- Project Runeberg -  Life, letters, and posthumous works of Fredrika Bremer /
129

(1868) [MARC] Author: Fredrika Bremer Translator: Emily Nonnen With: Charlotte Bremer
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LETTERS. 129

proportion as the days grow shorter, still I shall enjoy this
summer in a double measure, provided I can be sure that
you do the same; a thing which you have not done for
many years. Consider this well, dearest Charlotte, and
then follow: the dictates of your own free will. A let-
ter from Agatha, who writes so well and so engagingly,
and one from yourself, will surely cause a prolongation
of your stay.

- Ido not share the apprehension which you express, as
long as you always remain what you were created to be, —
anaes, good, and obliging. Itis not a new, but a true, (
thought, that every body ought to endeavor thoroughly to

5

know the intrinsic worth of “his own character, and, like a (

skillful sculptor, to form, work, and polish it until the rough )
cast made by Nature stands out in its harmonious and
original beauty; that every thing foreign — every angle —
may disappear. This is the work of at least half a life-

master who carries the ideal in his soul, is never perfectly |
satisfied with his workmanship; the small alterations and ,

\

(

time. For the remaining other half one stands, in the )

most fortunate case,’like ‘Payche in Sergel’s studio. The

/

embellishments which he makes, are most frequently vis- {

ible only to his own artist eye.

Your expression “that I have returned to life,” amuses
me. Iam still the same that I was when, by some chance,
I became so painfully depressed; perhaps even more calm,
more submissive, more ineek, and therefore less in danger
of being again exposed to any thing similar. Gay I am
not, and not merry, except in my letters; and shall per-
haps not be so again; nor do I even wish it after the bent
which my feelings and my thoughts have taken. But I am
so calm that I often feel happy, and am ready to derive en-
joyment and pleasure from even the least of the good
things of life. A flower, a book, a fine day, gives me
pleasure now as much as when I was a child; and above
all, my painting, upon which I build great speculations.

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