LEONORE'S CHAMBER.
Leonore sate solitary. She supported her sick head on her hand. She had impelled herself to answer kindly the leave-taking kiss of her mother and sisters; she had seen how they sought to repress their joy before her; and she had particularly remarked a sort of half-concealed roguish joy in the glance which was exchanged between Eva and her mother, which had pained her. She had heard their happy voices on the stairs, and then the driving away of the carriages. Now they were gone; now all was still and desolate in the house, and large tears traced their way down Leonore's cheeks. She seemed to herself so forlorn, so uncared for, so solitary in the world!
At that moment the door was softly opened, a smiling face looked in, and a light fascinating figure sprang forward through the chamber towards her, kissed her, laughed, and glanced with roguish and ardent affection into her astonished face.
"Eva!" exclaimed Leonore, scarcely trusting her eyes; "Eva, are you here? How! whither came you? Are you not gone with the others?"
"No, as you see," returned Eva, embracing her, laughing, and looking quite happy; "I am here, and mean to stay here."
"But why? What is the meaning of it?" asked Leonore.
"Because I would much rather remain here with you than go anywhere else," said Eva. "I have bid Axelholm with all its splendours good day."
"Ah! why have you done so? I would much rather you had not!" said Leonore.
"See you! I knew that," returned her sister, "and therefore I put on a travelling dress, like the rest, and took leave of you with them. I wanted to take you by surprise, you see. You are not angry with me, are you? You must now be contented with it—you can't get rid of me! Look a little happy on me, Leonore!"
"I cannot Eva," said Leonore, "because you have robbed yourself of a great pleasure on my account, and I know that it must have been difficult for you. I know that I am neither agreeable nor pleasing, and that you cannot love me, nor yet have pleasure with me, and on that account I cannot have pleasure in your sacrifice. It becomes you to be with the joyful and the happy. Ah! that you had but gone with them!"
"Do not talk so, unless you would make me weep," said Eva; "you do not know how the thought of giving up all these festivities in order to remain alone with you has given me pleasure for many days, and this precisely because I love you, Leonore! yes, because I feel that I could love you better than all the rest! Nay, do not shake your head—it is so. One cannot help one's feelings."
"But why should you love me?" argued the poor girl; "I am, indeed, so little amiable, nobody can endure me, nobody has pleasure in me; I would willingly die. Ah! I often think it would be so beautiful to die!"
"How can you talk so, Leonore?" said her sister; "it is not right! Would you wish such horrible grief to papa and mamma, and me, and all of us?"
"Ah!" said Leonore, "you and the sisters would soon comfort yourselves. Mamma does not love me as much as any of you others; nor papa either. Ottil R. said the other day that everybody talked of it—that I was beloved neither by father nor mother."
"Fie!" exclaimed Eva, "that was wicked and unjust of Ottil. I am quite certain that our parents love us all alike. Have you ever observed that they unjustly make any difference between us?"
"That I never have," said Leonore; "they are too good and perfect for that. But, do you think I have not observed with how different an expression my father regards me to that with which he looks on you or Louise? Do you think that I do not feel how cold, and at times constrained, is the kiss which my mother gives me, to the two, the three, yes, the many, which, out of the fulness of her heart, she gives to you or to Gabriele? But I do not complain of injustice. I see very well that it cannot be otherwise. Nature has made me so disagreeable, that it is not possible people can bear me. Ah! fortunate indeed are they who possess an agreeable exterior! They win the good-will of people if they only show themselves. It is so easy for them to be amiable, and to be beloved! But difficult, very difficult is it for those who are ill-favoured as I!"
"But, dear Leonore, I assure you, you are unjust towards yourself. Your figure, for example, is very good; your eyes have something so expressive, something at the same time so soft and so earnest; your hair is fine, and is of a beautiful brown;—it would become you so if it were better dressed; but wait awhile, when you are better I will help you to do it, and then you shall see."
"And my mouth," said poor Leonore, "that goes from ear to ear, and my nose is so flat and so long—how can you mend that?"
"Your mouth?" replied Eva, "why yes, it is a little large; but your teeth are regular, and with a little more care, would be quite white. And your nose?—let me see—yes, if there were a little elevation, a little ridge in it, it would be quite good, too! Let me see, I really believe it begins to elevate itself!—yes, actually, I see plainly enough the beginning of a ridge! and do you know, if it come, and when you are well, and have naturally a fresh colour, I think that you will be really pretty!"
"Ah! if I can ever believe that!" said Leonore, sighing, at the same time that an involuntary smile lit up her countenance.
"And even if you are not so very lovely," continued Eva, "you know that yet you can be infinitely agreeable; you have something peculiarly so in your demeanour. I heard papa say so this very day to mamma."
"Did he really say so?" said Leonore, her countenance growing brighter and brighter.
"Yes, indeed he did!" replied her sister. "But, ah! Leonore, after all, what is beauty? It fades away, and at last is laid in the black earth, and becomes dust; and even whilst it is blooming, it is not all-sufficient to make us either beloved or happy! It certainly has not an intrinsic value."
Never was the power of beauty depreciated by more beautiful lips! Leonore looked at her and sighed.
"No, Leonore," continued she, "do not trouble yourself to be beautiful. This, it is true, may at times be very pleasant, but it certainly is not necessary to make us either beloved or happy. I am convinced that if you were not in the least prettier than you are, yet that you might if you would, in your own peculiar way, be as much in favour and as much beloved as the prettiest girls in the world."
"Ah!" said Leonore, "if I were only beloved by my nearest connexions! What a divine thing it must be to be beloved by one's own family!"
"But that you can be—that you will be, if you only will! Ah! if you only were always as you are sometimes—and you are more and more so—and I love you more and more—infinitely I love you!"
"Oh, beloved Eva," said Leonore, deeply affected, whilst she leaned herself quietly on her sister, "I have very little deserved this from you; but, for the future, I will be different—I will be such as you would have me. I will endeavour to be good and amiable."
"And then you will be so lovely, so beloved, and so happy!" said Eva, "that it would be a real delight. But now you must come down into Louise's and my room. There is something there for you; you must change the air a little. Come, come!"
"Ah, how charming!" was Leonore's exclamation as she entered Eva's chamber; and in fact nothing could be imagined more charming than that little abode of peace, adorned as it now was by the coquetry of affection. The most delicious odour of fruit and flowers filled the air, and the sun threw his friendly beams on a table near the sofa, on which a basket filled with beautiful fruit stood enticingly in the midst of many pretty and tastefully arranged trifles.
"Here, dear Leonore," said Eva, "you will remain during this time. It will do you good to leave your room a little. And look, they have all left you an offering! This gothic church of bronze is from Jacobi. It is a lamp! do you see? Light comes through the church window;—how beautiful! We will light it this evening. And this fruit here—do you see the beautiful grapes? All these are a plot between Henrik and Petrea. The copperplate engravings are from my father; Louise has worked you the slippers; and the little lady, she——"
Leonore clasped her hands. "Is it possible," said she, "that you all have thought so much about me! How good you are—ah, too good!"
"Nay, do not weep, sweet Leonore," said Eva; "you should not weep, you should be joyful. But the best part of the entertainment remains yet behind. Do you see this new novel of Miss Edgeworth's? Mamma has given us this, for us to read together. I will read to you aloud till midnight, if you will. A delicate little supper has been prepared for us by Louise, and we shall sup up here. We'll have a banquet in our own way. Take now one of those big grapes which grow two on one stem, and I will take the other. The king's health! Oh, glorious!"
Whilst the two sisters are banqueting at their own innocent feast, we will see how it goes on in the great company at