The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Viii Part 18

"Mother, you ought to go about the world preaching, and give lectures for girls only."

"Yes, I could do that," replied the mother, also laughing. "But I have brought out the last part first; you must, of course, notice how she behaves to her parents and to her brothers and sisters. You are a good son yourself--I need not tell you anything about that. You know the Fourth Commandment."

"Yes, mother, you may rest easy there--I look out for a special sign in regard to that; where they make a big fuss about love for parents, it means nothing. For filial love is best shown by deeds, and those who chatter very much about it, when the time comes for deeds, are tired and weary."

"Why, how wise you are!" cried the mother; and she laid her hand on her bosom and looked up at her son. "May I tell you something more?"

[Mother and son continue to discuss the qualifications of good wives for some time, until the son begins to show signs of impatience to be off.]

"Yes, yes," said the mother, "I talk too much, and you need not remember it all. It's only to remind you, if it should come before you. The gist of what I say is this: the chief thing is not what a woman has or inherits, but what she uses. And now, you know that I have always let you go your own way quietly; so then, open your heart to me, and tell me what it was that made you come back from the wedding at Endringen like a man bewitched, and why it is that you have never since then been the same lad that you were before. Tell me, and perhaps I can help you."

"Oh, mother, you cannot do that--but I will tell you. I saw some one there who would have been the right one, but she was the wrong one."

"For heaven's sake! You did not fall in love with a married woman?"

"No, but still she was the wrong one. Why should I make many words about it? She was a servant-girl."

The son drew a deep breath, and for some time both he and his mother were silent. At last the mother laid her hand on his shoulder, and said:

"Oh, you are good! And I thank G.o.d that He has made you so. You did well to put that out of your mind. Your father would never have consented to it, and you know what a father's blessing means."

"No, mother, I will not make myself out better than I am. I myself was annoyed that she was only a servant; I knew it would not do, and therefore I went away. But it is even harder than I expected to get her out of my mind--but now it's over, it must be over. I have promised myself not to make any inquiries about her, not to ask anybody where she is, or who she is, and, G.o.d willing, I shall bring you home a worthy farmer's daughter."

"Surely you acted fairly by the girl, and did not put any foolish notions into her head?"

"Mother, there's my hand--I have nothing to reproach myself for."

"I believe you," said the mother, and she pressed his hand repeatedly.

"And now, good luck, and my blessing go with you!"

The son mounted his horse, and his mother looked after him. But suddenly she called out again:

"Stop--I must tell you something else. I have forgotten the most important of all."

The son turned his horse around, and when he got back to his mother, he said, smiling:

"But mother--this is the last, eh?"

"Yes, and the best test of all. Ask the girl about the poor people in her town, and then listen to what the poor people have to say about her.

A farmer's daughter who has not taken some poor person by the hand to help her, cannot be a worthy girl--remember that. And now, G.o.d keep you, and ride forth bravely."

As he rode off the mother spoke a prayer to speed him on his way, and then returned to the farm.

"I ought to have told him to inquire about Josenhans's children, and to find out what has become of them," said the mother to herself. She felt strangely moved. And who knows the secret ways through which the soul wanders, or what currents flow above our wonted course, or deep beneath it? What made the mother think of these children, who seemed to have faded from her memory long ago? Was her present pious mood like a remembrance of long-forgotten emotions? And did it awaken the circ.u.mstances that had accompanied those emotions? Who can understand the impalpable and invisible elements that wander and float back and forth from man to man, from memory to memory?

When the mother got back to the farm and found the father, the latter said:

"No doubt you have given him many directions how to fish out the best one; but I, too, have been making some arrangements. I have written to c.r.a.ppy Zachy--he is sure to lead him to the best houses. He must bring a girl home who has plenty of good coin."

"Plenty of coin doesn't const.i.tute goodness," replied the mother.

"I know that!" cried the farmer, with a sneer. "But why shouldn't he bring home one who is good and has plenty of coin into the bargain?"

The mother sat silent for a time, but after awhile she said:

"You've referred him to c.r.a.ppy Zachy. It was at c.r.a.ppy Zachy's that Josenhans's boy was boarded out."

Thus her p.r.o.nouncing the name aloud showed that her former remembrances were dawning upon her; and now she became conscious what those remembrances were. And her mind often reverted to them during the events that were soon to occur, and which we are about to relate.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the farmer. "What's the child to you? Why don't you say that I did the thing wisely?"

"Yes, yes, it was wisely done," the wife acquiesced. But the tardy praise did not satisfy the old man, and he went out grumbling.

A certain apprehension that things might go wrong with his boy after all, and that perhaps he had been in too great a hurry, made the farmer gruff, for the present, toward everybody about him.

CHAPTER XIV

THE RIDER ON THE WHITE HORSE

On the evening of the same day that John had ridden away from Zumarshofen, c.r.a.ppy Zachy came to Farmer Rodel's house and sat with the proprietor in the back room for a long time, reading a letter to him in a low voice.

"You must give me a hundred crowns if I put this business through, and I want that down in writing," said c.r.a.ppy Zachy.

"I should think that fifty would be enough, and even that is a pretty bit of money."

"No, not a red farthing less than a round hundred, and in saying that I am making you a present of a hundred. But I am willing to do that much for you and your sister--in fact, I am always glad to do a kindness to a fellow-townsman. Why, in Endringen or in Siebenhofen they would gladly give me double the money. Your Rose is a very respectable girl--n.o.body can deny that--but she's nothing extraordinary, and one might ask, what's the price of a dozen such?"

"Be quiet! I won't have that!"

"Yes, yes, I'll be quiet, and not disturb you while you're writing. Now, write at once."

Farmer Rodel was obliged to do as c.r.a.ppy Zachy wished, and when he had done writing, he said:

"What do you think? Shall I tell Rose about it?"

"Certainly, you must do so. But don't let her show that she knows about it, nor tell any one in the place; it won't bear being talked about. All people have their enemies, you and your sister like the rest, you may believe me. Tell Rose to wear her everyday clothes and milk the cows when he comes. I shall have him come to your house alone. You read what Farmer Landfried writes; the boy has a will of his own, and would run away directly, if he suspected that there was anything being prepared for him. And you must send this very evening to Lauterbach and have your brother-in-law's white horse brought over here; then I'll get somebody to send the suitor over to you in quest of the horse. Don't let him notice that you know anything about it either."

c.r.a.ppy Zachy went away, and Farmer Rodel called his sister and his wife into the little back room. After exacting a promise of secrecy, he imparted to them that a suitor for Rose was coming the next day, a prince of a man, who had a first-rate farm--in fact, it was none other than John, the son of Farmer Landfried of Zumarshofen. He then gave the further directions which c.r.a.ppy Zachy had recommended, and enjoined the strictest secrecy.

After supper, however, Rose could not refrain from asking Barefoot, if, in case of her marrying, she would not go with her as her maid; she would give her double wages, and at the same time she would then not have to cross the Rhine and work in a factory. Barefoot gave an evasive answer; for she was not inclined to go with Rose, knowing that the latter had selfish motives for making the proposal. In the first place she wanted to boast of the fact that she was going to get a husband, and, indeed, a first-rate one; and in the second place she was anxious to get Barefoot to manage her household affairs, about which she had until then scarcely bothered herself at all. Now Barefoot would have been very glad to do this for a mistress who was kind to her, but not for Rose. And besides, if she were to leave her present mistress, she did not intend to be a servant again anyway, but would work for herself, even if it were in a factory with her brother.

Barefoot was just going to bed, when her mistress called her and intrusted the secret to her, adding:

"You have always had patience with Rose, and now while her suitor is here, have double patience, in order that there may be no disturbance in the house."