Part 27 (1/2)
Louise bows her head, is silent, and blushes.
Jacobi. In an hour's time I shall take my departure, but I must beseech of you to answer me one question before I say farewell to you!
Louise. You going! Where? Why?
Jacobi. Where, is indifferent to me, so that I leave this place; why, because I cannot bear the unkindness of one person who is dear to me, and who, I once thought, cherished a friends.h.i.+p for me! For fourteen days you have behaved in such a way to me as has embittered my life; and why? Have I been so unfortunate as to offend you, or to excite your displeasure? Why then delay explaining the cause to me? Is it right to sentence any one unheard, and that one a friend--a friend from childhood? Is it right--pardon me, Louise--is it Christian, to be so severe, so immovable? In the sermons which you are so fond of rending, do you find nothing said of kindness and reconciliation!
Jacobi spoke with a fervour, and with such an almost severe seriousness, as was quite foreign to his gentle and cheerful spirit.
”I have done wrong,” replied Louise, with a deep emotion, ”very wrong, but I have been misled; at some future time, perhaps, I may tell you how. Since last evening, I know how deceived I have been, how I have deceived myself; and now G.o.d be thanked and praised, I know that n.o.body is to blame in this affair but myself. I have much, very much, to reproach myself with, on account of my reserve towards my own family, and towards you also. Forgive me, best Jacobi,” continued she, offering her hand with almost humility; ”forgive me, I have been very unkind to you; but believe me,” added she, ”neither have I been happy either!”
”Thanks! thanks, Louise!” exclaimed Jacobi, grasping her hand, and pressing it to his breast and to his lips; ”oh, how happy this kindness makes me! Now I can breathe again! Now I can leave you with a cheerful heart!”
”But why will you leave us?” asked she, in a half-discontented tone.
”Because,” answered Jacobi, ”it would not give me pleasure to witness a betrothal which will soon be celebrated; because, from your late behaviour, I must be convinced you cannot entertain any warmer sentiments towards me.”
”If that were the case,” replied she, in the same tone as before, ”I should not have been depressed so long.”
”How!” exclaimed Jacobi, joyfully. ”Ah, Louise, what words! what bold hopes may they not excite! Might I mention them to you? might I venture to say to you what I some time have thought, and still now think?”
Louise was silent, and Jacobi continued:
”I have thought,” said he, ”that the humble, unprovided-for Jacobi could offer you a better fortune than your rich neighbour of Oestanvik. I have hoped that my love, the true dedication of my whole life, might make you happy; that a smaller portion of worldly wealth might satisfy you, if it were offered you by a man who know deeply your worth, and who desired nothing better than to be enn.o.bled by your hand. Oh, if this beloved hand would guide me through life, how bright, how peaceful would not life be! I should fear neither adversity nor temptation! and how should I not endeavour to be grateful to Providence for his goodness to me! Ah, Louise! it is thus that I have thought, and fancied, and dreamed! Oh, tell me, was it only a dream, or may not the dream become a reality?”
Louise did not withdraw the hand which he had taken, but looked upon the speaker with infinite kindness.
”One word,” besought Jacobi, ”only one word! Might I say _my_ Louise?
Louise--mine?”
”Speak with my parents,” said Louise, deeply blus.h.i.+ng, and turning aside her head.
”My Louise!” exclaimed Jacobi, and, intoxicated with tenderness and joy, pressed her to his heart.
”Think of my parents,” said Louise, gently pus.h.i.+ng him back; ”without their consent I will make no promise. Their answer shall decide me.”
”We will hasten together, my Louise,” said he, ”and desire their blessing.”
”Go alone, dear Jacobi,” said Louise. ”I do not feel myself calm enough, nor strong enough. I will wait your return here.”
With this fifth scene we conjecture that the little drama has arrived at the desired conclusion, and therefore we add no further scene to that which naturally follows.
As the Candidate hastened with lover's speed to Louise's parents he struck hard against somebody in the doorway, who was coming out. The two opponents stepped back each a few paces, and the Candidate and the Landed-proprietor stared in astonishment on each other.
”Pardon me,” said the Candidate, and was advancing; but the Landed-proprietor held him back, whilst he inquired with great earnestness, and with a self-satisfied smile, ”Hear you, my friend: can you tell me whether Cousin Louise is in the garden? I came this moment from her parents, and would now speak with her. Can you tell me where she is?”
”I--I don't know!” said Jacobi, releasing himself, and hastening with a secret anxiety of mind up to her parents.
In the mean time the Landed-proprietor had caught a glimpse of ”Cousin Louise's” person in the garden, and hastened up to her.