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SELDWYLA FOLKS
THREE SINGULAR TALES
SELDWYLA FOLKS
THREE SINGULAR TALES
BY
THE SWISS POET
GOTTFRIED KELLER
TRANSLATIONS BY
WOLF VON SCHIERBRAND, Ph.D.
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1919
BRENTANO'S
All rights reserved
[PREFACE]
Gottfried Keller may fitly be called the greatest narrative writer that Switzerland has ever produced. Born July 19, 1819, near Zurich, he was reared in direst poverty. By dint of the hardest labor and by practicing the utmost frugality, his father was barely able to provide bread for wife and children. But in the midst of this penury the genius of his young son Gottfried expanded. As a mere child he gave already unmistakable evidence of being a dreamer, a thinker, a philosopher, a "fabulist," an artist. Just able to write, the little boy forever scribbled poems and fanciful tales, made rapid sketches with pencil and pen, portraits, caricatures, landscapes. At the village school he imbibed knowledge like a sponge. Soon the gnarled old schoolmaster, half peasant, half teacher, looked aghast at his little scholar: he had no more to teach him. Generous friends sent the youth to Munich, there to study art. For at that time his desire was to become a great painter. Desperately and with fiery energy the young fellow devoted himself to study, and his attainments were considerable. They would fully have sufficed for a career as a mediocre portrait painter. But his very excess of zeal led to surfeit, to exhaustion, to a period of lethargy. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." This fit of listlessness lasted even for some time after Gottfried's return home. All effort with him slackened.
Patrons finally intervened. With their aid he went to Heidelberg, and for two full years, 1848-1850, he there pursued literary and historical research. The historian, Hettner, took great interest in the young Swiss. Next he went to Berlin, and during the ensuing five years he wrote and studied in a desultory manner there. Great attention was paid him by Goethe's intimate friend, Varnhagen von Ense, and the latter's wife, the "seeress," Rahel, who drew the shy young man into their wide literary circle, comprising for two decades the beaux esprits of the capital. But his bluntness of speech, his sturdy Swiss republicanism, often gave offense.
For that was one of the remarkable points about Gottfried Keller: despite his long residence on German soil and the flattering reception accorded him by the intellectual élite there, he remained a thorough democrat, an uncompromising friend of the plain people, a fearless champion of Swiss free government, a hater of tyranny in any form, a despiser of monarchs and their favors. Among his poems, later collected into a bulky tome, there are many that breathe defiance to royalty by "divine grace."
Much of this sentiment of anti-monarchism has crept into his first great work, the "Gruener Heinrich." This, a sort of autobiography in guise of a big novel, alive with adventure as well as thoughts on men and things, he first published from 1854 to 1855, but it was afterward recast in characteristic fashion, 1879-1881. In a manner of speaking, his "Gruener Heinrich" is also a confession of faith. There are many didactic passages in it; the whole book, in fact, breathes the convictions of its author. This is still more the case with the last great work from Keller's pen, "Martin Salander," where the frequent political and social precepts interwoven into the text of the story form, from the purely artistic viewpoint, a serious blemish.
It is generally conceded that Keller's masterpiece is "Seldwyla Folks" ("Die Leute von Seldwyla"), which appeared in two sections, the first of these in 1856, the second in 1874. From this group of weird, fantastic tales the three forming the contents of this book are taken. About the origin of the title Keller himself has written in his inimitably oracular and whimsical style. The name and the town itself are wholly fictitious. They represent a sort of collective traits of a number of ancient, unprogressive Swiss towns, left head over heels in medievalism, in outworn customs, with some peculiar features exclusively their own. Each tale is a jewel cut and polished, a distinctive literary entity, something that may not be duplicated elsewhere in the whole realm of letters, with a full flavor of its own. Where, for instance, in the literature of any tongue, is to be found a humorous-sarcastic story of the raciness of "The Three Decent Combmakers"?
From 1861 to 1878 Keller filled, to the eminent satisfaction of his countrymen, the important and remunerative office of "Staatsschreiber," one that combined the duties of secretary of state with those of custodian of documents and librarian for his native canton, which was offered him in direct recognition of his literary merits. As such he utilized for a cycle of semi-historical tales some of the most curious records in his keeping, which are embalmed in his "Zurich Stories" (Zuericher Novellen), 1877. In the year after that he retired from office, and in 1882 appeared "The Epigram" (Das Sinngedicht), in 1883 his "Seven Legends," based on some of the Lives of the Saints, singularly humanized and modernized, and in 1886 finally "Martin Salander," an intensely patriotic and peculiarly Helvetian novel. He was also a master of the short story, a sadly neglected field in Teutonic literature.
Meanwhile, wherever German was understood or spoken the writings of Gottfried Keller had found intense appreciation, at first slowly, then more rapidly, and eminent German critics and authors, such as Theodore Storm, Berthold Auerbach, F. Th. Vischer and others, had pronounced themselves ardent admirers of his. But in 1890 he died, after a lingering illness.
The question may well be asked how it is that the literary lifework of such a man as Gottfried Keller has for so many years been denied the most sincere form of homage, that of translation, by the whole non-German-speaking world. There may be additional reasons for this seeming neglect, but I believe the chief one lies in the fact of the unusual difficulty of the task. To cast the thoughts and conceits of an individualistic writer into another vehicle of speech is in itself no easy matter. But in the case of Gottfried Keller it is especially so. For the man, as I took pains to point out, was a Swiss, not by any manner of means a German. And not only is the subject matter of his lyrical and epical output strongly tinged with Helvetism, but his very language as well. The Swiss-German vernacular is more than a mere dialect; it is almost a tongue of its own. On all but on the few solemn and formal occasions of life the Swiss expresses himself in what he terms "Schwyzer-Dütsch," which is indeed scarcely understood by persons habituated to German proper, and even when the Swiss author perforce drops into the latter he uses so many peculiarly Helvetian terms and modes of speech, so many archaic saws, his whole method of handling the language is so different that to reshape what he says into another tongue without doing violence to the spirit, the soul, the flavor and thus marring the translation irretrievably and doing gross injustice to the original becomes doubly hard.
I can only say that I have done in this respect what was humanly possible. What the final result has turned out to be is for the court of last resort, for the final arbiter, the reader, to say.
W. V. S.
CONTENTS
[ROMEO AND JULIET OF THE VILLAGE]
THE THREE DECENT COMBMAKERS
[THE THREE DECENT
COMBMAKERS]
The people of Seldwyla have furnished proof that a whole townful of the unjust or frivolous may, after all, continue for ages to exist despite changes of time and traffic; the three combmakers, though, demonstrate as clearly that not even three decent human beings may manage to live for a long stretch under one roof without getting their backs up. And with decent, with just, is not by any means meant heavenly justice, nor even the natural justice of the human conscience, but rather that vacuous justice which from the Lord's Prayer has struck the plea: And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors! And this simply because they never contract any debts whatever and cannot stand the idea of debts. Indeed, also because they live to no one's harm, but also to no one's pleasure; because, true enough, they work and earn money, but will not spend a stuyver, and find in their laboring task some small profit but never any joy. Such soberly decent chaps do not smash window panes for the wicked fun of it, but neither do they ever light any lanterns of their own, and no enlightenment proceeds from them. They toil at all sorts of things, and one thing, to their minds, is as good as another, so long as no risk or danger be involved. But they prefer to settle in such places where there are many unjust in their sense. For if left to themselves, without any mingling with the said unjust, they would soon grind each other sorely, as do millstones which lack corn between. And if at any time some piece of ill-luck befalls them, they are greatly amazed and wail and whine as though their last hour had come, inasmuch as they, so they say, have never done harm to anyone. For they look upon this world of ours as a huge and well-organized police department in which nobody need fear any fine or punishment so long as he unfailingly sweeps his sidewalk, does not leave flowerpots standing loosely on his window sill and does not pour any water into the street.
Now in Seldwyla there was a combmaking establishment the owner of which habitually changed every fifth or sixth year, and this although it did fair business when taken proper care of. For the small traders and stand-keepers who attended the fairs in the neighborhood, obtained there their horn wares. Beside the horn rasps and files, the implements of various kinds, the most marvelous ornaments and back-combs of every description for the use of the village belles and servant maids were made there out of handsome transparent ox horns, and the rare skill of the workmen (for, of course, the master never actually toiled himself) consisted in branding and searing the close counterfeit of the most artistically designed clouds of reddish brown tortoise shell, each according to his conceit and fancy, so that, when admiring these combs as the light played on their fantastic cumulations, it looked almost as though the most magnificent sunups and sundowns were concealed within the polished horn surface, rubicund gatherings of cloudlets, thunderstorms and tornadoes, as well as still other varicolored manifestations of the forces of Nature.
In the summertime, when these proud artisans loved to wander over the surface of the land and when they were scarce, they were treated with courtesy by the masters, and received good board and wages. But during the winter, at a time when they were looking for shelter and were plentiful, they had to be humble, had to turn out combs till their very pates smoked with the effort, and all for slender pay. During that inauspicious season the mistress of the house one day after another would put a big dish of sourkrout on the table, and the master himself would then say: "These are fish!" And if at such a time any fellow was rash enough to remark: "With your permission, this is sourkrout!" he was instantly handed his walking papers and had to issue forth into the dreary winter landscape. However, as soon as the meadows once more turned green and the roads became passable, they all said: "All the same, it's sourkrout!" and made up their bundle. For even in case the mistress instantly threw a boiled ham on top of the smoking sourkrout, and the master would murmur: "Goodness, I thought all along it was fish! But this time, surely, it is a ham!" nevertheless the workmen were not to be propitiated any longer. They longed for freedom and the open, as during the long winter all three of them had had to sleep in one bed and had grown thoroughly tired of each other because of the continual kicking of ribs and because of frozen and numbed bare sides. But it so happened that once a decent and gentle soul came that way, from out of the Saxon lands, and this good fellow complied with everything, worked as hard as any ant and was absolutely not to be frozen out, in such fashion that finally he became so to speak a part of the furnishings of the house and saw the owners changing several times, those years being somewhat more given to changes than of yore. Jobst (such was the creature's name) stretched himself in the bed as stiff as a ramrod and maintained his particular place next the wall, both winter and summer. He likewise willingly accepted the sourkrout for fish, and in the spring received with humble thanks a mouthful of the ham. His lesser wages he put aside as he did his larger ones. For he never spent anything; rather he saved every penny. He did not live like the other workmen: he never touched a drop of wine, did not associate with any of his own countrymen nor with other young fellows, but stood evenings under the house door and joked with the old women, lifted the heavy water pails upon their padded heads, at least when he chanced to be in good humor, and went to bed with the chickens, except at such times as he could do extra work against extra pay. Sundays he also toiled until late into the afternoon, no matter if the weather was fine. But do not assume that he did all this with pleasure and alacrity, as did John the merry Chandler in the well-known song. On the contrary, he was always cast-down and of ill-humor because of these voluntary abstentions from the amenities of life, and he was forever complaining about his hard lot. Come Sunday afternoon, however, Jobst went in all the disarray and filth of workaday, and with his clattering sabots across the lane and fetched from the laundress his clean shirt and his neatly ironed "dicky," his high linen collar or his better handkerchief, and proceeded to carry these things in his hands to his room, stepping the while with that rooster-like majesty which used to distinguish the prideful artisan of former days. For it belonged to their privileges, when walking attired in leather apron and heavy slippers, to observe a very peculiar stride, affected and as though they were floating in upper spheres. And of them all the highly instructed bookbinders, the jolly shoemakers and cobblers, and the rarer and queer-mannered combmakers excelled in these mannerisms. But arrived in his little chamber Jobst once more took thought to himself, ruminating and seriously reflecting as to whether it was really worth while to don the clean shirt and the snowy "dicky." For with all his gentleness and moral decency he was, after all, somewhat of a swinish fellow, and thus doubts arose in his penurious little soul as to the advisability of the whole proceeding, and as to whether the soiled linen would not do just as well for another week or so, in which latter case he would simply remain at home and work a little more. Then he would sit down with a sigh and begin anew, teeth clenched and mien fierce, cutting into the horn, or else he would transmute the horn into pseudo-tortoise shell, in doing which, however, he never forgot his innate sobriety and want of imagination, so that he always put but the same odious three splotches into the smooth surface. For with him it was always thus that he would not use even the slightest trouble if he was not specially bidden to do so.
On the other hand, if his resolution ripened into the actual taking of a walk, he spent first one or two hours painfully adorning himself, next he took his dapper little cane and stalked stiffly towards the gate of the town, and there he would stand around humbly and tediously and would carry on stupid gossip with others of the same ilk, some of those who did not know any more than himself how to kill time pleasantly, perhaps ancient and decrepit Seldwylians who had neither money nor gumption to find their way into the gay tavern. With such godforsaken old fossils he was in the habit of placing himself in front of a house in process of construction, or near a field in seed, before an apple tree injured in the last storm, or perhaps next to a new yarn factory, and then he would discuss with an infinitude of detail these things, the need of them, their cost, about the hopes entertained as to the next crop, and about the actual condition of the fields, of all of which he would know no more than the man in the moon. In fact, he did not care whether he did or not; the main thing with him was that time thus slipped away in what to him appeared the cheapest and the pleasantest manner. And thus it came about that these, the old and decrepit Seldwylians, only spoke of him as the "well-mannered and sensible Saxon," for they themselves understood not a whit more than he himself. When the people of Seldwyla founded a large brewery on shares, hoping therefrom for huge business in their town, and when the extensive foundation walls emerged from the ground, Jobst used to make it his task of boring into the soil thereabouts with his cane, talking like an expert and showing the keenest interest in the progress of the work, for all the world as if he were the most assiduous toper himself and as if the success or non-success of the enterprise were a matter of life and death with him. "No indeed," he would then exclaim in his lisping voice, "this is a shplendid undertakking. Only, the devil of it is it costs so mooch monnee! So mooch monnee! It's a pity! And here, this here vault ought really to be a leetle, yoost a leetle bit deeper, and this wall a leetle bit thicker." And the other idiots sided with him and said he knew all about it.
However, for all his enthusiasm he never failed to show up in time for his Sunday supper. For that was indeed the sole chagrin he inflicted on the mistress at home that he never missed a meal, Sunday or any other day. The other workmen would go to the tavern with their comrades and friends, dance, play cards and amuse themselves. But not so Jobst. On his account alone the master's wife was forced to remain at home Sundays, or else to provide his lonesome supper. And then, after chewing as long as he could his portion of bread and sausage or cold meat, he would spend another considerable while pawing over his slender possessions, fingering them as though they were the treasures of Aladdin, with bated breath, and then he would retire to his strictly virtuous couch. That according to his notions had been an enjoyable, a roystering Sunday.
But with all his humble, decent and inconspicuous ways, Jobst was not lacking in a species of inner, hidden irony, as though in his own peculiar way he were making fun of the world with its vanity and its foolishness. Indeed he seemed even to have strong doubts as to the grandeur and worth of things in general, and to be conscious of harboring within his own soul plans far more momentous and stirring. On Sundays, notably when delivering his expert opinions on creation as a whole, he often showed a face alive with superior, with almost owlish wisdom. It was plainly to be seen in his pinched features how he carried within his inmost ken plans of immense importance, plans compared with which the doings of the others, after all, were but as child's play. The great, the overwhelmingly great plan he cherished day and night and which had been all these years his loadstar, ever since he had first appeared in Seldwyla, amounted indeed to this: To save his wages until there would be a sum sufficient to present himself some fine morning, on an occasion when the business would be once more for sale, with the money in his hand and purchase it, himself at last becoming owner and master.
This darling hope lay at the bottom of all his scheming and contriving, as he had not failed to notice how an industrious and abstemious man could not fail to flourish in Seldwyla. He, to be sure, was such a man, one who went his own quiet way and who was bound to profit from the carelessness of the people thereabouts without falling into the same errors as these. And once master and owner of the establishment, it would not be difficult for him to acquire citizenship and then, he calculated, he would spend the remainder of his life more sensibly and economically than any previous citizen of Seldwyla had ever done, not bothering the slightest about anything which was not likely to increase his wealth, not spending a penny, but accumulating more and more money, watching all the time his chances among the spendthrifts of the town. This plan was indeed as simple as it was sensible and well-considered, especially as he had begun to realize it, in his own slow but sure way, for a number of years past. For he had already saved up quite a neat little sum; this he had hidden away securely, and with things going on as they had hitherto, it was but a question of time when his scheme would attain full fruition.
But there was one point about his plan which seemed to brand it as almost inhuman. That was the fact that Jobst had conceived it at all, that is, in Seldwyla, for nothing in his heart really inclined him to Seldwyla, and nothing compelled him to remain there. He cared not a fig really either for the town or its inhabitants, either for the political condition of the country or its manners and customs. All this was as indifferent to him as was his own native land, and which latter he did not even care to ever see again. In a hundred other places of the world he might have equally well succeeded with his diligence and his habits. However, he had discarded all sense of free choice, and with his grossly grasping senses he had seized upon the first tendril of hope that offered, in order to keep hold and suck himself through it full of wealth and vigor. The saying, it is true, is: "Where I fare well, there is my home," and this may be true enough in the case of those who can really show some good and sufficient reasons why they love their new country and who of their free and conscious will went out into the wide world in order to achieve success and to return as men of weight, or of those who escape unfortunate conditions at home and, obeying a strong tendency, join the modern migration across the seas; or of those who somewhere have found better and truer friends than at home, or who discovered conditions abroad that suited their ideals and secret hopes better or who became bound by stronger ties abroad. And this new home in any case, this second home where they found things more to their taste and where they succeeded well, they necessarily must care for, so long as there they are treated humanely and fairly. Jobst, however, scarcely knew where he was; the institutions and customs of the Swiss he was unable to understand, and he merely said sometimes: "Why, yes, the Swiss are strong on politics. Maybe that's good, so long as one likes it. But I don't, and where I'm from nobody ever bothered about political things."
The customs of the Seldwylians he hated, and he felt afraid of their noisy demonstrations when they organized a political procession or had mass meetings. At such times he sat in the rear of the workshop and feared bloody riots and murder growing out of it all. But nevertheless it remained his sole object and his great secret to stay on in Seldwyla until the end of his days. Such just and decent persons like him you will find scattered all over the earth, and where they are for no better reason than that it just so happened they got hold without trouble of their own of one of these sucking tubes guaranteeing a satisfactory income. And this they do steadily, giving no thought the while to the land of their birth, but without loving their new home, without a glance to right or left, and thus resembling not so much a freeman as one of those lower organisms, odd animalculae or vegetable seeds, which by the whims of wind or water are accidentally carried to the spot where they flourish.
Thus Jobst had lived year after year in Seldwyla, slowly but constantly adding to his secret store which he had buried under the tiles of his chamber floor. No tailor could boast of having earned anything through him, for he still possessed the same Sunday coat in which he had arrived in town, and the garment was still in the same condition. Neither had any shoemaker done any work for him in Seldwyla, for the soles of his boots were still intact. The year, after all, has but fifty-two Sundays, and only the half of these were utilized by him for a walk. Nobody, in fact, had been the better for his stay in town; as soon as he received his wages the money went to the hiding-place mentioned, and even when he went off on his Sunday excursions he never put a coin in his pocket, so as to foil any temptation for spending. When hucksters or old women came to the shop with goods or fruit, with cherries, plums or pears, it was amusing to watch Jobst, who tenderly felt of the quality of the fruit, entered into discussions with the vendors, thus leading these to indulge false and extravagant hopes, only to be disappointed. He would, however, advise his comrades as to how to make the most of their purchases, how to bake their apples in the oven, to peel them or to stew them, without ever asking for or receiving one mouthful himself. But though nobody ever saw the color of his money, neither did they ever hear him swear, show any anger, demand anything not strictly within his rights, or give vent to ill-humor. He was the very essence of pacifism. He carefully avoided quarrels or argument, and he did not even make a wry face when anyone, as happened frequently, would play tricks on him. And while indeed eaten up constantly with curiosity as to the issue of every kind of gossip, disputes or wrangling he had come to know about, since these furnished him with one of his chief amusements, and while he would keep a strict account and inquire in a mild way about them and the right and wrong in each case, the while the other workmen were indulging in their rude brawls or tavern orgies, he nevertheless was mighty careful never to interfere or to take a decided part for or against. In short, he was a most curious medley of truly heroic wisdom and persistence, coupled with a gentle but pronounced want of heart and feeling.
At one time he had been for many weeks the sole workman in the establishment, and he had flourished under these circumstances like a green bay tree. Nights especially he rejoiced in the exclusive tenancy of the big, wide bed. He made full use of his opportunities, and went through incredible contortions while stretching his lank limbs in the bed. He in a manner trebled his person, changing his posture ceaselessly, and indulged in the hallucination that, as usual, there were three of them and he were urgently requested by the other two not to stand on ceremony and to take things easy. The third one being himself, he voluptuously complied with the invitation, wrapped himself completely in the feather bed, or else straddled his legs, lay across the full width of the couch, or in the harmless exuberance of delight would even turn a decent somersault or two.
But alas! the day came when he, already indulging in some such innocent capers, after having retired early, suddenly saw a strange workman sedately enter the chamber, being led thither by the mistress of the house. Jobst was just lying in measureless comfort with his head at the foot of the bed, his not quite immaculate feet on the pillows, when this happened. The stranger unfastened his heavy knapsack from his back, stood it in a corner, and then, without loss of time, began to undress, since he felt very tired. Jobst quick as a flash assumed the proper position in bed and stretched himself along his accustomed spot next to the wall. While doing this the thought rushed through his head: "Surely he'll soon clear out again, since it is summertime and fine weather for roaming about."
This hope on further consideration took firm root, and with sundry sighs and grunts lulled him to sleep. He dreamt, though, of a speedy resumption of the kicking and rowing in bed, and a nightmare woke him in the middle of the night, an evil omen. He was amazed, however, when dawn came, and he had felt neither pokes in the ribs, nor had been feloniously deprived of his share of the covering. Not only that; the new arrival, although a Bavarian, was inordinately polite, peaceable and well-behaved, for all the world like a counterpart of his own self. This unheard-of fact cost Jobst his calmness of mind. He could not drive the misgivings thus engendered from his head. And while the two were dressing in the dim light of early morning, he scrutinized his new fellow-worker closely. It seemed a singular case to him. He observed that this new man, like himself, was no longer quite young, but cleanly and decent in speech and manners. The Bavarian on his part with words well-set and sober inquired of Jobst about the circumstances of life in Seldwyla, just about in the same way in which he himself would have done it. As soon as this became apparent to him, Jobst grew secretive and kept to himself the simplest and most harmless things, opining that, of course, the Bavarian must have some occult motive in coming to this town. To ascertain this secret now became the prime object with him. That there was a deep secret he never had the slightest doubt. Why else should this man, just like himself, be such a gentle, smooth-spoken and experienced sort? Only by the theory of his harboring a deep-laid scheme, of being a designing person, could he explain matters to himself. And thus began a kind of silent, never-sleeping warfare between these two. Each did his best to find out the "secret" of the other; but it was all done with the greatest precaution, in words of double meaning, by amiable subterfuges and in peaceable ways. Neither ever gave a clear answer to any question, but yet after the lapse of but a few hours each of the pair was firmly convinced that the other was in all essential respects his own double. And when in the course of the day Fridolin, the Bavarian, several times visited the chamber and busied himself with something, Jobst seized upon the first chance to go there likewise at a moment when the other was fully occupied with his work, and hurriedly made a search of Fridolin's personal property. However, he discovered nothing but almost precisely the same articles owned by himself, down to a small wooden needle case, except that here he found it in the shape of a fish, while his own bore a sportive resemblance to a baby; and, further, in lieu of a somewhat dilapidated conversational grammar for popular use in which Jobst sometimes studied French, the Bavarian could boast of a neatly bound copy of a book entitled "The cold and the hot Vat, an indispensable Handbook for Dyers." And in it there was a penciled note on the margin: "Pledge for three Stuyvers which the Nassau man borrowed of me." From this Jobst judged that he was dealing with somebody who knew how to take care of his own, and thinking so instinctively cast searching glances along the floor. Soon, too, he noticed a tile which seemed to have recently been removed. And sure enough, when he took this out, he found the man's treasure, folded and wrapped in the half of an old handkerchief tightly wound about with tough twine, almost as heavy as his own, although his was encased in an old sock. Trembling with excitement he replaced the tile in its yawning hole, trembling at the thought of such admirable foresight and wise economy in the case of another, a rival, a competitor. He flew down the stairs, and in the workshop he set to as if it depended on his exertions to provide the entire world with combs for generations to come. And the Bavarian did the same, as if Heaven itself must also be combed. During the ensuing week each found full confirmation of his first suspicion. For if Jobst was industrious and frugal, Fridolin was active and abstemious, and with the same regretful sighs at the difficulty of these virtues. And when Jobst was serene and sapient, Fridolin was jocular and knowing. If the one was humble, the other was even more so. When Jobst showed himself sly or ironical, the other was sarcastic and almost astute. And if Jobst made a face betraying his peaceful disposition, his double succeeded in putting on an air of incomparable asininity.
The whole was not so much a race between the two as it was the simple exercise of conscious mastery in all these arts. Each was fully permeated with the conviction that the other would excel him if not constantly on the watch. Neither disdained imitating the other. Each of them was forever on the lookout to perfect himself, taking the other as a model in any traits which he himself might yet lack or be deficient in. And with all that they looked most of the time as though each was perfectly incapable of seeing through the other. Thus they resembled two doughty heroes who behave towards each other with knightly courtesy and even assist one another until the moment shall arrive when they begin to hack away at each other.
However, after the lapse of this week a third came, a Suabian, by name Dietrich, whereat the two in silence rejoiced, as at a jolly foil against which their own greatness of soul could best be measured and compared. And they intended to place the poor little Suabian between their own selves, to make the contrast between him and their own patent virtues all the more striking, about as in the case of two stately lions with a tiny monkey between, with whom they might deign to play.
But who can describe their astonishment when they observed that the Suabian behaved precisely in the same manner as themselves, and when the recognition of a kindred soul took place by the identical processes as had been the case before. The same adroit system of standing sentinel over each other was repeated. But with this signal difference, that now it was a triangular game, whereby not only they themselves altered somewhat their own attitude, but the third man his also, and that they all three finally stood towards each other in distinctly different positions.
This became first apparent on the night of his arrival when they took him between themselves in bed. The Suabian demonstrated his entire parity. Like a match he lay within the slim space, so perfectly poised and without the flicker of an eyelid that there actually remained a bit of room, of neutral territory, on either side. And the bed cover remained spread over the trio as tight and smooth as the wrapping paper over three herrings. He was evidently their match. The situation now commenced to be more serious, more complicated, and since all three now faced each other like the three corners of a triangle, and since no friendly or confidential relations were under these circumstances feasible between them, no armistice or courtly tournament, they got into a state of mind where they with malice aforethought, each in his own way and with his own weapons, gently and slily began to try ousting each other out of bed and house.
When the master of the house saw that these three queer customers would put up with anything, if only they were allowed to remain in his service, he first lowered their wages, and next gave them scanter fare. But this only led to an aggravation of diligence on their part, and that again enabled him to flood the whole surrounding district with his goods, and he got orders upon orders, so that he made a pile of money out of their cheap labor and possessed a veritable gold mine in them. He let out his leather belt around the loins by several holes and began to play quite an important part in the town, while all this time his foolish workmen slaved like beasts of burden in their dark and ill-ventilated shop at home, striving, each of them, to force the other two out of the race. Dietrich, the Suabian, although the youngest of them, proved of the same calibre as the other two. The only difference was that he as yet had scarcely any savings, inasmuch as he had not yet traveled around much, having been a prentice until recently. This would have been an unfortunate obstacle for him in the race, for Jobst and Fridolin would have had greatly the start of him, if he as a Suabian had not been inventive in stratagem. For although Dietrich's heart, like that of the others, was wholly bare of any sinful or earthly passion, always excepting the one of persisting to remain in Seldwyla and nowhere else, and to reap all the advantages of that plan, he nevertheless bethought him of the trick of falling in love and to woo such a maiden as should possess about such a dowry in size as the respective treasures which the Saxon or the Bavarian had hidden under their tiles.
It was one of the better peculiarities of the Seldwyla folk that they were averse to wed unattractive or unamiable women just for the sake of a somewhat larger dowry. There was no very great temptation anyway, for wealthy heiresses there were none in their town, either pretty or homely ones, and thus they at least maintained their sturdy and manly independence even by disdaining the smaller mouthfuls, and preferred to unite themselves rather with goodlooking and merry girls, and thus lead for a few years with them at any rate a happy life. Hence it was not hard for the Suabian, spying about for a suitable partner, to find his way into the good graces of a virtuous maiden. She dwelt in the same street, and in conversation with old women he had soon ascertained that she possessed as her own undoubted property a mortgage of seven hundred florins. This maiden was Zues Buenzlin, the twenty-eight-year-old daughter of a washerwoman. She lived with her mother, but could freely dispose of this legacy from her deceased father. This valuable bit of paper she kept in a highly varnished trunk. There, too, she had the accumulated interest money, her baptismal certificate, her testimonial of confirmation, and a painted and gilt Easter egg; in addition to all this she preserved there half a dozen silver spoons, the Lord's Prayer printed in gold letters upon transparent glass, although she believed the material to be human skin, a cherry stone into which was carved the Passion of Christ, and a small box of ivory, lined with red satin, and in which were concealed a tiny mirror and a silver thimble; there was also in it another cherry stone in which you could hear clattering a diminutive set of ninepins, a nutshell in which a madonna became visible behind glass, a silver heart, in a hollow of which was a scent bottle, and a candy box fashioned out of dried lemon peel, on the cover of which was painted a strawberry, and in which there might be discovered a golden pin displayed on a couch of cotton wool representing a forget-me-not, and a locket showing on the inside a monument woven out of hair; lastly, a bundle of age-yellowed papers with recipes, secrets, and so forth; also a small flask of Cologne water, another holding stomach drops, a box of musk, another with marten excrements, and a small basket woven out of odoriferous grasses, another of beads and cloves, and then a small book bound in sky-blue silk and entitled "Golden Life Rules for the Maiden as Betrothed, Wife and Mother"; and a dream book, a letter writer, five or six love letters, and a lancet for use to let blood. This last piece came from a barber and assistant surgeon to whom she had once been engaged, and since she was a naturally skillful and very sensible person she had learned from her fiancé how to open a vein, to put on leeches, and similar things, and had even been able to shave him herself. But alas, he had proved an unworthy object of her affections, with whom she might easily have risked her temporal and heavenly welfare, and thus she had with saddened but wise resolution broken the engagement. Gifts were returned on both sides, with the exception of the lancet. This she kept in pawn as pledge for one florin and eight and forty stuyvers, which sum she on one occasion had lent him in cash. The unworthy one claimed, however, that she had no right to it since she had given him the money on the occasion of a ball, in order to defray joint expenses, and he added that she had eaten twice as much as himself. Thus it happened that he kept the florin and forty-eight stuyvers, while she kept the surgical appliance, with which Zues operated extensively among her female acquaintance and earned many a penny. But every time she used the instrument she could not help mentioning the low habits of him who had once stood so close to her and who had almost become her partner for life.
All these things were locked up in that trunk, and the trunk again was kept in a large walnut wardrobe, the key to which Zues had constantly in her pocket. As to her person, Zues had rather sparse reddish hair as well as clear pale-blue eyes; these now and then possessed some charm, and then would throw glances both wise and gentle. She owned an enormous store of clothes, but of these she only wore the oldest. However, she was always carefully and cleanly dressed, and just as neat was the appearance of her room. She was very industrious and helped her mother in her laundry work, ironing out the finer and more delicate fabrics and washing the lace caps and the jabots of the wealthier Seldwyla ladies, thus earning quite a bit. And it may be that it was due to this sort of activity that Zues always exhibited the peculiar stern and dignified bent of mind which women show when they are dealing with laundry work, especially with the work over the tub. For Zues never unbent at all until the ironing began. Then, it might be, a species of sedate cheerfulness would seize upon her, in her case, however, invariably spiced with words of wisdom. This sedate spirit, too, was recognizable in the chief decorative piece on the premises, namely, a garland of soap cakes, square, accurately gauged cakes, which encircled the large living room on shelves. The soap was thus exposed to the warm air currents in order to harden and become fitter for use. And it was Zues herself who always cut out the cakes by means of a brass wire. The wire had fastened to it at either end two small wooden knobs so one could seize them there for a more commodious cutting of the soft soap. But a fine pair of compasses used in dividing the soap in equal sections was also there. This instrument had been made for her and presented as a valued gift by a journeyman mechanician with whom she had at one time been as good as engaged. From him, too, came a gleaming small brass mortar for the pulverization of spices. This decorated the edge of her cupboard, right between the blue china tea can and the painted flower vase. For long such a dainty little mortar had been her special desire, and the attentive mechanician was therefore extremely welcome when he appeared one afternoon on her birthday and likewise brought along something to put the mortar to its legitimate use: a boxful of cinnamon, lump sugar, cloves and pepper. The mortar itself he hung, before entering at the door, by one of its handles to his little finger, and with the pestle he started a gay tinkling, just like a bell, so that out of the adventure grew a jolly day of festivity. However, shortly afterwards the false scoundrel fled from the district, and was never heard of more. Besides that, his master even demanded the return of the mortar, since the fugitive had taken it from his shop, but had forgotten to pay for it. But Zues did not deliver up this valuable object. On the contrary, she went to law for its undisputed possession, and in court she defended her claim valiantly, basing her rights on the fact that she had washed, starched and ironed a set of "dickies" for the vanished lover. Those days, the days when she was forced to defend her rights to the mortar in open court, were the most conspicuous and painful of her whole life, since she with her deep feelings felt these things and more particularly her appearance in court for the sake of such delicate affairs much more keenly than others of a lighter disposition would have done. All the same she scored a victory and kept her mortar.
If, however, this neat soap gallery proclaimed her exact working tactics and her passion for toil, a row of books, arranged in orderly fashion on the window ledge, did honor to her religious and disciplined mind. These books were of a miscellaneous description, and she read and reread them studiously on Sundays. She still possessed all her school books, never having lost a single one of them. She also still carried in her head all her little stock of scholastic learning acquired at school; she knew the whole catechism by heart, as well as the contents of the grammar, of the arithmetic, of her geography book, of the collection of biblical stories, and of the various readers and spellers. Then she also owned some of the pretty tales by Christoph Schmid and the latter's short novelettes, with handsome verses at the end, at least a half dozen of sundry treasuries of poetry and gatherings of popular fairy tales, a number of almanacs full of specimens of homely wisdom and practical experience, several precise and remarkable prophecies of tremendous events to come, a guide for laying the cards, a book of edification for every day of the year intended for the use of thoughtful virgins, and an old and slightly damaged copy of Schiller's "The Robbers," which she slowly perused again and again, as often as she feared she might begin to forget this stirring drama. And each time she read it, the play appealed to her sentimental heart anew, so that she made constant references to it and commented in a highly praiseworthy manner on the various personages presented in it. And really all there was in these books she also retained in her memory, and understood exceedingly well how to speak about them and about many other things as well. When she felt cheerful and contented and did not have to hasten her labors too greatly, speech flowed continuously from her lips, and everything under the sun she knew how to judge and to put into its proper category. Young and old, high and low, learned and unlearned, they all were compelled to listen and to receive instruction from her. First, she would hear everybody out, meanwhile smilingly and sensibly straightening out the case in her wise little head. And then, having now perceived whither all these plaints or fears tended, she would solve the more or less knotty problem at a stroke. Sometimes she would speak so unctuously and elaborately on matters that irreverent criticasters had compared her to learned blind persons who have never had sight of the world and whose sole solace it is to hear themselves talk.
From the time she went to the town school and from her lessons of instruction before she was confirmed by the pastor, she had retained the habit of composing, from time to time, essays and exercises, and thus it was that she would, on quiet Sundays, laboriously write out the most marvelous compositions. One of her favorite methods in doing this was to seize upon some melodious title that she had heard of or read in the course of the week, and taking this, so to speak, as her text, would proceed to pile up from it the most wonderful conclusions and deductions, not infrequently culminating in very odd or nonsensical dicta. Page on page of this balderdash she would perpetrate, just as it issued from the convolutions of her silly brain. Such themes, for example, as "The Various Beneficent Uses of a Sickbed," "About Death," "About the Wholesomeness of Resignation," "About the Giant Size of the World," "About the Secrets of Life Eternal," "About Residence in the Country," "About Nature," "About Dreams," "About Love," "About Redemption and Christ," "Three Points in the Theory of Self-Justification," "Thoughts about Immortality," she often solved in her own easy way. Then she would read aloud to her friends and admirers these productions, and it was a supreme proof of her special regard and affection for her to present one or the other of them to a close friend. Such gifts, she insisted on, had to be placed within the pages of a Bible, that is, if the recipient happened to have one.
This leaning of Zues' nature towards religious ecstasy and contemplation had once gained her the profound and respectful affection of a young bookbinder, a man who read every book he bound and who was, besides, both ambitious and enthusiastic. Whenever he brought his bundle of soiled linen to Zues' mother, he deemed himself to be in paradise, for he swallowed greedily all of the maiden's thoughts, and her boldest figures of speech now and then, he shyly said, would remind him of things he had dared to think himself, but which he had never had the skill and the courage to frame into words. Bashfully and humbly he approached this talented virgin, who was by turns severe and eloquent, and she deigned to suffer this modest intercourse and held him in leading-strings for a whole year, not, however, without making the hopelessness of his suit plain to him, gently but determinedly. For inasmuch as he was nine years her junior, poor as a church mouse and awkward in gaining a living, men of his calling not being in clover in Seldwyla anyhow, since people there do not read much and, consequently, have few books to bind, she never for a moment hid from herself the impossibility of a union. She merely found it pleasant to develop his mind and character and to furnish her own as a model to strive after. Her own powers of resignation were all the time for him to take pattern by, and so she embalmed his aspirations in an iridescent cloud of phrases. And he on his part would listen modestly, and once or twice find heart to risk a beautiful sentence himself. This she invariably answered by instantly killing his observation with a finer one. That year, when she calmly received the adoration of this youth, was reckoned by her the most ethereal and noblest of her existence, since it was not disturbed by a single breath from the lower and material spheres, and the young man during it bound anew all her books, and with infinite pains wrought night after night toward the ultimate completion of an artful and precious monument of his adoration for her. This was, to be plain, a huge Chinese temple of pasteboard, containing innumerable tiny compartments and secret receptacles, and which might be entirely taken apart and reconstructed on following carefully previous instructions. This miracle was pasted all over with the finest samples of varicolored and glazed paper, and everywhere ornamented with gilt borders. Minute mirrors inside colonnaded halls of state reflected the gay colors, and by removing one section of the structure or opening another one there were more mirrors and hidden pictures, nosegays of paper or loving couples. The curving or shelving roofs were everywhere hung with little bells. Even a small stand for a lady's watch was there, with hooks to hang it up on and with other hooks to trail a slender meandering chain through. Only up to now no watchmaker had yet offered a pretty watch or a chain to decorate this altar with. An enormous deal of trouble and skill had been wasted on this pasteboard temple, and its ground plan was just as correct as the work itself. And when this monument of a year passed jointly so pleasantly had been duly accepted, Zues Buenzlin encouraged the good bookbinder, doing violence to her own well-regulated heart, to tear himself away from the town and to set once more his staff for a wandering life. She pointed out with perfect justice that the whole world stood open to him, and she assured him that now, having schooled and ennobled his heart by improving his acquaintance with herself, happiness elsewhere would certainly be in store for him. She would never forget him and retire into solitude. And indeed, the young fellow was so much affected by these moral exhortations that he shed a few melancholy tears in passing the town gate on his way. His masterpiece, however, since stood on top of Zues' old-fashioned clothes press, daintily covered by a veil of green gauze, thus defying dust and profane gaze. She considered it so much of a sacred relic that she kept it intact and without even placing anything whatever into those many tiny recesses of the temple. In her memory he continued to live as "Emmanuel," although his real name had been Veit. And she told everyone with whom she discussed the case that Emmanuel alone had completely understood her inner self. This she said now that he was gone, but while he had been with her in the flesh she had been of different opinion, for she had rarely admitted to him that he was right, deeming it wiser to thus urge him on to higher and ever higher endeavor in his search of a perfect agreement of mind with his idol. Indeed, she had more than once intimated to him, at times when he hoped he had at last fully entered the arcana of her soul, that he was farther and farther from it.
But he, too, Veit-Emmanuel, played her a little trick. He had placed in a false bottom, in one of the diminutive apartments of his pasteboard fairy palace, the most touching of all love letters, bedewed with his tears, wherein he confessed his bitter grief at parting from her, his love, his worship and his sublime steadfastness, and in such passionate and sincere terms had he done this as only genuine feeling can find, even if it has lost itself in a cul-de-sac. Such touching, such moving things he had never said to her, simply because she never would give him the chance, having always interrupted him when he was on the point of doing so. But as she had not the slightest suspicion that any such document had been put away within the temple, she never found the missive and thus fate for once dealt justly and did not let a false beauty see that which she was not worthy of. And it was also a symbol that she it was who had not fathomed the somewhat silly, but devoted and sincere heart of the youth.
For a long while she had been praising the doings of the three combmakers, and had called them three decent and sensible men; for she had closely observed them. When, therefore, Dietrich, the Suabian, began to linger longer and longer in her dwelling when bringing or fetching his shirt, and to pay court to her, she treated him in a friendly manner and kept him near her for hours by means of her lofty conversation. And Dietrich talked back, of course, to please her, just as much as he could; and she was one of the kind that could stand more than a fair measure of laudation. Indeed, one might truthfully say that she liked it all the more the more spiced and peppered it was. When praising her wisdom and kindness, she kept still as a mouse, until there was no more of it, whereupon she would with heightened color pick up the thread where it had been dropped, and would touch up the painting in those spots where it seemed to require a trifle of additional color. And Dietrich had not been going back and forth in her house for any great length of time when she showed him that mortgage of hers, and he thereupon began to exude a quiet, sedate species of self-satisfaction, and began to behave toward his rivals with such stealth as though he had invented the perpetuum mobile. Jobst and Fridolin, however, soon unearthed his secret, and they were amazed at the depth of his dissimulation and at his cleverness. Jobst above all clutched his hair and tore out a good handful of it; for had he himself not been going to the same house for a long while, and had it ever occurred to him to look for anything there but his clean linen? Rather, he had hitherto almost hated the washerwomen because he had been forced to dig up a few stuyvers every week to pay them. Never had he thought of marriage, because he was unable to conceive of a wife under any other aspect than that of a being that wanted something out of him which he did not deem her due, and to expect something from such a feminine creature that might be of advantage to him had never entered his thoughts, since he had confidence only in himself, and his calculations had so far never gone beyond the narrowest horizon, that of his secret. But now reflecting deep and serious he reached the determination to outdo this sly little Suabian, for if the latter should really succeed in getting hold of Dame Zues' seven hundred florins, he might become a keen competitor. The seven hundred florins, too, suddenly shone and glittered very differently, in the eyes both of the Saxon and of the Bavarian. Thus it was that Dietrich, the man of invention, had discovered a land which soon became the joint property of the three, and thus shared the hard lot of all discoverers, for the two others at once got on the same track and likewise became steady callers on Zues Buenzlin. She therefore saw herself surrounded by a whole court of decent and respectable combmakers. That she relished greatly; never before had she had a number of admirers at one time. It became a novel entertainment for her shrewd mind to handle these three with the greatest impartiality and skill, to keep them at all times within bounds and cool reason, and to thus influence them by frequent speeches in favor of the beauties of resignation and unselfishness until Heaven itself should by some act of intervention decide matters irrevocably.
As each of the three had confided to her his secret and his plans, she immediately made up her mind to render happy that one who really would attain his goal and become owner of the business. And in thus deciding in her own heart how she should proceed, she from that hour on deliberately excluded the Suabian, since he could not succeed except through and by her money. But while thus actually discarding the Suabian as a possible candidate for her hand, she reflected that, after all, he was the youngest, handsomest and most amiable of the trio, and thus she would spare for him many a token of regard and confidence, and lull him into the belief that his chances were the best. But while so doing, she knew how to arouse the jealousy of the other two, and thus spur them on to greater zeal. And so it came to pass that Dietrich, this poor Columbus who had first sighted and nearly taken possession of the pretty land, became nothing but a mere pawn in her game, nothing but the poor fool who unconsciously assisted in the angling for the real fish. Meanwhile all three of them assiduously wooed and courted the coy maiden, running a close race in the difficult art of showing all the time devotion, modesty and sense, while being kept by the bridle. She on her part was in her element, for she forever told them to be unselfish and to practice resignation. When the whole four now and then happened to be together, they made the impression of a singular conventicle where the queerest remarks were being expressed. And despite of all their timidity and humility it would happen once in a while that one of the three, suddenly dropping his hosannahs in praise of the rare gifts and virtues of the maiden, would plunge into a measure of self-laudation. At such moments it was edifying and truly touching to see Zues gently interrupt the rash one and chide him for his breach of good manners. She would then shame him by forcing him to listen to a homily on his rivals.
However, this was really a hard sort of life for the poor combmakers to lead. No matter how much ordinarily they had themselves under control, now that a woman had entered as a factor into their game, there would occur wholly novel spurts of jealousy, of fear, of misgiving, and of hope. What with a fury of work and increased economy, they almost killed themselves and certainly lost flesh. They became melancholy, and while before people--and especially before Zues--they endeavored hard to maintain the appearance of the utmost harmony, they scarcely spoke a word to each other when alone together at work or in their common sleeping chamber, lay down sighing in their joint bed, and dreamed of murder, albeit still resting quietly and immovably one next the other as so many sticks. One and the same dream hovered nightly over the trio, until really once it came to one of the sleepers, so that Jobst in his place by the wall turned over violently and kicked Dietrich. Dietrich avoided the kick and gave Jobst a hard push, and now there was among the three sleepy combmakers an outbreak of elemental wrath. The most tremendous row ensued in the bed, and for fully three minutes they treated each other to fearful lunges, kicks and pushes, so that all the six legs formed an inextricable tangle, until with a thundering crash they rolled out of bed and began to howl like savage beasts. Becoming fully awake they at first thought the devil were after them or else thieves had entered their room. Screaming they rose quickly. Jobst took his stand upon his tile; Fridolin planted himself firmly upon his own, and Dietrich did the like upon that tile beneath which his still rather slender savings reposed. And thus standing in a triangle, they worked their arms like flails and shouted their loudest: "Get out; get out!" until the master came rushing up from below and after a while quieted the three frenzied fellows. Trembling then with fear, shame and anger, they crept back into bed, and then, wide-awake, lay there mute until dawn came and forced them to rise.
However, the nocturnal spook had only been the prelude to something worse. For at breakfast the master let them know that for the time being he had no longer need of three journeymen, and that two of them would have to pack up their bundle. It appeared that they had defeated their own object by hurrying and hastening work, so that now there were more wares than the boss was able to dispose of, while on the other hand, he, the master, himself had taken advantage of the extreme mood for work his men had shown for months to lead on his part an opulent and disorderly life, spending nearly all his extra gains in riotous quips. Indeed, when the details of his doings became public it turned out that he had run into such an amount of debt that the load of it came well-nigh smothering him. Thus it came about that he, looking over his own situation, was unable to employ or support his three workmen, no matter how abstemious they were and how intent on his further profit. For consolation he told them that he was equally fond of all three of them and loath to tell either to go, wherefore he had made up his mind to leave it wholly to them which of the three should leave and which should stay. All they had to do, he remarked smilingly, was to agree among themselves upon that point.
But they were unable to come to a decision as to this. Rather they stood there pale as ghosts, and simpered timidly at each other. Then they became tremendously excited, since they clearly perceived that the most momentous hour of their existence was approaching. For they judged from the words of the master that he would not be able to continue the business much longer, and that, therefore, it would soon become an object of sale. The goal, then, each of them had striven for with such infinite patience and cunning seemed in sight, and to their heated fancy was already glittering and shining like a new Jerusalem. And now came this awful decree, and two of them would have to turn their backs upon the heavenly prospect. It was almost more than they could bear. After a very brief consultation and reflection all three of them went to see the master, and declared with tearful voices that rather than leave him they would stay on, even though they would have to work gratis. But then the master declared jovially that even in that case he had no further use for all the three. Two of them, he again assured them, would have to quit the house. They fell at his feet; they wrung their hands; they asked and implored him to let them stay on: only for another three months, for one month, for a fortnight. The master, however, after at first enjoying the humor of the situation, at last lost all patience. Besides, he was perfectly aware what their motive in all this pretended loyalty for him was, and that soured his temper. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, and he did not hesitate to make them a proposition.
"Why," he smiled, "if you cannot agree among yourselves at all as to who is to remain and who to go, I will tell you how we will decide this matter. But that is absolutely the last proposal I shall make to you. To-morrow being Sunday, I shall pay your wages; you pack up your belongings, get ready to go forth and take your staffs. Then you will in all good faith and perfect harmony leave jointly, going out by whichever gate you may agree upon, and march on the highroad for another half-hour, no more, no less, and then stop. Then you will rest yourselves a trifle, and if you care to do so, you may even drink a shoppen or two. Having done so, you will all three of you turn once more and walk back to town, and whoever will then first ask me for work, him I will keep, but the other two must wander forth for good and all, wherever they might choose to go."
Hearing this cruel decision, they three fell once more at his feet and begged him most pitifully to have mercy on them and to desist from his plan. But the master, who by this time began to anticipate some rare fun in his wicked soul, was obstinate and would not listen to them, hardening himself. Suddenly the Suabian sprang up and ran out of the house like a man demented, across the street to Zues Buenzlin. Scarcely had Jobst and the Bavarian observed that, when they ceased to lament themselves and followed the youngest. Within a very brief space the three of them were seated in the dwelling of the frightened maiden.
Zues felt rather abashed and undecided by reason of the adventure taking such an unexpected turn. But she calmed herself, and viewing the matter from her own particular angle, she resolved to make her plans subservient to the master's odd conceit. In fact, she regarded this new aspect of affairs as a special dispensation of Providence. Touched and devout she fetched out one of her volumes, then with her needle at random pricked among the leaves, and when she opened the book at the spot, she found a passage that spoke of the persistent following of the righteous path. Next she made the three guests turn up passages blindfolded, and all that was found treated of walking along the narrow way, of advancing without looking backwards, in short, of nothing but running and racing. Thus, then, she decided, Heaven itself had prescribed the projected race for to-morrow. But since she was afraid that Dietrich, as being the youngest and the ablest in jumping, walking, and running, and thus most likely to win the palm if left without supervision, she made up her mind to go herself along with the three lovers, and to watch for an opportunity for bending or influencing possibly the outcome of this undertaking in accordance with her own secret desires. For she wished, as we must recall, one of the older men to be the victor, she did not care which of the two.
In furtherance of this plan she insisted that the three be quiet for a spell and cease slandering and berating each other, but rather summon themselves to acquiescence in God's will. She put on her judicial air and said:
"Know, my friends, that nothing happens here below without the direction and sometimes direct interference of Providence, and no matter if the plan of your master be unusual and singular, we must look upon it as ordered by higher powers than he, although it may be that he has not even an inkling of this. He is the dumb and unconscious instrument in the hands of the Ruler. Our peaceable and harmonious intercourse here has been too beautiful altogether to have been prolonged much farther. For, behold, all the good things in life are but transitory and pass away, and nothing is lasting but evil things, the loneliness of the soul and the persistence of sin, whereupon we feel impelled to consider all this and to try and grasp their meaning in this life and in the life to come. Hence, too, let us rather separate before the wicked demon of discord raises its head amongst us, and let us bid each other farewell, just as do the soft zephyrs of springtime when they swiftly move along high in the sky, and let us do this before the rough storms of autumn overtake us. I myself will accompany you on the first stage of your hard road, and will be the eyewitness of your trial race, so that you will start on it with a good courage and so that you know behind you a gentle propelling power, while victory winks from afar. But just as the victor will forbear to show a spirit of undue pride, those who have been defeated will not permit themselves to become despondent nor to load their souls with grief or wrath because of their lack of success in the venture. They will depart feeling affection for him who bears the palm, and will enshrine him and us in their inmost heart. They will fare forth into the wide world with joyous disposition. They must reflect on the fact that men have built cities galore that outshine in their splendors and beauties Seldwyla by far. There is, for instance, a huge and memorable city wherein dwells the Father of all Christendom. And Paris, too, is quite a mighty town, where may be found innumerable souls and many fine palaces. And in Constantinople there rules the Sultan, of Turkish faith is he, and there is Lisbon, once destroyed by an earthquake, but since reconstructed finer than ever. Again we have Vienna, the capital of Austria and called the gay imperial city, and London is the wealthiest town of all, situated in Engelland, along a river the name of which is the Thames. Two millions of human beings, they say, have their habitation there. St. Petersburg, on the other hand, is the capital and imperial city of Russia, whereas Naples is the capital of the kingdom of the same name, near which is the Vesuvius, a high mountain forever breathing fire and smoke. On that mountain, according to the version of a credible witness, a lost soul once upon a time appeared to a ship's captain, as I have read in a curious book of travel, which soul belonged to John Smidt, who one hundred and fifty years ago was a godless man, and who now commissioned the said captain to visit his descendants in Engelland, so he might be redeemed. For look you, the entire mountain is the abode of the damned, as may also be read in the tract of the learned Peter Hasler where he discusses the probable entrance to hell. Many other cities there are indeed, whereof I will still mention Milan, and Venice, built wholly upon water, and Lyons, and Marseilles, and Strasbourg, and Cologne, and Amsterdam. Of Paris I have already spoken, but there is also Nuremberg, and Augsburg, and Frankfort, and Basle, and Berne, and Geneva, all of them handsome towns, and pretty Zurich, and besides all these still many more which I have neither leisure nor inclination to enumerate here. For everything has its limits, excepting the inventive genius of man, who goes everywhere and undertakes anything which seems to him useful. And if men are just everything prospereth with them; but if they are unjust they will perish like the grass of the fields and vanish like smoke. Many are called, but few are chosen. For all these reasons and because of others to which our duty and the virtue of a clear conscience oblige us, we will now submit ourselves to the voice of fate. Go forth, therefore, and prepare for the time of trial, and for the period of wandering, but do so as just and gentle beings, who bear their worth within themselves, no matter whither they may go, and whose staff will everywhere take root, who, no matter what their calling may be and no matter what business they may seize upon, are always in the right in saying to themselves; 'I have chosen the better part.'"
Of all this the combmakers really did not want to hear just then, but on the contrary insisted that Zues should select one of them and tell him to remain in Seldwyla, and each one of them in saying so only thought of himself. She, however, was careful to avoid a premature choice. On the contrary, she told them bluntly that they must obey her on pain of forfeiting her friendship forever. At once Jobst, the oldest of the three, skipped off, right into the house of their ex-master, and to perceive that and follow him in haste, was the work of an instant, since they were afraid that he might be planning something against them on the sly, and thus the trio acted all day long, whisking about like falling stars, hither and thither. They hated each other like three spiders in one web. Half the town witnessed this queer spectacle, observing the three strangely excited combmakers, they who until that day had always been so orderly and quiet. The ancient people of the town could not but feel that something evil, something tragic was underway, and they would nod and whisper to one another of their fears. Towards nightfall, however, the combmakers became tired and spent, without having reached any definite conclusion, and in that mood they retired and stretched out their limbs in the old bed, with chattering teeth and half-sick with impotent rage. One by one they crept beneath the covering, and there they lay, as though felled by the hand of death itself, with thoughts in turmoil and confusion, until at last sleep came like balm for their uproarious minds.
Jobst was first to waken, at early dawn, and he saw that spring was weaving its garlands and that the great orb was rising in the east, in a mass of cloudlets of dainty hue. The first rays of the sun were already penetrating the dusky chamber wherein he had been sleeping for the past six years. And while the room assuredly looked bare and unattractive enough, it seemed nevertheless a paradise to him, a paradise from which he was about to be driven thus unjustly and unfairly, it appeared to him. He let his eyes wander all over the walls, and counted on them the traces left by all the preceding journeymen that had been harbored under that roof. Here there was a dark stain from the one who was in the habit of rubbing against the wall his greasy pate; there another one had driven in a nail, on which he used to hang his long pipe, and, sure enough, a bit of scarlet tape still clung to the nail. How good and harmless had they all been, all those that had come and gone, while these fellows now, spread out their whole length next to him in bed, would not go. Next he fastened his glance upon the objects nearer his field of vision, those objects which he had noticed thousands of times before, on all those occasions when he had lain in bed in a contemplative mood, mornings, nights, or daytime, and when he had enjoyed in his own peculiar way the bliss of existence, free of cost and with a serene mind. There was, for example, a spot in the ceiling where the wet had damaged it. This spot had often set his imagination at work. It looked like the map of a whole country, with lakes and rivers and cities, and a group of grains of sand represented an isle of the blessed. Farther down a long bristle from the painter's brush attracted Jobst's wandering attention; for this bristle had been held back by the blue paint and was embedded in it. This phenomenon interested Jobst greatly, for it was his own handiwork. Last autumn he had accidentally discovered a small remnant of the azure paint, and to utilize it had proceeded to spread it over that portion of the ceiling nearest to him. But just beyond the bristle there was a very slight protuberance, almost like a chain of mountains, and this threw its shadow across the bristle over against the isle of the blessed. About this rise in the scenery he had been brooding and speculating the whole of the past winter, because it seemed to him that it had not been there formerly.
And as he now cast searching glances for this protuberance and could not find it despite all his pains, he thought he must suddenly have gone daft when instead of it he discovered a tiny bare spot on the wall. On the other hand he noticed that the small bluish mountain itself was moving. Amazed beyond measure at this miracle, Jobst quickly sat up and watched the cerulean wonder march steadily on: the conviction dawned on him that the prodigy was nothing but a bedbug; his logical deduction then was that he must have unawares applied a coat of paint to this insect, at a time in its life when it was already in a state of coma. But now the little creature had been reawakened under the warming influence of the spring sun, had started on a tour of adventure, and was actually and bravely ascending the steep pathway on the wall, ready for business, without in the least minding its blue back and Jobst's astonishment. Jobst watched the meanderings of the dear little thing with concentrated interest. So long as it cut across the blue paint it was barely visible; but now it issued forth into the region beyond, traversing first a few remaining splotches of paint, and next wandering diligently among the darker districts. With softened feelings Jobst sank back into his pillows. Generally rather indifferent to quips of mere fancy, this time sentiment struggled uppermost. He took the enterprising bedbug as an omen for himself. He, too, must be wandering forth again, seeking new pastures. And thankfully and resignedly he thought of this insect as a model for himself to strive after. In this frame of mind he resolved to put a good face on the matter and to bow to the unavoidable. He meant to start at once. Indulging these wise reflections his natural wisdom and forethought slowly came back to him, however, and resuming his train of deliberations he at last concluded that there might not be any necessity for clearing out at all. By reassuming his habitual modesty and resignation and submitting in that spirit to the trial at hand, it might come to pass, after all, that he would overcome his rivals. Softly and slowly, therefore, he now rose, and began to arrange his belongings; but above all he dug up his hidden treasure and started to pack it away, lowest in his knapsack. While thus engaged the others also awoke. And when they observed Jobst packing up his things in that matter-of-fact, unobtrusive manner, they grew more and more astonished, and this feeling increased when Jobst spoke to them in a conciliatory tone and wished them a good morning. More than that, though, he did not say, but continued peaceably in his task. Instantly, however, not being able to explain to themselves his behavior, they began to suspect a ruse, a deep-laid scheme, and to imitate him. At the same time they closely watched him, curious to find out what he would do next.
It was ludicrous as well to observe the other two now exhuming their hoards quite openly from underneath their own tiles, and to put them away, without first counting them over, in their knapsacks. For they had known for long that each was aware of the secret of the others, and according to the old-fashioned honorable traditions of their guild not one of them suspected the others of theft. Each of them, in fact, was fully convinced that they would not be robbed. For it is an iron-clad custom among traveling journeymen, soldiers, and similar folk that nothing must be locked up and that there must be no suspicion of foul play.
In this way they at last were ready to start. The master paid each his wages, and handed them back their service booklets, wherein on the part of the town authorities and of the master himself there were inscribed the most satisfactory certificates as to good behavior and steadiness of conduct. A minute later they stood, in a state of soft melancholy, before the house door of Zues Buenzlin, each dressed in a long brown coat, with a duster above that, and their hats, albeit by no means new or fashionable, covered with a tight casing of oil cloth. Each carried a tiny van strapped to his knapsack to enable him, as soon as long-distance walking should start, to pull his heavy baggage with greater ease. The small wheels belonging to this contraption stood up high above their shoulders. Jobst was assisted in walking by a decent bamboo cane, Fridolin by a staff of ash painted all over with red and black stripes, and Dietrich by a fantastic baton around which were curling carved branches. But he was almost ashamed of this absurd and bragging thing, since it dated from the first days of his pilgrimage, a time when he had not yet attained to the sober view of life as since. Many neighbors and their children lined the way and wished these three serious-minded men godspeed.
But now Zues showed at the door, her mien even more solemn than usual, and at the head of the little procession she went on with the three courageously to beyond the town gate. In their honor she had donned some of her choicest finery. She wore a huge hat draped with broad yellow ribbons, a pink calico dress trimmed in a style of ten years ago, a black velvet scarf and shoes of red morocco with fringes. With this costume she also carried a reticule of green silk filled with dried pears and prunes, and had a small parasol in her other hand on top of which there could be seen an ivory ornament carved in the shape of a lyre. She had also hung around her fair neck the locket with the monument of hair, and in front of her chaste bosom had pinned on the gold forget-me-not, and wore white knit gloves. Dainty and pleasant she looked in this guise; her countenance was slightly flushed and her bosom heaved higher than its wont, and the departing combmakers scarcely were able to conceal their feelings of utter woe and sorrow at the prospect of losing her. For even their extreme situation, the lovely spring weather, and Zues' exquisite finery, or all of it together mingled with their sentiments of expectation and anxiety something of what habitually is denominated Love. Arrived beyond the town gate, though, the winsome maiden encouraged her three admirers to place their heavy knapsacks upon those tiny wheels and to pull their loads, so as not to tire themselves needlessly. This they did, and as they steadily began to climb the steep heights that rose just outside the town, it looked for all the world almost like a train of light mountain guns moving slowly upwards, in order to form a battery for attack. And when they had thus proceeded for half an hour they reached a pleasant hilltop, where they halted. A crossroad was there, and they sat down beneath a linden tree, in a semicircle, whence a far view was obtainable across forests and lakes and villages. Zues brought out her reticule and handed to each one a handful of pears and prunes, in order to restore themselves. Thus they sat for quite a while, solemn and silent, merely causing a slight noise by the slow degustation of the sweet fruit.
Then Zues, throwing away a prune pit and drying her hands on the grass, drew breath and began to speak: "Dear friends," she said, "only see how beautiful and how big the world is, all around full of fine things and of human habitations! And yet I should wager that in this fateful hour there are nowhere else seated together four such decent and just souls as are seated here under this tree, four who are so sensible and so gentle in all their doings, so inclined to all useful and laborious exercises, so given to virtues like economy, peaceableness, and dutiful friendship. How many flowers are surrounding us here, of every kind, such as early spring produces, especially yellow cowslips, from which a wholesome and well-tasting tea may be prepared. But are these flowers, I ask you, as decent and as diligent, as economical and cautious, as apt to think correct and useful thoughts? No, indeed, they are ignorant and soulless things, and without benefiting themselves they waste time and opportunity, and no matter how nice they may look in a short time they turn into dead and useless hay, while we with our virtues are far superior to them and also do not yield to them in beauty of outward shape. For it was God who created us after His image and blew His divine breath into us. Ah, would it were possible to keep seated here in this spot for all eternity, in this paradise and in our present state of innocency. Indeed, my friends, it seems to me that we all of us at this hour are in a state of innocency, although ennobled by sinless consciousness and intelligence, for all four of us are able, God be praised, to read and write, and we have, each of us, likewise acquired a craft, a useful calling. For many things, I am aware, I have talent and skill, and would engage to do many things which even the most learned young lady would be unable to do, that is, if I were inclined to go outside of and beyond my proper station. But modesty and humility are the dearest virtues of a decent maiden, and it is enough for me to know that my intellectual gifts are not worthless nor despised by the judicious and those of a keener discernment. Many have before this wooed me, men who were not worthy of me, and now I see three just and decent bachelors assembled around me, each of whom is as worthy to win me as are the others. From this, my friends, you may measure and imagine how my own heart must long for a solution in view of this unheard-of abundance, and may each of you take pattern by me and think for the moment that he, too, were surrounded by three virgins, each equally lovely and worthy to be loved, and all three desirous to wed and possess him, and that on that account it might happen that he would be unable to make up his mind to incline to this or that one, and therefore at last unable to wed any. Only place yourselves in your thoughts in my stead: fancy that each of you were courted simultaneously by three Miss Buenzlins at once, and were thus seated around you the way we are seated here, dressed as I am, and of similarly alluring exterior, so that I in a manner of speaking would exist ninefold, and that they all were regarding you with love-lorn eyes, and were desiring to possess you with great strength of feeling. Can you do that?"
The three lovers ceased for a moment to chew their dried prunes, and made an attempt to follow the maiden's flight of fancy, their faces meanwhile assuming a peculiarly sheep-like cast. But after a while the Suabian, as the greatest thinker and inventor amongst them, seemed to grasp the idea, and said with a voluptuous grin: "Well, most beloved Miss Zues, if you have no objection, I should indeed like to see you hover around here not only threefold but a hundredfold, and to have you look at me with lovelorn eyes and to offer me a thousand kisses!"
"Nay, nay," Zues replied, rather put out by this, "do not talk in this unbecoming and extravagant style! What is entering your head, you overbold Dietrich? Not a hundredfold and not offering kisses, but only threefold and in a virtuous and honorable manner, so that no wrong may be done me!"
"Yes," now cried Jobst, brandishing a pear stalk and gesturing with it, "only threefold and behaving with the greatest chastity do I see the beloved Miss Buenzlin walking about me and greeting me while placing her hand on her heart. Your most devoted servant, thank you, thank you!" he said, smiling with great urbanity and bowing thrice in different directions as though he really perceived these hallucinations in the air around him. "Thus you should speak," rejoined Zues, with a seductive smirk. "If there really exists any difference between you three, it is you, after all, dear Jobst, who are the most gifted, or at least the most sensible."
Fridolin, the Bavarian, had not yet succeeded in conjuring up in his slower brain all these figments of imagination. But now seeing Jobst evidently scoring a hit, he was afraid that he was losing in favor, and so shouted in haste: "I also notice the lovely virgin, Miss Zues Buenzlin, perambulating right here in my vicinity and throwing voluptuous glances in my direction, while putting her hand on--"
"Fie, you Bavarian," shrieked Zues wrathfully, turning her face aside out of very shame. "Not another word! Where do you get the courage from to talk to me in such a tone of impure grossness, and to allow your fancy to indulge in such smuttiness? Fie, fie!"
The poor Bavarian felt abashed, reddened under this reproof, and looked about foolishly, not knowing what he had done amiss. For really his imagination had not been at work at all, and he had merely meant to repeat about what he had heard Jobst say a moment before and what the latter had been praised for. But now Zues once more turned and remarked: "And you, dear Dietrich, have you not yet been able to reshape that last observation of yours in a more modest guise?"
"Indeed I have," the young man made answer, glad to be forgiven, "I now perceive you only in three different shapes, regarding me pleasantly but in a quite respectable manner, and offering me three white hands, on which I imprint three just as respectable kisses."
"Well, then, that is proper," remarked Zues, "and you, Fridolin, have you recovered from your fit of libertinism? Have you not yet calmed your rampageous blood, and are you now in condition to conceive of an image not so obscene?"
"Begging pardon," murmured Fridolin greatly crestfallen, "I also can now clearly recognize three maidens, each of whom has dried pears in her hand and offers them to me, not being quite at variance with me any longer. One of these is as handsome as the others, and to make a choice among them appears to me a hard matter indeed."
"Well said," remarked Zues, "and since you in your fancy are surrounded by no less than nine equally desirable persons, and nevertheless in spite of such delectable superabundance are suffering in your hearts from a lack of love, you may easily conceive of my own condition. And as you also saw how with modest and pure heart I know to tame my desires, I trust you will take me as a model and will vow here and now to further live in amity and to separate when the hour comes just as pleasantly and without a grudge, no matter how fate may deal with each one of you. Rise and come hither. Let each one of you place his hand in mine, and pledge himself to act just as I have indicated!"
"With perfect good faith," said Jobst in reply, "I at least will do precisely as you suggest!"
And the other two, not to be behindhand, likewise shouted: "And so will I!" and they all three pledged themselves as she had requested, secretly, of course, each with the proviso to run as hard towards the goal as he was able.
"Yes, indeed," Jobst once more interjected, "I at least will live up to my promise, for from my youth upwards I have unfailingly shown a conciliatory and equable disposition. Never in my life have I had a quarrel with anyone, and would never suffer to see an animal tortured. Wherever I have been I was on good terms with my fellows, and thus earned much praise because of my peaceful ways. And while I may say that I, too, understand many things passably well, and am usually held a sensible young man, at no time have I interfered with things that did not concern me, and have always done my duty with consideration for others. I can work just as hard as I choose without losing my health, since I am sound and strong and abstemious in my ways, and have still the best years before me. All the wives of my masters have said that I was a man in a thousand, a real treasure, and that it was easy to get along with me. Oh, indeed, Miss Buenzlin, I believe I could live with you as though in Heaven, in uninterrupted bliss."
"That would not be hard," broke in the Bavarian at this, "to live in concord and happiness with Miss Zues. I also would undertake to do the same. I am not a fool, either. My craft I understand as well as the best, and I know how to keep things in order without ever having to get excited about it. And although I also have dwelt in the largest cities and have earned good wages there, I have never got into trouble, and neither have I ever killed as much as a spider or thrown a brick at a mewling cat. I am temperate and easily pleased with my food, and am able to get along with very little indeed. With that I am in full health and of good temper and cheerful. I can stand much hardship without losing my bland mind, and my good conscience is an elixir that keeps me in excellent spirit. All animals love me and follow me, because they scent my kind heart, for with an unjust man they would not stay. A poodle dog once followed me for three entire days, on leaving the town of Ulm, and at last I was forced to leave it in charge of a peasant, since I as an humble journeyman combmaker could not afford to feed such a creature. When I was traveling through the Bohemian Forest stags and deer used to come within twenty paces of me, and would then stand and watch me. It is wonderful indeed how even such wild beasts know by instinct what kind of human beings they have to deal with."
"True," here sang out the Suabian. "Don't you see how this chaffinch has been fluttering around me this whole while, and how it is anxious to approach me? And that squirrel over there by the pine tree is constantly glancing towards me, and here again a small beetle is creeping up my leg and will not go away. Surely, it must be feeling comfortable with me, the tiny thing."
But now Zues grew jealous. Rather nettled, she spoke: "Animals all love me and like to stay with me. One of my birds remained with me for eight years, until unfortunately it died. Our cat is so fond of me that it forever purrs about me, and our neighbor's pigeons crowd about me every day when I scatter some crumbs for them on my window sill. Wonderful qualities animals have, anyway, each after its kind. The lion loves to follow in the footprints of kings and heroes, and the elephant accompanies the prince and the doughty warrior. The camel bears the merchant through the desert and keeps a store of fresh water in its belly for him. The dog again shares all the dangers with his owner and pitches himself headlong into the sea just to prove his devotion. The dolphin has a strong love for music and swims in the wake of vessels, while the eagle accompanies armies. The ape bears a strong resemblance to the human species and imitates everything he sees us do. The parrot understands our speech and converses with us just like any person of sense. Even the snakes may be tamed and then dance on the tip of their tails. The crocodile sheds human tears and is consequently in those parts esteemed and spared. The ostrich may be saddled and ridden like a horse. The savage buffalo pulls the carriage of his human master, as the reindeer does the sledge of his. The unicorn furnishes man with snow-white ivory and the tortoise with its transparent bones--"
"Beg pardon," interrupted all the three combmakers together, "herein you are slightly in error, for ivory comes from the teeth of the elephant, and tortoise-shell combs are made out of the shell of that animal and not of the bones of the tortoise."
Zues colored deeply and rejoined: "That, I believe, remains to be proved. For you certainly have not seen of your own knowledge whence it is obtained, but only work up its pieces. I as a rule make no mistakes in matters of that kind. However, be that as it may, just let me finish. Not the animals alone have their peculiarities implanted by the hand of God, but even dead minerals that are dug out of the sides of mountains. The crystal is clear as glass, marble hard and full of veins, sometimes white and sometimes black. Amber possesses electric properties and attracts lightning; but in that case it burns and smells like incense. The magnet attracts iron; on slates one can write, but not upon diamonds, for these are hard as steel; the glazier, too, uses the diamond for cutting glass, because it is small and pointed. You see, dear friends, that I can also tell you a few things about minerals and animals. But as regards my relations with them I may say this: that the cat is a sly and cunning beast, and that is why it will attach itself only to persons possessing the same characteristics. The pigeon, however, is the symbol of innocence and simplicity of mind, and may only be the companion of those similarly constituted. And since it is certain that both cats and pigeons are attracted by me, the conclusion must be that I am at the same time sly and cunning, simple-minded and innocent. As Holy Writ says, Be wise like the serpent and simple like the dove! In this way we are able to understand both animals and our relations to them, and to learn a deal, if we only look at things in the right manner."
The poor combmakers had not dared to interrupt her more. Zues had got the better of them, and she went on for some time longer at the same rate, talking about all sorts of intellectual things, until their senses were in a whirl. But they admired Zues' spirit and her eloquence, although with all their admiration none of them deemed himself too humble to possess this jewel of a woman, especially as this ornament of a house came cheap and consisted merely in an eager and tireless tongue. Whether they themselves, after all, were worthy of this that they valued so highly, and whether they would be able to utilize this gift of hers, that class of idiot seldom inquires. They are more like children who reach out for anything that glitters, who lick off the vivid paint on a multicolored toy, and who put a mouth harmonica into their little jaw instead of being content with listening to its music. But while drinking in the high-flown phrases that dropped so mellifluously from her lips, the three of them goaded on their imagination more and more, sharpened their greed to own such a distinguished person, and the more heartless, idle and parrot-like Zues' chatter became, the more melancholy and depressed became her swains. At the same time they felt a terrific thirst in consequence of having swallowed so much of this dried fruit. Jobst and the Bavarian looked for and found in the near-by woods a spring, and filled their stomachs with cold water. But the Suabian had slyly taken along a flask of cherry brandy and water, and with this he now refreshed himself. His plan had been to thus gain an advantage over the others when making the race, for well he knew that the other two were too parsimonious to bring along a stimulant like that or to turn in at a tavern on the way.
This flask he now pulled out of his pocket, and while the others drank their water he offered it to Zues. She accepted it, emptied the flask half, and regarded Dietrich while she thanked him for the refreshment with such an affectionate glance that Dietrich felt more than recompensed and tremendously encouraged in his suit. He could not withstand the temptation to seize her hand courteously and to kiss the tips of her fingers. She on her part lightly touched his lips with her hand, and he made belief of snapping at it, whereupon she smirked falsely and pleasantly at him. Dietrich answered similarly. Then the two sat down on the ground close to each other, and once in a while would touch the soles of the other's shoe with his own, almost as though they were shaking hands with their feet. Zues was bending over slightly, and laid her hand on his shoulder, while Dietrich was on the very point of imitating this little sport when the Bavarian and the Saxon returned jointly, observed this philandering, and groaned and lost color both at the same time.
From the water they had drunk on top of all this dried fruit they had become uneasy, both of them, and now that they saw the playful pair indulging in their little game, everything seemed to turn around them. Cold sweat began to break out on their foreheads, and they nearly gave themselves up for lost. Zues, however, did not for an instant lose her self-possession, but turned to the two and said: "Come, friends, sit down a little while longer here with me, so that we may enjoy, perhaps for the last time, our harmony and our undisturbed friendship."
Jobst and Fridolin pressed up quickly, and sat down, stretching out their thin legs. Zues left her one hand in the Suabian's own, gave Jobst her other one, and touched with the soles of her shoes those of Fridolin, while she turned her face to one after the other, smiling most enchantingly. Thus there are skilled virtuosi who know how to play a number of instruments at once, who shake bells with their heads, blow the Pan's pipe with their mouths, touch the guitar with their hands, strike the cymbal with their knees, with the foot a triangle, and with the elbow a drum suspended from their backs.
But now she rose, smoothed out her dress very carefully, and said: "The hour has now come, I think, my friends, when you must get ready for your great race, the race which your master in his folly has imposed on you, but which we ourselves have agreed to regard as the disposition of a higher power. Run this race with all the energy you can muster, but without enmity or rancor, and leave the crown of the victor willingly to him who has earned it."
And as if stung by a vicious wasp the three sprang up and stood up ready and eager on their legs. Thus they stood, and they were now to try and vanquish each other with the same legs with which until now they had made only slow and thoughtful steps. Not one of the three could even recall ever having used these legs jumping or running. The Suabian, perhaps, was most inclined for the venture. He even seemed to be impatient for the struggle, and an eager look was in his eyes. At that moment of severe crisis they three scanned each other's features closely; the sweat had gathered on their pale brows, and they breathed hard and spasmodically, as though they were already running at full tilt.
"Shake hands once more, in token of good feeling," said Zues. And they did so, but in so lifeless a manner that the three hands dropped to their sides as if made of lead.
"And are we really to start on this fool's errand?" asked Jobst in a voice thick with suppressed emotion, while wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Some single tears were slowly crawling down his hollow cheeks.
"Yes, indeed," chimed in the Bavarian, "are we actually to run and jump like apes on a rope?" and began to weep in good earnest.
"And you, most charming Miss Buenzlin," added Jobst, "how are you going to behave in the circumstances?"
"It behoves me," answered she and held her handkerchief to her eyes, "to keep silent, to suffer and to look on."
"But afterwards," put in the Suabian, with a sly smile, "afterwards. Miss Zues, when all is over?"
"Oh, Dietrich," she responded softly, "do you not know what the poet says: 'As Fate decides, so turns the heart of maid'?" And in introducing this quotation from Schiller she regarded him so temptingly aside that he again lifted up his long legs and shuffled them, feeling like starting off at once.
While the two rivals arranged their little vehicles on their wheels, and Dietrich did the same, she repeatedly touched him with her elbow, or else stepped on his foot. She also wiped the dust from his hat, but at the same time threw inviting glances towards the others, pretending to be highly amused at the Suabian's eagerness. But she did this without being observed by Dietrich.
And now all three of them drew deep breaths and sighed like so many furnaces. They looked all about them, took off their hats, fanned themselves and then once more put on their hats. For the last time they sniffed the air in all the directions of the compass, and tried to recover their breath. Zues herself felt deeply for them, and for very compassion shed sundry tears.
"Here," she then said, "are the last three prunes. Take each of you one in the mouth, that will refresh you. And now depart, and turn the folly of the wicked into the wisdom of the just! That which the wicked have invented for your confusion, now change into a work of self-denial and of serious enterprise, into the well-considered final act of good conduct maintained for years, and into a competitive race for virtue itself."
And she herself with her own fair hands shoved a dried prune between the cramped lips of each, and each of them at once began to gently chew the prune.
Jobst pressed his hand upon his stomach, exclaiming: "What must be, must be. Let us start, in the name of Heaven!"
And saying which and raising his staff, he began to stride ahead, knees strongly bent and nostrils high in air, dragging his little load after him. Scarcely had Fridolin seen that, when he, too, did the same, taking long steps, and without once looking behind him. Both of them could now be seen descending the hill and entering the dusty highway.
The Suabian was the last one to get away, and he was walking, without showing any great hurry, with Zues at his side, grinning in a self-satisfied way, as though he felt sure of victory, and as though he were willing, out of mere generosity, to grant a little start to his rivals, while Zues praised him for this supposed noble action and for his equanimity.
"Ah," she now sighed, "after all, it is a blessing to be sure of a firm support in life! Even where one is sufficiently gifted oneself with insight and cleverness and follows, besides, the path of rectitude, all the same it makes it much easier to walk through life on the arm of a tried friend."
"Quite right," the Suabian hastened to reply, and nudged her energetically with the elbow, while at the same time he watched his rivals so as not to let their start become too great. "Do you at last notice that, my dear Miss Zues? Are you becoming convinced? Have your eyes opened to the truth?"
"Oh, Dietrich, my dear Dietrich," and she sighed more strongly, "I often feel so very lonesome."
"Hop-hop," he now laughed light-heartedly, "that is where the shoe pinches? I thought so all along," and his heart began to leap like a hare in a cabbage patch.
"Oh, Dietrich," she again breathed low, and she pressed herself much tighter against the young man's side. He felt awkward, and the heart in his bosom grew big with pleasure, and joy began to fill it altogether. But at the same instant he made the discovery that his precursors had already vanished from his sight, they having turned a corner. At once he wanted to tear himself loose from Zues' arm and hasten after them. But Zues kept such a tight hold of him that he was unable to do so, and she grasped him so firmly that he thought she was going to faint.
"Dietrich," she whispered, and she made sheep's eyes at him, "don't leave me alone at this moment. I rely on you, you are my sole help! Please support me."
"The devil. Miss Zues," he murmured anxiously, "let me go, let me go, or else I shall miss this race, and then good-by to everything!"
"No, no, you must not leave me just now. I feel that I am becoming very ill!" Thus she lamented.
"I don't care, ill or not ill," he cried, and tore himself loose from her. He quickly climbed a rock whence he was able to overlook the whole highroad below. There they were, he saw the two runners far away, deep below towards the town. And then he made up his mind to a great spurt, but at the same moment once more looked back for Zues. Then he saw her, seated at the entrance to a shady wood path, and motioning to him with her lily hand. This was too much for him. Instead of hurrying down the hill, he hastened back to her. And when she saw him coming, she turned and went in deeper into the cool wood, all the time casting inviting glances at him, for her object was, of course, to draw him away from the race and cheat him out of his victory, make him lose and thus render his further stay in Seldwyla impossible.
But Dietrich, the Suabian, was, as pointed out before, of an inventive and resourceful turn. Thus it was that he, too, quickly made up his mind to alter his tactics, and to score victory not down there but up here. And thus things came to pass very much differently from what had been calculated on. For as soon as he had come up with her in a sheltered spot in the depth of the forest, he fell at her feet and overwhelmed her with the most ardent declarations of his love for her to which any combmaker ever gave expression. At first she made a great attempt to withstand his wooing, bade him be quiet and desist from his violent protestations, and to befool him a little while longer until all danger of his winning should be past. She let loose the torrent of her wisdom and learning, and tried to awe him. But the young Suabian was not to be caught with this chaff. Paying not the slightest regard to all these rhetorical fireworks, he let loose Heaven and Hell in his stormy suit, lavishing caresses and blandishments on the surprised maiden by which he finally stifled the voice of her severely attuned conscience, and his excited and ready wit furnished him with enough of love's ammunition to overcome all her scruples. His eloquence and his bold and ever persistent wheedling and dandling gave her not a second's respite nor leisure to reflect and deliberate. He first took possession of her hands and feet, to kiss and fondle them, despite her strenuous protests, and next he flattered her to the top of her bent, lauding both her bodily and mental charms to the very skies, until Zues was in a very paradise of self-glorification and satisfied vanity. Added to this was the solitude and the sense of security from curious and peering eyes in the leafy shade of the forest. Until at last Zues really lost the compass to which hitherto she had clung as her safe though rather selfish guide through life. She succumbed to all these allurements, not so much by reason of exalted sensualism, as because for the moment she was overcome and helpless against the stronger and more primitive passion of this young man. Her heart fluttered timidly up and down, and vainly attempted to find its former balance. Her thoughts were in a perfect storm of contradictions, and she was altogether like a poor impotent beetle turned over on its back and struggling to recover the use of its limbs. And thus it was that Dietrich vanquished her in every sense. She had tempted him into this impenetrable thicket in order to betray him like another Delilah, but had been quickly conquered by this despised Suabian. And this was not because she was so utterly love-sick as to lose her bearings but rather because she was in spite of all her fancied wisdom so short of vision as not to see beyond the tip of her own nose. Thus they remained together an hour or more in this delectable solitude, embraced ever anew, kissed one another a thousand times, thus realizing the vision of the Suabian not long before, and swore eternal faith and unending affection, and agreed most solemnly, no matter how the affair of the race should terminate, to marry and become man and wife.
In the meanwhile news of the curious undertaking of the three combmakers had spread throughout the town, and the master himself had not a little aided in this, for the whole matter appealed strongly to his sense of humor. And hence all the people of Seldwyla rejoiced in advance at the prospect of a spectacle so novel and unconventional. They were eager to see the three journeymen arrive out of breath and in complete disarray, and laughed heartily in anticipation of the fun they counted on. Gradually a vast throng had assembled outside the town gate, impatient to see the arrival. On both sides of the highroad the curious people were seated at the edge of the trenches, just as if professional runners were expected. The small boys climbed into the tops of trees, while their elders sat on the grass and smoked their pipe, quite content that such an amusement had been provided for them. Even the dignitaries of Seldwyla had not scorned to put in their appearance, sat in the taverns by the wayside and discoursed of the chances of each of the three, and making a number of not inconsiderable wagers as to the final result. In those streets which the runners had to pass on their way to the goal all the windows had been thrown open, the wives had placed in their parlors on the window ledges pretty vari-colored cushions, to rest their arms upon, and had received numerous visits from the ladies of their acquaintance, so that coffee and cake was hospitably provided for them all, and even the maid servants were in a holiday mood, being sent to bakers and confectioners for goodies of every description with which to entertain the guests.
All of a sudden the little fellows keenly watching from out of their leafy domes dimly saw in the distance tiny dust clouds approaching, and they set up the cry: "Here they're coming! They're coming!" And indeed, not long thereafter were seen Jobst and Fridolin rushing past, each wrapped in his own hazy column of dust, in the middle of the road. With the one hand they were pulling their valises on wheels each by himself, these rattling over the cobblestones with a noise like drumbeats, and with the other they held on tight to their heavy hats, these having slid down their necks, and their long dusters and coats were flying in the breeze. Both of the rivals were covered thickly with dust, almost unrecognizable; they had their mouths wide open and were yapping for breath; they saw and heard nothing that transpired around them, and thick tears were slowly rolling down their faces, there being no time to wipe them away, and these tears had dug paths in criss-cross fashion in the grime on their countenances.
They came close upon each other, but the Bavarian was just about half a horse's length ahead. A terrific shouting and laughter was set up by the audience, and this droned in the ears of the racers as they sped on in insane haste. Everybody got up and crowded along the sidewalk, and there were cries raised: "That's it, that's it! Run, Saxon, defend yourself: don't let the Bavarian have it all his own way! One of the three has already given in--there are but two of them left."
The gentlemen who were standing on the tables and chairs in the gardens and roadhouses laughed fit to split their sides. Their roars sounded across the highway and streets, and woke the echoes, and the affair was turned into a popular festival. Small boys and the entire rabble of the town followed densely in the wake of the two, and this mob stirred up thick volumes of biting dust, so that the racers were almost stifled before they arrived at the near goal. The whole immense cloud rolled towards the town gate, and even women and girls ran along, and mingled their high, squeaking voices with those of the male ruffians. Now they had almost reached the old town gate, the two towers of which were lined with the curious who were waving their caps and hats. The two were still running, foaming at the mouth, eyes starting out of sockets, running like two run-away horses, without sense or mind, their hearts full of fear and torture. Suddenly one of the little street boys knelt down on Jobst's small vehicle, and had Jost pull him along, the crowd howling with appreciation of the joke. Jobst turned and pleaded with the youngster to get off, even struck at him with his staff. But the blows did not reach the urchin, who merely grinned at him. With that Fridolin gained on Jobst, and as Jobst noticed this, he threw his staff between the other's feet, so that Fridolin stumbled and fell. But as Jobst attempted to pass him, the Bavarian pulled him by the tail of his coat, and by the aid of that got again on his feet. Jobst struck him upon his hands like a maniac, and shouted: "Let go! Let go!" But Fridolin did not let go, and so Jobst seized him also by the coat tail, and thus both had hold of each other, and were slowly making their way into the gateway, once in a while attempting to get rid of the other by venturing on a bound. They wept, sobbed and howled like babies, shouted in the agony of their grief and fear: "My God, let go!" "For the love of Heaven, let go!" "Let go, you devil; you must let go!" Between whiles each struck hard blows at the other's hands, but with all that they advanced a little all the time. Their hats and staffs had been lost in the scuffle, and ahead of them and behind them the hooting mob was accompanying them, their escort growing more turbulent and violent each minute. All the windows were occupied by the ladies of Seldwyla, and they threw, so to speak, their silvery laughter into this avalanche of noise, and all were agreed that for years past there had not been such a ludicrous scene as this.
As a matter of fact, this crazy free show was so much to the taste of the whole town that nobody took the trouble to point out to the two rivals their ultimate goal, the house of their old master. They themselves, these two, did not see it. Indeed, they did not see anything more. They reached their goal and did not perceive it, but went past and hurried crazily on, on and on, always escorted by the shouts and yells of the mob, fighting each other, their faces drawn and pinched as though in death, on and on, until they reached the other end of the little town and so through the second gate out into the open once more. The master himself had stood at the window of his house, laughing and greatly amused, and after patiently waiting for another hour for the victor in the strange tournament, he had been on the point of leaving the house and joining some of his cronies at the tavern, when Zues and Dietrich quietly and unobtrusively entered.
For Zues had meanwhile been busy with her thoughts, combining, after her wont, this and that. And thus she had reached the conclusion that in all likelihood the master combmaker would be willing to sell his business outright on a cash basis, since he could not continue it himself much longer. For that purpose Zues herself was ready to give up her interest-bearing mortgage, which together with the slender savings of Dietrich would doubtless suffice and thus they two would remain victors and could laugh at the other two. This plan, together with their intention to marry, they told the astonished master about, and he, readily seeing that thus he could cheat his creditors and by concluding the bargain quickly would also get possession of a considerable sum of money to do with as he pleased, was glad of the opportunity thus afforded him. Quickly, therefore, the two parties were in agreement as to the terms, and before the sun went down Zues became the lawful owner of the business and her promised husband the tenant of the house in which the business was being conducted. Thus it was Zues, without indeed having intended or suspected it in the morning, who was tied down and conquered by the quickwitted Suabian.
Half dead with shame, exhaustion and anger, Jobst and Fridolin meanwhile lay in the inn to which they had been taken when picked up limp and spent in the open field. To separate the two rivals, thirsting for each other's blood and maddened from the whole crazy adventure, had been no light task. The whole of Seldwyla now, having in their peculiar reckless way already forgotten the immediate cause of the whole turmoil, was now celebrating and making a night of it. In many houses there was dancing, and in the taverns there was much drinking and singing and noise, just as on the greatest Seldwyla holidays. For the people of Seldwyla never required much urging to enjoy themselves to the top of their bent. When the two poor devils saw how their own superior cunning with which they had counted on making a good haul had, on the contrary, only served these careless people in all their folly to make a feast of it, how they themselves had been the immediate cause of their own downfall, and had made a laughingstock of themselves for all the world, they thought their hearts would break. For they had managed not only to defeat the wise and patient plans of so many years, but had also lost forever the reputation of being shrewd men themselves.
Jobst as the oldest of the three and having spent in Seldwyla full seven years, was wholly overwhelmed and dazed by the collapse of all his secret hopes, and quite unable to reconstruct a new world after having lost the one of his dreams. Utterly dejected he left his sleepless pillow before daybreak, wandered away from town and crept to the very spot where the day before they and Zues had sat under the linden tree, and there he hanged himself to one of the lowest branches. When the Bavarian, but an hour later, passed there on his way into strange parts, such a fit of fright seized him that he ran off like a lunatic, altered completely his whole ways, and later on was heard to have become a dissolute spendthrift, who never saved a penny, and who was in the habit of cursing God and men, being no one's friend any more.
Dietrich the Suabian alone remained one of the Decent and Just, and stayed on in the little town. But he had little good of it, for Zues left him nothing to say, and ruled him strictly, never allowing him to have his way in anything. On the contrary, she continued to consider herself the sole source of all wisdom and success.
DIETEGEN
[DIETEGEN]
To the north of those hills and woods where Seldwyla nestles, there flourished as late as the end of the fifteenth century the town of Ruechenstein, lying in the cool shade, whereas her rival Seldwyla basked in the full glare of the midday sun. Gray and forbidding looked the massed body of its towers and strong walls, and upstanding and just were its councilmen and citizens, but severe and morose also, and their chief employment consisted in the execution of their prerogatives as an independent city, in the exercise of law and justice, the issuing of mandates and decrees, of impeachments and committals. The greatest source of their pride was the fact that there had been conferred on them the exercise and enforcement of the power over life and death of all subject to their sway, and so eager and willing they were to sacrifice for this power their all, their privileges and their substance, as entrusted to them by Empire and supreme ruler, as other commonwealths were to achieve their liberty of conscience and the freedom of worship according to their faith.
On the rocky promontories all around their town wore conspicuous the emblems of their dread sovereignty. Such as tall gallows and scaffolds, sundry places of execution, showing the wheel where miscreants had their limbs broken, the stake where heretics or other evildoers were made to suffer, and their grim-faced town hall was hung full of iron chains with neck rings; steel cages were exhibited on the towers of the walls, and wooden drills wherein loose-tongued or wicked women were being stretched and turned, could be seen at almost every corner. Even by the shore of the dark-blue river which washed the walls of the town, sundry stations had been erected where malefactors could be drowned or ducked, with tied feet or in sacks, according to the finer discriminations of the decree of judgment.
Now it need not be supposed that because of all this the Ruechensteiners were iron men, robust and inspiring terror by their looks, such as one would be inclined to think from their favorite pastimes. That was indeed not the case. Rather were they people of ordinary, philistine appearance, with thin shanks and pot-bellies, their only distinctive mark being their yellow noses, the same noses with which the year around they used to besniff and watch each other. And nobody indeed would have guessed from the more than commonplace and scanty semblance of their whole physical being that their nerves were like ropes, such as were absolutely required not only to view all along the grewsome sights offered to them by their authorities in the putting to a shameful and lingering death of scores and scores of felons and other poor wretches condemned by their councilmen, but actually to enjoy the sight. These cruel instincts of theirs were not apparent on their faces; they were hidden away in their hearts.
Thus they kept spread like a dense net their judiciary powers over the dominion subject to their fierce rule, always eager for a chance to apply it. And indeed nowhere were there such singular crimes to punish as in this same Ruechenstein. Their inventive gift was fairly inexhaustible. It seemed almost as though their talent for discovering ever new and hitherto unheard-of crimes acted as a spur on sinners to commit the latest delinquencies threatened with penalties of the severest type. However, if despite all this at any time there was a lack of evildoers, the people of the town knew how to help themselves. For then they simply caught and punished the rascals of other towns. And it was only a man with a clear conscience who had the hardihood to cross at any time the territory of Ruechenstein. For when they heard of a crime committed, even if done far away from their own area, they would seize and hold the first landloper that came along, put him to the torture and make him confess his guilt. Not infrequently it would happen that such enforced confession related to a crime that, as later turned out, had only been based on hearsay, and had really never been done. But then it was too late. The supposed malefactor had been hung in chains on the gallows or otherwise disposed of, and could not be brought to life again. Of course, it was unavoidable that because of this inclination of the people of Ruechenstein they would often get into a more or less acrimonious controversy with other towns whose citizens they had thus overzealously dispatched, and they even had constantly pending a number of such cases before the Swiss federal council, and had to be sharply reprimanded, but that did not cure them.
By preference the people of Ruechenstein liked calm, sunny, pleasant weather when indulging in their favorite amusement of holding penal executions, burnings at the stake, and forcible drownings, and that is why on fine summer days there was always something of the kind going on there. The wanderer in a far-off field might then, keeping his eyes fastened on the greyish rock buttress high up on the horizon, notice not infrequently the flashing of the headsman's sword, the smoke pillar of the stake, or in the bed of the river something like the glittering leaping of a fish, which would usually mean the bobbing up and down of a witch undergoing the solemn test. And the word of God on a Sunday they would not have relished at all without at least one erring lovers' couple with straw wreaths before the altar and without the reading out of some sharpened moral mandates.
Other festivals, processions and public pleasures there were none; all such were prohibited by numerous mandates or ordinances.
It may easily be supposed that a town of that stripe could have no more distasteful neighbors than Seldwyla, and behind their woods, too, they would forever think up new methods of interfering with and annoying them. Any Seldwylian whom they caught on their own soil was seized and tortured to get at the facts regarding the latest breach of the peace or any other misdemeanor charged upon their neighbor's score. And on their account, to get even, the Seldwyla people made fast every man of Ruechenstein and, on their public market square, administered to him six choice blows with the rod, on the spot which they deemed specially adapted for that purpose. This, though, was as far as they ever went, for they had a prejudice against bloody spectacles, and amongst themselves never indulged in corporal punishments. But in addition to this mild chastisement they would also blacken the long nose of the culprit, and then they would let him run home. That was why there always were in Ruechenstein several specially disgruntled persons with noses dyed black that but slowly were recovering their pristine hue, and these naturally were particularly zealous in trying to unearth miscreants that could be dealt with severely and subjected to castigation or torture.
The Seldwylians on their part kept this black paint constantly ready in a huge iron pot, and upon this was limned the Ruechenstein town escutcheon, and they denominated this pot the "friendly neighbor." This and the huge paint brush belonging to it was always suspended under the arch of the gate fronting towards Ruechenstein. When this tincture had dried up or been used up it was renewed and the occasion utilized to get up a frolicsome procession ending with a gay banquet, all with a view to rendering the neighbor ridiculous. And because of this at one time the latter became so wrathful that their whole town turned out, banners flying, to inflict punishment on the Seldwylians.
But these, informed of this intention, quickly issued forth and waylaid the Ruechenstein hosts, attacking them unawares. However, the Ruechensteiners had marching at the head of their column a dozen of graybearded and fierce-looking civic soldiers, with new ropes tied to the handles of their long swords, and these wore such an unholy mien as to scare the merry Seldwylian blades. The latter, in fact, began to back out, and they were on the point of losing the fight if a clever conceit had not saved them. For just for fun they had been carrying along the punitive pot of paint, etc., "the friendly neighbor," and instead of a banner the long paint brush. With quick intuition the bearer of the latter dipped his brush deeply into the dark liquid, bounded ahead of his comrades like a flash, and bedaubed the faces of the leading rank of foes a sable hue before these knew what he was about. So that all those in front, threatened immediately with this indelible paint, turned and fled, and that nobody of them all further felt like marching in the van of the host. With that the whole outfit began to sway, and a strange terror fell on them all, whereas the Seldwylians now, their courage restored, manfully went up against the men of Ruechenstein, pressing them back towards the rear, in the direction of their own town. With savage laughter the Seldwyla people took advantage of the occasion, and wherever their foes dared to defend themselves the dreaded paint brush came into instant action, handled with supreme skill by means of its long shaft, and in the mêlée there was indeed no lack of real heroism. For twice already the daring painters had been pierced by arrows and fallen to rise no more. But each time some other equally courageous fellow had sprung into the gap, and had treated the foe in the same ignominious manner.
In the end the Ruechensteiners were totally defeated, and they fled with their banner towards the clump of woods which led to their town, with the Seldwyla people on their heels. Barely were they able to find refuge in their town, and to close the gate thereof, and the latter, too, was painted all over by the pursuing foe with the black paint, together with its drawbridge, until the Ruechensteiners, somewhat recovered and collected again, threw potfuls of whitewash upon the heads of the uproarious painters.
But because a few Seldwylians of note who in the heat of combat had penetrated into the town and there been taken prisoner, and also about a dozen of the Ruechensteiners had likewise been seized and held by the victors, there was effected an armistice after the lapse of a few days. The prisoners were exchanged on both sides, and a regular peace was concluded, in which both sides gave way a bit. There had been fighting enough to suit them for a spell, and there was a desire for a mutual adjustment. So it came to pass that both sides made fair promises of future good behavior. The Seldwyla people bound themselves to give up the iron paint pot, and to abolish it forever, and the people of Ruechenstein solemnly relinquished all rights of seizure against Seldwylians out walking or strolling in the Ruechenstein territory, and all other privileges and prerogatives on either side were carefully weighed and mostly abolished.
To confirm this agreement a day was appointed, and as place of meeting was chosen the mountain clearing where the chief fight had occurred. From Ruechenstein came a few of the younger councilmen; for their elders had not succeeded in overcoming their strong feelings of reluctance to consort with their ancient foes on terms of quasi friendship. The Seldwyla people on their part showed up in goodly numbers, brought the "friendly neighbor," the heraldic paint pot, as well as a small cask of their choicest and oldest wine, grown on the municipal vineyards, with them, and also a number of their finest silver or gilt tankards and trenchers which belonged to their municipal treasure. In this way they nicely befooled the delegates from Ruechenstein, glad to escape for even a short spell the rigid regimen of their own town, and they were so charmed at this reception that they, instead of immediately returning after the consummation of their errand, allowed themselves to be inveigled in following the tempters to Seldwyla itself. There they were escorted to the town hall, where a grand feast was awaiting them. Beautiful ladies and maidens attended the occasion, and more and more tankards, beakers, and flagons were set up on the banqueting board, so that with the glitter and sheen of all this precious metal and the gleaming of all these bewitching eyes the poor Ruechensteiners clean forgot their original mission and became as gay as larks. They sang, since they knew no other tunes, one Latin psalm after another, while the Seldwylians on their part hummed wicked drinking songs, and finally they wound up in the midst of the noise by inviting their new Seldwyla friends to make a return visit to their own town, being most particular to include the Seldwyla ladies in the invitation, and promising them the most hospitable reception.
This invitation was accepted unanimously, amidst great enthusiasm on both sides, and when the delegates from Ruechenstein at last departed, they did so under the happiest auspices, smiling blissfully from all the choice wine under their belts, and deeming themselves conquerors of the handsome Seldwyla ladies besides, since a number of these, laughing and in rosy humor, gave them safe conduct as far as the gates of the city.
Of course, things took on a somewhat different hue when these jolly young councilmen of Ruechenstein on the following day awoke in their stern city and had to give an account of their stewardship and of the whole proceedings on the day previous. Little was wanting indeed, and they would have been incarcerated and subjected to ardent tests on the charge of having been bewitched. However, they themselves had also a right to speak with authority, and notwithstanding that the whole matter already seemed to them a mistake on their part, they nevertheless stuck to their bargain, and strongly represented to their elder colleagues that the very honor of the city demanded a resplendent reception of the Seldwylian folks. Their views gained acceptance among a section of the citizens, especially when they described the magnificent table silver that had been brought out to honor them, and when they spoke of the handsome Seldwyla ladies and their gracefulness and beautiful attire. The men were of opinion that such ostentatious hospitality must not go unrebuked and unrivaled, and that it was necessary to reciprocate at the coming return visit of their ancient foes by a display of their own wealth, jeweled and precious tableware glittering in their own iron safes aplenty. The women again were itching to circumvent on such a favorable occasion the strict decrees against too profuse finery from which they had been suffering so long, and under the guise of civic patriotism to make a gaudy display of all their hidden trinkets and gorgeous silks. For in their coffers and lockers there was slumbering enough of costly stuffs to outshine the Seldwyla ladies tenfold, they thought. If that had not been the case they would surely long ago have rebelled against the severe sumptuary decrees in vogue and brought the regiment in power to its fall. Therefore, everything considered, the promise made by the Ruechenstein emissaries was formally approved, to the great grief of the elder and sterner members of the council.
To offset this piece of laxity they were unable to hinder these latter, the graybeards of the city, resolved, however, to enjoy another kind of spectacle on their own account, and thus they began to make their arrangements to have an execution performed on the very day when the Seldwyla people were to dwell within their walls, and thus to dampen at least, so far as they could, the unseemly spirit of merriment which otherwise would go unchecked. And so while the younger members of the council were busy with their preparations for the feast, the others quietly made arrangements for another show after their own heart, and for that purpose they selected a young, fatherless boy who was just then caught in the net of their barbarous laws. It was a very handsome boy of eleven, whose parents had both been engulfed in the recent wars, and who was being educated and taken care of by the town. That is to say, he had been put to board with the parish beadle, a conscienceless and pitiless scoundrel, and there the little fellow--a slender, vigorous and well-formed child enough--had been treated just like a domestic animal, the wife aiding her husband in the task. The boy had been named Dietegen, and this his baptismal name was all he really owned in the world. It was his sole piece of property, his past and his future. He was dressed in rags, and had never even had a holiday garment, so that if it had not been for his good looks he would have presented a miserable appearance. He had to sweep and dust, and to do all the tasks that usually fall to a maid servant, and whenever the beadle's wife did not happen to have anything to do for him in her own house she lent him out to women neighbors for a trifle, there to do anything that might be asked of him. They all thought him, in spite of his strength and skill to do any work demanded of him, a stupid fellow, and this because he obeyed silently all the orders he received and because he never remonstrated. Yet it was the truth that none of the women was able to look him in his fiery eyes for long, and these eyes would often wander about as keen as an eagle's.
Now several days before Dietegen had been sent on an errand to the cooper in order to fetch some vinegar for a lettuce salad that his foster parents wanted to prepare. Their vinegar the couple had been keeping for a long time customarily in a small jug, and this was almost black with age and had always been deemed cheap tin, having been bought many years ago by the mother of the beadle's wife for a couple of pennies from a peddler. But in reality the little jug was of silver. The cooper of whom the vinegar was to be purchased dwelt rather far, in a lonesome place near the city wall. As now the boy came walking along with his small vessel, an ancient Hebrew came past him with his bag, and threw a rapid glance at the curiously fashioned little jug, and stopped the boy with the request to be allowed to examine this vessel more closely. Dietegen handed it to him, and the Jew quickly and secretly scratched the surface of the vessel with his thumb nail, offering then to the astonished boy a pretty crossbow in exchange, and this he produced at once out of a bag made of moth-eaten otterskin, with a few bolts to boot. Boy-like, Dietegen at once seized the weapon and relinquished his small jug to the Jew, who then at once disappeared. Rejoicing in his good fortune the boy now began to aim and shoot at the small gate of the near-by door of a tower, and without being at all disturbed he continued this enticing sport, forgetting everything else, until dusk came and then moonlight, improving his aim steadily, and shooting by the bright light of the orb.
Meanwhile the beadle had also made a last inspection tour around the inside of the town walls, and had met with and held the Jew with his bag. Examining the latter he had with amazement recognized his own vinegar jug, and questioning the Jew the latter, in fear of his own neck, owned at once that it was of silver, and pretended that a young boy had forced it on him in lieu of a fine crossbow. Now the beadle ran and consulted a goldsmith, who on testing the vessel likewise pronounced it fine pure silver and of rarest workmanship. Thereupon the beadle and his wife, the latter now having joined him, became exceedingly angry, not only because they had had, without knowing it, for so many years such a valuable piece of property, but also because they had almost lost it.
The world to them seemed to be full of the grossest wrong; the child now appeared to them as their archenemy who had almost cheated them out of their eternal reward, the reward for their infinite merits and frugality. They suddenly pretended to have known for a long time that the small jug was of silver, and that it had always been so considered in their house. Cursing him bitterly they clamorously charged the little fellow with larceny, and while he, entirely unconscious of all this, was still engaged with his crossbow practice, and was hitting his goal more and more often, two groups of searchers were already out looking for him. At the head of the one party was the beadle, while the woman, his wife, was heading the other. Thus they soon found him, still busily engaged with his bow and bolts, and unpleasantly wakened from his occupation when surrounded by the thief-takers. And now only he remembered his errand and at the same time the loss of the small vessel. But he believed he had made a good bargain, and handed the beadle smilingly his crossbow, in order to pacify him. Notwithstanding this he was instantly bound and gagged, carried off to jail, and then examined. He admitted at once having exchanged the little pitcher for the Jew's crossbow, and did not even attempt to defend himself.
The poor little child was condemned to the gallows, and the time of his death set for the very day when the Seldwylians were to visit the people of Ruechenstein.
And indeed they did appear on the appointed day, making a gorgeous procession, in luminous colors and rich finery, with their town trumpeter to lead them. They were, however, all armed with swords and daggers, although that did not hinder them from bringing along a dozen of their most fearless ladies. These rode in the centre of the cavalcade, charming and richly attired, and even a number of pretty children were with them, costumed in the colors of Seldwyla and bearing gifts.
The young councilmen of Ruechenstein, their new-won friends, rode out some little distance without the city gates to welcome them, and led them a bit crestfallen within. The strong entrance gate had had that ominous black paint scratched off as much as had been found feasible, had then been plentifully whitewashed and decorated with wreaths. But just within this gate the guests found the whole contingent of Ruechenstein's town mercenaries in rank and file, clad in full armor and looking like brawny warriors indeed. These escorted the guests, rattling and clanging in their iron harness, through the shady and rather dark streets, with fierce mien. The people of the town peered mute but curious out of their windows, as though their guests had been beings from another world. When one of the gay Seldwylians gazed upwards at the ladies leaning out of their windows, these would at once duck and disappear. Their menfolk, though, flattened the tips of their long noses against the greenish window panes, in order to observe as closely as possible the spectacle of bare female necks, such as the Seldwyla ladies offered.
Thus, then, the whole cavalcade finally reached the huge hall inside the town house, and that looked ornate but forbiddingly austere. Walls and ceiling were decorated entirely with black-tinted oak, here and there gilt. A long, long banqueting board was covered with beautiful linen, and woven into it were foliage, stags, huntsmen and dogs of green silk picked out with thin gold wire. Above this were further spread dainty napkins of snowy white damask, and these again on nearer sight exhibited patterns woven into them representing rather broadly joyous scenes from Roman and Greek mythology, such as would have been least expected in this grave concourse. Thickly grouped there stood on this festal table everything which at that time belonged to a gala meal, and what particularly claimed the attention of the Seldwyla observers was a number of truly magnificent pieces of tableware--some of them being in repoussé work, some round and some in relief, a glittering world of nymphs, fauns, nude demigods and heroes, with lovely feminine forms intermingled. Even the chief table ornament, a warship in solid silver, with sails spread and bellying in the breeze, otherwise very respectable and officially stiff, showed as its emblem a Galathea of the most opulent forms.
Along this table of enormous dimensions a number of the wives of councilors were slowly pacing to and fro, all of them dressed either in black or scarlet silks and satins, heavy lace covering bosom and neck up to the very chin. They did wear many gold chains, girdles and caps, encrusted with jewels in many cases, and on their fingers they had, over their gloves, priceless rings. And these ladies were not ugly to look at, but rather in most instances handsome and of regular features; many of them, too, showed a delicate complexion and their pretty oval cheeks were rosy. But nearly all had an unpleasant glance, severe and sour, so that it seemed doubtful whether they had ever smiled in their lives, save perhaps at nighttime after fooling their gullible husbands.
The mutual introductions were therefore not very cordial, and everybody seemed indeed glad when this ceremony was over and guests and hosts both sat down at table and the feelings of embarrassment could be concealed by the engrossing charms of eating and drinking. The Seldwylians were the first to recover their natural equanimity, and then there could be heard among them frequent outbursts of hilarity as they admired the dazzling table trappings. That indeed was to the liking of their hosts, and they were just on the point of starting a formal conversation on that topic, when the matter took a turn wholly unexpected by them. For the Seldwyla people, accustomed always to use their eyes, had quickly discovered the amorous and graceful topics which the weaver's art had embodied in the woof of this linen and the goldsmith's in the silver and goldware so liberally displayed before their eyes. After allowing, therefore, their ribald glances to dwell with a close scrutiny on the lustful scenes depicted here, many Seldwylians called the attention of their neighbors to it all, all smiles and good humor, and interpreted the true meaning of the scene in each instance, often naming Ovid or some other heathen author as the original source. Even the Seldwyla ladies did not refrain, but shared in this amusement of their husbands. The hosts at first were slow to understand this and were inclined to think it one of the childish tricks for which they were forever blaming their merry neighbors of Seldwyla, but as they finally likewise bent their glances on the things occasioning the outbursts of their guests, they were as though smitten with palsy. For it had never entered their minds before to look with attention at these table appointments, and had merely accepted, when ordered by them, the exquisite products of the loom or of the goldsmith's skill as finished ware without ever bothering their heads further about it, and nothing had been further from them than to cast critical glances at the subjects represented by these artisans, and it was thus reserved for their gay guests from Seldwyla to sharpen their vision so to speak. Now when looking closer and closer, they perceived what pagan horrors they had chosen to ornament their own board with, and they were struck dumb with painful amazement. But what irked them still more was what they deemed the lack of tact and decorum on the part of their guests who, instead of purposely overlooking such an involuntary blunder of their hosts actually magnified it and drew it into the full glare of publicity. According to their way of thinking what the Seldwylians ought to have done under these peculiar circumstances was to praise and pay attention to the costliness of the stuff out of which these implements had been fashioned, and not to go beyond that. The Ruechensteiner grandees now were obliged to smile with faces as sour as vinegar when a Seldwylian neighbor would call their attention to an exquisitely wrought silver Leda and the Swan, or to a Europa on the back of her bull. Their wives, however, showed their displeasure more openly, blushed and paled by turns with wrath, and were just on the point of demonstratively leaving the banquet when the mournful sound of a bell quickly reassured them. For it was the poor sinners' bell of Ruechenstein. A dull and confused din in the streets gave notice that young Dietegen was now being led to his shameful death. All the company rose from the table, and hastened to the windows, the Ruechensteiners purposely making room for their guests to enable these to view the sad spectacle plainly, while they themselves stood in the rear, an insidious grin on their sallow features.
A priest, a hangman with his helper, some court officials, and a few armed attendants of the council went slowly past, and at their head walked Dietegen, barefooted and clad only in a white, black-edged delinquent shift, his hands tied in the back, and led by the hangman at a rope. His golden hair fell in a shower down his white neck, and confused and appealingly he looked aloft at the houses which he passed. Under the portal of the town hall stood the boys and girls from Seldwyla, who had, after the manner of children, left the table and the weary banquet, and had hastened into the open air. When the pitiful delinquent saw these pretty and happy children, the like he had never yet perceived before, he wanted to stop a moment and talk to them, while tears were streaming down his pale cheeks. But the executioner roughly pushed him on, so that the train passed on and had soon disappeared from view. The Seldwyla ladies lost color when they watched this scene, and their men were seized with a deep dismay, since they at no time loved to see sights of this kind. They felt out of spirits and not at home with their hosts after such an exhibition, and thus they soon yielded to the urging of their womenfolk, and as politely as they could took leave of their grim hosts. The people of Ruechenstein, on the other hand, were satisfied with the triumph they had scored against their volatile guests, and thereby rendered almost complaisant towards them, so that both sides parted amicably. The hosts even escorted their honored guests, as they put it, to the town gate, and were talkative, gallant towards the ladies, and courteous.
Outside the gate the Seldwyla cavalcade met the small group of hangmen and their assistants, who passed them morosely. Behind them there came a single helper pushing a small cart whereon lay, in a plain pine coffin, the young delinquent's body. Shy and bitten with curiosity to watch this number of brilliantly attired persons, this fellow stopped for a moment, and turned aside, in order to let the procession file past him. He was placing the loose lid of the bier in its proper place, it having almost slid off and exposed the sight of the hanged.
Among the children of Seldwyla there was a seven-year-old maid, bold, pretty and curly, who had never ceased to weep since seeing the poor boy being led to the gallows, and refused to be consoled. And as the train of Seldwylians now slowly swept on, the child at the moment she came up with the cart and coffin, quickly sprang towards it, stood on its large wheel, and threw off the lid, so that the lifeless Dietegen lay exposed to view. At that moment he opened his eyes and drew a breath. For in the confusion of that day he had not been hanged according to traditional rules, and had been taken off the gallows too early, because his executioners were in a great hurry in the hope of returning to town in time to get some of the remnants of the feast. The bold little girl loudly exclaimed, "He is still alive! He is still alive!"
At once the women of Seldwyla surrounded the bier, and when they saw indeed the handsome pale boy move about and give signs of life, they took possession of him, removed him from the cart, and fully recalled him to this world by rubbing his stiffened joints, sprinkling him with water, making him swallow some wine, and using all their endeavors in other ways. The men indeed also gave their assistance, while the gentlemen of Ruechenstein stood by dazedly, and did not know what to say or do. When at last the boy again stood on his own feet, and gazed about him as though he had waked in paradise, he suddenly caught a glimpse of the hangman's assistant, and quite astounded that he, too, as he thought, had gone to heaven, he fled and squeezed in among the crowd of women. Touched and moved to tears, they begged with great earnestness of their stern neighbors to pardon the boy and to make them a gift of him, as a token of their new friendship. Their husbands joined in this petition, and finally, after a brief consultation amongst themselves, the Ruechensteiners yielded assent, saying that henceforth the youthful sinner was to be theirs. On this the pretty Seldwyla ladies and their young children rejoiced abundantly, and Dietegen went along with them just as he was, in his poor delinquent's shift.
It happened to be a fine mild summer evening, wherefore the Seldwyla folks, as soon as they had reached the crest of the mountain and therewith also their own territory, resolved to amuse themselves here in this delightful grove, on their own account, and to recover from the frightful experience on their neighbors' ground. And this all the more because there now approached a numerous reënforcement from Seldwyla itself, full of curiosity to learn what their luck had been in Ruechenstein. Thus it came to pass that the musicians had to intone a merry tune and next a dance, and the goblets and tankards were filled with the wine they had brought along, and then circulated quite rapidly.
During all these scenes Dietegen let his eyes roam all around, and all who saw him perceived clearly that he was indeed nothing worse than an innocent and harmless child, a notion which his tale, when asked to state the facts, amply confirmed. The Seldwyla women could hardly get their fill of the sight, wove a wreath of wildflowers for him, and placed it on his young head, so that in his long and ample shift he looked almost like a little saint. He won their hearts, and at last they kissed him to their full content, and when he had thus passed through the concourse of rivaling femininity they began anew with their kissing.
But the little girl who really had saved Dietegen from a horrible and premature death did not at all approve of this proceeding. Quite wroth she suddenly placed herself between the boy and the woman who just that moment was on the point of kissing him, and took him by the hand, leading him to a group of other children. Then the whole company burst out laughing, saying: "That is quite right. Little Kuengolt clings to her property! And she has taste likewise. Only see how well she and the boy look alongside of each other!"
Kuengolt's father, however, the chief forester of the town, remarked: "I like the looks of that boy. He has eyes that speak truth and good sense. If you gentlemen have no objection, I will take him along for the time being, since I have but one child, and I will try and make an honest huntsman out of him."
This proposal met the unanimous approval of the Seldwylians, and thus Kuengolt, well contented, did not let the boy's hand slip out of her fingers more, but kept tight hold of it. And indeed, these two did make a very comely pair. The little girl also wore a wreath on her head and was clad in green and red, the town's colors. Hence they went at the head of the whole merry procession like a picture from fairyland, in the midst of the gay townspeople. And thus they all in the glow of sunset poured down the mountain side on their way homewards. Soon, however, the chief forester separated from the procession and went on with the children on side paths to his cosy residence, which lay not far from the city itself in the forest. A double row of tall trees led to the main entrance, and there the demure wife of the forester sat now, and saw with amazement the approach of the two children.
The household servants also gathered, and while the wife gave the two hungry children an abundant supper her husband related in detail the adventures of the boy. The latter was now completely exhausted, and with that he felt cold in his flimsy costume, and hence the question was put who would share overnight his bed with him. But the servant maids as well as the men anxiously avoided to answer. They dreaded as unlucky and impious close touch with any one who had just been hanging from the gallows. But Kuengolt cried: "Let him share my bed. It is large enough for both of us."
And when everybody was laughing at this, her mother said pleasantly: "You are quite right, my little daughter." And looking closely at the boy she added: "From the very first moment I saw the poor little chap enter the door a strange foreboding crept over me, as though a good angel were coming who will yet bring us a blessing. That much is certain, according to my idea: he will not be of evil to us all!"
With that she took the two children into the adjoining bedchamber, next to the large one, and put them to bed. Dietegen, who was so sleepy that he scarcely noticed what was going on around him, instinctively went through the motions for disrobing. But since he was already, in a manner of speaking, in his shirt, his drowsy motions made such a ludicrous impression, especially upon the little girl, that she, already under her blanket, could not help screaming with mirth: "Oh, just watch the comical shirtmannikin! He is always trying to take off his spenser and boots, and yet he hasn't any!" Her mother, too, had to smile and said to the boy: "In God's name, go to bed in your poor sinner's shift! My poor boy, that shift is quite new and really of good linen. Truly, these wicked people of Ruechenstein at least do their atrocities with a certain amount of decency."
In saying which she wrapped the two little ones up well in their blankets, and could not forbear to kiss both of them, so that Dietegen was really better off than he had ever been in his whole life. But his eyes were already tightly closed and his soul in deep sleep. "But now he has not said his prayers at all," whispered Kuengolt in sorrow. Her mother replied: "Then you will do it for both of you, my little daughter!" and left the two. And indeed, the girl now said the Lord's prayer twice, once for herself, once for her new bedfellow. And then quiet reigned in the little chamber.
Some time after midnight Dietegen woke up, because only now his neck had begun to pain him from the unfriendly rope of the hangman. The chamber was flooded with moonlight, but he was perfectly unable to recall where he was and how he had come there. Merely this he was conscious of, that he aside from his sore throat, was far better of! than ever before in his young life. The window stood open, a spring outside murmured softly, and the silver night blew whisperingly through the tree tops; over them all the moon shone in gentle radiance. All this to him was wondrous, since he had never before seen the solitude of the forest, neither by day nor by night. He gazed sleepily, he listened, and finally he assumed a sitting posture. Then he perceived next to him on the couch little Kuengolt, the moon's beams playing right over her small face. She lay still, but was broad awake, since excitement and joy would not let her sleep. Because of that her eyes were opened to their full extent, and her mouth was smiling when Dietegen peered into her face.
"Why don't you sleep? You ought to sleep," said the girl. But he then complained of the pain at his throat. At once little Kuengolt weaved her tender arms around his neck and full of pity put her own cheeks against his. And really it soon seemed to him that his pain subsided under such sympathetic treatment. And then they began to chat in a low voice. Dietegen was asked to tell about himself. But he was reticent because there was not much to tell that was pleasant, and about the misery of his childhood he also was not able to say a great deal, since no contrasts were within his ken, with the single exception of that evening. Suddenly, however, he recalled his pleasant sport with the crossbow, which had slipped his mind before, and so he told the little girl all about the Jew, and how that one had been the cause of his imprisonment and unjust sentence, but also about how he had taken great delight in shooting with the crossbow, for over an hour, and how he now longed for just such a weapon.
"My father has crossbows and weapons of every type in plenty," commented Kuengolt breathlessly. "And you may start in to-morrow and shoot all you wish."
And then she set out to tell him about all the nice things in the house, and she included in these her own pretty knicknacks, locked up in a casket, especially two golden "rainbow" keys, a necklace of amber, a volume full of holy legends, illustrated with pictures showing saints in their beautiful vestments, and also a multicolored medallion in which sat a Mother of God clad in gold brocade and vermilion silk, and covered with a tiny round glass. Also, she enumerated further, she owned a silver-gilt spoon, with a quaintly turned handle, but with that she would be permitted to eat only when she was grown up and had a husband of her own. And when it came to her wedding she would get the bridal jewelry of her mother, together with her blue brocade dress, which was so thick and heavy that it stood up without any one being inside of it. Then she kept still a short while, but pressing her bedfellow more closely against her heart, she said in a very low voice: "Listen, Dietegen!"
"Well, what is it?" he answered.
"You must be my husband when we are big. For you belong to me. Will you, of your own free will?"
"Why, yes," he replied.
"Then you must shake hands on it," she remarked, in a peremptory voice. He did so, and after this binding promise the two children finally fell asleep and did not wake till the sun stood high in the heavens. For the kind mother had purposely refrained from rousing them, so that the poor boy should have a thorough rest.
But now at last she cautiously crept into the little chamber, bearing on her arm a complete boy's suit of clothing. Two years before her own son had been killed by the fall of an oak tree, and the clothes of this boy of hers, although he had been Dietegen's senior by a whole year, were likely to fit him, since he was just his size. And it was her lost boy's holiday attire, which in a saddened spirit she had preserved. Therefore she had risen with the sun, in order to remove from the doublet some gay ribbons ornamenting it, and to sew up the slits in the sleeves which let the silk lining peep forth. Her tears had flown anew in doing this labor, when she saw the scarlet silken lining that glinted from below the black jerkin gradually disappear from view, as jocund spring vanished in sorrow, and become of a piece with the black trunks. The tears were shed because of the death of her own dear boy, but a sweet consolation tinctured her soul since Fate now had sent her such a handsome, lovable little fellow, one who had been snatched, so to speak, out of Death's hard grasp, and whom she now could clothe in the habiliments of her own son. And it was not from haste or fear of the task that she left the gay silken lining under the sable outer covering, but on purpose, as the hidden fire of affection in her bosom moved her. For she was of those who mean better by their familiars than they dare show openly. If the new boy proved worthy of it, she vowed to herself, she would open the seams of the slits again, for his joy and pride. Anyway, on workadays Dietegen was to wear this suit but for a few days, until one of stronger and more suitable material should have been made for him to measure by the tailor, one that he could expose to rough usage during his ordinary occupations. But while she instructed the boy how to put on this fine suit of a kind to which he was quite unused, little Kuengolt had slipped out of bed, and in a spirit of childish mischief had got hold of the gallows shift, which she now put on and was stalking gravely in about the room, trailing its tail behind her on the floor. With that she kept her little hands folded behind her, as though they were tied by the hangman. Then she sang aloud: "I am a miserable sinner now, and even lack my hose, I trow." At this the kindly woman fell into a great affright, grew deadly pale, and said in a low, soft voice: "For our Savior's sake, who is teaching you such wicked jokes, my child?" And she seized the ominous shift from the little girl's hands, who smiled at this, but Dietegen took it, being wroth at the scene, and tore it into a score of pieces.
Now that the two children were dressed they were taken along for breakfast in the adjoining room. Early in the morning bread had been baked, and with the milk soup the little ones received each a fresh loaf of cummin seed bread, and in place of the one sweet roll which on ordinary days was specially baked for Kuengolt, there were two that day, and the little girl would have it that the boy received the larger of them. Dietegen ate without urging all that was offered him, just as though he had returned to his father's house after an enforced stay with evil strangers. But he was very still throughout, and he keenly observed everything around him: the pleasant mild woman who treated him like her own son, the sunny, light room, and the comfortable furniture with which it was fitted up. And after having eaten his breakfast with a good appetite, he continued these observations, noticing that the walls were wainscoted with smooth pine, and higher up decorated with painted wreaths and flowers, and that the leaded window panes showed the arms both of husband and wife. When he also carefully inspected the handsome closets and the sideboard with its load of shining vessels and tableware, he suddenly remembered the dingy silver jug that had almost brought him to his death, and the cheerless house of the beadle in Ruechenstein, and then, afraid that he should have to return there again, he asked with a tremor in his voice: "Must I now return home? But I don't know the way."
"There is no need of your knowing it," said the housewife, moved by his evident dread, and she stroked his smooth chin. "Have you not yet noticed that you are to remain with us? Go along with him now, my little Kuengolt, and show him the house and the woods, and everything else. But do not go too far away!"
Then Kuengolt took the boy by the hand, and first led him into the forester's armory where he kept his weapons. And there hung seven magnificent crossbows and arquebuses, and spears and javelins for the chase, hangers and dirks, and also the long sword of the master of the house which stood in the corner by itself. Dietegen examined all this, silently but with gleaming eyes, and Kuengolt mounted a chair to take down several of the finest crossbows from the wall, which she handed him so that he could look them over more at leisure, and he was delighted with these, for they showed ornaments inlaid in ivory or mother-of-pearl, daintily done by some expert artisan. The boy admired it all, in a silent sort of ecstasy, about as would a rather talented prentice in the studio of a great master painter while the latter might be absent from home. But Kuengolt's quick proposal to have him try his marksmanship outside in a meadow could not be realized at the time, because the bolts and arrows were locked away in a separate receptacle. But to make up for that she gave him a fine hunting spear to hold so that he should have a weapon of some kind to take along into the greenwoods. Near the house she showed him a hedged-in space full of deer and game, in which the town constantly kept its reserve of stock, so that at no time there should be lack of venison and other fine roasts for public or private banquets. The girl coaxed several roes and stags to come to her at the hedge, and this was astonishing to Dietegen, for so far he had seen such animals only when dead. With his spear, therefore, he stood attentive, his eyes fixed on these pretty denizens of the woods, and could not get his fill of watching them. Eagerly he held out his hand to fondle a finely antlered stag, and when the latter shyly bounded aside and leisurely trotted off, the boy scurried after him with a joyous halloo, and ran and jumped with the animal around in a wide circle. It was perhaps the first time in his life that he could use his young limbs in this way, and when he felt how his tendons stretched with the violent exercise and how he was able to race with the swift stag, the latter apparently taking as much pleasure in the sport as Dietegen himself, a feeling of untried strength and agility first woke within him.
But as they later on stepped into the domain of the deep forest, high up on the hill, the boy resumed once more his usual air of thoughtful quiet and deliberation. Up there mighty trees grew closer together, leaving hardly a fragment of sky to discover from below--tall pine and gnarled oak, spreading lindens, beeches, maple and spruce, all growing in a semidarkness where the sunlight seldom pierced. Red squirrels glided spectrelike from trunk to trunk, woodpeckers hammered incessantly for their fare, high up birds of prey shrilly pursued their quarry in the open, and a thousand forest mysteries were dimly at work. Below, in the dense underbrush, hares and foxes, deer and smaller game were waging war, and song birds twittered or warbled in a chorus of multiform sound. Kuengolt laughed and laughed because the boy knew nothing of all these secret doings in the forest, although he had grown up in a mountain fastness surrounded by the very life of the woods, but she at once began to explain to him these things of which he was so profoundly ignorant. She showed him the hawk and his nest, the cuckoo in his retreat, and the gay-clad woodpecker as he was just clambering up a thick trunk with bark promising him rich harvest. And about all these things he was highly amazed, and wondered that trees and bushes should bear so many names, and that each should differ from the next. For he had not even known the hazelnut bush or the whortleberry in their haunts. They came to a rushing brook, and disturbed by their steps, a snake made off into the water, and the girl seized the spear in the boy's hand and wanted to stick it into the rocky nook. But when Dietegen saw that she was going to blunt or break the edge of the finely tempered weapon, he at once took it out of her fingers, saying that she might damage the spear.
"That is well done," suddenly came the voice of the chief forester, his patron; "you will prove a help to me." With a gamekeeper he stood behind the two children. For the noise of the rushing water had drowned in their ears all other noise. The gamekeeper bore in his hand a woodcock, just shot, for the two had gone forth early in the morning. Dietegen was permitted to hang the stately bird to the tip of his spear, flinging it over his shoulder, so that the spread wings of the bird enveloped him, and the forester gazed with approval upon the handsome youngster, and made up his mind to make an all-around woodsman of him.
Just now, though, he was to learn somewhat the difficult arts of reading and writing, and for that purpose was obliged to walk every day to town with the little girl; there in a convent and in a monastery the two were taught as much of these mysteries as seemed good for them. But his chief lessons Dietegen had from the little girl herself when coming and going from town, Kuengolt delighting in informing him as to all that was going on in the world, so far at least as she herself knew, and more particularly as to the ordinary things of life, as to which Dietegen had been left in deplorable ignorance by his former taskmaster, the beadle.
But the little instructress was in her way a ruthless practical joker, and followed a unique method of her own in teaching the boy. She exaggerated, distorted or plainly misstated the facts as to most things in talking to her pupil, and abused grossly the credulity and trustfulness of the boy, merely for her amusement, and she did this as to most things. In this she showed a wonderful gift of invention, an exuberant fancy of the rarest. When Dietegen then had accepted her fictions, and would perhaps express his wonder at them, she would shame him with the cool statement that not a single word had been true. She would scornfully blame him for believing such palpable untruths, and then, with a show of infinite wisdom, she would tell him the real facts. Then he would redden under her sarcastic remarks, and would endeavor to avoid her pitfalls, but only until she saw fit to make sport of him once more. However, in the course of time Dietegen's powers of judging facts began to widen, and he ceased to be so gullible, and this another boy who attempted to emulate Kuengolt's example found out to his sorrow. For Dietegen simply slapped his face when he came out with a particularly outrageous whopper.
Kuengolt, rather taken aback at witnessing this castigation, was curious to ascertain whether this wrath under given circumstances would also turn against herself. She made a test on the spot, feeding him with some of her choicest fairy tales. But from her he accepted everything without a murmur, and so she continued her peculiar method of instruction. At last, though, she discovered that he had acquired enough independence of thought and a large enough stock of knowledge to enable him to play with her himself. He would answer her inventions with counterinventions, and would argue from her nonsensical statements in such shrewd fashion as to turn her first doctrines into ridicule, and he would do this in perfect good-nature, proving the untenableness of her own theories. Then she came to the conclusion that it was time to give up her nonsense. But in place of that amusement she now indulged in another. Namely, she began to tyrannize over him most unmercifully. It grew so that it was almost worse than things had been with the beadle's wife. His servitude was deplorable. She made him fetch and carry during all his spare time. He had to haul and hoist and labor for her in a truly ridiculous manner. She constantly required his presence about her; he had to bring her water, shake the trees, dig in the garden, crack open nuts after getting them for her, hold her little basket, and even to brush and comb her hair she wanted to train him--only that is where he drew a line. But then he was scolded by her for refusing this, and when her mother took sides against her she became quite obstreperous with the latter as well.
But Dietegen did not pay her back in her own coin, never lost his patience with her, and was always equally submissive and indulgent with her. Her mother saw that with vast pleasure, and to reward him for his fine conduct she treated the boy like her own son, and gave him all those finer hints and that almost imperceptible guidance and advice which else are only saved for children of one's own, and by means of which children finally acquire without knowing it those habits and better manners which are commonly comprised under the name of a careful education. Of course, she herself gained in a way from this; for her own daughter thus acquired unconsciously many of her lessons, Dietegen being there as a sort of mirror of what was expected of her. Truly, it was almost comical how little Kuengolt in her restless temperament veered and shifted constantly between imitating her better model or else becoming jealous and wroth and scorning it for the time. On one occasion she became so excited as to stab at him with all her might with a sharp pair of scissors. But Dietegen caught her wrist quickly, and without hurting her or showing any anger he made her drop them. This little scene which her mother had espied from a hiding-place, moved the latter so strongly that she came forth, took the boy in her arms, and kissed him. Pale and excited the girl herself left the room with out a word. "Go, follow her, my son," whispered the mother, "and reconcile her. You are her good angel."
Dietegen did as bidden. He found her behind the house and under a lilac bush. She was weeping wildly and tearing her amber necklace, trying, in fact, to throttle herself by means of it, and stamping on the scattered beads on the ground. When Dietegen approached her and wanted to seize her hands, she cried with a great sob: "Nobody but I may kiss you. For you belong to me alone. You are mine, my property. I alone have freed you from that horrid coffin, in which without me you would have remained forever."
As the boy grew up marvelously, becoming handsomer and more manly with every day, the forester declared at breakfast one morning that the time was now ripe to take him along into the woods and let him learn the difficult craft of the huntsman. Thus he was taken from the side of Kuengolt, and spent now all his time, from dawn until nightfall, with the men, in forest, moor and heath. And now indeed his limbs began to stretch that it was a pleasure to watch him. Swift and limber like a stag, he obeyed each word or hint, and ran whither he was sent. Silent and docile, he was forever where wanted; carried weapons and tackle, gear and utensils, helped spread the nets, leaped across trenches and morass, and spied out the whereabouts of the game. Soon he knew the tracks of all the animals, knew how to imitate the call of the birds, and before any one expected it, he had a young wildboar run into his spear. Now, too, the forester gave him a crossbow. With it he was every day, every hour almost, exercising his skill, aiming at the target, shooting at living objects as well. In a word, when Dietegen was but sixteen, he was already an expert woodsman who might be placed anywhere, and it would happen now and then that his patron sent him out with a number of his men to guard the municipal woods and head the chase.
Dietegen, therefore, might be seen not alone with the crossbow on his back, but also with pen and ink-horn in his girdle upon the mountain side, and with his keen watchful eyes and his unfailing memory he was a great help to his fosterfather. And since with every day he became more reliable and useful, the master forester learned to love him better all along, and used to say that the boy must in the end become a full-fledged, an honorable and martial citizen.
It could under these circumstances not be otherwise than that Dietegen on his part was devoted soul and body to the forester. For there is no attachment like that of the youth for the mature man of whom he knows that he is doing his best to teach him all the secrets of his craft, and whom he holds to be his unapproached model.
The chief forester was a man of about forty; tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and of handsome appearance and noble carriage. His hair of golden sheen was already lightly sprinkled with silver, but his complexion was ruddy, and his blue eyes shone frank, open and full of fire. In his younger days, too, he had been among the wildest and merriest of Seldwyla's choice spirits, and many were the quaint and original quips he had perpetrated at that time of his life. But when he had won his young wife, he altered instantly, and since then he had been the soberest and the most sensible man in the world. For his dear wife was of a most delicate habit, and of a kindness of heart that could not defend itself, and although by no means without a spirit and a wit of her own, she would have been unable to meet unkindness with a sharp tongue. A wife of ready wit and pugnacity would probably have spurred this naturally sprightly man on to further doings, but in contest with the graceful feebleness of this delicate wife of his he behaved like the truly strong. He watched over her as over the apple of his eye, did only those things which gave her pleasure, and after his busy day's work remained gladly at his own hearth.
At the most important festivities of the town only, three or four times a year, he went among the councilmen and other citizens, led them with his fresh vigor in deliberation and at the festive board, and after drinking one after the other of the great guzzlers under the table, he would, as the last of the doughty champions, rise upright from his seat, stride quietly out of the council chamber, and then with a jolly smile walk uphill to his forest home.
But the chief comedy would always come the next day. For then he would waken, after all, with a head that hummed like a beehive, and then he would rouse himself fully, half morosely, half with a leonine jovial humor that indeed had the dimensions of a lion when compared with the proverbial distemper of the average toper. Early he would then show up at breakfast, the sun shining with strength upon his naked scalp, and ignoring his symptoms, he would jest and make fun of himself and his achievements of the previous night. His wife, then, always hungering after her husband's humor, he being usually rather reticent, would then answer his sallies with a merry laughter, so bell-like and wholesouled as one would never have suspected in a being so demure as she. His children would laugh, also his gamekeepers and huntsmen, and lastly his servants. And in that way the whole day would pass. Everything that day would be done with a bright smile and a salvo of hearty laughter. And always the chief forester leading them all, handling his axe, lifting heavy weights, doing the work of three ordinary men. On such a day it was once that fire broke out in the town. High above burning roofs a poor old woman, in her frail wooden balcony, forgotten and disregarded, was shrilly crying and moaning for help from a fiery death, and above her shoulder her tame starling went through the drollest of antics, likewise claiming attention. Nobody could think of a way to save mistress and bird. The flames came nearer and ever nearer. But our chief forester climbed up to a protruding coping on a high wall facing the old woman's nook, a spot where he stood like a rock. Then with herculean strength he pulled up a long ladder to him, turned it over and balanced it neatly until it touched the window where the old hag was struggling for breath. He placed it securely within the opening, on the sill, and then he strode across it, firm and unafraid, back and forth, carrying the ancient woman safely across his shoulder, and the stuttering starling on his head, the greedily licking flames and the swirling clouds of smoke beneath his feet. And all this he did, not by any means in a heroic pose, as something dangerous or praiseworthy, but as though it were a harmless joke, smiling and laughing.
After a solid piece of work of that kind he would feast with his family in jolly style, dishing up the best the house afforded. And at such times he always was particularly tender to his wife, taking her on his knee, to the great amusement of the children, and dubbing her his "little whitebird," and his "swallow," and she, her arms clasped in pleasurable self-forgetfulness, would laughingly watch his antics.
On a day like that, too, he once arranged for a dance, it being the first of May. He had a musician fetched from town, and got likewise some merry young folks to increase the sport. And there was dancing aplenty on the smooth greensward in front of the house, right under the blooming trees, and dainty dancing it was. The chief forester opened the merriment with his smiling young wife, she in her modest finery and with her girlish shape. As they made the first steps, she looked over her shoulder at the youngsters, happy as could be, and tipping her foot on the green sod, impatient to be off. Just then Dietegen, who for much of the time past had kept to the men entirely, threw a glance at Kuengolt, and lo! he saw that she also was growing up to be a handsome woman, as pretty a picture as her mother. Her features indeed strongly resembled those of her mother, small, regular and charming. But in her figure she took more after her father, for she was trimly built like a straight young pine, and although but fourteen her bosom was already rounded like that of a grown-up damsel. Golden curls fell in a shower down her back and hid the somewhat angular shoulderblades. She was clad all in green, wore around her neck her amber beads, and on her head, according to the fashion of those days, a wreath of rosebuds. Her eyes shone pleasantly and frankly from a guileless face, but once in a while they would flash wilfully and glide casually over the row of youths whose eyes hung on her youthful beauty, with a slightly critical bent, and at last rest for an instant on Dietegen, then turn away again. Dietegen looked as though hungering for recognition, but she only once more glanced back at him. But that glance seemed to have somewhat embarrassed her, for she stopped to arrange her hair, while he flushed deeply.
That indeed was the first time when they two felt they were no longer mere children. But a few minutes later they met and found themselves partners in a country dance, hand in hand. A new and sweet sensation pulsed through his veins, and this remained even after the ring of dancers had again been broken.
Kuengolt, however, had still the same feeling regarding him; she looked upon the youth as upon something all her own, as something belonging to her, and of which, therefore, one may be sure and need not guard closely. Only once in a while she would send a spying glance in his direction, and when accident would bring him into the close neighborhood of another maiden, there would also be Kuengolt watching him.
Thus innocent pleasure reigned until an advanced hour of the evening. The young people became as sprightly as new-fledged wood pigeons, and soon even excelled in their merry humor their bounteous host, and the latter on his part delighted to pleasure his amiable young wife, while soberly encouraging his youthful guests in amusing themselves. She, the wife, was serene and happy as sunlight in springtime. And she even became playful enough to call her brawny husband by intimate nicknames.
But harmless and decorous as all this was, it may be that the citizens of other towns where merriment was not the natural birthright, as in the case of the Seldwylians, would have deemed it a trifle beyond the proper limits. The spiced May wine which was served the guests had been mingled in its elements according to ancient usage, but just as in their joy itself there was a bit too much license, so also there was a trifle too much honey in the drink. The hands of the young girls lay perhaps somewhat too frequently upon the shoulders of the youths, and now and then, without meaning any harm, a couple would quickly kiss and part, and this without playing at blind man's buff, as do the philistines of our days under similar conditions. In short, what these young people of Seldwyla lacked in their diversion was the gift of attracting without seeming to; but with this gift, on the other hand, Dietegen, as a regulation Ruechensteiner, was plentifully endowed. For although he was already in love, he fled like fire from the fondling and caressing which with these Seldwyla couples was by now rather freely indulged in, and preferred to keep himself out of the danger line. All the bolder and provoking was Kuengolt who, in her childish ignorance and after the manner of half-grown girls, did not know how to control her affections, and who went to look up the frigid youth. She discovered him seated in the shadow of a group of darksome trees, and sat down beside him, seizing his hand and playfully twining his fingers. When he submitted to that and even, gently and almost in a fatherly way, spun her ringlets in his palm, the girl at once put her arms around his neck and caressed him with the innocence but also with the abandon of a child, whereas in truth it was already the maiden that spoke out of her. Dietegen, however, no longer a child, essayed to use his maturer judgment for both of them, and thus was strenuously trying to loosen her hold on him, when his fostermother, the chief forester's wife, came joyously running up to the bench, and noticed with particular pleasure how matters stood apparently.
"That is right," she cried, "that you, too, are of accord," and she embraced them both tightly. "I hope and trust, my dearest daughter, that you will love and cherish Dietegen with all your might. He is deserving indeed, my child, that he not only has found a new home in our house, but that you, too, will give him a home in your little heart. And you, dear Dietegen, will, I know, at all times be a true and faithful protector and guardian to my little Kuengolt. Never leave her out of your sight, for your eyes are keen and observant."
"He is nobody's but mine, and has been for long," said Kuengolt to this, and she kissed him boldly and lightly upon the cheek, half like a bride and half as a child caresses a kitten which belongs to it. But now the situation for the poor bashful youth, thus hemmed in between mother and daughter, became unbearable, and he flushed and awkwardly loosened their combined hold of him, stepping back a few paces to escape their blandishments. But Kuengolt, in her wilful mood, pursued him laughing, and when in his retreat from her he came into close proximity to the pretty mother, the latter jestingly caught him by the arm, saying: "Here he is, my little daughter, now come and hold him fast."
When thus entrapped anew by them, his heart beat excitedly, and while finding himself thus wooed, so to speak, by both feminine tempters, he at the same time felt intensely his lonesome condition in the world. The odd conceit overcame him that he was a lost soul shaken from the tree of life, which while cherished by soft hands, was nevertheless to be forever deprived of its own existence and individuality, a state of mind which with callow youths thus beset may be more frequent than commonly supposed. Therefore, a prey to two conflicting emotions equally powerful, of which one necessarily excluded the other, his strong sense of personal freedom struggling within his breast with the new-born sentiment of tender regard, he stood mute and trembling, half in rebellion against the sudden intimate aggression of the two women, and half strongly inclined to draw the young girl into his arms and to overwhelm her with caresses. His Ruechenstein blood was against him. While he loved the mother with a wholesouled and most grateful devotion, her thoughtless encouragement of him to play a lover's part towards her daughter seemed to him strange and unbecoming. He looked upon himself as really Kuengolt's property, as truly belonging to her by reason of her having saved his forfeited life. But at the same time he felt himself seriously responsible for her moral conduct, for her maiden chastity and her correct manners, and when now Kuengolt strove to kiss him on the mouth, he said to her, in perfect good humor but withal in the tone of a crabbed schoolmaster: "You are really still too young for things of that kind. This is not suitable for your age."
At these words the girl paled with shame and annoyance. Without another syllable she turned away and joined once more the throng of merrymakers, where she danced and sprang about recklessly a few times, and then sat down a little distance away by herself, with a face that betrayed clearly how hurt she was at the rebuff.
The chief forester's wife smilingly stroked the strict young moralist's cheek, saying: "Well, well, you are certainly very strict. But the more faithfully you will one day take care of my child. Give me your promise never to desert her! Only don't forget, we Seldwyla folk are all of us rather gay and debonair, and it is possible that in being so we sometimes do not think enough of the future."
Dietegen's eyes grew wet, and he gave her his hand in solemn vow. Then she conducted him back to the others. But Kuengolt turned her back on him, and instead in real grief gazed into the mild May night.
He on his part now marveled at himself. Strange, now of a sudden this girl whom but a minute before he had misnomed a mere child, was old and grown-up enough to cause him, the moralizing youth, love pangs. For sad and confused he too stood now aside and felt still more ashamed than the girl herself.
"What ails you? Why do you look so sorrowful?" asked the forester, when he in the best humor in the world now approached the group. But Kuengolt at the question broke into passionate tears, and exclaimed before everybody: "He was a gift to me by the judges when he was really nothing but a poor lifeless corpse, and I have reawakened him to life. And therefore he has no right to sit in judgment on me, but rather I alone am his judge. And he must do everything I want, and when I love to kiss him it is his business to simply keep still and let me do it."
They all laughed at this odd statement, but the mother took Dietegen's hand and led him to the child, saying: "Come, make up with her and let her kiss you once more. Later on you, also, shall be her master, and shall do as you see fit in such matters."
Blushing deeply because of the many onlookers, Dietegen offered his mouth to the girl, and she seized him by his curls, quite in a frenzy, and kissed him hard, more in wrath than in love, and then, having once more thrown him a look that betrayed anger, she quickly turned on her heels and dashed away in such haste that her golden ringlets fluttered in the night air and in passing brushed his face.
But now the reluctant fire of love had also been kindled in his own young soul, and soon after he left the throng and went in search of rash Kuengolt, striding rapidly and gazing all about for her. At last he discovered her on the other side of the house where she sat dreamily at the well, and was playing with the amber beads of her necklace. Advancing quickly he seized both her hands, compressed them in his vigorous right, and then laid his left on her shoulder so that she shuddered, and said: "Listen, child, I shall not permit you to trifle with me. From to-day on you are just as much my own property as I am yours, and no other man shall have you living. Keep that in mind when some day you will be grown up."
"Oh, you big old man," she murmured slowly and smiled at him, but pallor had overspread her features. "You indeed are mine, but not I yours. However, you need not mind that, because I don't think I'll ever let you go!"
So saying she rose and went, without first looking at her old playfellow once more, over to the other side of the house.
But this was not all. The forester's wife caught a cold in the suddenly chilled air of this very May night, and an insidious disease grew out of it which carried her off within a few months. On her deathbed she grieved much about her husband and her child, and expressed great anxiety on their behalf. She also denied till her last breath the real cause of her illness and death, deeming it scarcely a fit thing for a housewife and a mother to thus go out of life merely because of a surfeit of riotous pleasure.
But while she thus lay lifeless in the house, all that had loved her mourned for her; indeed the whole town did so, for she had not had a single enemy in the world. Her widowed husband wept at night in his bed, and at daytime he spoke never a word, but only from time to time stepped up to the coffin in which she lay so still and peaceful, looking and looking at his sweet partner, and then, shaking his head, slowly walking off again.
He had a heavy wreath of young pine twigs fashioned for her and placed it on the bier. Kuengolt heaped a perfect mountain of wildflowers on top of that, and thus the graceful form of the dead was borne down from the hillside to the church below, followed by the bereaved family and a crowd of relatives, friends and members of the household.
After the burial the chief forester took all the mourners to the tavern, where he had caused a bounteous meal in honor of the dead to be prepared, according to ancient custom. The roast venison for it, a capital roebuck, and two fine grouse, he had shot himself, grieving all the while at the loss he had sustained. And when the gorgeously feathered birds now appeared on the long board he minded him again of the dense grove of mighty oak and maple, high up on the mountain side, in which she had sat awaiting his return from the chase, and in which he, his heart full of love of her who now rested in the cool ground, had many a time been stalking the deer. The image of her stood before his thoughts like life itself. But yet he was not to be left long to brooding, for strict laws of custom called for his active services as host on this occasion. When the claret from France and the golden malmsey had been uncorked and poured into capacious goblets, and the heavy table been loaded with sweets and cakes that scented the precious spices from the Indies, the guests grew lively and clamorous, and he had to propose and answer many a toast, despite his sincere mourning, and the noise soon drowned the still voice within him. Life and death were twin brothers in those days of our forbears.
The forester was seated at table between Kuengolt and Dietegen, and these two because of his tall and broad-backed person were unable to catch a look of one another save by bending over or behind him, and this neither of them wished to do for decency's sake, for they were the only ones who among this crowd of buzzing guests remained sad and serious. Across the board from him sat a cousin, a lady of about thirty named Violande.
This lady indeed could not well be overlooked, for she wore a singular costume, one which did not seem fit for a person satisfied with her lot, a person living in happy circumstances, but rather one who is restless and hollow of heart. Yet she was handsome, and knew well how to impress people with her charms, but ever and anon something selfish and mendacious would flash out of her handsome eyes that destroyed all these efforts at enforced amiability.
When but fourteen she had already been in love with the forester, her cousin, merely because amongst those young men that came before her vision he was the best-looking and the tallest and strongest. He, however, had never noticed the preference shown for him. Indeed he had not given a thought to this overyoung cousin of his, since his serious choice lay altogether among the more adult persons of the other sex, and wavered among several of these. Full of envy and jealousy, this unmature cousin, though, was already so skilled in feminine intrigue as to be able to destroy the chances of two or three young women that the forester had looked upon with favor, using for that purpose that poisonous weapon, gossip and backbiting. Always when he was on the point of proposing to a beauty that had won his regard, this sly half-woman skillfully understood how to spread rumors calculated to entangle the two, fictitious words uttered by one or the other seeming to show mutual dislike, or something equally efficacious in bringing about a rupture. If her designs miscarried with him, why then she spun her threads so as to make the other believe that the swain was false or fickle, full of guile or not dependable. Thus it came to pass repeatedly that without his ever discovering the author the lady of his suit would suddenly swerve and leave him out in the cold, while another, of whom he had never thought in that connection, would as quickly show him her favor--all owing to the arts of this Macchiavell in petticoats. And then impatiently and disgustedly he would turn his back on both the willing and the unwilling and plunge once more for a spell into his easy bachelordom. In this way it was that, one after the other, all his wooings came to nought, until he at last happened to meet the mild and amiable lady that subsequently became his spouse. This one, though, kept hold of him, since she was just as guileless as he himself, and all the artifices and stratagems of the little witch were in vain. Yea, she never even noticed the other's cleverest schemes, simply because she kept her eyes all the time fixed upon him she loved. And indeed he too had been grateful to her for her singlemindedness, and held her all the years of their happy union as a jewel of rare price.
Violande, however, when she saw the man whose love she had aspired to married, after all, to another had not given up the frequent use of her talent for mischiefmaking, for fear she might get out of practice. The older she grew the more artistic became her endeavors in that line, but without success for herself, since she remained a spinster, and since even the men themselves whom by her wiles she had alienated from other women turned away from her as from a dangerous person, feeling in their hearts only contempt and hatred for her. Then it was she turned her face heavenwards, giving it out that she was on the point of entering a convent and becoming a nun. But she changed her mind in the last hour, and instead of a convent entered a house devoted to some holy order, but such a one as would permit her, in case the chance of becoming a wife should unexpectedly present itself to her, to leave it. Thus she disappeared for years from view, since she was in the habit of going from one town to another at short intervals, and nowhere feeling rested or contented. Suddenly, when the forester's wife was lying sick to death, she reappeared again, in Seldwyla, and in worldly dress, and so it had come about that here she was as one of the guests at this funeral celebration, seated opposite the widower.
She put restraint on her restlessness, and now and then looked modest and almost childlike, and when the women rose and walked about in couples, the while the men remained seated at table drinking and talking, she went up to Kuengolt, kissed her on both cheeks, and made friends with her. The half-grown girl felt honored by these advances of a semi-clerical woman, one who had apparently great knowledge of the world and had been about a good deal, and so these two were at once involved in a long and intimate conversation, as though they had known each other all their lives. When the company broke up Kuengolt asked her father to invite Violande to his house, in order to manage the big household, a task for which she herself felt not equal and entirely too young and inexperienced. The forester whose mood at that moment was a curious compound of mourning and vinous elation, and whose thoughts still belonged altogether to his departed wife, raised no objection to this request, although he did not care much for his cousin and thought her a queer sort of person.
Thus in a day or two Violande made her formal entrance into the widower's house, and had sense enough to take the place of the dead wife at the hearth with judicious modesty and not without a spice of sentimentality, the reflection no doubt occurring to her that here she was at last, after long wanderings, where the desires of her first youth seemed at last on the point of being realized. Without undue elation she opened the closets and presses of her predecessor, examining in detail their contents: linen and homespun cloth piled up in orderly rows, and provisions of every kind arranged for instant or occasional use, such as preserved fruit, vegetables, mushrooms, stored away in carefully tied-up pots; many flitches of bacon and salted beef and pork, smoked hams and potted venison, and hundreds of bunches of flax hung up to dry under the ceilings of the roof. Her heart beat at a more lively gait when inspecting all these domestic riches speaking so eloquently of the forester's easy circumstances, and almost tenderly she handled these hundreds of vessels and receptacles, dreaming of a near housewifely future. And in this peaceable frame of mind she remained for a number of weeks. But then her old restlessness seized her again. It had to find a vent. And so she began to turn everything topsy-turvy, starting with the pots and kettles, each of which she assigned to a new place, mingling the big and little, shoving about the bolts of linen and cloth, entangling the flax carded and uncarded, and when she finally had done all this she had also managed to seriously interfere with human affairs in the house, upsetting them as much as she dared.
Since it was her design to become, after all, the forester's wife, so as to acquire a more dignified and assured position in life, it became clear to her that what above all would be necessary was to part permanently Kuengolt and Dietegen, as to whose inclination for each other she had soon satisfied herself. For she argued quite correctly that Dietegen, once he married Kuengolt, would doubtless become the forester's successor, and thus not only remain permanently in the house, but that in that case the forester himself, in view of his strong affection for the memory of his departed wife, would never wed again. But, she reasoned, if both the children in some way could be made to shun the house, it would be much more likely that the forester would marry again, feeling lonesome all by himself.
And as now, as she discovered, Kuengolt every day grew handsomer and more womanly, she took care to make the girl constantly conscious both of her own beauty and of the gifts of her mind, as well as to further develop in her an inborn leaning towards coquetry. To do the latter she skillfully manipulated Kuengolt's natural vanity, insinuating to her that every young man with whom she came in contact was smitten with her charms and a ready suitor for her hand and love, and this with such success that Kuengolt actually learned to look upon all the youths of her acquaintance solely from the point of view whether they readily acknowledged her preëminence in beauty and intellectual gifts or not, while by her shrewd maneuvers Violande on the other hand made every one of all these young men think that the girl's affections were centered wholly upon himself.
Another trick used by Violande with the same end in view was to cultivate social intercourse with a number of other young girls of marriageable age, who were frequently invited to the house for parties to which young men were encouraged to come, and under her guidance and leadership there was much courting and gallivanting going on at these meetings. Thus it came about that Kuengolt, when less than sixteen, had already assembled around her a circle of unquiet young people, each more or less an expert in playing the love game as a species of delightful sport.
In the pursuance of her one aim Violande, too, arranged all sorts of festivities, great and small, at the house, and there was mongering in scandal, stories more or less compromising this or that couple or individual, many quarrels and much noise and singing and music or dancing, and it was usually the most objectionable of the customary guests on these occasions that were also the boldest and most foolish, and at the same time the most difficult to get rid of.
All these things were not to Dietegen's taste. At first he was a mere onlooker, indifferent and still in the grasp of his sincere and deep mourning for the death of his fostermother, making a melancholy face which to a growing youth is not the most becoming. But when all these pleasure-mad young people were rather amused by a seriousness which seemed unsuitable to his age, and as Kuengolt herself took the same attitude towards him, the youth tried to revenge himself by awkward attempts at dignified silence. But these tactics were even less successful, and ended one day with Dietegen's clearly perceiving that he among them all was out of tune. In fact, on one occasion he observed Kuengolt seated in the midst of a group of scornful youths all of whom were deriding him and she, instead of disapproving, evidently siding with them against him.
When Dietegen had experienced this, he turned silently away, and from that day on avoided the whole company. Anyway, he had now attained the age when vigorous youths begin to think of making strong men of themselves. Upon the holding upon which stood the forester's house there was, from time immemorial laid the duty of maintaining three or four fully equipped fighting men, and this obligation the forester himself had always carried out most scrupulously. With great pleasure he found that Dietegen, shot up straight and nimble, would soon fill the same fine armor in which he had once hoped to see his own son.
Thus Dietegen with other young gamekeepers and helpers on lengthy winter evenings went to fencing school, where he learned to make proper use of the shorter weapons, according to the methods of his home, and during the spring and summer seasons he spent many a Sunday or holiday upon spacious fields or forest clearings where the youths of the district learned to march in closed formations for hours at a stretch, and to attack, leaping broad trenches by the aid of their long spears, and in every other way to render their bodies supple, active and strong, or else, perhaps, to practice the new art of the musketeer whose weapon is loaded with powder and shot.
Since by all these changes mentioned above life in the forester's house altered greatly, and since particularly the feminine doings there disturbed him sadly, although he paid scant attention to the latter, it happened that he little by little acquired the habit of frequenting the taverns where his townsfellows met much oftener than had been the case during his married life. And while absenting himself from the childish folly practiced at his own house, he succumbed to the maturer folly of men, and it would happen now and then that he would carry his head like a heavy burden, but always upright, to his forest home as late as midnight or more.
Things went on in this way until, on a sunny St. John's Day, a network of events began to close in.
The forester himself went to town to the headquarters of his guild, where on that festive day all were summoned to attend the settlement of important affairs concerning the craft, to conclude with a great annual feast, and he intended to remain and join there in the carousal until the advance of night.
Dietegen on his part went to the sharpshooter's meeting place, intending to spend the whole long midsummer's day in perfecting himself as a marksman. The other assistants of the forester and his servants of the household also went their own way, the one to visit his relatives some distance across the country, another to the dance with his sweetheart, and the third to the holiday fair to buy himself cloth for a new coat and a pair of shoes.
So the women were sitting all by themselves in the house, not at all delighted with the rude manner in which the men had left them to their own devices, but yet eyeing every passer-by and peering out at the sunny landscape in the hope that some guests would show up and with their help a festivity of their own might be arranged.
As a suitable preparation for that or any contingency they began to bake spice cakes and prepare all sorts of sweets, and they brewed a huge bowlful of heady May wine flavored with honey and herbs, so as to be ready for either chance comers or to offer a night cup to the men returning home. Next they decked themselves in holiday finery, and ornamented head and bosom with flowers, while other young maidens, bidden to join them in a feminine festival time, one after the other also came from town, and even the very last and least of the serving maids belonging to the household was freshly attired to look her best.
Under broadspreading linden trees, right in front of the house, the table was set for a dainty meal, the westering sun sending his last golden rays like a benediction abroad over town and valley.
There the women now were seated about the table, relishing all the good things prepared for them, and soon the chorus of them were intoning folk-songs with melodious voices, songs telling in many stanzas of the delights and despair of love, songs like that of the two royal children, or "There dallied a knight with his maiden dear," and similar ones. All the tunes sounded the longing of love-lorn hearts, the faith kept or broken, the eternal drama of passion. Far out into the evening the sweet voices were carrying, alluring, inviting. The birds nesting up in the dense foliage of the linden trees, after being silenced for a spell, now joined in, rivaling their human competitors, and from over in the forest other feathered songsters assisted. But suddenly another band of choristers could be heard above the din. That new volume of sound came floating down the mountain side, a mingling of male voices with the more strident notes of fiddle and tabor pipes. A troop of youths had come from Ruechenstein, and this instant issued from the edge of the woods. Thus they came, striding along the path that led past the forester's home down to the valley, a number of musicians at their head. There was the son of the burgomaster of Ruechenstein, rather a madcap and therefore a great exception to the overwhelming majority of his townsfolk, who clearly dominated the noisy throng. Having left the university abroad, he had brought with him a few fellow-students after his own heart, among them being a couple of divinity students and a young and jolly monk, as well as Hans Schafuerli, the council scribe, or secretary, of Ruechenstein, who was a scrawny, bent figure of a man, with a mighty hunchback and a long rapier. He was the last of the train, all walking singly because of the narrow path.
But when they set eyes on the row of singing ladies, their own music ceased, and they stood all there, listening attentively to the charming tune. However, the ladies likewise became mute, being surprised and wishful to see what now was going to happen. Violande alone retained her presence of mind, and stepped to the burgomaster's son, who in turn saluted her with elaborate courtesy, and telling her that he with his friends purposed to pay a flying and amusing visit to the merry neighboring town, in order to spend St. John's Day in a manner agreeable to them all. But, he continued, having had the good fortune to meet with these ladies in this unhoped-for way, they counted on the pleasure of a dance with them, if they might make so bold as to offer themselves as partners, in all honor and decency.
Within the space of a few minutes these formalities had been complied with, and the dance was in full swing on the floor of the big banqueting hall of the forester's house. Kuengolt led with the burgomaster's son, Violande with the jolly monk, and the other ladies with the young scholars. But the most expert and ardent dancer proved to be the hunchback scribe. And despite his crooked back this valiant devotee of the terpsichorean art understood marvelously well how to advance and retreat with his long shanks in the maze, these legs of his seeming to begin right below his chin.
But Kuengolt's humor was no joyous one, and when Violande whispered to her to aim at the conquest of the burgomaster's son, in order to become herself one day the mistress of Ruechenstein, she remained frigid and indifferent. But suddenly she perceived the herculean efforts of the artful hunchback, and this extraordinary sight restored her spirits, so that she laughed with all her heart. And she instantly demanded to dance with the crooked monster. Indeed it looked like a scene in a curious fairy tale, to see her graceful figure, clad in green and the head set off by a wreath of ruby roses, flitting to and fro in the arms of the ghastly scribe, his hump covered with vivid scarlet.
But swiftly her mind altered. From the scribe she flew into the arms of the monk, and from those into the keeping of the young students, so that within less than half an hour she had taken a turn or two with each one of the young strangers. All of these now centered their gaze upon the beautiful damsel, while the other young women present attempted in vain to recapture their partners.
Violande seeing the state of the case, quickly summoned all the couples to the table beneath the lindens, to rest there for a while and to be hospitably entertained. She placed the whole company most judiciously, each young man next a damsel, and Kuengolt beside the burgomaster's son.
But Kuengolt was tormented by a craving to see all these young men subject to her will and under the complete influence of her charms. She exclaimed that she herself wished to wait upon her guests, and hastened into the house to get more wine. There she quickly and surreptitiously found her way into Violande's chamber, where she rummaged in her clothes press. In an hour of mutual confidences Violande had shown her a small phial and told her that this contained a philtre, or love potion, called "Follow Me." Whoever should drink its contents when served by the hand of a woman, would inevitably become her slave and victim, being bound to follow her even to death's door. True, Violande had added, there was not contained in that potion any of the strong and dangerous poison denominated Hippomanes, brewed from the liquor obtained from the frontal excrescence of a first-born foal, but rather it came from the small bones of a green frog that had been placed upon an ants' nest and cleanly scraped and gnawed off by these insects, until ready for occult use. But all the same, Violande had stated, this preparation was potent enough to turn the heads of a half dozen of obstreperous men. She herself, Violande said, had obtained the philtre from a nun whose whilom lover had succumbed to the pest before the philtre had had time to work, so that she, the nun, had resigned herself to a convent life, and now Violande had possession of this sovereign remedy without knowing exactly what to do with it. For she did not dare to throw it away for fear of the unknown consequences.
This phial Kuengolt now found after some search, and poured its contents into the jug of wine she carried, and with a beating heart she hastened outside to her guests. She bade the youths all quaff their drink inasmuch as she would offer to them a new and sweet spice wine, and when serving out the contents of the jug she knew how to contrive matters in such wise that not a drop of the fluid remained. To accomplish this she had first evenly distributed wine into all the goblets, and afterwards poured something more into each man's, in every instance sending an alluring glance into the soul of every swain, so that the sorcery should have its full effect, as she thought.
But indeed the magical workings of the philtre really consisted in these impartially and enticingly subdivided glances of her roguish eye, so that the youths all vied, blind and selfish with passion, to gain her sole favor, as will always happen when a goal striven for by all in common lies temptingly there for the boldest and luckiest to achieve.
All the young men without exception participated in this love game, leaving their partners rudely to themselves, and the latter, feeling deeply the disgrace and humiliation of being outstripped by Kuengolt, paled with anger and disappointment, casting their eyes down and vainly trying to cover their defeat by a whispered conversation amongst themselves. Even the monk suddenly abandoned a dusky serving maid whom but a moment before he had embraced tenderly, while the haughty scribe, the hunchback, with energetic steps crowded out the burgomaster's son who at that instant held Kuengolt's lovely hand in his own, caressing it subtly.
But Kuengolt showed no favors to any one in particular. Cold as an icicle she remained towards each and every one of her young guests, and like a smooth snake she glided about among them, with head and senses cool. And when she saw that thus she held them all in the hollow of her hand, she even attempted to reconcile anew the other women, speaking pleasantly to them and urging them to return to the table.
Darkness had fallen. The stars glinted high in the heavens, and the sickle of the new moon stood above the forest, but this gentle light now was wiped out by the gleaming and wavering flames of a huge St. John's bonfire that had been lighted up on the summit of a lone hill by the peasant population, visible from afar.
"Let us all go and look at this bonfire," cried Kuengolt. "The way to it is short and pleasant through the woods! But we must have it done as beseems us all--the women and girls first, and the young men in the rear."
And so it was done. Pitch torches lighted up the path for them, and song cheered the company.
Violande alone had remained behind as custodian of the house, but more especially to await the coming of the chief forester. For she, too, meant to make her catch that day. And she had not long to wait. He came in the roused mood of a toper, and with his senses only partly under control. When he saw the tables under the lindens before the house, he sat down and called for a sleeping draught at Violande's hands.
Without loss of time she went to do his bidding. But she also first disappeared into her own room to get the small vial containing the love potion which she meant to serve the man who had scorned her so far. However, her hasty search for it was fruitless. Neither did she discover it in Kuengolt's chamber, whither instant suspicion had driven her. For the truth was that that serving maid who had been carelessly pushed aside by the monk when Kuengolt had triumphed over her rivals, had picked it up on the stairs where it had been cast by the haughty girl.
But Violande lost no time in searching further. Instead she made his cup all the stronger and sweeter, and then she bent over the man of her choice while he slowly and rapturously emptied the tankard. Violande was dressed for the occasion. She wore over her skirt a tunic of pale gold, the edges and seams picked out in red, and allowing her delicate white skin to peep forth here and there. Her bosom heaved stormily and she showed a tenderly caressing humor. Thus she leaned on the table in close proximity to him.
"Ah indeed, cousin," said the forester, when accidentally he cast a glance in her direction, "how handsome you look to-night."
At these words she smiled happily and looked full at him with eyes that spoke eloquently, saying: "Do you indeed like my looks? Well, it has taken you a long time to find that out. If you only knew for how many years, in fact, ever since I was a child, I have cherished you in my heart."
That had a greater effect on the good man than any love potion made of frog's bones, and he seemed to see before his eyes dim recollections. Of a pretty girl child he dreamed, and now he saw her before him at his side, a matured beauty in the full development of her womanly charms, and it was as if she had come to him from a far distance, bringing to him unsolicited the splendid gift of her fine person. His generous heart became entangled with his excited senses, and reshaped and formulated all sorts of enticing images. Through his hazy brain in its vinous exaltation there floated a Violande who suddenly had been metamorphosed into a winsome being that, after all manner of sufferings, had been offered to his arms as something that to embrace and call his would not only make herself happy but would likewise entrust to his care a chaste and loving woman that would render himself happy once more. The memory of his dead wife paled for the nonce before this glittering picture.
He seized her hand, fondled her cheeks, and said: "We are not yet old, dear Cousin Violande! Will you become my wife?"
And since she left her hand in his grasp, and bent nearer to him, this time, seeing at last the realization of her ambition, actually glowing with her new-found bliss, he loosened the bridal ring of his wife from the handle of his dagger where since her death he had worn it, and placed the trinket on Violande's finger. She thereupon pressed her own face against the leonine and ruddy countenance of her middle-aged lover, and the two embraced tenderly and kissed under the whispering linden trees which were stirred by the night breeze. The shrewd man, ordinarily of such sound judgment, thought he had discovered the sovereign blessing of life itself.
At this moment Dietegen returned home, bearing his weapons in his hand. Since he went towards the house across the greensward, the fond couple did not hear his approach, and he saw with confusion and amazement the whole scene. Shamed and reddening, he retired as quietly as he could, so that they did not notice him, and he went around the whole house, in order to make his entrance by the back door. But while still on his way he heard suddenly loud calling and noise as though someone were in peril and hot dispute. Without a moment's hesitation Dietegen hurried off in the direction of the hubbub. And soon he found the same company that had ere now left the house in the happiest humor in a terrible uproar.
It seemed that the young men, half-crazed by the strong wine and by jealousy of each other, on their way back from the St. John's bonfire, being now mingled with the young women, had begun to quarrel among themselves. From words they had come to daggers drawn, and more than one was bleeding from serious wounds. But just the very moment of his arrival he had seen the Ruechenstein scribe furiously attacking the burgomaster's son, and running him through with his long rapier. The victim, also with sword in hand, lay prone on the grass and was just giving up the ghost. The others, unaware of this, had seized each other by the throats, and the women were shrieking and calling loudly for help. Only Kuengolt stood there pale as death but watching the horrible scene with open mouth.
"Kuengolt, what is up here?" asked Dietegen, when he had made her out. She shuddered at his address, but looked as though relieved. However, he now vigorously began to interfere, and by dint of rough handling of some of the worst fire-eaters he soon succeeded in separating the struggling and cursing mass. Then he pointed to the dead youth on the ground, and that sobered them even more quickly than his remonstrances. Then they all stared like mutes upon the dead man and upon the grim hunchback, who seemed to have lost his wits completely.
In the meanwhile some peasants from the neighborhood as well as the homecoming gamekeepers from the forestry had appeared on the scene, and these bound securely the raging Schafuerli, the murderous scribe, and arrested the remainder of the Ruechensteiners.
And that was a bad morning that now followed. The forester was engaged to the wicked Violande, and his head buzzed unmercifully. One dead Ruechensteiner lay in the house, and the rest of them were kept in the dungeon. Before the noon hour had tolled a delegation from Ruechenstein, with the burgomaster himself, the father of the slain, at its head, had arrived in order to inquire carefully into the whole matter and to demand strict justice and punishment of the guilty.
But already the imprisoned secretary of the Ruechenstein council, the grim Schafuerli, knowing that his neck was in peril, had made a deposition in his tower in which he charged responsibility for the whole bad business upon the women of Seldwyla whom they had met on the previous day, and more especially upon Kuengolt, whom he accused of sorcery and black art.
That maid servant who had become disgruntled for a cause mentioned before had passed on the empty vial that had contained Violande's philtre, to the monk, and the latter had hastened to put it into the hands of the scribe, who now used it as a powerful weapon.
To the grave dismay of the Seldwylians the whole matter in the course of that first day even turned against the forester's daughter and against his household. Everybody in those days, and not alone in Seldwyla, firmly believed in sorcery and love potions, and the members of the Ruechenstein delegation behaved so menacingly and hinted at such terrible reprisals that the popularity and the respect in which the forester was held could not prevent the imprisonment of Kuengolt, especially as he was still severely suffering from his excesses of the previous day, and felt like one paralyzed.
She instantly made a full confession, being more dead than alive from terror, and Schafuerli and his boon companions were liberated. And then the Ruechensteiners made the formal demand to have the girl delivered up to them for adequate atonement, since she had injured a number of their townsfolk and caused the death of one of them. This, however, was not conceded to them, and then the Ruechensteiners departed in an angry mood, threatening dire reprisals. The body of the burgomaster's son they took along. But when later on they heard that the Seldwyla authorities had sentenced the girl but to a twelvemonth's mild incarceration, the ancient enmity which had slept for a number of years now reawakened, and it became a perilous adventure for any Seldwylian to be caught on Ruechenstein soil.
Now the town of Seldwyla counted as a fit penalty for misdeeds which according to their notions were reckoned among the lighter ones and which consequently required no severe treatment, not imprisonment proper but rather the awarding of the culprits to persons that became responsible for their further conduct. In the custody of such persons the culprits remained during the length of the sentence, and these custodians were held to employ them suitably and to feed and shelter them adequately. This mode of punishment was used most often with women or youthful persons. Thus, then, Kuengolt, too, was taken to one of the chambers of the town hall, and there she was to be auctioned off, at least her services and keep. And before that ceremony she had to submit to being publicly exhibited there.
The forester, whose sunny humor had altogether disappeared with these trials, said sighing to Dietegen that it was a hard thing for him to go to the town hall and watch there in behalf of his daughter, but somebody surely must be there of her family during these bitter hours.
Then Dietegen said: "I will go in your stead; that is, if I am good enough for it in your opinion."
His patron shook hands with him. "Yes, do it!" he said, "and I will thank you for it."
So Dietegen went where some of the councilmen were seated and a few persons willing to take charge of the prisoner. He had girded his sword around his loins, and had a manly and rugged air about him.
And when Kuengolt was led inside, white as chalk and deeply chagrined, and was to stand in front of the table, he swiftly pulled up a chair and made her sit down in it, he placing himself behind and putting his hand on the back of it. She had looked up at him surprised, and now sent him a glance fraught with a painful smile. But he apparently paid no heed looking straight on over her head, severe of mien.
The first who made a bid for her custody was the town piper, a drunkard, who had been sent by his poor wife in order to help increase their receipts a bit. This, she calculated, was all the more to be expected because Kuengolt would probably receive from her home all sorts of good things to eat, and these, she considered, they would secure wholly or in part.
"Do you want to go to the town piper's house?" Dietegen curtly asked the girl. After attentively regarding the red-nosed and half-drunken fellow, she said: "No." And the piper, with a blissful smile, remarked laughing: "Good, that suits me too," and toddled off on shaking legs.
Next an old furrier and capmaker made a bid, since he thought he could utilize Kuengolt very handily in sewing and making a goodly profit out of her services. But this man had a large sore on his thigh, and this he was greasing and plastering with salve all day long, and also a growth the size of a chicken's egg on the top of his pate, so that Kuengolt had already been afraid of him when she passed his shop as a child going to school. When, therefore, Dietegen put the query to her whether she was willing to go to his house, and the girl decidedly negatived that, the man went off loudly venting his spleen. He grumbled and growled like a bear whose honeycomb has been snatched away.
Now a money changer stepped up, one who was notorious both for his greed and usurious avarice and for his lewdness. But scarcely had that one leveled his red eyes upon her, and opened his wry mouth for a bid, when Dietegen motioned him off with a threatening gesture, even without asking the terrified girl herself.
And now there were left but a few more, decent and respectable citizens, people against whom nothing could be urged reasonably, and it was these between whom the final choice and decision lay. The smallest bid was made by the gravedigger of the cemetery next the town cathedral, a quiet and good man, who also possessed an excellent wife and, so he thought, a suitable place where to keep such a prisoner in safe custody, and who certainly had already had charge of several other prisoners before.
To this man, then, Kuengolt was given in charge, and was taken at once to his house which was situated between the cemetery and a side street. Dietegen went along in order to see how she would be housed. It turned out that her quarters would be an open, small antechamber of the house itself, immediately adjoining the graveyard and only separated from it by an iron fence. There, as it seemed, the sexton was in the habit of keeping his prisoners during the warm season of the year, while for the winter he simply admitted them into his own dwelling room, a slender chain fastening them to the tile stove.
But when Kuengolt found herself in her prison and was separated merely by a fence from the graves of the dead, moreover saw near by the old deadhouse filled with skulls and bones, she began to tremble and begged they would not leave her there all through the night. But the sexton's wife who was just dragging in a straw mattress and a blanket, and also hid the sight of the graves by suspending a curtain, answered that this request could not be listened to, and that her new abode would be wholesome for her moral welfare and as a means of repenting her sins. And she could not be shaken in this resolve.
But Dietegen replied: "Be quiet, Kuengolt, for I am not afraid of the dead or of any spook, and I will come here every night and keep watch in front of the iron fence until you, too, will no longer fear."
He said this, however, in an aside to her, so that the woman could not overhear it, and then he left for home. There he found the saddened forester who had just reached an understanding with Violande that they would not celebrate their wedding until after Kuengolt's release from prison and after the scandal created by the occurrence should have had time to blow over. During all their discussion of the matter Violande kept still as a mouse, glad that she as the prime author of the whole mischief should have escaped all the consequences, for the magical philtre had been hers, as we know.
When the early hours of evening were over and midnight approaching, Dietegen began to make good his promise. He started unobserved, took his sword and a flask of choice wine along, and climbed from the high slope down into the valley and so to town, and there he swung himself fearlessly over the graveyard wall, strode across the graves themselves, and at last stood in front of Kuengolt's new abode. She sat breathlessly and shaking with fright upon her straw mattress, behind the curtain, and listened with freezing blood to every noise, even the slightest, that struck her ear. For even before this ghostly hour of twelve she had undergone several convulsions of dread and unreasoning fear. In the deadhouse, for instance, a cat had slyly climbed over the bones, and these had clattered somewhat. Then also the night wind had moved the bushes growing over the tombs, so that they made a weird noise, and the iron rooster that served as a weather vane on top of the church roof had creaked mysteriously, making an awful sound never heard in daytime. So that the girl was in a frenzy of terror.
When she therefore heard the steps nearing more and more, Kuengolt had a new fit of fright, and shook like a leaf. But when he stretched his hands through the iron bars of the fence and pushed back the curtain, so that the full moon lit up the whole dark space around her, and in a low voice called her name, she rose quickly, ran in his direction and stretched out both hands to him.
"Dietegen!" she exclaimed, and burst into tears, the first she had been able to shed since that ominous day; for until that hour she had lived as though smitten with paralysis, dazed and benumbed.
Dietegen, however, did not take her hand, but instead handed her the flask of wine, saying: "Here, take a mouthful! It will do you good."
So she drank, and also ate of the dainty wheaten bread of her father's house that he had brought along. And by and by her courage was restored, and when she clearly perceived that he had no mind to converse any more with her, she retired silently to her couch and cried without a stop, till at last she sank into a quiet sleep.
But he, the young man, in his narrow youthful ideas and in his inexperience of real life had made up his mind that she was a being turned completely to wickedness and evil, and one that was unable to do right. And he served as her sentinel during this and other nights, seating himself upon an ancient gravestone leaning against the wall solely out of regard for her departed mother and because she had saved his own life.
Kuengolt slept until sunrise, and when she awoke and looked about she observed that Dietegen had softly stolen away.
Thus one night after another passed, and he faithfully watched and guarded her, for he indeed held the belief that the place was not without danger for anyone without a good conscience and shaken with fear. But each time he brought her something of a relish along, and often he would ask her what she desired for herself, and he would carry out her wishes if at all justifiable.
He also came when it rained or stormed, missing not a single night, and on those nights when, according to the popular superstitions then universally held, the dead walked and which were considered particularly perilous to the living, he came all the more promptly.
Kuengolt on her part by and by managed to arrange things so that during the daytime she had her curtain drawn, in order, as she said, to conceal herself from the curious who went to the cemetery to spy on her, but in reality to sleep, for she preferred to remain awake at night, to keep her faithful sentinel in view all the time, and to ponder the things that had brought her there, and how he had conducted himself towards her these last few years. But Dietegen knew nothing of all this, believing her to be sound asleep.
She felt herself engrossed with a new and unexpected happiness, and while he diligently kept watch over her during the hours of darkness, she enjoyed his mere presence, and all her thinking was of him. She had no slightest suspicion that he judged her so harshly, and was living in hopes that she could reestablish her claim on him, seeing that he proved so faithful to her. Her father, however, did not share her dreams. He visited her at least once every week, and when she on these occasions nearly always shyly mentioned Dietegen's name, and he marked that she indeed had again turned to him in her thoughts, he would sigh and groan in spirit, because while also wishing for a union of those two, and feeling convinced that his fine foster son alone was able to again rehabilitate his daughter, it appeared highly improbable to him that Dietegen would wish to woo a witch that had been punished for her uncanny doings by his fellow citizens, and as it seemed to him, justly.
In the meantime another caller had put in an appearance with Kuengolt, no less a person than the secretary of the council of Ruechenstein himself.
This highly enterprising and venturesome hunchback was unable to forget the beautiful being on whose account he had committed murder. The blood coursed through his veins more rapidly than in those of a normally shaped fellow, and waking or sleeping her image did not lose its hold on him. His belief was that the image of this witch dwelt in his heart by virtue of her black art, and that it was shooting along within his blood vessels as does a frail boat in a powerful storm, all in a magical way.
The more he reflected the more convinced he became of this, and since he had daring enough and to spare, he finally made up his mind to seek alleviation of his tortures from the primal source, the witch herself. At the Capuchin monastery, where he had first gone for a ghostly cure, he had failed, and thus one moonless, dark night he started out, across the mountain and as far as the cemetery where he knew her to be kept a captive.
Kuengolt heard his approaching steps. Since it was not yet the hour when Dietegen used to come, and also because these steps did not seem to be his, she took fright and hid behind the curtain. But Schafuerli now lighted a candle he had brought along, and thrust his hand with it through the aperture, searching the dark space with his eager eyes until he had finally discovered her crouched in a corner.