Waldfried: A Novel

Ikwarte said that, although Rothfuss showed signs of having drunk too much, he had gone up into the woods and had taken a bottle of champagne with him.

They hunted and hunted, and at last found him. He was asleep, and the empty bottle was lying on the ground by his side.

"Oh," he complained, "why did you wake me? I died so happy. To die drunk is the best way, after all; now, I've got to die over again. No matter; I'll wait for master, and then we will ride to heaven in double harness; or, if the parson is right in what he says, to hell. It's all the same to me; I shall stay with master."

Then he embraced Ludwig, and repeatedly said to him; "Let me go to jail once more for you." They managed to get him home without further trouble.

CHAPTER XII

The newly married couple left; but the young people were averse to breaking up, and kept up the dance until long after nightfall. A little circumstance occurred which greatly excited Martella.

Julius's friends had come in their smart hunter's suits; even Rautenkron had overcome his scruples, and attended the festival, although he did not join us at table.

We were told that Rautenkron had always been angry that Martella was permitted to keep her own dog, and Pincher, moreover, had a special aversion to Rautenkron.

At the same time that Rothfuss was being looked up, a terrible barking and yelling arose. The strange dogs had fallen upon Pincher, and it was even said that Rautenkron had called out to his dog, "At him, Turenne! Break his neck for him!"

When they at last succeeded in separating the dogs, Pincher was dead, and Martella's lamentations were heart-rending. She indulged in expressions that I would not have expected of her: "It was the only living thing that belonged to me, and that Ernst had left me. Now I am all alone in the wide world!"

When I spoke to her, she hastily said, "Forgive me; I am sometimes very silly."

She could not bear the sight of the dead dog, and begged that he might be buried in the woods.

In the meantime, Rautenkron was explaining to Wolfgang that his ambition to become a forester was based on a false ideal; that dealing in rags was a much prettier occupation. For then one need know nothing of the people who once wore the rags; but that the forest people were all cheats, and, if they could, would convert the trees into as great cheats as they were.

We were still engaged watching the dancers, and it was a great pleasure to see Wolfgang dance with Clotilde, the Major's daughter. Wolfgang arranged an American dance, which was so wild that it evidently originated with the Indians.

The young Alsatian couple also joined in the dance.

Carl had allowed Marie to dance with another one of the village lads, and stood holding the hand of Martella, whom he had led to the dancing floor. She said that she did not wish to dance, and that for tenfold reasons she ought not to, especially as her betrothed was far away. But all persuaded her. Rothfuss-who, having been aroused by the music, had gathered himself up again, and was now seated at the table by the side of Ikwarte-was especially anxious that she should dance.

When Martella began to dance, a great change seemed to come over her. There was something uncanny in her features and in her eyes.

Nearly all of us left the dancing floor, and Annette requested Martella to go with us.

"Oh, no," she exclaimed, while her eyes rolled and her lips quivered; "I have now begun, and I cannot stop so soon. Good-night, my lady."

She remained, and all were filled with admiration of her light movements and her wonderful tours de force.

"Why, you can jump about like a squirrel, and fly like a bird," said Rothfuss.

"So I can," cried Martella. "Do you know how it is when one of the cuckoo's brood leaves its nest in which the simple tomtits have fed it? None of you have ever seen it, but I have. I, too, am one of the cuckoo's brood. It flies away it flies away. Play on, fiddlers. Let us have the cuckoo's song. Keep quiet, all of you; I will dance for you."

And then she began to dance, raising herself and bending towards the ground again as if she really had wings; and all were delighted.

When she stopped all cried out, "Again! again!" and the Alsatian exclaimed, "Da-capo!"

Ikwarte arose and said, "Miss, do not let them abuse your good-nature; do not let them make a fool of you. There is enough of it."

"This is not your affair," exclaimed Carl, "you Prussian! – you starveling!"

"I have nothing to say to you," answered Ikwarte; "you are not worth answering."

Martella danced again, to the great delight of all.

But while she was dancing, one could see that it took several of the lads to hold Carl.

When the dance was over, Carl rushed up to Ikwarte, and cried:

"You cursed Prussian! why do you think that I am not worthy of being answered?"

"I have no respect for a man who would put himself in the way of being captured."

"Is that it?"

"Carl, take none of the Prussian's impudence," called out Martella. "It is the Prussians' fault that my Ernst had to go forth into misery. Pay him up for it!"

And then followed terrible scuffling and fighting.

Ikwarte seemed, at first, unable to realize that he was actually involved in a fight; but when he saw that matters were in earnest, he seized Carl, and held him as firmly as in a vise. Rothfuss urged them on, for fighting was his delight. They were at last separated, and then Martella threw herself on the ground, tore her hair, and cried out, "It is all my fault! It is my fault! I am ruined!"

Rothfuss succeeded in leading her away. She tried to escape from him and to run out into the woods, saying, "Anything rather than go back home, for I don't deserve to go there."

He succeeded, at last, in inducing her to enter the house of Carl's mother. Accompanied by Annette and Conny, I went there to bring her home, and was startled when I saw what a change had come over the poor child. Nevertheless, her agitation had not disfigured her; she seemed more lovely than ever-almost supernaturally beautiful.

"O father!" she cried. "Indeed, I have no longer the right to use those words. I knew it; I felt a presentiment of it all, and I wanted to go away. Why didn't you let me go? I don't belong here, and now less than ever. The worst that could have happened to me has happened. I have relapsed into savage folly. And yet she who is up there said, 'Do not lose faith in yourself and in your goodness, and you can accomplish everything.' The worst punishment is mine, for I have lost faith in myself. I may become crazed again any moment; I no longer believe in myself."

When Conny and Annette spoke to her in their kind way, she exclaimed, "Every kind word of yours gives me new pain. Scold me, beat me, kick me-I deserve such treatment, and shall find it less painful than kind words that I do not deserve. I was so happy in thinking that I had accomplished all, but it is not so. Now I see how much love and respect you all had for me; and when Ernst returns I shall tell him everything. He may scold me heartily, for I have deserved it."

We conducted her to the house, where we found Ikwarte, whose appearance seemed the very opposite of what it usually was. He seemed as if crushed, and continually said, "Colonel, I admit that it was highly improper on my part, especially as it happened in a strange land."

Ludwig took it all in good part, and laughingly remarked that North and South Germany had again been scuffling with each other. Then he apologized for Ikwarte, by saying that he could not stand wine; that, except when taking communion, he had not tasted a drop of wine up to his twentieth year.

Ikwarte stood by, nodding his assent and pulling his red mustache. After that, he went off with Rothfuss.

In the meanwhile, Martella sat crouching on the floor in a corner of the room.

Ludwig softly said to me, "Now is the time to let Martella tell us who and whence she is."

I thought that as the child was overmuch agitated, it might be better to wait until the next day; but he insisted that this was the proper time.

CHAPTER XIII

Ludwig went up to Martella and said, "Martella, there is a woman in America who knows you."

Martella jumped to her feet and, brushing her hair from her face with both hands, asked, "How do you know that?"

"I will tell you how, when you have told your history. Will you do so?"

"I will. It is well and proper that I should. But no one shall be present but you and father. Forgive me, kind ladies," she said, addressing Conny and Annette in an unwonted tone. "I can only tell this to father and to brother."

She drank a few drops of water, and then, seating herself behind the table that was next to the wall, began:

"I can only remember as far back as my sixth year. I have no distinct recollection of anything that happened before that time. We lived in a city on the Rhine, – I believe it is called Mayence. There are two sorts of soldiers there-Prussians and Austrians. The Austrians have white coats, like the cousin who once visited us with Baron Arven. Under the small golden mirror in my mother's room on the opposite wall, there was quite a large glass that reached from the ceiling to the floor there was a portrait of a handsome officer, whom I believe I have already seen. My mother always addressed him as 'Prince,' and he laughed when she did so. His eyes were of a light blue; I cannot recall any of his other features. My mother would often say to me, while she pointed to the picture, 'Martella, do not forget, this is your father. He has great love for me, and for you too.' It was a long while before I knew how my mother gained her living. She would sleep until near mid-day, and would often stand on her toes, or walk on them around the room. Then she would suddenly let herself fall to the ground, spring up again and take long steps. Then she would place herself before the mirror, and bow and kiss her hands to herself. Once she looked so lovely, with a thin gauze-like robe about her body, and various kinds of gauze over that. She looked just like a beautiful bird, and almost like the peacock down in the garden. And I was prettily dressed also. I had wings on my shoulders, and they had two mirrors for me, so that I might see how I looked in front, and in the back. And I had golden shoes on, and had to learn how to spread out my hands and then bring them together quite slowly. With a girdle around my waist-it was golden, and studded with diamonds-I floated in the air, and could hear the people screaming with delight and clapping their hands; but I could not see where I was, or how many people were there. We rode home in a carriage-I can recollect that, but cannot remember what happened for some time afterward. One day, my mother showed me a man who wore a green dressing-gown and had curled hair; then she said to me: 'My child, this is your father now-you must say "father" to him.'

"He spoke to me, but I could not understand what he said; and mother said, 'The child is worth ten thousand florins, and can earn a great deal of money.'

"About that time, I often heard the word 'America,' and, as I was told to call everybody 'uncle,' I once inquired where 'Uncle America lived?' whereupon they laughed very loud, and the man with the curled hair, whom I had to call father, kissed me.

"There was a maid living with us, who would always say, 'You poor child, you must go to America, among the savages. O you poor child!'

"And one morning, I heard them say that we would go to America that day. Down by the Rhine there was a great crowd and noise, and when we were on the vessel, some one said, 'Keep your seat here, or you will be left behind?' And when all was confusion on shipboard, I stealthily crept on shore, and hid myself behind some hogsheads in which the bees were humming; they did not trouble me. I heard the ringing of the bell, and the paddling of the wheels-but did not move. I had a little satchel full of cakes, which I ate.

"The embroidered satchel had been presented to me by the Prince, whose picture hung under the mirror. I still own it; it is the only memento I have of that time. And we had a dog whose name was Pincher, and for that reason I called my poor departed dog by the same name.

"When at last evening came, I crept out of my hiding-place, and saw a great crowd gathered about an old woman who was sitting on the ground and lamenting: They have purposely left me behind; they did not want to take me with them!'

"The people told her they would help her, and would give her money that she might follow her relatives. But she always replied, 'No, I will not do that; they do not want me.' And they gave the old woman money and went on their way. And when they had all gone, I said to her, 'Take me with you; I am worth ten thousand florins.'

"Then she laughed and said, 'Indeed you are!' And then I told her that I had secretly remained behind-that I did not want to go to America.

"She laughed again, and took me on her lap, saying: 'That is right. We two will stay together.'

"And we wandered far and near, and she told every one that I was her granddaughter. We received many gifts, and every one told me that I was so pretty; and I told the old woman-her name was Jaegerlies-that I had wings, and she said, 'I believe it: they will grow again when I am dead.' But I am telling you silly stuff-am I not?"

"No, no; go on."

"At last we reached yonder forest, and then Jaegerlies said, 'Let us stay here.' She had acquaintances who lived in the neighborhood, but she had no desire to meet any one, as they always laughed at her because her folks had left her behind when they emigrated to America.

"The gifts that we had received, had enabled us to buy cooking utensils, coverings for our moss beds, and a goat; and of food we could always have plenty.

"The summers were pleasant, but the winters were not so. We caught many birds, which served as food.

"I was also sent to school, and it was quite humiliating to me to be always told that I was a 'Jew girl.' I did not know what was meant by Jew, but I knew, that it was intended as a term of disgrace. I am not sure, but I think my mother was a Catholic.

"And thus I grew up and could wield the axe as well as the strongest wood-cutter; and no one dared to lay a finger on me.

"You might blind-fold me, and I could, by my sense of smell, recognize trees or their leaves. I carried a serpent's egg on my person; I had found it one morning between eleven and twelve, and had pocketed it. I had also a gift of finding wild honey, and the bees never harmed me when I took the combs. I was once employed that way, when Ernst came up to me. He acted as if he were about to punish me for what I had done; but I told him that this was not breaking of the laws of the forest, and that it was not poaching. And then he said to me, 'You are wild honey yourself.'

"Thus Ernst found me and brought me here, where I now am. But I do not deserve it. They say that Ernst is in Algiers, with the wild Turks. Give me some money that I may go to him-I can find him.

"But tell me now, Ludwig, how do you know that my mother is in America?"

"I know nothing of it; I simply guessed so, because you always have such a fear of America."

"So you are the son of such parents-and yet can lie? Your mother in heaven will never forgive you for that."

Ludwig was moved by this apostrophe, and asked Martella to forgive him. She nodded assent and shook hands with him and with me, saying at the same time: "Father, I shall do nothing more but what you tell me to do. I shall never again act of my own free will."

"Were you always called Martella?" inquired Ludwig.

"No."

"How, then?"

"Conradine."

"Who gave you the name of Martella?"

"Jaegerlies."

"Why?"

"Because, she said, 'No one will know you by that name, and if they seek you they cannot find you.'"

"But how did she chance on that name?"

"That you ought to have asked her. And that is enough. Good-night."

Martella walked away.

Ludwig afterward told me that he had been making inquiries over in the valley where Jaegerlies had been living. He could not understand why we had not done so long before. Now it might be very difficult to discover anything, as Jaegerlies had died a few days before.

He had learned, from the neighbors, that she often spoke of America in a mysterious and indistinct manner, and that, together with Martella's aversion to the very mention of America, caused him to question her in the way he had done.

CHAPTER XIV

In spite of Martella's and Ikwarte's trouble, the great feast was pleasantly remembered in our house and throughout the village. Annette said: "Whenever I gave a large entertainment, it always grieved me to see the many people, who had just been together so cheerful and so lively, suddenly disappear. And it was always especially agreeable to me when several of my more intimate friends would remain. We would then gather together for a little quiet enjoyment, and so a smaller and more congenial circle succeeded the larger one; for that reason, I think some of us ought to remain here."

I saw Richard looking at Annette, and it was the first contented, happy glance I had ever seen him direct towards her. He had intended to leave, but now concluded to stay. It seemed as if, in spite of themselves, they had always chanced on points on which they could not agree, but now at last, and to their great delight, found themselves in accord.

Annette had greatly changed. She would no longer suddenly bound from one subject to another. Her manner had become calmer. She had learned how to put her questions modestly and yet firmly, and also how to be quiet.

Once she said, "Martella has told us what is the severest punishment. It is this: to lose faith in one's self, and to learn that excitement and weakness place us in the hands of chance or of strangers, and cause us to express the very things that we have desired most of all to keep within ourselves."

The festival brought painful consequences to Rothfuss, Ikwarte, and Carl, as well as to Martella. They went about without saying a word, and Annette, who was anxious to help, and quick to sympathize with others, tried her best to cheer them up.

One morning, we were sitting in the garden. Richard and Conny had gone over to the village, and Ludwig said to Annette, "We do not know how to thank you for having given my wife so true and feeling a description of mother."

Annette now expressed her delight with Conny, and when she asked Ludwig how he had made her acquaintance, he said,

"If father does not object to hear the story over again, I will tell you."

I consented, and Ludwig went on:

"The Americans have one thing in common with the old Romans; whenever they found a city, they provide, above all things, for pure water. There happened at the time to be a lively discussion in regard to the building of water-works. I hoped that the contract would be assigned to me, and travelled about for some distance through the neighboring country, in order to find the best springs. A mountain brook whose stream could easily be led into another, seemed to me best adapted for the purpose.

"I followed it up to its source, and was fortunate enough to find rich and copious springs. I had been wandering all day, when, towards evening, I saw a log-cabin half-way down the hillside. I walked up to it, and at last reached the house. The doors were open, and a dog, that seemed to be the only guardian of the place, jumped towards me as if glad to welcome me. I went into the entry and called out, but no one answered. I opened the door, and found a cosy, pretty room.

"Mother always used to say that the walls of a room are an index of the culture of its inmates. There were two engravings, copied from the paintings of the great masters, an open piano, and above it a bust of Mozart. I ventured to approach the piano. Mozart's G minor symphony lay open on the music-desk.

"Although I had not touched an instrument for a great while, I felt a great longing to touch the keys.

"I began to play, and felt as happy as a skilful swimmer breasting the waves. I played on and on, forgetting where I was; and when I stopped and looked around, I saw a fine-looking old man and a lovely, blooming maiden standing in the doorway.

"I suppose I need not tell you more.

"I remained in the hospitable house over-night, and soon discovered that my host was a refugee, and had been a comrade of father's. Constance, or, as she was familiarly called, Conny, became my betrothed, and afterwards my wife; and our son, who was born on the anniversary of Mozart's birthday, received his name.

"Our marriage is a happy one, blest with perfect harmony in thought and feeling.

"When I entered the army my wife merely said, 'You are doing right.'

"When my eldest son died, she was deeply afflicted, but soon resigned herself to the thought that all must make sacrifices.

"I was not a good commander-not that I was deficient in courage or endurance; but soldiering must be studied just like other things. My long experience in topographical studies, was, however, of great use to me. I had a quick eye for the advantages and the disadvantages of positions on our side, or that of the enemy. On the other hand, the Southerners had much better leaders than myself and many others who, like me, had not studied the art of war.

"Now you know the most important facts; and I must stop, for I see Conny and Richard coming."

They came, and Annette had enough self-command not to betray what she had just heard.

CHAPTER XV

Richard and Ludwig left with the intention of entering Wolfgang at the forester's school. Richard and Annette now understood one another, and Richard's parting words were: "I think you will do well to remain here for some time. Your stay will be of benefit to yourself as well as to others."

Annette made no answer, but I could not help observing how her breast heaved with emotion.

She and Conny seemed also to be on excellent terms with each other.

Annette now understood how the intellectual life can be kept up, and even developed, in solitude, and, as usual, she was always delighted to find words in which to couch a new impression. She said to me, "There are hermits of education as well as of religion, and they attain the highest degree of development."

She often expressed her admiration of Conny's light hair, and endeavored to persuade her that it might be dressed in a far more effective style than the braids in which she wore it. Conny, however, did not care to act on this suggestion of Annette's.

On his return, Ludwig told me that he would not be able to remain through the summer, unless he had some fixed occupation. He was anxious to carry out a plan for a new and large builder's mill. He would be willing to superintend the erection of the building, but did not have enough ready money to undertake the enterprise. When I told him that I was no better off than he, Annette asked that she might be permitted to advance the sum. I declined, but, as Ludwig at once accepted her offer, I could make no further objection.

"Father," exclaimed Ludwig, with unwonted enthusiasm, "I firmly believe that water-power will assist us to solve the great labor question.

"What we are about to undertake makes me, in many respects, feel both free and happy. I hope to be able to set the two great levers of our age-enterprise and economy-in operation. I felt the so-called social question as a personal affront. I asked myself, 'Are you so old that you need fear a great change? In your younger years, you felt offended when you heard the old ones say, that is overdone, or utopian or demagogical, or whatever it might be, but now you use these very terms yourself.' I honestly examined myself in this, and felt obliged to act as I have done.

"If we domesticate industry, and open new sources of profit to those who dwell in the neighborhood, we are strengthening the best possession we have in this woodland region-our love of home.

"Love of home is a life artery, which, if not killed, is at least compressed by emigration.

"The old maxim advises us to remain at home and gain a living among those whom we know best. We extend its application by enabling others to do as we would do. We must learn how to keep up with the progress of the age. At first, we sent rough logs down the stream, towards Holland; now we send planks; and after this we must send them doors and window-frames and steps."