cottages towards the house of God. From the margin of the river at Semb ran a little fleet of festally adorned boats. In the most stately of these sate, under a canopy of leaves and flowers, the Lady of Semb; but no longer the pale, sorrowful one, whose glances seemed to seek the grave. A new youth appeared now to play upon her cheeks, to breathe upon her lips, while the clear eyes, with a glad and quiet enjoyment, gazed around her, now on the beauties of nature, and now on a more beautiful sight which she had immediately before her eyes—a happy human pair. Near her, more like a little angel than a mortal child, sate little Hulda, with a wreath of the flowers called by the Norwegians "thousand-peace," in her bright locks. All looks, however—as they ought—were fixed on the bride and bridegroom; and both were, in truth, handsome and charming to look upon; the more so, because they appeared so perfectly happy. In a following boat was seen a little strife between a young lady and her husband, who would wrap round her a cloak, which she would not willingly have. The spectators were tempted to take part with him in his tender care for the young wife, who was soon to become a mother. The issue of this strife was, that—Alf got the upper hand of Alette. Other boats contained other wedding guests. The men who rowed the boats had all wreaths round their yellow straw hats. And thus so advanced the little fleet, amid joyous music, along the river to the chapel.
The chapel was a simple building, without any other ornament than a beautiful altar-piece, and an abundance of flowers and green branches, which now, for the occasion, adorned the seats, the walls, and the floor.
The sermon was simple and cordial, the singing pure; in a word, no dissonant tone came hither to disturb the devotion which the arrangement of divine service in Norway is so well adapted to call forth and maintain.[19]
Here Harald and Susanna called on heaven, from faithful and earnest hearts, to bless their sincere intention, in joy and in trouble on the earth, to love one another, and were declared by the congregation to be a pair.
Many people had come this day to church; and when the wedding-train returned homewards, many boats joined themselves to it, and followed it to the opposite shore with singing and loud huzzas.
But Susanna did not feel herself truly calm and happy till in Mrs. Astrid's quiet room she had bowed her forehead on her knee, and had felt her maternal hands laid in blessing upon her head. Her heart was so full of gratitude it seemed ready to burst.
"I have then a mother!" she exclaimed, as she embraced Mrs. Astrid's knees, and looked up to her with the warmest and most child-like affection;—"Ah! I am too happy, far too happy! God has given me, the poor solitary one, a home and a mother——"
"And a husband, too! Forget him not, I beseech! He too will be included!" said Harald, as he gently embraced Susanna, and also bent his knee before the maternal friend.
Mrs. Astrid clasped them both warmly in her arms, and said, with a still, inward voice, as she went with them to the window, whence was seen the beautiful dale in all its whole extent: We begin to-day together a new life, and we will together endeavour to make it happy. At this moment when I stand, surrounded by you, my children, and looking forward as it were into a beautiful future, I seem to myself so well to understand how that may be. We have not here the treasures of art; we have not the life of the great world, with its varying scenes to enliven and entertain us; but our lives need not therefore be heavy and earth-bound. We have Heaven, and we have—Nature! We will call down the former into our hearts and into our home, and we will inquire of the latter concerning its silent wonders, and through their contemplation elevate our spirits. By the flame of our quiet hearth we will sometimes contemplate the movements of the great world-drama, in order thereafter with the greater joy to return to our own little scene, and consider how we can best, each of us play out our part. "And I promise you beforehand," continued Mrs. Astrid, assuming a playful tone, "that mine shall not be, to make so long a speech as now."
But both Harald and Susanna joined in assuring Mrs. Astrid that she could not possibly speak too long.
"Well, well," said she kindly; "if you will sometimes listen to the old woman's preachings, she, on the other hand, will often be a child with you, and learn with you, and of you. I am at this moment equally curious about nature, and long to make a closer acquaintance with her. The thought of it throws a kind of vernal splendour over my autumn."
"And assuredly," said Harald, "the intercourse with nature operates beneficently, and with a youth-restoring power upon the human heart. I always remember with delight the words of Goethe, when in his eightieth year, he returned one spring from a visit in the country, sunburnt and full of gladness: 'I have had a conversation with the vine,' said he, 'and you cannot believe what beautiful things it has said to me.' Do we not seem here to behold a new golden age beam forth, in which the voices of nature become audible to the ear of man, and he in conversation with her to acquire higher wisdom and tranquillity of life?"
"Our wisdom," said Mrs. Astrid, as she looked smilingly around, "has not in the mean time prevented Susanna from being more sensible than us, for she has thought of the wedding-guests, while we have quite forgotten them. But we will now follow her!"
After the wedding-dinner spiced with skåls and songs, and especially with hearty merriment, Mrs. Astrid retired to her own room, and Alette assumed the hostess's office in the company.
Sitting at her writing-table, Mrs. Astrid, with an animated air, and quick respiration, sketched the following lines:
"Now come, come, my paternal friend, and behold your wishes, your prognostications fulfilled; come and behold happiness and inexpressible gratitude living in the bosom which so long was closed even to hope. Come, and receive my contrition for my pusillanimity, for my murmurings; come and help me to be thankful! I long to tell you orally how much is changed within me; how a thousand germs of life and gladness, which I believed to be dead, now spring up in my soul restored to youth. I wonder daily over the feelings, the impressions which I experience; I scarcely know myself again. Oh, my friend! how right you were—it is never TOO LATE!
"Ah! that I could be heard by all oppressed, dejected souls! I would cry to them—'Lift up your head, and confide still in the future, and believe that it is never TOO LATE!' See! I too was bowed down by long suffering, and old age had moreover overtaken me, and I believed that all my strength had vanished; that my life, my sufferings were in vain—and behold; my head has been again lifted up, my heart appeased, my soul strengthened; and now, in my fiftieth year, I advance into a new future, attended by all that life has of beautiful and worthy of love!
"The change in my soul has enabled me better to comprehend life and suffering, and I am now firmly convinced that there is no fruitless suffering, and that no virtuous endeavour is in vain. Winter days and nights may bury beneath their pall of snow the sown corn; but when the spring arrives, it will be found equally true, that 'there grows much bread in the winter night.' It has pleased Providence to remove the covering from my eyes here upon earth; for many others will this only be removed when their eyes have closed on the earthly day; all will, however, one day see what I now see, and acknowledge what I now acknowledge with joy and thankfulness.
"Clear and bright now lies my way before me. In concert with my beloved children, with the teacher of my youth, and my friend, who I hope will spend in my house the evening of his days, I will convert this place into a vale of peace. And when I shall leave it and them, may peace still remain amongst them with my memory! And now, thou advancing age, which already breathes coldly on my forehead; thou winter twilight of earthly life, in which my days will sink more and more, come and welcome! I fear thee no longer; for it has become warm and light in my heart. Even under bodily spasms and pains, I will no more misconceive the value of life; but with an eye open to all the good upon earth, I will say to my dear ones:
Bewail me not, for I am still so blest,
The peace of heaven doth dwell within my breast."
Mrs. Astrid laid down her pen, and lifted up her tear-bright and beaming eyes; she caught sight of Harald and Susanna, who arm-in-arm wandered down the dale. They went on in gladness, and yet seemed to contend; and the question between them was, indeed, upon a most important matter—namely, which of them should hereafter have in their house the last word. Harald wished that this should hereafter be, as lord and master, his exclusive prerogative. Susanna declared that she should not trouble herself about his prerogative; but when she was in the right intended to persist in it to the uttermost. In the mean time they had unconsciously advanced to the spring—the Water of Strife—which had witnessed their first contention, and over which now doves, as at the first time, circled with silver-glancing wings. And here Harald seized Susanna's hand, led her to the spring, and said solemnly—
"My wife! I have hitherto spoken jestingly, but now is the moment of seriousness. Our forefathers swore by the bright water of Leipter, and I now swear by the water of this clear spring, that if thou hereafter shalt oppose me beyond the power of my mind to bear, I will silence thee, and compel thee to hold thy peace in this manner——"
The doves, attracted by some wonderful sympathy, now flew rapidly down upon the head and shoulders of the young couple. All strife was hushed, and you might hear the soft and playful murmur of the spring, which seemed to whisper about—what?
Oh, heaven-azure well,
Say what thou now didst see!
The well whispered—
By a kiss—two disputants
United happily!
"Aha! here we have them!" exclaimed a merry voice, a little way behind the two who were kissing; "but I must tell you that it is not polite thus to leave your guests, to——"
"Come, Susanna," interposed Alette, smiling, whilst she took the arm of the deeply blushing Susanna, "come, and let us leave these egotistical gentlemen, who always will be waited upon, to themselves a little. It does them an infinite deal of good. We will in the mean time go together, and open our hearts to each other about them."
"Sweet Alette!" said Susanna, glad in this way to be released from Brother-in-law Lexow's jokes, "how happy it makes me to see you so gay and healthy, spite of your residence up in the North, which you feared so much."
"Ah!" said Alette, softly and sincerely, "a husband like my Lexow can make summer and happiness blossom forth all over the earth; but——" and now again the melancholy expression crept over Alette's countenance; but she constrained herself, and continued joyfully, "but we need not now hold forth in praise of these good gentlemen, who, I observe, have nothing better to do than to come and listen to us; and therefore—(and here Alette raised her voice significantly)—since we have done with my dear husband, we will give yours his well-merited share. Has he not shockingly many faults? Is he not—between us two—selfish and despotic?"
"That I deny!" exclaimed Harald, as he sprang forward, and placed himself before Susanna; "and thou, my wife, contradict it if thou—dare."
"Dare!" exclaimed Alette; "she must dare it, for you strengthen my word by your deed. Is he not a despot, Susanna?"
"Am I a despot, Susanna? I say a thousand times 'No!' thereto. What dost thou say?"
"I say—nothing," said Susanna, blushing, with a graceful movement, and drew closer to Alette; "but—I think what I will."
"It is good, however," cried Harald, "that I have found out a way to have the last word!"
"Have you discovered that, brother-in-law?" said Lexow, laughing; "now, that is almost a more important discovery than that which Columbus made. Impart it to me above all things."
"It will serve you nothing at all," said Alette, as, with jesting defiance, she turned her pretty little head towards him; "because my last word is, in every case, a different kind of one to yours."
"How?"
"Yes. My last word, as well as my last thought, remains—Alf!"
"My Alette! my sweet Alette! why these tears?"
"Susanna," whispered Harald, "I will prepare you for it in time, that my last word remains—Sanna!"
"And mine—Harald!"
Susanna went now again on Harald's arm, Alette on her Alf's.
After we have, towards the end of our relation, presented such cheerful scenes—ah! why must we communicate one of a more tragical nature? But so fate commands, and we are compelled to relate, that——the grey and the white ganders—weep not, sentimental reader!—which already, three weeks before Susanna's marriage, had been put up to fatten, closed a contentious life a few days before the same, and were united in a magnificent à la daube, which was served up and eaten, to celebrate the day of Harald's and Susanna's Last Strife and the beginning of an eternal union.
Often afterwards, during her happy married life, stood Susanna by the clear spring, surrounded by the feathered herd, which she fed, whilst she sang to two little, healthy, brown-eyed boys, and to a young blooming girl, this little song, with the conviction of a happy heart:
At times a little brawl
Injures not at all,
If we only love each other still
Cloudy heaven clears
Itself, and bright appears,
For such is Nature's will.
The heart within its cage
Is a bird in rage,
Which doth madly strive to fly!
Love and truth can best
Flatter it to rest,
Flatter it to rest so speedily.[20]