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Edited by Rev. James Wood - "The Nuttall Encyclopaedia"

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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




Oh, these hours of parting! How they oppress the heart! How all the past
and all the future seem crowded together into one moment, and one knows
not how to set about anything rightly, and only a look or a touch must
tell all that is felt!

Still Amrei found good words to speak. When she counted out her
brother's stock of linen she said:

"These are good, respectable shirts--keep yourself respectable and good
in them."

And when she packed everything into the big sack, on which her father's
name was still to be seen, she said:

"Bring this back full of glittering gold; then you shall see how glad
they will be to give you back the right to live here. And Farmer Rodel's
Rose, if she's still unmarried, will jump over seven houses to get you."

And when she laid their father's ax in the large chest, she said:

"How smooth the handle is! How often it has slipped through our father's
hand. I fancy I can still feel his touch upon it! So now I have a motto
for you--'Sack and Ax.' Working and gathering in, those are the best
things in life--they make one keep cheerful and well and happy. God keep
you! And say to yourself very often--'Sack and Ax.' I shall do the same,
and that shall be our motto, our remembrance, our call to each other
when we are far, far apart, and until you write to me, or come to fetch
me, or do what you can, as God shall will it. 'Sack and Ax'--yes it's
all included in that; so one can treasure up everything--all thoughts
and all that one has earned!"

And when Damie was sitting up in the wagon, and for the last time gave
her his hand, for a long time she would not release it. And when at last
he drove away, she called out after him with a loud voice:

"'Sack and Ax'--don't forget that!"

He looked back, waved his hand to her, and then--he was gone.

[Illustration: HE GAVE HER HIS HAND FOR THE LAST TIME]




CHAPTER IX

AN UNINVITED GUEST


"Glory to America!" the village watchman, to the amusement of all, cried
several nights when he called out the hours, in place of the usual
thanksgiving to God. Crappy Zachy, being a man of no consideration
himself, was fond of speaking evil of the poor when he found himself
among what he called "respectable people," and on Sunday when he came
out of church, or on an afternoon when he sat on the long bench outside
the "Heathcock," he would say:

"Columbus was a real benefactor. From what did he not deliver us? Yes,
America is the pig-trough of the Old World, and into it everything that
can't be used in the kitchen is dumped--cabbage and turnips and all
sorts of things. And for the piggies who live in the castle behind the
house, and understand French--'Oui! Oui!'--there's very good feeding
there."

In the general dearth of interesting subjects, Damie and his emigrating
naturally formed the main topic of conversation for a considerable time,
and the members of the Council praised their own wisdom in having rid
the place of a person who would certainly have come to be a burden on
the community. For a man who goes driving about from one trade to
another is sure to drive himself into ruin eventually.

Of course, there were plenty of good-natured people who reported to
Barefoot all that was said of her brother, and told her how he was made
a laughing-stock. But Barefoot merely smiled. When Damie's first letter
came from Bremen--nobody had ever thought that he could write so
properly--then she exulted before the eyes of men, and read the letter
aloud several times; but in secret she was sorry to have lost such a
brother, probably forever. She reproached herself for not having put him
forward enough, for it was now evident what a sharp lad Damie was, and
so good too! He wanted to take leave of the whole village as he had
taken leave of the post at the boundary-line, and he now filled almost a
whole page with remembrances to different people, calling each one "the
dear" or "the good" or "the worthy." Barefoot reaped a great deal of
praise everywhere she delivered these greetings, and each time pointed
to the precise place, and said:

"See--there it stands!"

For a time Barefoot was silent and abstracted; she seemed to repent of
having let her brother go, or of having refused to go with him. Formerly
she had always been heard singing in the stable and barn, in the kitchen
and chamber, and when she went out with the scythe over her shoulder and
the grass-cloth under her arm; but now she was silent. She seemed to be
making an effort to restrain herself. Still there was one time when she
allowed people to hear her voice again; in the evening, when she put
Farmer Rodel's children to bed, she sang incessantly, even long after
the children were asleep. Then she would hurry over to Black Marianne's
and supply her with wood and water and whatever else the old woman
wanted.

On Sunday afternoons, when everybody was out for a good time, Barefoot
often used to stand quiet and motionless at the door of her house,
looking out into the world and at the sky in dreamy, far-off meditation,
wondering where Damie was now and how he was getting on. And then she
would stand and gaze for a long time at an overturned plow, or watch a
fowl clawing in the sand. When a vehicle passed through the village, she
would look up and say, almost aloud:

"They are driving to somebody. On all the roads of the world there is
nobody coming to me, and no one thinking of me. And do I not belong here
too?"

And then she would make believe to herself that she was expecting
something, and her heart would beat faster, as if for somebody who was
coming. And involuntarily the old song rose to her lips:

All the brooklets in the wide world,
They run their way to the Sea;
But there's no one in this wide world,
Who can open my heart for me.

"I wish I were as old as you," she once said to Black Marianne, after
dreaming in this way.

"Be glad that a wish is but a word," replied the old woman. "When I was
your age I was merry; and down there at the plaster-mill I weighed a
hundred and thirty-two pounds."

"But you are the same at one time as at another, while I am not at
all--even."

"If one wants to be 'even' one had better cut one's nose off, and then
one's face will be even all over. You little simpleton! Don't fret your
young years away, for nobody will give them back to you; and the old
ones will come of their own accord."

Black Marianne did not find it very difficult to comfort Barefoot; only
when she was alone, did a strange anxiety come over her. What did it
mean?

A wonderful rumor was now pervading the village; for many days there had
been talk of a wedding that was to be celebrated at Endringen, with such
festivities as had not been seen in the country within the memory of
man. The eldest daughter of Dominic and Ameile--whom we know, from
Lehnhold--was to marry a rich wood-merchant from the Murg Valley, and it
was said that there would be such merry-making as had never yet been
seen.

The day drew nearer and nearer. Wherever two girls meet, they draw each
other behind a hedge or into the hallway of a house, and there's no end
to their talking, though they declare emphatically that they are in a
particular hurry. It is said that everybody from the Oberland is coming,
and everybody from the Murg Valley for a distance of sixty miles! For it
is a large family. At the Town-hall pump, there the true gossiping goes
on; but not a single girl will own to having a new dress, lest she
should lose the pleasure of seeing the surprise and admiration of her
companions, when the day arrived. In the excitement of asking and
answering questions, the duty of water-carrying is forgotten, and
Barefoot, who arrives last, is the first to leave with her bucketful of
water. What is the dance to her? And yet she feels as if she hears music
everywhere.

The next day Barefoot had much running back and forth to do in the
house; for she was to dress Rose for the great occasion. She received
many an unseen knock while she was plaiting her hair, but bore them in
silence. Rose had a fine head of hair, and she was determined it should
make a fine show. Today she wished to try something new with it; she
wanted to have a Maria-Theresa braid, as a certain artistic arrangement
of fourteen braids is called in those parts. That would create a
sensation as something new. Barefoot succeeded in accomplishing the
difficult task, but she had scarcely finished when Rose tore it all down
in anger; and with her hair hanging down over her brow and face, she
looked wild enough.

But for all that she was handsome and stately, and very plump; her whole
demeanor seemed to say: "There must be not less than four horses in the
house into which I marry." And many farmers' sons were, indeed, courting
her, but she did not seem to care to make up her mind in favor of any
one of them. She now decided to keep to the country fashion of having
two braids, interwoven with red ribbons, hanging down her back and
reaching almost to the ground. At last she stood adorned and ready.

But now she had to have a nosegay. She had allowed her own flowers to
run wild; and in spite of all objections, Barefoot was ultimately
obliged to yield to her importunities and rob her own cherished plants
on her window-sill of almost all their blossoms. Rose also demanded the
little rosemary plant; but Barefoot would rather have torn that in
pieces than give it up. Rose began to jeer and laugh, and then to scold
and mock the stupid goose-girl, who gave herself such obstinate airs,
and who had been taken into the house only out of charity. Barefoot did
not reply; but she turned a glance at Rose which made the girl cast down
her eyes.

And now a red, woolen rose had come loose on Rose's left shoe, and
Barefoot had just knelt down to sew it on carefully, when Rose said,
half ashamed of her own behavior, and yet half jeeringly:

"Barefoot, I will have it so--you must come to the dance today."

"Do not mock so. What do you want of me?"

"I am not mocking," persisted Rose, still in a somewhat jeering tone.
"You, too, ought to dance once, for you are a young girl, and there will
be some of your equals at the wedding--our stable-boy is going, or
perhaps some farmer's son will dance with you. I'll send you some one
who is without a partner."

"Let me be in peace--or I shall prick you."

"My sister-in-law is right," said the young farmer's wife, who, until
now, had sat silent. "I'll never give you a good word again if you don't
go to the dance today. Come--sit down, and I will get you ready."

Barefoot felt herself flushing crimson as she sat there while her
mistress dressed her and brushed her hair away from her face and turned
it all back; and she almost sank from her chair, when the farmer's wife
said:

"I am going to arrange your hair as the Allgau girls wear it. That will
suit you very well, for you look like an Allgau girl yourself--sturdy,
and brown, and round. You look like Dame Landfried's daughter at
Zusmarshofen."

"Why like her daughter? What made you think of her?" asked Barefoot, and
she trembled all over.

How was it that she was just now reminded again of Dame Landfried, who
had been in her mind from childhood, and who had once appeared to her
like the benevolent spirit in a fairy-tale? But Barefoot had no ring
that she could turn and cause her to appear; but mentally she could
conjure her up, and that she often did, almost involuntarily.

"Hold still, or I'll pull your hair," said the farmer's wife; and
Barefoot sat motionless, scarcely daring to breathe. And while her hair
was being parted in the middle, and she sat with her arms folded and
allowed her mistress to do what she liked with her, and while her
mistress, who was expecting a baby very soon, bustled about her, she
really felt as if she had suddenly been bewitched; she did not say a
word for fear of breaking the charm, but sat with her eyes cast down in
modest submission.

"I wish I could dress you thus for your own wedding," said the farmer's
wife, who seemed to be overflowing with kindness today. "I should like
to see you mistress of a respectable farm, and you would not be a bad
bargain for any man; but nowadays such things don't happen, for money
runs after money. Well, do you be contented--so long as I live you shall
not want for anything; and if I die--and I don't know, but I seem to
fear the heavy hour so much this time--look, you will not forsake my
children, but will be a mother to them, will you not?"

"Oh, good heavens! How can you think of such a thing?" cried Barefoot,
and the tears ran down her cheeks. "That is a sin; for one may commit a
sin by letting thoughts enter one's mind that are not right."

"Yes, yes, you may be right," said the farmer's wife. "But wait--sit
still a moment; I will bring you my necklace and put it around your
neck."

"No, pray don't do that! I can wear nothing that is not my own; I should
sink to the ground for shame of myself."

"Yes, but you can't go as you are. Or have you, perhaps, something of
your own?"

Hereupon Barefoot said that she, to be sure, had a necklace which had
been presented to her as a child by Dame Landfried, but that on account
of Damie's emigration it was in pledge with the sexton's widow.

Barefoot was then told to sit still and to promise not to look at
herself in the glass until the farmer's wife returned; and the latter
hurried away to get the ornament, herself being surety for the money
lent upon it.

What a thrill now went through Barefoot's soul as she sat there! She
who had always waited upon others was now being waited upon
herself!--and indeed almost as if under a spell. She was almost afraid
of the dance; for she was now being treated so well, so kindly, and
perhaps at the dance she might be pushed about and ignored, and all her
outward adornment and inward happiness would go for nothing.

"But no," she said to herself. "If I get nothing more out of it than the
thought that I have been happy, that will be enough; if I had to undress
right now and to stay at home, I should still be happy."

The farmer's wife now returned with the necklace, and was as full of
censure for the sexton's wife for having demanded such usurious interest
from a poor girl, as she was full of praise for the ornament itself. She
promised to pay the loan that very day and to deduct it gradually from
Barefoot's wages.

Now at last Barefoot was allowed to look at herself. The mistress
herself held the glass before her, and both of their faces glowed and
gleamed with mutual joy.

"I don't know myself! I don't know myself!" Barefoot kept repeating,
feeling her face with both hands. "Good heavens, if my mother could only
see me now! But she will certainly bless you from heaven for being so
good to me, and she will stand by you in the heavy hour--you need fear
nothing."

"But now you must make another kind of face," said her mistress, "not
such a pitiful one. But that will come when you hear the music."

"I fancy I hear it already," replied Barefoot. "Yes, listen, there it
is!"

And, in truth, a large wagon decorated with green boughs was just
driving through the village. Seated in the wagon were all the musicians;
in the midst of them stood Crappy Zachy blowing his trumpet as if he
were trying to wake the dead.

And now there was no more staying in the village; every one was
hastening to be up and away. Light, Bernese carriages, with one and two
horses, some from the village itself and some from the neighboring
villages, were chasing each other as if they were racing. Rose mounted
to her brother's side on the front seat of their chaise, and Barefoot
climbed up into the basket-seat behind. So long as they were passing
through the village, she kept her eyes looking down--she felt so
ashamed. Only when she passed the house that had been her parents' did
she venture to look up; Black Marianne waved her hand from the window,
the red cock crowed on the wood-pile, and the old tree seemed to nod and
wish her good luck.

Now they drove through the valley where Manz was breaking stones, and
now over the Holderwasen where an old woman was keeping the geese.
Barefoot gave her a friendly nod.

"Good heavens!" she thought. "How does it happen that I sit here so
proudly driving along in festive attire? It is a good hour's ride to
Endringen, and yet it seems as if we had only just started."

The word was now given to alight, and Rose was immediately surrounded by
all kinds of friends. Several of them asked:

"Is that not a sister of your brother's wife?"

"No, she's only our maid," answered Rose.

Several beggars from Haldenbrunn who were here, looked at Barefoot in
astonishment, evidently not recognizing her; and not until they had
stared at her for a long time did they cry out: "Why, it's Little
Barefoot!"

"She is only our maid." That little word "only" smote painfully on the
girl's heart. But she recovered herself quickly and smiled; for a voice
within her said:

"Don't let your pleasure be spoiled by a single word. If you begin
anything new, you are sure to step on thorns at first."

Rose took Barefoot aside and said: "You may go for the present to the
dancing-room, or wherever you like, if you have any acquaintances in the
place. When the music begins I shall want to see you again."

And so Barefoot stood forsaken, as it were, and feeling as if she had
stolen the clothes she had on, and did not belong to the company at all,
as if she were an intruder.

"How comes it that thou goest to such a wedding?" she asked herself; and
she would have liked to go home again. She decided to take a walk
through the village. She passed by the beautiful house built for Brosi,
where there was plenty of life today, too; for the wife of that high
official was spending the summer here with her sons and daughters.
Barefoot turned back toward the village again, looking neither to the
right nor to the left, and yet wishing that somebody would accost her
that she might have a companion. On the outskirts of the village she
encountered a smart-looking young man riding a white horse. He was
attired in farmer's dress, but of a strange kind, and looked very proud.
He pulled up his horse, rested his right hand with the whip in it on his
hip, and patting the animal's neck with his left, called out:

"Good morning, pretty mistress! Tired of dancing already?"

"I'm tired of idle questions already," was the reply.

The horseman rode on. Barefoot sat for a long time behind a hedge, while
many thoughts flitted through her mind. Her cheeks glowed with a flush
caused by anger at herself for having made so sharp a reply to a
harmless question, by bashfulness, and by a strange, inward emotion. And
involuntarily she began to hum the old song:

"There were two lovers in Allgau
Who loved each other so dear."

She had begun the day in expectation of joy, and now she wished that she
were dead. She thought to herself: "How good it would be to fall asleep
here behind this hedge and never to awake again. You are not to have any
joy in this life, why should you run about so long? The grasshoppers
are chirping in the grass, a warm fragrance is rising from the earth, a
linnet is singing incessantly and seems to dive into himself with his
voice and to bring up finer and finer notes, and yet seems to be unable
to say with his whole heart what he has to say. Up in the air the larks,
too, are singing, every one for himself--no one listens to the others or
joins in with the others--and yet everything is--"

Never in her life had Amrei fallen asleep in broad daylight, or if ever,
not in the morning. She had now drawn her handkerchief over her eyes,
and the sunbeams were kissing her closed lips, which, even in sleep,
were pressed together defiantly, and the redness of her chin had become
deeper. She had slept about an hour, when she awoke with a start. The
smart-looking young man on the white horse was riding toward her, and
the horse had just lifted up his fore feet to bring them down on her
chest. It was only a dream, and Amrei gazed around her as if she had
fallen from the sky. She saw with astonishment where she was, and looked
at herself in wonder. But the sound of music from the village soon
aroused the spirit of life within her, and with new strength she walked
back and found that everything had become more lively. She noticed that
she felt more rested after the many things that she had experienced that
day. And now let only the dancing begin! She would dance until the next
morning, and never rest, and never get tired!

The fresh glow following the sleep of childhood was on her face, and
everybody looked at her in astonishment. She went to the dancing-room;
the music was playing, but in an empty room--for no dancers had come
yet. Only the girls who had been hired to wait upon the guests were
dancing with one another. Crappy Zachy looked at Barefoot for a
longtime, and then shook his head; evidently he did not know her. Amrei
crept along close to the wall, and so out of the room again. She ran
across Farmer Dominic, whose face was radiant with joy today.

"Beg pardon," said he; "does the mistress belong to the wedding guests?"

"No, I am only a maid. I came with Farmer Rodel's daughter, Rose."

"Good! Then go out to the kitchen and tell the mistress that I sent you,
and that you are to help her. We can't have hands enough in my house
today."

"Because it's you I'll gladly go," said Amrei, and she set out at once.
On the way she thought how Dominic himself had once been a servant,
and--"Yes, such things happen only once in a century. It cost him many a
pang before he came to the farm--and that's a pity."

Ameile, Dominic's wife, gave a friendly welcome to the new comer, who
offered her services and at the same time took off her jacket, asking if
she might borrow a large apron with a bib on it. But the farmer's wife
insisted that Amrei should satisfy her own hunger and thirst before she
set about serving others. Amrei consented without much ceremony, and won
Ameile's heart by the first words she spoke; for she said:

"I will fall to at once, for I must confess that I am hungry, and I
don't want to put you to the trouble of having to urge me."

Amrei now remained in the kitchen and handed the dishes to the
waitresses in such a knowing way, and managed and arranged everything so
well, that the mistress said:

"You two Amreis, you and my brother's daughter, can manage all this, and
I will stay with the guests."

Amrei of Siebenhofen, who was nicknamed the "Butter Countess," and who
was known far and wide as proud and stubborn, was very friendly with
Barefoot. Once, indeed, the mistress said to the latter:

"It's a pity that you are not a boy; I believe that Amrei would marry
you on the spot, and not send you home, as she does all of her suitors."

"I have a brother who's still single--but he's in America," replied
Barefoot, laughing.

"Let him stay there," said the Butter Countess; "it would be better if
we could send all the men folk away and be here by ourselves."

Amrei did not leave the kitchen until everything had been put back in
its proper place; and when she took off her apron it was still as white
and unruffled as when she had put it on.

"You'll be tired and not able to dance," said the farmer's wife, when
Amrei, with a present, finally took her leave.

"Why should I be tired? This was only play; and, believe me, I feel much
better for having done something today. A whole day devoted to pleasure!
I shouldn't know how to spend it, and I've no doubt that was why I felt
so sad this morning--I felt that something was missing. But now I feel
quite ready for a holiday--quite out of harness. Now I feel just like
dancing, if I could only find partners."

Ameile did not know how to show greater honor to Barefoot than by
leading her about the house, as if she were a wealthy farmer's wife, and
showing her the large chest full of wedding presents in the bridal room.
She opened the tall, blue cabinets, which had the name and the date
painted upon them, and which were crammed full of linen and all sorts of
things, all tied up with ribbons of various colors and decorated with
artificial flowers. In the wardrobe there were at least thirty dresses,
and nearby were the high beds, the cradle, the distaff with its
beautiful spindles, and everywhere children's clothes were hanging,
presents from the bride's former playmates.

"Oh, kind Heaven!" cried Barefoot; "how happy a child of such a house
must be!"

"Are you envious?" said the farmer's wife; and then remembering that she
was showing all these things to a poor girl, she added: "But believe me,
fine clothes are not all; there are many happier who do not get as much
as a stocking from their parents."

"Yes, yes, I know that. I am not envious of the beautiful things, but
rather of the privilege that it gives your child to thank you and so
many good people for the lovely things she has received from them. Such
clothes from one's mother must keep one doubly warm."

The farmer's wife showed her fondness of Barefoot by accompanying the
girl as far as the yard, as she would have done to a visitor who had
eight horses in the stable.