One day Ernst visited us and went about for a long while in silence,--now going out to Rothfuss in the stable, and then again joining us in the room; but here again he uttered no word. Although I could see that he was agitated, I did not ask him the reason. I had been obliged to accustom myself to allow him to speak when it suited him, and to avoid any advances on my part until it pleased him to seek them.
We were just about to rise from the dinner-table when he said to us in a hurried manner, "Before you hear it from others, I must announce it to you myself:--I am engaged to be married."
We looked at each other in silence. Not a sound was heard, save the ticking of the two Black Forest clocks in our room. At last my wife asked: "And with whom?"
I could tell by the tone of her voice how many heavy thoughts had preceded these words.
"With a healthy girl. I--I know all about selection in breeding," answered Ernst, while he lit his cigar.
I reprimanded him severely for his tone. Without changing a feature, he allowed me to finish my remarks. After that he arose, threw his rifle over his shoulder, put on his green hat, and left the house. I wanted to call him back, but my wife prevented me. I reproached myself for the violent manner in which I had spoken to him. Now he will rush into misfortune--who knows what he may do next? With mild words, I might have been able to direct him on the right path; but now he may, perhaps, not return, and will even persuade himself to hate me.
My wife consoled me with the words: "He will return before nightfall."
And it was so. In the evening he returned, and addressing me with a voice full of emotion, said: "Father, forgive me!"
Rothfuss was in the room at the time, and I beckoned to him to leave; but Ernst requested that he should remain, and continued:
"I have done wrong. I am heartily sorry for it. I have also done wrong to Martella. I should not have acted as I have done, but ought to have brought her to you first of all. She deserves quite different treatment--better indeed than I do. I beg of you, give back the words that I uttered! Forgive me! and, above all things, do not make Martella suffer for what I have said."
He uttered these words with a trembling voice. Rothfuss had left the room. I held out my hand to Ernst, and he continued firmly:
"You have so often told me, and as I am always forgetting it, you will have to tell it to me many a time again, that there is something in me which causes me at times to express myself quite differently from the way in which I intended to. I also know, dear father, that such a word lingers in your memory like a smouldering spark, especially when the word is uttered by your own child; and that in your grief you picture to yourself the utter ruin of a character that can indulge in such expressions. I understand you, do I not? Trust in me: I am not so bad, after all.
"I do not believe in the possessed; and yet there must be something of that kind. Enough on that point, however. Though I seemed cheerful, I had a heavy heart; but now I am one of the happiest beings alive; and if I were obliged to be a wood-cutter for the rest of my days, I could still content myself. O mother, I would not have believed that I could have found such a creature in a world in which all others are mere pretence androuge, lies and deceit.
"She is in perfect health, and as pure and as fresh as a dewdrop. Although she has learned nothing, she knows everything. She cannot couch it in words, but her eyes speak it. Her heart is so thoroughly good,--so strong,--so pure,--indeed, I cannot find the right word for it. She has no parents, no brothers or sisters. She is a child of the woods, and as pure and as holy as the primeval forest itself.
"O, forgive me all! I cannot describe my emotions. Now I understand and believe everything. They tell us that in the olden time, a Prince once lost his way while hunting in the forest, and that he found a maiden whom he placed upon his horse and led to his castle and then made her his queen. Those stories are all true. I cannot make a queen of Martella, but through her I am ennobled; and it grieves me that it will not do to have our wedding at once. But I will wait. I can wait. Or, if you like it better, we will wander forth to America, and, far from the world, shall live there as our first parents did in Paradise. Believe me, there is indeed a paradise.
"O mother! You are certainly all that a human being can be, but still you have one fault;--yes, yes; you have wept--and the first commandment should be, 'Man, thou shalt not weep.' And, just think of it, mother, Martella has never yet wept! She is as healthy as a doe, and I swear it to you, she shall never know what it is to weep. O mother! O father! in the depths of the forest I have found this pure, innocent child, so wise and clever, so strong and brave. This flower has blossomed in the hidden depths of the forest; no human eye had ever seen her before. I am not worthy of her, but I will try to become so."
His voice became thick. He beat his breast with both hands, and drew a long deep breath. I have never yet seen a being so refulgent with happiness. Thus, in the olden time, must they have looked who thought they were beholding a miracle; and even now, when I write of these things, feeble as my words seem, I tremble with emotion.
And could this be my child, my son, my madcap, who now felt so humble and contrite. I had lost all memory of his former rudeness and sarcasm. It was some time before we could answer his words.
The sun was going down in the west, its last broad rays fell into the room, shedding a glow of light over all, and as we sat we heard the evening chimes.
"I believe in your love," said my wife at last.
"O mother!" cried Ernst, throwing himself at her feet; and then kissing her hands, he wept and sobbed while he rested his head on her knee.
I lifted him up and said, "We are independent enough not to ask where our daughter-in-law comes from, so that she be but good and will make our child happy."
Ernst grasped both of my hands and said, "I knew it. I do not deserve your love, but now I shall try to be worthy of it."
"But where have you been since dinner-time?" said my wife, trying to change the conversation.
Ernst replied that he had left the road and had wandered far into the forest, where he had lain down and fallen asleep; and that within him two sorts of spirits had been battling. The spiteful spirit had urged him not to take back the rude words, and desired him, without heeding father or mother, to wander forth into the wide world with his Martella; she would follow him wherever he led.
The humble spirit had, however, warned him to return and undo the harm he had done. The conflict had been a long one. At last he rose to his feet and ran home as if sent by a messenger of happiness.
My wife listened attentively, and regarded him with that glance of hers which seemed to penetrate the deepest recesses of the soul. No other being can listen so attentively as she could, and no glance is as soothing as hers was. She would not attempt to assist you when at a loss for words, or by her manner imply that she knew what you meant. She patiently permitted you to explain yourself, to stop or to continue; and when she was listening, you could not but feel wiser than you really were. Her glance illumined your very soul.
When Ernst had finished she said to him: "You are on the right path at last. I know that you think you have already reached the goal, and that all is done. But, believe me, and do not forget what I now tell you,--the spiteful spirit will return again; now he only feigns death. But rest content, for from this day you will be his master. I see this as clearly as I see your very eyes. The best possession in the world is now yours--pure, righteous love. Yes, you may well laugh, for now it is your goodness that laughs."
Rothfuss came to tell me that the Alsatian cattle-dealer who wanted to purchase our fat oxen, wished to see me. I was about to send word to him to wait or to come some other time, but I understood my wife's glance, which told me that I had better leave her alone with Ernst.
I left the room, and, while going, I heard her say, "Ernst, you must now eat and drink something; such emotions as you have felt awaken hunger and thirst."
When I returned, Ernst sat at the table eating his supper. He called out to me, "Father, mother has arranged everything nicely, and if you are satisfied, why--"
"Eat now, and let me speak," said my wife. And then she continued:
"From all that Ernst has told me--and we depend upon his truthfulness--I am convinced that Martella is a real treasure-trove. No one but such a girl could banish this spirit of unrest. We are, thank God, so circumstanced that besides a good family name we can also bestow worldly goods upon our children. Ernst and his bride1are both young and can work for themselves. He loves in her the child of nature; but he understands that there is much of good which she can and must yet take up into this pure nature of hers. He used to say that he could never be happy except with a woman who sang beautifully, but now he no longer finds singing a necessity. But he cannot do without spiritual sympathy and harmony in his higher life. She need not learn French; I have forgotten what I once knew of it. But Ernst is accustomed to a refined home; and when he goes home to his wife in his forest house, he should be able to find refreshment and rest in noble and elevating thoughts.
"If a forester is denied the proper delights of home and married life, there is nothing left him but the pleasures of the tavern; and they will certainly ruin him.
"Martella must not be confused or taught in school-girl fashion. That which is noble and refined in life cannot be imparted by precept or command. It must become a necessity to her, just as it has become to our own son, and not until then can they both be happy.
"Neither will the world be satisfied with mere nature and forest manners. Does it not seem the very thing that she of her own accord has said to Ernst, 'Let me spend a year as a servant to your sister, the captain's wife, or what would be still better, with your mother, and then come for me? If you do not object, I think we had better do this. Early to-morrow morning I shall drive over into the valley with Ernst, and in the evening I shall return with Martella, who will remain with us until all is arranged and she has become used to our ways and customs, so that Ernst may live happily with her, not only in his youth, but until his eighty-third year--for my father lived to that age."
I do not know which to admire most in my wife--her shrewdness or her kindness. She always had the right word at the right time.
I, of course, approved of her plan, and on the morrow she started off with Ernst in the wagon. Rothfuss drove the two bays.
Towards evening, I walked down the road to meet them on their return.
The sun was going down behind the Vosges Mountains. The rosy sunset shed its glow over the rocks and the waters of the brook.
The Englishman stood at the bank angling. He never saluted those whom he met, but lived entirely for himself. Every year, as soon as the snows began to melt, he came to our valley, and remained until the winter returned. He dwelt with Lerz the baker, and was always fishing up and down the valley. He gathered up his complicated fishing-tackle and departed, followed by a day laborer carrying a fish basket.
I waited down by the village saw-mill, where they already knew that Ernst's bride was coming to live with us. With all his gentleness and candor, Ernst had announced this in order that we should be bound by it. I met Rautenkron the forester, who was known in the whole neighborhood as "The wild huntsman."
He was the best of shots, and could endure no living object. The people thought he merely avoided men, but I knew that he hated them. He always considered it a piece of good fortune when he heard bad news of any one. He lived in solitude, for whenever he had been seduced into helping some one he had always repented of it afterward. A ball had once passed through his hat, and, during the examination, the magistrate had said to the officer, "If he should ever be killed by a shot, you had better examine the whole village, for we shall all have had a share in it." He lived strictly within the law, however. He did not want to be beloved: it was his boast that every one could say, "He is severe, but just." He had no consideration either for rich or poor.
He was in the vigor of life, with a gray beard, aquiline nose, and wondrously clear liquid blue eyes, of a piercing brilliancy.
He came up to me with a friendly air, that was quite unusual on his part, and told me that Ernst had been with him that day.
Ernst had said nothing to me of this. Rautenkron declared that he did not concern himself about other people, but that he was really sorry that Ernst was about to throw himself away. Here was another young man who was fit for heroic deeds, but was ruined in this good-for-nothing age, and was about to sacrifice his life to a coquettish forest girl. It was unpardonable that we should countenance him in this, and consent to take a creature from out of the thicket into a house which had always borne so honorable a name.
"Mark my words! She will be just like a young fox that is caught before he has finished his growth,--he will never be perfectly tamed, but will run away to his home when you least expect it, and be right in doing so."
It is always galling to hear pure affection thus abused and misconstrued.
I endeavored to change the subject, but Rautenkron affected not to hear me, and indulged in the most violent language against the stranger. Indeed, he prophesied that our thoughtless conduct would drag us into misfortune, and called the miller to bear witness to what he thus told me.
I abruptly refused to continue the subject, and now Rautenkron called out to me, his eyes beaming with joy, "Enough. Let us speak of something else. I have to-day done one of the prettiest deeds of my life. Shall I tell you what? All right! You know Wollkopf the wood dealer. He has such a mild, insinuating way about him, but always eyed me as the usurer does a suspicious-looking pledge. He did not trust me. 'But,' thought I to myself, 'just wait! I will bide my time; he will come yet.' And he has come at last, within shooting distance too. At the last sale of wood in my district, he had bought a large lot of logs, and then came up to me and said that he wanted to speak plain German with me. Now listen to what the honored town-councillor--you know that is his position--the acknowledged man of honor, calls plain speaking! He offered me a bribe if I would keep such and such logs out of his lot. Of course I agreed. Smoking our cigars, we went on walking through the woods. I quickly cut down an oak sapling, pulled the branches from it, and with the green wood beat the lean man of honor to my heart's content. He cried out with all his might, but no one heard him save the cuckoo, and I enjoyed beating him until he was black and blue; just as the cuckoo enjoys swallowing the caterpillar which poisons the fingers of your soft-skinned gentry. I tell you there is no greater pleasure than administering personal chastisement to a sharper. Men say that the kiss of the beloved one is good; perhaps it is, but this is better.
"And when I was satisfied, and he too, I suppose, had enough, I let him run, and said to him, 'Now, my sweet gentleman, you may sue me if you choose; but, if you do, it will be my turn to tell my story.'"
While Rautenkron told his story, his features acquired an uncanny expression of glee. I must admit that I did not begrudge the sharper the beating he had received; and besides that, the recital had engaged my attention, and thus had relieved me from the sad thoughts which had before that filled my mind.
It was already dusk when the wagon arrived. It halted. My wife said to the girl who was sitting at her side, "This is father. Speak to him."
"I hope you are well, father!" exclaimed the girl.
I heard Rautenkron beside me muttering angrily. His words, however, were unintelligible. Without saying more he hurried off into the forest.
"What ails the misanthrope now?" said my wife. "But why need that trouble us? My child, you had better get out here and follow with father."
I helped the child to alight. She seemed loth to obey.
I was obliged to halt. I felt as if trying to drag a heavily laden wagon up the hill.
But let me proceed. I have many a steep path yet to climb.
I stood with the girl on the highway. I extended my hand and uttered a few words of welcome, but they did not come from the heart. Our wayward son had imposed a great burden on us. The young maiden appeared to pay no attention to what I was saying, but looked about in every direction. As it was dusk, I could not see her distinctly. I could perceive, however, that she was a powerful creature. She did not regulate her step by mine, but I was forced to keep step with her unless I wished to be left behind.
"What dog is this running after us?" said I.
"It is my dog. Isn't it so, Pincher? Aren't you my dog?"
The dog answered with a bark, and kept running back and forth, now up the road and now down. When she whistled to him, in huntsman's style, he obeyed.
"Master," asked she, without resting a moment while speaking, "and does all as far as the eye can reach belong to you?"
"Why do you inquire?"
"Why? because I want to know. It must be jolly here in the daytime."
"Indeed it is."
"Is that the graveyard where I see the crosses and the white stones?"
"Yes."
"Can it be seen from your house?"
"It can."
"Too bad! that will never do. I can't bear to look out of the window. I can't stay there, I won't stay; you must take away that graveyard; how can one laugh or sing with that constantly before one's eyes? Or how could I eat or drink? I once found a dead man in the forest. He had been lying there ever so long, and was quite eaten away. I can't bear to have Death always staring me in the face. I won't stay here."
I was obliged to stop. I felt so oppressed that I could not move from the spot.
The oxen that I had sold the day before were just being led down the hill. When Martella saw them she cried out, "Oh what splendid beasts! are they yours?"
"They are no longer mine. I sold them yesterday, and they are to be led to France."
"A pleasant meal to you, France!" said Martella, laughing boisterously. I could not help noticing her hearty laughter, for I felt quite shocked by it. What can this child be, thought I? What will become of our tranquil household?
We arrived at the house. The room seemed lighted up more brilliantly than usual. We ascended the steps, Martella preceding me. My wife was waiting for us on the threshold, and taking both of Martella's hands in hers, said, "Now, child, thou art at last at home."
"I am at home everywhere. And so is my dog. Isn't it so, Pincher?" said Martella in a bold tone.
We entered the room. There were three lights on the table. My wife's eloquent glance told me to have patience, and when I saw her lay her hand on her heart I felt that she was confident that she could direct everything for the best.
I now, for the first time, had a good look at Martella. In carriage and feature she seemed as wild and defiant as a gypsy. Her face was full of an expression of boldness. But she was indeed beautiful and fascinating when she spoke, and even more so when she laughed.
"Why do you have three lamps on the table?" said she.
"That is the custom," answered my wife, "when a bride comes to the house."
"How lovely!" exclaimed Martella. "The one light stands for us who are as one. The other two lights represent the parents." And she laughed most heartily. Her next question was, "Why do you have two clocks in your room?"
"You ask a great many questions," I could not avoid answering. But my wife said, "That is right. Always ask questions, and you will soon learn all that you need know."
Martella may have imagined that she had been too precipitate, for she soon said:
"To-morrow is yet another day. I am so tired. I would like to go to sleep now. But I must have my dog with me, or else I cannot rest."
Indeed, her gentle good-night and her curtsey seemed strangely at variance with her usually bold and defiant manner.
When she had left us, my wife said to me, "Do not take this affair to heart. It is indeed no trifle. But remember that Ernst might have made a much more serious mistake. He loves the wild creature, and our duty is to help him as best we can. Let Rothfuss and me take charge of the girl. For the present, you had better treat her with an air of reserve. We two will attend to all. You may be glad that we have so faithful a servant as Rothfuss. They are friends already, and he says, 'By the time the potatoes are brought home, she will lay aside her red stockings.' I was wishing for that on our way here. But she refused so positively, that I desisted from my endeavors to persuade her."
After a little while, she continued:
"A voice in the forest helped me to bring all things about as they should be. I heard the cuckoo's cry, and was reminded by that, that he would leave his young in a strange nest, and that other birds would patiently and affectionately nurture the strange birdling. We are something like these cuckoo parents. What they do without thought, we do consciously."
When at early dawn on the following day, I looked out of my window, I saw Martella and her dog at the fountain in front of the house. Seen by day, and in her light attire, she seemed wondrously beautiful and fascinating.
She washed her face and plaited her thick brown hair. Her every movement seemed free and noble, and almost graceful enough to please an artist's eye.
She sang in a low voice, and would from time to time exclaim, "Cuckoo!"
Rothfuss, who saw that she was washing herself, called out to her that she must not do that again. "The cows drink there, and if you wash yourself in that basin, they will never go there again."
"I have already noticed," she replied, "that the cattle have the first place in this house."
When she saw me, she called out in a clear, ringing voice:
"Good-morning, master. Ernst was certainly right when he told me that it is lovely here. One can see so far in every direction. I shall yet climb every one of those hills. How good the water is! Do you, too, hear the cuckoo? He is already awake, and has bid me good-morning. Old Jaegerlies2has often told me that I was the cuckoo's child. And do you know that the cow got a calf during the night? A spotted cow-calf? We have already given the cow something warm to drink. The calf drank milk when it was hardly two minutes old. Rothfuss said it would be a pity to kill the calf. I am going to drive out into the fields with Rothfuss to get some clover. Yes, a cow has a good time of it in your house. But look! the cuckoo is flying over your house! That is an omen!"
She went to the stable, and I followed her a short time afterwards. She looked on dreamily while the cow was licking the new-born calf, and said at last,
"That is what you folks call kissing."
Rothfuss asked her:
"Are you fond of cows?"
"I don't know; I never had one."
He showed her our best cow and said,
"Three years ago, when she was a calf, she got the first prize at the agricultural exhibition. She puts food to the best use. Everything that she eats turns either to meat or to milk."
Rothfuss told Martella to put on a little jacket. They soon drove out to the fields, and when she held up the scythe, she exclaimed, "Cuckoo!" It seemed to me as if I were dreaming, and yet I remembered quite distinctly that my wife had spoken to me on the previous night of the cuckoo's young ones.
What a strange coincidence it seemed!
Martella returned from the fields in good spirits, and during the morning lunch was quite cheerful. She was constantly talking of the daughter-in-law, and the cow-calf that had come into the family during the night before.
I then said to her, "I will give you the cow-calf. It is yours."
She made no answer, but looked at me with an air of surprise.
Rothfuss told me that when in the stable, she had said to the calf: "You belong to me. But of course, you know nothing of it. You really belong to your mother. But your mother belongs to the master, the master belongs to Ernst, and Ernst belongs to me; and that is how it is."
When evening came, Rothfuss expressed his opinion in the following words:
"If her inside is like her outside, she need not be made any better than she already is."
Our oldest maid-servant, Balbina, seemed quite kindly disposed to the new arrival, and Martella said that Balbina had told her something with the air of imparting a secret of which she was the only possessor. And what was it? "Why, nothing more than that it is sinful to lie and steal."
I have given the story of this first day in its smallest details. It is only for the first green leaves of spring that we have an attentive eye. They go on, silently increasing, until they become so numerous that they excite no comment.
Martella did not become attached to any one in the house except Rothfuss, whom she was constantly plying with questions about Ernst's childhood. When in pleasant evenings during the week, and on Sunday afternoons in clear weather, the youths and maidens would march through the village, with their merry songs, she would sit with Rothfuss on the bench by the stable, or, unattended by any companion save her dog, would be up in the woods that lay back of our house.
When she had any special request, she would communicate it through Rothfuss.
Among other things, she wanted to go out into the forest with the wood-cutters. From her thirteenth year she had wielded the axe, and could use it as cleverly as the men. We did not grant this wish of hers.
Her craving for knowledge was insatiable, and I marvelled at the patience and equanimity with which my wife told her everything she wanted to know.
Things to which we had become accustomed were to her occasions of the liveliest surprise. This did not seem to change, for she never could get used to what with us had, through daily habit, become a matter of course. To her all seemed a marvel.
Her glance was full of courage. Her voice seemed so full of sincerity, that her strangest utterances required no added assurance of their truthfulness. Her laughter was so hearty that it seemed contagious.
Rothfuss was quite proud that he could control Martella, just as he did the two bays that he had raised from the time they were foals, and delighted to speak of the fact, that our youngest--as he called Ernst--was the best of marksmen. He had secured the best prize. For there could be no other girl so wise and merry as Martella. And she was so full of merry capers that the very cows looked around and lowed, as if to say, "We, too, would be glad to laugh with you, if we only could. But, alas! we cannot. We have not the bellows to do it with."
She had named her calf "Muscat." She would nurse it as if it were a younger sister. She maintained that it was a perfect marvel of health and wisdom, and that the old cow was jealous, and tried to butt her because she had noticed that the calf had greater love for Martella than for its own mother.
There was one point on which she and Rothfuss always quarrelled. She had an inexplicable aversion to America, of which Rothfuss always spoke as if it were Paradise itself. The manner in which Lisbeth, the locksmith's widow, had been provided for, was his chief argument in its favor. "None but a free state would provide so well for the families of the men killed in battle. How different our Germans are about that."
Towards my wife and myself, Martella was respectful, but diffident.
Ernst came to us but twice during the summer, remaining but a few hours each time.
He wanted Martella to walk or drive around the neighborhood with him, but she refused, saying "that she would not leave home. She had been away long enough."
Ernst was evidently provoked that Martella refused to go with him, but kept his anger to himself.
In that summer, 1865, we had charming harvest weather, and I shall never forget Martella's saying, "I shall help gather the harvest. I was a gleaner once, and know that this is good weather for the farmers. To cut the ears in the morning and carry home the rich sheaves in the evening, without having had a storm during the day, is good for the farmer, but not so pleasant for the poor gleaner. Storms during the harvest time scatter the grain for the poor; for the farmers give nothing away of their own accord."
Rothfuss looked towards me, and nodded approval of her words.
Towards the end of summer, Richard paid us a visit.
Richard had written to us some time before, and had referred to Ernst's conduct in indignant terms. He felt shocked that one who had not yet secured a livelihood for himself, had already linked the fate of another with his own, and had inflicted her presence upon the household. But from the first moment that he saw Martella, he admired her more than any of us had done.
When he offered her his first brotherly greeting, she gazed at him with her brilliant eyes, and said,
"I can see ten years ahead."
"Have you the gift of prophecy?"
"Oh pshaw! I don't mean that. What I mean is that in ten years from now Ernst will look as you now do. But I hope that when that time comes, he will not have to use spectacles."
Richard laughed, and so did Martella quite heartily.
There is nothing better than when two people laugh together at their first meeting.
Later in the season, my daughter Johanna, who is the wife of a pastor in the Oberland who had once been Ludwig's teacher, came with her grown-up daughter to pay us a visit. Johanna's object in coming was to receive the benefit of the milk cure.
At their very first meeting, she unintentionally affronted Martella. Johanna always wore black silk netted gloves, and when, with too evident an air of assumed kindness, she offered her hand to Martella, the latter said to her:
"There is no need for a fly-net on your hand. I do not sting."
After this trifling circumstance, there was many a heart-burning between Martella and Johanna. They were always at cross purposes. Rothfuss was provoked, as he was unable to satisfy Martella that the pastor's wife had not intended to affront her. Martella refused to be convinced, and persisted in calling Johanna a "fly-net."
When she had once conceived an aversion for any one, she was immovable. And when Johanna came to the cow stables, which she did twice every day at milking-time, she would always in an ironical tone say, "Good-day, madam sister-in-law."
Johanna found in this a cause for continued ill-feeling, to which, in her discontented and susceptible condition, she readily gave way.
Johanna imagined that she had found the way to Martella's heart, by assuring her how much she pitied her. But that only served to make matters worse; for Martella resented any manifestation of pity.
As our household was conducted on a generous scale, there was much that, in Johanna's eyes, contrasted unpleasantly with her own home. She frequently alluded to the small pay her husband was earning, and often gave us cause to remember that he would have been advanced much more rapidly, if he had not been the son-in-law of a member of the party in opposition to the government. She, in fact, made no concealment of her belief that I was the cause of her husband's and her daughter's infirm health. If it were not that I was in such great disfavor with the government, they would long ago have been stationed in a more genial climate, and would thus have recovered their health.
She maintained that our mode of living was not pious enough, and thought it most atrocious that we indulged Martella in her heathenish ways.
She did not care to go to the village pastor, with whom we had but little intercourse, for she was angry at him. His position brought him little work but generous pay, and she therefore coveted it for her own husband. But then, the wife of our pastor happened to be the daughter of a member of the consistory, which, of course, explains the whole matter.
One peculiarity of Martella's afforded Johanna many an opportunity to read us homilies on our neglect of the child. No matter whether you did her a service or gave her a present, Martella never uttered a word of thanks.
I am unable to explain the trait. It may have been the result of the simple life of nature in which she had been reared.
My son Richard, who passed a portion of the autumn holidays with us, was of that opinion.
Richard had a way of laying aside his spectacles after he had been with us for a day or two, and getting along without them until the day of his departure. He thus, with every succeeding year, did much to strengthen his overtasked eyes. I think he used to put his spectacles in the keeping of Rothfuss, who would return them to him on the day he left home.
On this occasion, however, he retained his spectacles, and spent less of his time with Rothfuss than with Martella, who seemed to have become fonder of him than of any of us. In the evenings and on Sundays, she would take long walks with him in the woods, and would talk unceasingly.
One evening Richard said:
"I received the great academical prize to-day. Martella said to me: 'I can hardly believe that you are a professor; you are so--so wise, and have so much common-sense, and can talk like--like a wood-keeper's servant.' Can you imagine greater praise than that?
"And let me tell you, moreover, that Martella is full of wisdom. She knows every creature, the beasts of the field and the birds of the air. And besides that, she can read the human heart thoroughly. I could not repeat some of her opinions to you without committing a breach of confidence. But I can tell you that she has split many a log, and knows how to swing her axe to the right spot.
"Yes, Ernst is a lucky fellow; I am only fearful that he may not understand her simple nature. She is too wayward. I trust that he may learn to see in her a real incarnation of undefiled holiness and majesty. It is true that in her case they manifest themselves in the form of a girl not given to blissful tears, but the very embodiment of joy itself.
"While walking along the road, she was chewing twigs of pine, and handed a few to me, with the words: 'Taste them; there is nothing half so good as these.'
"When I told her that, as she could get better and more regular fare, she had better give up this habit of chewing pine needles, especially as it excited her nerves, she answered: 'I think you are right. They always excite me terribly.'
"We were about to cross a meadow. I was afraid of the wet places. 'Follow me,' said she, 'and be careful to look out for the molehills, for there is always dry soil underneath them.'"
While Richard was thus discoursing with unwonted enthusiasm, Johanna had risen from the table and had beckoned to her daughter to follow her.
Richard and my wife had noticed this as well as I had done. They did not allude to it, however, but continued their conversation, agreeing that it was best for the present to let Martella have her own way. They thought that she would in due time undoubtedly awaken to a longing for life's nobler forms, and the deeper meaning that lay beneath them.
My wife had no set plan on which to educate Martella.
"She is to live with us, and that of itself will educate her. She sees every one of us attending to his appointed labor. That will, of itself, soon teach her where her duty lies, and will help to make her orderly and methodical. She sees that our lives are sincere, and that, too, must do her good."
My wife was careful to caution Richard against teaching her any generalities, as they could be of no use to her.
Martella was not gentle in her disposition. She was severe towards herself as well as towards others. She had no compassion for the sufferings of others. Her idea was that every one should help himself as best he could.
She had never cared or toiled for another being. Like the stag in the forest, she lived for herself alone. My wife nodded silent approval when Richard observed, "In a state of nature, all is egotism; gentleness, industry, and the disposition to assist others are results of culture."
On the very day on which Richard had to leave us, the Major arrived at our house. He was on a tour of inspection, and had been examining the horses which the law required the farmers to hold ready for government uses.
Our village was not included in his district, and he had gone out of his way to pay us this visit. He was in full uniform. His athletic, hardy figure presented quite a stately appearance, and his honest, cheerful manner was quite refreshing.
He was glad to be able to inform us that the ill-will of his superior officers, in which even the minister of war had participated, had not injured him with the Prince. Although there had been three competitors for the position, the Prince had selected him, and had personally informed him of his promotion with the words, "I have great respect for your father-in-law, and believe that he is a true friend of the state."
The Major was not wanting in respect and affection for me, and his behavior to my wife was marked by a knightly grace, and filial veneration. When Richard told him how Martella had in himself seen her own betrothed with ten years added to his real age, he replied: "I have never said so, but it has often occurred to me that, when she is older, Bertha will be the very picture of her mother as we now see her."
Richard was an excellent go-between for Martella and the Major, who had brought a necklace of red beads which Bertha had sent to the new sister-in-law.
Although Martella's face became flushed with emotion, she did not utter one word of thanks. She pressed the beads to her lips, and then stepped to the mirror and fastened the necklace on. Then she turned towards us, while she counted us off on her fingers and said, "I am a sister-in-law. Now I know everything, and have everything. I have a pastor, a professor, a major, a forester, a great farmer, and--what else is there? Ah, yes, now I know--a builder."
"Yes, we have one; but he is in America."
"I will have nothing to do with America," said Martella.
The Major ventured the remark that Ernst had acted unwisely in leaving the service; he seemed made for a soldier, and the best thing he could do would be to return to the army. But in that case he would have, for a while at least, to postpone all thoughts of marrying.
"He need not hurry on my account," interrupted Martella; "I am sure I shall put nothing in his way. I, too, shall need some time to make myself fit. I shall have to put many a thing in here," pointing to her forehead, "before I shall deserve to be a member of this family. Now I have the necklace that my sister-in-law sent me, around my neck, and do not mind being tied, and--Good-night!"
She reached out her hand to my wife, and then to each one of us. After which she again grasped my wife's hand, and then retired.
Richard explained Martella's peculiar characteristics to the Major. Both in thought and in action she was a strange compound of gentleness and rudeness.
The Major asked whether we knew anything about her parents. Richard replied that she had imparted facts to him that bore on the subject, but that they were as yet disconnected and unsatisfactory, and that he had given her his word of honor that he would reveal naught, until she herself thought that the proper time had come.
We kept up our cheerful conversation for some time longer. Suddenly it occurred to the Major to observe that the dispute between Prussia and Austria was taking a dangerous shape, and that, according to his views, Prussia was in the right. The military system of the confederation could not last long in its present condition.
Thus we were brought face to face with serious questions.
Of what import was the transformation of a child of the forest, when such weighty matters were on the carpet.
But while the clouds pass by over our heads, and the seasons depart, the little plant quietly and steadily keeps on growing.