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The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VIII by Various

V >> Various >> The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VIII




Was it by a tacit agreement, or was it due to the influence which the
present time exerted upon them, that they spoke not a word of how their
arrival at John's house was to be arranged until toward noon, when they
reached the outskirts of Zumarshofen? Only when they began to meet
people who knew John, and who saluted him with glances of wonder at his
companion, did he declare to Amrei that he had thought of two ways in
which the thing might best be done. Either he would take Amrei to his
sister, who lived a short distance further on--one could see the steeple
of her village peering up from behind a hill--and then go home alone and
explain everything, or else he would take Amrei home at once--that is,
she should get down half a mile before they got there, and enter the
house alone in the character of a maid.

Amrei showed great cleverness in explaining what should guide them in
this matter, and what might come of their adopting either of the two
methods of procedure proposed by John. If she stopped at his sister's,
she would first have to win over to her side a person who would not be
the one with whom the final decision lay, and it might result in all
kinds of complications, the end of which could not be foreseen. And
moreover, it would always be an unpleasant reflection, and there would
be all sorts of remarks made about it--as if she had not dared to go
straight to the house. The second plan seemed to her the better one; but
it went against her very soul to enter the house by means of a
deception. His mother, to be sure, had promised years ago to take her
into her service; but she did not want to go into her service now, and
it would be almost like stealing to try to worm herself into favor with
the old people in that way. And furthermore in such a disguise she would
be sure to do everything clumsily; she would not be able to be natural
and straightforward, and if she had to place a chair for his father, she
would be sure to overturn it, for she would always be thinking: "You are
doing this to deceive him." Moreover, even supposing all this could be
done, how could she afterward appear before the servants, when they
learned that their mistress had been obliged to smuggle herself into the
house as a maid? And she would not be able to speak a single word with
John all the time. She closed her explanation with the words:

"I have told you this only because you wanted to hear my opinion, too,
and if you talk anything over with me, I must speak out freely what is
in my mind. But I tell you, at the same time, whatever you wish, and
whatever you tell me to do, I shall do it. If you say it should be so,
so it shall be. I'll obey you without objection, and whatever you lay
upon me to do, that shall I do as best I can."

"Yes, yes, you are right," said John, absorbed in thought. "They are
both crooked ways, the first the less so. But now that we are so near
home, we must make up our minds quickly. Do you see that bare patch in
the forest yonder on the hill, with the little hut on it? And do you see
the cows, which look as small as beetles? That's our upland pasture,
that's where I intend to put your Damie."

Amrei cried out in amazement:

"Good heavens! To think where men will venture!--But that must be good
pasturing land."

"So it is; but when father gives up the farm to me, I shall introduce
more stall-feeding--it's the better way. But old people are fond of
retaining old customs. But why are we chattering again? And now that we
are so near! If I had only thought about this sooner! My head seems on
fire."

"Only keep calm; we must think it over quietly. I have a vague idea of a
way it can be done, but it doesn't seem quite plain yet."

"Ah! What do you think?"

"No, you think about it too. Perhaps you'll hit upon the right way
yourself. It's a matter for you to arrange, and both of our minds are in
such confusion now, that it will be a relief to us if we both hit upon a
way at once."

"Yes, I have an idea already. In the next village but one there is a
clergyman, whom I know very well, and who will give us the best advice.
But wait! Here is a better way yet. Suppose I stay yonder in the valley
at the miller's, and you go up to the farm and simply tell my parents
the whole story. You'll have my mother on your side directly; and you
are clever, and you'll manage my father in no time so that you can wind
him around your finger. Yes, that is the best way. Then we shan't have
to wait, and we shall have asked no stranger for help. What do you
think? Is that putting too much upon you?"

"That was exactly my idea too. So now there is no more considering to be
done, no more at all. That way shall stand as fast as if it were down in
ink. That's the way it shall be done, and 'quick to work makes the
master.' Oh, you don't know what a dear, good, splendid, honest fellow
you are!"

"No, it's you! But that is all the same now, for we two are but one
honest person, and so we shall remain. Look here--give me your hand;
that yonder is our first field. God greet thee, wifee, for now thou art
at home! And hurrah! there's our stork flying up. Stork! cry 'Welcome;'
this is your new mistress! 'I'll tell you more later!' Now, Amrei, don't
be gone too long, and send some one down to me at the mill as soon as
you can--if the wagoner is at home, you'd best send him, for he can run
like a hare. There, do you see that house yonder, with the stork's nest,
and the two barns on the hillside, to the left of the wood? There's a
linden by the house--do you see it?"

"Yes."

"That's our house. Now, come, get you down. You can't miss your way
now."

John got down and helped Amrei out of the chaise. The girl, holding the
necklace, which she had put into her pocket, like a rosary in her
clasped hands, prayed silently; John also took off his hat, and his lips
moved. The two did not say another word to each other, but Amrei went on
alone. John stood looking after her for a long time, leaning against the
white horse. Once she turned about and tried to coax the dog to return
to his master. But he would not go; he would run aside into the field,
and then start to follow her again; and not until John whistled, did the
creature come back to him.

John drove on to the mill and stopped there. He learned that his father
had been there an hour ago to wait for him, but had gone away again.
John was glad to hear that his father was strong and on his feet again,
and glad because he knew that Amrei would now find both his parents at
home. The people in the mill could not understand why John lingered with
them, and yet would hardly listen to a word they said. He kept going in
and out, and looking up the road toward the farm; for John was very
anxious and restless. He counted the steps that Amrei had to go; now she
would be in the fields, now she would have to go to this, now to that
hedge; now she would be speaking to his parents. And after all he could
not completely satisfy himself as to just what she would be doing.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIRST HEARTH-FIRE


Meanwhile Amrei went on, wrapped in thought. Her manner showed the
effect of the self-reliance she had learned to practice in her
childhood. It was not for nothing that she had been accustomed to solve
riddles, and that from day to day she had struggled with life's
difficulties. The whole strength of the character she had acquired was
firmly and securely implanted within her. Without further question, as
a man goes forward to meet a necessity, quiet and self-possessed, so did
she, boldly and of good courage, go on her way.

She had not gone far when she saw a farmer sitting by the wayside, with
a red cane between his legs; and on this cane he was resting his two
hands and his chin.

"God greet you," said Amrei. "Are you enjoying a rest?"

"Yes. Where are you going?"

"Up yonder to the farm. Are you going there too? If so, you may lean on
me."

"Yes, that is the way," said the old man with a grin. "Thirty years ago
I should have cared more about it, if such a pretty girl had said that
to me; I should have jumped like a colt."

"But to those who can jump like colts one doesn't say such things,"
replied Amrei, laughing.

"You are rich," said the old man. He seemed to like to talk, and smiled
as he took a pinch of snuff out of his horn snuff-box.

"How can you tell that I am rich?"

"Your teeth are worth ten thousand guilders. There's many a one would
give ten thousand guilders to have them in his mouth."

"I have no time for jesting. Now, God keep you!"

"Wait a little. I'll go with you--but you must not walk too fast." Amrei
carefully helped the old man to his feet, and he remarked:

"You are strong,"--and in his teasing way he made himself more helpless
and heavier than he actually was. As they walked along, he asked:

"To whom are you going at the farm?"

"To the farmer and his wife."

"What do you want of them?"

"That I shall tell them."

"Well, if you want anything of them, you had better turn back at once.
The mistress would give you something, but she has no authority to, and
the farmer, he's tight--he's got a board on his neck, and a stiff thumb
into the bargain."

"I don't want anything given me--I bring them something," said Amrei.

On the way they met an older man going to the field with his scythe; and
the old farmer walking with Amrei called out to him with a queer blink
in his eyes:

"Do you know if miserly Farmer Landfried is at home?"

"I think so, but I don't know," answered the man with the scythe, and he
turned away into the field.

There was a peculiar twitching in his face. And now, as he walked along,
his shoulders seemed to Amrei to be shaking up and down; he was
evidently laughing. Amrei looked at her companion's face and saw the
roguery in it. Suddenly she recognized in the withered features the face
of the man to whom she had given a jug of water, years ago, on the
Holderwasen. Snapping her fingers softly, she said to herself:

"Stop! Now I know!" And then she added aloud: "It's wrong of you to
speak in that way of the Farmer to a stranger like me, whom you don't
know, and who might be a relative of his. And I'm sure it is not true
what you say. They do say, to be sure, that the Farmer is tight; but
when you come right down to it, I dare say he has an honest heart, and
simply doesn't like to make an outcry about it when he does a good deed.
And a man who has such good children as his are said to be, must be a
good man himself. And perhaps he likes to make himself out bad before
the world, simply because he doesn't care what others think of him; and
I don't think the worse of him for that."

"You have not left your tongue behind you. Where do you come from?"

"Not from this neighborhood--from the Black Forest."

"What's the name of the place?"

"Haldenbrunn."

"Oh! Have you come all the way from there on foot?"

"No, somebody let me ride with him. He's the son of the Farmer yonder--a
good, honest man."

"Ah, at his age I should have let you ride with me too!"

They had now come to the farm, and the old man went with Amrei into the
room and cried:

"Mother, where are you?"

The wife came out of another room, and Amrei's hands trembled; she would
gladly have fallen upon her neck--but she could not--she dared not.

Then the Farmer, bursting into laughter, said:

"Just think, dame! Here's a girl from Haldenbrunn, and she has something
to say to Farmer Landfried and his wife, but she won't tell me what it
is. Now do you tell her what my name is."

"Why, that's the Farmer himself," said the woman; and she welcomed the
old man home by taking his hat from his head and hanging it up on a peg
over the stove.

"Do you see now?" said the old man to Amrei, triumphantly. "Now say what
you like."

"Won't you sit down," said the mother, pointing to a chair.

Amrei drew a deep breath and began:

"You may believe me when I say that no child could have thought more
about you than I have done, long ago, long before these last days. Do
you remember Josenhans, by the pond, where the road turns off to
Endringen?"

"Surely, surely!" said the two old people.

"Well, I am Josenhans's daughter!"

"Why, I thought I knew you!" exclaimed the old woman. "God greet you!"
She held out her hand to Amrei, and said: "You have grown to be a
strong, comely girl. Now tell me what has brought you here."

"She rode part of the way with our John," the Farmer interposed. "He'll
be here directly."

The mother gave a start. She had an inkling of something to come, and
reminded her husband that, when John went away, she had thought of the
Josenhans children.

"And I have a remembrance from both of you," said Amrei, and she brought
out the necklace and the piece of money wrapped in paper. "You gave me
that the last time you were in our village."

"See there--you lied to me, you told me that you had lost it," cried the
Farmer to his wife, reproachfully.

"And here," continued Amrei, holding out to him the groschen in its
paper cover; "here's the piece of money you gave me when I was keeping
geese on the Holderwasen, and gave you a drink from my jug."

"Yes, yes, that's all right! But what does it all mean? What you've had
given you, you may keep," said the Farmer.

Amrei stood up and said:

"I have one thing to ask you. Let me speak quite freely for a few
minutes, may I?"

"Yes, why not?"

"Look--your John wanted to take me with him and bring me here as a maid.
At any other time I would have been glad to serve in your house, indeed,
rather than anywhere else. But now it would have been dishonest; and to
people to whom I want to be honest all my life long, I won't come for
the first time with a lie in my mouth. Now everything must be as open as
the day. In a word, John and I love each other from the bottom of our
hearts, and he wants to have me for his wife."

"Oho!" cried the Farmer, and he stood up so quickly that one could
easily see that his former helplessness had been only feigned. "Oho!" he
called out again, as if one of his horses were running away.

But his wife put out her hand and held him, saying:

"Let her finish what she has to say."

And Amrei went on:

"Believe me, I have sense enough to know that one cannot take a girl,
out of pity, for a daughter-in-law. You can give me something, you can
give me a great deal, but to take me for your daughter-in-law out of
pity, is something you cannot do, and I do not wish you to do it. I
haven't a groschen of money--oh, yes, the groschen you gave me on the
Holderwasen I still have--for nobody would take it for a groschen," she
added, turning to the Farmer, who could not repress a smile. "I have
nothing of my own, nay, worse than that--I have a brother who is strong
and healthy, but for whom I have to provide. I have kept geese, and I
have been the most insignificant person in the village, and all that is
true. But nobody can say the least harm of me, and that, too, is true.
And as far as those things which are really given to people by God are
concerned, I could say to any princess: 'I don't put myself one hair's
breadth behind you, if you have seven golden crowns on your head.' I
would rather have somebody else say these, things for me, for I am not
fond of talking about myself. But all my life I have been obliged to
speak for myself, and today, for the last time, I do it, when life and
death are at stake. By that I mean--don't misunderstand me--if you won't
have me, I shall go quietly away; I shall do myself no harm, I shall not
jump into the water, or hang myself. I shall merely look for a new
position, and thank God that such a good man once wanted to have me for
his wife; and I'll consider that it was not God's will that it should be
so--" Amrei's voice faltered, and her form seemed to dilate. And then
her voice grew stronger again, as she summoned all her firmness and
said, solemnly: "But prove to yourselves--ask yourselves in your deepest
conscience, whether what you do is God's will.--I have nothing more to
say."

Amrei sat down. All three were silent for a time, and then the old man
said:

"Why, you can preach like a clergyman."

But the mother dried her eyes with her apron, and said:

"Why not? Clergymen have not more than one mind and one heart!"

"Yes, that's you!" cried the old man with a sneer. "There's something of
a parson in you, too. If any one comes to you with a few speeches like
that, you're cooked directly!"

"And you talk as if you would not be cooked or softened till you die,"
retorted the wife.

"Oh, indeed!" said the old man bitterly. "Now look you, you saint from
the lowlands; you're bringing a fine sort of peace into my house; you
have managed already to make my wife turn against me--you have captured
her already. Well, I suppose you can wait until death has carried one
off, and then you can do what you please."

"No!" exclaimed Amrei, "I won't have that! Just as little as I wish that
John should take me for his wife without your blessing, just so little
do I wish that the sin should be in our hearts, that we should both be
waiting for you to die. I scarcely knew my parents, I cannot remember
them--I only love them as one loves God, without ever having seen Him.
But I also know what it is to die. Last night I closed Black Marianne's
eyes; I did what she asked me to do all my life long, and yet now that
she is dead, I sometimes think: How often you were impatient and bitter
toward her, and how many a service you might have done her! And now she
is lying there, and it is all over; you can do nothing more for her, and
you can't crave her forgiveness for anything.--I know what it is to die,
and I will not have--"

"But I will!" cried the old man; and he clenched his fists and set his
teeth. "But I will!" he shouted again. "You stay here, and you belong to
us! And now, whosoever likes may come, and let him say what he pleases.
You, and no one but you, shall have my John!"

The mother ran to the old man and embraced him; and he, not being
accustomed to it, called out in surprise:

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a kiss. You deserve it, for you are a better man than you
make yourself out to be."

The old man, who all this time had a pinch of snuff between his fingers
which he did not want to waste, took it quickly, and then said:

"Well, I don't object," but he added: "But now I shall dismiss you, for
I have much younger lips to kiss, which taste better. Come here, you
disguised parson."

"I'll come, but first you must call me by name."

"Well, what is your name?"

"You need not know that, for you can give me a name yourself--you know
what name I mean."

"You're a clever one! Well, if you like, come here, daughter-in-law.
Does that name suit you?"

In reply Amrei flung herself upon him.

"Am I not to be asked at all?" complained the mother with a radiant
face.

The old man had become quite saucy in his joy. He took Amrei by the
hand, and asked, in a satirical imitation of a clergyman's voice:

"Now I demand of you, honorable Cordula Catherine, called Dame
Landfried, will you take this--" and he whispered to the girl aside:

"What is your Christian name?"

"Amrei."

Then the Farmer continued in the same tone:

"Will you take this Amrei Josenhans, of Haldenbrunn to be your
daughter-in-law, and never let her have a word to say, as you do to your
husband, feed her badly, abuse her, oppress her, and as they say, bully
her generally?"

The old fellow seemed beside himself; some strange revulsion had taken
place within him. And while Amrei hung around the mother's neck, and
would not let her go, the old man struck his red cane on the table and
cried:

"Where's that good-for-nothing, John? Here's a fellow who sends his
bride for us to take care of, and goes wandering about the world
himself! Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Amrei then tore herself away, and said that the wagoner, or some one
else, must be sent at once to the mill to get John, who was waiting
there. The father declared that he ought to be left in suspense in the
mill for at least three hours; that should be his punishment for having
hidden in such a cowardly way behind a petticoat. And when he came
home, he should wear a woman's hood; in fact, he wouldn't have him in
the house, for when John came, he, the father, would have nothing of the
bride at all, and it made him angry already to think of the foolish way
in which they would carry on together.

Meanwhile the mother managed to slip away and send the quick-footed
wagoner to the mill.

And now the mother thought that Amrei ought to have some refreshment.
She wanted to cook an omelette immediately, but Amrei begged to be
allowed to light the first fire in the house that was to prepare
something for herself, and asked that she might cook something for her
parents too. They let her have her way, and the two old people went with
her into the kitchen. She knew how to manage it all so cleverly, seeing
at a glance where everything was, and hardly requiring to ask a single
question, that the old Farmer kept nodding to his wife, and said at
last:

"She can do housekeeping like singing at sight; she can read it all off
from the page, like the new schoolmaster."

The three stood by the fire, which was blazing merrily, when John came
in; and the fire was not blazing more merrily on the hearth than was
inward happiness blazing in the eyes of all three. The hearth and its
fire became a holy altar, surrounded by worshippers, who, however, only
laughed and teased one another.




CHAPTER XIX

SECRET TREASURES


Amrei felt so much at home in the house that, by the second day, she was
acting as if she had been brought up there from childhood. The old man
followed her around and looked on, while she knowingly took things in
hand and accomplished them calmly and steadily, without hurrying or
resting.

There are people who, when they go to get the least thing, a plate or a
jug, disturb the thoughts of everybody in the room, and seem to drag, so
to speak, the attention of all present about with them. Amrei, on the
contrary, knew how to manage and accomplish everything in such a way
that it was restful to watch her work, and people were consequently so
much the more grateful for everything she did for them. How often had
the Farmer complained about the fact that, when the salt was wanted,
some one always had to rise from the table to get it! But now Amrei
herself set the table, and she took care to put the salt-cellar on
immediately after the cloth was spread. When the Farmer praised Amrei
for this, his wife said with a smile:

"You talk as if you had not lived at all until now, and as if you had
always been obliged to eat your food without salt or seasoning!"

And then John told them that Amrei was also called the Salt Countess,
and he related the story of the King and his Daughter.

It was a happy family--in the parlor, in the yard, in the field. The
Farmer often said that his food for years had not tasted so good to him
as it did now; and he used to get Amrei to prepare things for him three
or four times a day, at quite irregular hours. And he made her sit with
him while he ate it.

The wife, with a feeling of proud satisfaction, took Amrei into the
dairy, and then into the store-rooms. In the latter place she opened a
large, gaily-painted chest, full of fine, bleached linen, and said:

"This is your outfit--nothing is lacking but shoes. I am very glad that
you kept the shoes you got with your wages, for I have a superstition
about that."

When Amrei questioned her about the way things had been done in the
house hitherto, she nodded approvingly. She did not, however, express
any approval in words, but the confidential tone in which she discussed
ordinary matters made it quite evident that she felt it. The very
supremity of satisfaction lay in her words. And when she began to
depute certain matters in the household management to Barefoot, she
said:

"Child, let me tell you something; if there is anything about our ways
of doing things in the house that doesn't please you, you needn't be
afraid to alter it so that it suits you. I am not one of those who think
that things must always remain just as they were originally arranged,
and that no changes should be made. You have a perfect right to do as
you think best, and I shall be glad to see a fresh hand at work. Only if
you'll listen to me--I advise you, for your own sake, to do it
gradually."

It was pleasant, indeed, to see old experience and young strength
joining hands, physically and mentally. Amrei declared with heartfelt
sincerity that she found everything capitally arranged, and that she
should be only too glad if one day, when she was old, the household was
in as good order as it was now.

"You look far ahead," said the old woman. "And that is a good thing; for
whosoever thinks of the future thinks of the past as well, and so you
will not forget me when I am gone."

Messengers had been sent out to announce the family event to the sons
and sons-in-law of the house, and to invite them to Zumarshofen the
following Sunday. After that the old man trotted about after Amrei more
than ever; he seemed to have something on his mind which he wanted to
say, but could not express.