Black Forest Village Stories Part 53

The old man's eloquence continued to flow until they had returned to the garden. Our friend waited a long time, in the hope of seeing Hedwig, but in vain. Thus his first design was accomplished in spite of himself: he did not see Hedwig for a long, long time,--to wit, for full forty-eight hours.

Next day, as he strode alone through the fields, he saw Buchmaier driving a horse, which drew a sort of roller.

"Busy, squire?" asked the teacher: he had learned some of the customary phrases by this time.

"A little," answered Buchmaier, and drove his horse to the end of the field, where he halted.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He drove his horse to the end of the field, where he halted.]

"Is that the sorrel you were breaking in the day I came here?"

"Yes, that's him. I'm glad to see that you remember it: I thought you had nothing in your head but your books.

"You see, I've had a queer time with this here horse. My ploughman wanted to break him into double harness right-away, and I gave in to him; but it wouldn't do, nohow. These colts, the first time they get harness on 'em, work themselves to death, and pull, and pull, and don't do any good after all: if they pull hard and get their side of the swingle-tree forward, the other horse don't know what to make of it and just lumbers along anyhow. But if you have 'em in single harness you can make 'em steady and not worry themselves to death for nothing. When they can work each by himself, they soon learn to work in a team, and you can tell much better how strong you want the other horse to be."

The teacher derived a number of morals from this speech; but all he said aloud was, "It's just the same thing with men: they must learn to work alone first, and then they are able to help each other."

"That's what I never thought of; but I guess you're right."

"Is that the new sowing-machine? What are you sowing?"

"Rapeseed."

"Do you find the machine better than the old way of sowing?"

"Yes, it's more even; but it won't do for any but large fields. Small patches are better sown with the hand."

"I must confess, I find something particularly attractive in the act of sowing with the hand: it is significant that the seed should first rest immediately in the hand of man and then fly through the air to sink into the earth. Don't you think so too?"

"Maybe so; but it just comes to my mind that you can't say the sower's rhyme very well with the machine. Well, you must think it."

"What rhyme?"

"Farmers' boys used to be taught to say, whenever they threw out a handful of seed,--

"'I sow the seed: G.o.d give it speed For me and those in need!'"

"Such a rhyme ought never to go out of use."

"Yes; as I was saying, you can think it, or even say it, with the machine: it's a useful invention, anyhow."

"Is it easy to introduce these new inventions?"

"No. The first time I put my oxen each into his own yoke the whole village ran after me. And when I brought this contrivance from the agricultural fair and went out into the field with it, the people all thought I'd gone crazy."

"What a pity it is that the common people are so slow to understand the value of these improvements!"

"Whoa, Tom! whoa!" cried Buchmaier, as his horse began to paw the ground impatiently: then, holding the bridle more firmly, he went on:--"That isn't a pity at all, Mr. Teacher: on the contrary, that's a very good thing. Believe me, if the farmers weren't so headstrong, and were to go to work every year to try all the machines that learned men invent for them, we'd have to starve many a year. Whoa, Tom! You must study agricultural matters a little: I can lend you a book or two."

"I'll come to see you about it; I see your horse won't stand still any more. Good luck to your labor."

"Good-bye, sir," said Buchmaier, smiling at the parting salutation.

The teacher turned to go, and Buchmaier went on with his work. But hardly had the latter walked a few yards, before he started on hearing Buchmaier whistle the "Lauterbacher." He was inclined to suspect an insult, but checked himself, saying, "The man certainly means no harm."

And he was quite right, for not only did the man mean no harm, but he meant nothing whatever: he whistled without knowing what.

In a ravine, after ascertaining that he was unperceived, the teacher wrote in his pocket-book,--"The steady and almost immovable power of the people's character and spirit is a sacred power of nature: it forms the centre of gravity of human life,--I might say, the _vis inertiae_ of all inst.i.tutions.

"What a hapless vacillation would befall us if every movement in politics, religion, or social economy were to seize at a moment's warning upon the whole community! Only that which has ceased to vibrate, and attained a calm, steady course of progress, is fitted to enter here: this is the great ocean in which the force of rivers is lost.

"I will respect the way of thinking of these people, even when I differ from them; but I will endeavor----"

What he meant to endeavor remained unwritten. But he had been fortunate in detecting features of interest in the affairs of village life.

It was some days before he again found an opportunity to converse with Hedwig. He saw her from her grandmother's seat; but she appeared to be very busy, and hurried by with very brief words of recognition. Indeed, she almost seemed to avoid him.

Love of the peasant-girl was strong within him, but at the same time the people's life, which had broken in upon his vision, occupied much of his thoughts and feelings. He often walked about as if in a dream; and yet he had never understood the realities of life so well as now.

The College Chap also gave him much trouble and vexation. The latter was curious to know what his grandmother and the teacher could have found to converse about. He joined them more than once, and always came down with a rude joke whenever a vein of deeper sentiment was touched.

When the teacher inquired, "Grandmother, do you never go to church now?" the College Chap quickly interposed, "Perhaps you remember who built the church, grandmother: the teacher would like to know; but he says he isn't going to run away with it."

"Be quiet, you!" replied his grandmother: "if you were good for any thing you'd be master in the church now, and parson." Turning to the teacher, she went on:--"It's five years since I was in church last: but on Sunday I can hear by the bells when the host is being shown, and when they carry it around; and then I say the litany by myself. Twice a year the parson comes and gives me the sacrament: he's a dear, good man, our pastor, and often comes to see me besides."

"Don't you think, Mr. Teacher," began the College Chap, "that my grandmother would make an abbess _comme il faut_?"

On hearing herself the subject of conversation in a foreign language, the poor old lady looked from one of the speakers to the other in astonishment not unmingled with fear.

"Certainly," said the teacher; "but, even so, I think she can be just as pious and just as happy as if she were an abbess."

"Do you see, grandmother?" exclaimed the College Chap, in triumph: "the teacher says, too, that parsons are not a whit better than other folks."

"Is that true?" said the old woman, sadly.

"What I mean is," replied the teacher, "that all men can go to heaven; but a clerical man who is as he should be, and labors diligently for the welfare of souls, occupies a higher grade."

"I think so too," a.s.sented the old woman. The perspiration was gathering on the poor teacher's forehead; but the relentless student began again:--"Isn't it your opinion, Mr. Teacher, that clergymen ought to marry?"

"It is the canon of the Church that they must remain single; and any one who takes orders with a perfect understanding of his own actions must obey the law."

"I think so too," said the old lady, with great vehemence: "those that want to get married are devils of the flesh, and clergymen must be spiritual and not carnal. I'll tell you what: don't speak to him any more at all; don't let him spoil your good heart. He has his wicked day, and he isn't as bad neither as he makes himself out to be."

Finding his grandmother proof against all a.s.saults, the College Chap went away in an ill humor. The teacher also took his leave: again had a fine and tender relations.h.i.+p been rudely jarred. Not till he reached his dwelling did he succeed in conquering his depression and steeling himself against these unavoidable accidents.

On Sunday he at last found another opportunity to converse with Hedwig.

He found her sitting with the old schoolmaster in his garden. They did not appear to have spoken much together.

After a few customary salutations, the teacher began:--"How fine and elevated a thing it is that the seventh day is hallowed by religion and kept clear of labor! If things were otherwise, people would die of over-work. If, for instance, in the heat of midsummer harvesters were to work day by day without intermission until all was gathered in, no one could endure it."