The Home | Page 7

in
the least, whilst the burdensome actuality which he always was seeking
for in life, had no charm for me. Nevertheless there were many points
in which we accorded--these especially were questions of morals--and
whenever this was the case, it afforded both of us great pleasure.
And now came the time, Cecilia, in which you left me; when our fates
separated themselves, although our hearts did not.
One day there were many strangers with us; and in the afternoon I
played at shuttlecock with young cousin Emil, to whom we were so
kind, and who deserved our kindness so well. How it happened I cannot
tell, but before long Ernst took his place, and was my partner in the
game. He looked unusually animated, and I felt myself more at ease
with him than common. He threw the shuttlecock excellently, and with
a firm hand, but always let it fly a little way beyond me, so that I was
obliged to step back a few paces each time to catch it, and thus
unconsciously to myself was I driven, in the merry sport, through a
long suite of rooms, till we came at last to one where we were quite
alone, and a long way from the company. All at once then Ernst left off
his play, and a change was visible in his whole countenance. I augured
something amiss, and would gladly have sprung far, far away, but I felt
powerless; and then Ernst spoke so from his heart, so fervently, and
with such deep tenderness, that he took my heart at once to himself. I
laid my hand, although tremblingly, in his, and, almost without
knowing what I did, consented to go through life by his side.
I had just then passed my nineteenth year; and my beloved parents
sanctioned the union of their daughter with a man so respectable and so
universally esteemed, and one, moreover, whom everybody prophesied
would one day rise to the highest eminences of the state--and Ernst,
whose nature it was to accomplish everything rapidly which he
undertook, managed it so that in a very short time our marriage was

celebrated.
At the same time some members of my family thought that by this
union I had descended a step. I thought not; on the contrary, the very
reverse. I was of high birth, had several not undistinguished family
connexions, and was brought up in a brilliant circle, in all the
superficial accomplishments of the day, amid superfluity and
thoughtlessness. He was a man who had shaped out his own course in
life, who, by his own honest endeavours, and through many self-denials,
had raised his father's house from its depressed condition, and had
made the future prospects of his mother and sister comfortable and
secure: he was a man self-dependent, upright, and good--yes, GOOD,
and that I discover more and more the deeper knowledge I obtain of his
true character, even though the outward manner may be somewhat
severe--in truth, I feel myself very inferior beside him.
The first year of our marriage we passed, at their desire, in the house of
my parents; and if I could only have been less conscious of his
superiority, and could only have been more certain that he was satisfied
with me, nothing would have been wanting to my happiness.
Everybody waited upon me; and perhaps it was on this account that
Ernst, in comparison, seemed somewhat cold; I was the petted child of
my too kind parents; I was thankless and peevish, and ah, some little of
this still remains! Nevertheless, it was during this very time that, under
the influence of my husband, the true beauty and reality of life became
more and more perceptible to my soul. Married life and family ties,
one's country and the world, revealed their true relationships, and their
holy signification to my mind. Ernst was my teacher; I looked up to
him with love, but not without fear.
Many were the projects which we formed in these summer days, and
which floated brightly before my romantic fancy. Among these was a
journey on foot through the beautiful country west of Sweden, and this
was one of the favourite schemes of my Ernst. His mother--from whom
our little Petrea has derived her somewhat singular name--was of
Norway, and many a beloved thought of her seemed to have
interwoven itself with the valleys and mountains, which, as in a

wonderfully-beautiful fairy tale, she had described to him in the stories
she told. All these recollections are a sort of romantic region in Ernst's
soul, and thither he betakes himself whenever he would refresh his
spirit, or lay out something delightful for the future. "Next year," he
would then exclaim, "will we take a journey!" And then we laid out
together our