Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker Volume I Part 6

Mozart's harmonies were entirely ignored at the Rottmann's residence; indeed, for seven years past, ever since Martina had been in their service, no songs had ever been heard in that house. In all other respects, however, the good living went on as before: there was an everlasting roasting, boiling, and stewing; and the moment you approached the house such a rich greasy odour was perceptible that all who came from Rottmanshof seemed impregnated with lard and suet. It was said that the cause of this greasy smell, was the old lady pouring whole cansfull of spoiled lard on the road every year. She preferred its being thrown away to giving it to any poor person. There was very little stir of labour about the place, for a wood merchant has the advantage of his possessions growing while he is sleeping, and without any exertion on his part.

The house looked very singular in the midst of the snowy landscape. In order to protect it from the weather, it was covered with s.h.i.+ngles on every side, painted bright red. To live in such a dwelling was like living in a furnace.

There was a great uproar this morning at Rottmannshof, and nothing is more repulsive than when a morning commences by incessant noise. What kind of people must they be who on rising from sleep, in the early freshness of morning, break out into angry discord and noisy strife, and persevere in them, as if there was no such thing on earth as sleep or quiet self-forgetfulness for man, enabling him to begin life afresh each morning?

If the old Rottmannin, even formerly, when she could still sleep, was in the habit of rising at early dawn, as if preparing each day a war of extermination, how much more unendurable now were her impatience and restlessness, when she could no longer sleep at all! From her sick bed she regulated everything with twofold severity, and it seemed quite inconceivable how she could continue to live on amid this perpetual irritation, and restless state of exasperation.

"I am quite well; I am resolved to go with you myself," said she. "I don't care if I die by the way, so that I only complete this affair. Go away, men; I am going to rise and dress properly. Now, this very morning, the matter shall be finally settled with the Forest Miller's Tony. What do you mean by standing so stupidly there, Adam? You ought to be thankful that I manage matters for you--I mean your father and I together; for in all your life you could do nothing for yourself, and you will remain a poor creature to the end of your days. If no one will undertake this Schilder-David and his family, I will show them their proper place."

She insisted on her husband and son dressing in their Sunday clothes, and they looked very imposing in their long coats without collars, and high, boots drawn up above the knees. These high boots are the uncontested right of the upper cla.s.s of farmers: the peasants and day labourers, even to this day, wear shoes and short leather breeches, or long ones of coa.r.s.e canva.s.s. The Rottmannin, who had not left the house for a whole year, was all at once as active as a young girl. The sledge was brought to the door, feather beds were placed in it, and the parents drove with their son to the Forest Mill. A messenger preceded them to announce their arrival. The amazement was unbounded at the Forest Mill at the appearance of the Rottmannin herself. The miller's wife was especially gracious, and the daughter could not avoid being also polite, though her eyes were red from crying; in other respects she looked neat and pretty, and any man who sought her hand from affection, might well be proud of such a bride. Adam followed his parents mechanically into the room, as if without any will of his own; and at the same moment, when the flakes of snow were gently falling in the valley before the Pastor's house, pledges were finally exchanged, and Adam was betrothed to Tony.

It scarcely seemed as if a living hand were stretched out to receive a living one, when Adam clasped that of his bride, but he endeavoured to make the best of it, and swallowed long draughts of the good red wine that the Forest Miller placed on the table. They sat together feasting till the evening. Speidel Rottmann had the power of incessantly drinking, and as incessantly eating; and he continued throwing large morsels of meat, right and left, into the jaws of his huge mastiffs; and the snapping, and growling, and gobbling was wonderful to hear, every single bone being crunched up. To be able to drink wine, and more wine, and wine without end, is an advantage that men possess over animals. While Speidel Rottmann was placing gla.s.s after gla.s.s to his lips, he kept stroking the head of one of his great dogs, as if to say, drinking is my privilege, and not yours. They insisted on Adam remaining in the kitchen with his bride, who was preparing some hot mulled wine; and the two fathers drank merrily together, while their wives gossiped in a low tone.

When the fathers agreed that the affair with Martina would now be easily broken off, the Forest Miller laughed, and said, "Young people are become very prudish now-a-days."

"They have no sense whatever," rejoined Speidel Rottmann. "It is nearly seven years now that Adam has been plaguing both himself and us, on account of that stupid affair of his. In our youth, much we should have cared for any such matter." And the two old men clinked their gla.s.ses together.

The mulled wine came, and they drank each other's health, and emptied the tall gla.s.ses to the dregs, and refilled them, and laughed, and narrated all their youthful pranks and exploits; and the burden of their song was always, that the youth of the present day were good for nothing, and totally devoid of all life and spirit.

Adam was standing beside his betrothed bride in the kitchen. For a long time he did not speak, and at last he said, "I say, why did you agree to have me? don't you know how I am situated?"

Tony answered smiling, "I suppose since the world began, no one ever asked his betrothed such a question. But do you know, Adam, I am rather glad you have done so, for it is honest on your part, and a good beginning, if it be the will of G.o.d that we should live together, and it appears we must. You see, Adam, there is no hope of your getting Martina, and I am miserable, far more miserable than you can have the least idea of. So I thought to myself, we are both miserable, so perhaps we may lighten each other's burdens; and I am quite resolved to leave my stepmother, for I am always in her way; and you can't think what a person feels on seeing a stranger come to your own house and home, abusing everything she sees, no matter how good and handsome it may be. It vexes me to death to see her extravagance in the house, and my father gets no good from it; and even the cup that belonged to my mother, and was kept sacred, she actually gave to the farm servant, and she only did so because she knew that it would annoy me. I shall become cross and spiteful myself if I remain with her. My tongue is full of gall, and words come to my lips, and thoughts into my head, that are downright wicked. I often wish I were lying six feet under ground, and I would have done so long ago, had it not been for the good, kind Pastorin."

"I pity you," said Adam; "but as for me, though I still have my own mother, she is more bitter towards me than any stepmother. I do not like to say it, but I must. My Martina alone induced me to submit to such usage, and not to run away from it into the wide world. And now I am become an illtempered fellow; formerly I was only gruff and thoughtless. I would far rather that you were harsh, and bitter, and irritable, so that I could feel no compa.s.sion for you; in that case I would have behaved in such a way that you would have been forced to give me up. But now I don't know what to do; I pity you--yes, I pity you from the bottom of my heart; but don't forget how I am situated myself."

It was far from an agreeable conversation that the two held together, and no fond or kindly words pa.s.sed between them, as the bride was preparing the mulled wine. She carried the jug into the next room, having previously poured out a gla.s.s for Adam. When she returned he drank her health, and when she gave him some more, and, taking some herself, made her gla.s.s ring against his, he said, "Upon my word, you are much prettier than I thought. After all, I ought not to complain at being forced to marry you: if it were not for one thing--one thing alone--I should be quite happy. If I had only seen you seven years ago, as I see you now, I might have been the most fortunate fellow in the world. But what am I saying? I feel a stab, as if a knife had pierced my heart. Have patience with me; I can say no more."

Adam sat down, and covered his eyes with his hands, and then muttered, "This is my idea, do you see? I wish to tell you something; but not a word of it to your parents or mine. Give me your hand, as a token that you will keep my secret."

The bride gave her hand to Adam, who clasped it warmly, and continued, "I had sent a message to my Martina, that on this very day I would come to see her. For nearly two years past I have been obliged to go to church in another village, for spies were always watching me, and for a whole year I have never been able to speak to my Martina and--my Joseph; so now I must keep my promise; and yet I would like to give you a parting kiss; but--I won't, I wont! no! it would be wrong until I am once more a free man."

"You are honest, and can speak to the purpose," said the bride, smiling; "and yet people say you are so sulky."

"Very few know anything about me. No one really understands me except my Martina. She sees me as I really am, and yet I said very little to her, or she to me, and yet we knew each other thoroughly: she was quick, and she saw that though I was one of the richest men in the country, yet I was the poorest in reality. But she shall tell you about it, for she can talk far better than I can. You don't know how clever she is, and so good hearted, and so cheerful, and so loveable, and--and"--

Adam suddenly checked himself. To whom was he saying all this? to his betrothed bride! and she was looking at him, as if trying to remind him where they where and what they were. Nothing was heard but the clinking of the old men's gla.s.ses in the next room, and the whispering of the two mothers. At last Adam said, "So I have your promise that you won't say a word to any one. And now I must leave you to go to my Martina----to Martina--and--to my--boy, in the village. I shall be back by the time the Christmas tree is lighted up, and then it will either be--or--. G.o.d bless you!"

Tony, rather astonished, watched Adam wrapping himself in his grey cloak, and putting on his fur cap; then seizing his thick knotted stick with its long sharp point, he swung it in the air. He looked very handsome, but a formidable fellow. He left the room hurriedly, and the bride remained quietly seated by the fire. After a time Speidel Rottmann came into the kitchen, and said, "What is going on here? The dogs are so restless, and are whining beside us. Where is Adam?"

"He is gone."

"Where?"

"I don't mean to tell you; but he is soon coming back."

"Really? I know well enough where he is gone. But not a word to my wife of this, nor to your father. Has he been long gone?"

"Only a few minutes."

"Slip into the next room, and fetch me my hat; but take care that n.o.body sees you, and on no account let the dogs out. But no--yes; go get my hat. Adam is a fool, and you are the best girl in the world."

The bride, glad to get away from Speidel Rottmann's hints, went and fetched his hat and stick; and the old man enjoined on her to say that he meant to return immediately. So away he went, placing his stick firmly on the ground each step he took, as he strode along. He takes good care of himself.

CHAPTER X.

A FATHER IN SEARCH OF HIS SON.

When Adam got into the open air, he felt as if he had suddenly awoke.

"What has happened? Unless I choose, nothing has happened." He s.h.i.+vered, and the hand which had clasped Tony's was now so cold that he tried to warm it on the head of his pipe. There was no possibility of missing the way to the village, but attention was necessary; for there was a steep precipice overhanging the valley below, close to the road; the snow was rapidly falling in thick flakes, and Adam had not gone twenty paces when he looked like a moving snow man. He was obliged to keep a sharp look out, for he could see no path before him; but he was so well acquainted with every tree, and every rock hereabouts, that he had no difficulty in finding them out even in the snow. When he reached the rising ground whence the descent into the valley commences, and looking back, saw the lights s.h.i.+ning so cheerily in the Forest Mill, he felt a strong inclination to go back there.

"She is a very pretty creature, and hundreds have done the same, and yet have lived gaily and happily with their wives:--turn back!"

But, in spite of these tempting thoughts, he went straight on down the hill, so the lights in the mill soon disappeared from his view; and now his heart felt lighter, and in the thickly falling snow he lifted his hand to Heaven and vowed--"I will go home no more. I would rather be a poor labourer, and earn my daily bread, than desert my Martina, and my child, my Joseph; it is two years since I have heard his voice--he must be very much grown, and able now to say 'Father, father'!"

Suddenly Adam stood still--a child's voice was calling "Father, father!" through the wood, and once more, quite distinctly, "Father!"

"Oh! I must be mistaken. How could it be? That mulled wine has confused my senses."

Adam relit his pipe, which had gone out, and by its flash he saw that there were irregular traces of dog's paws in the snow. "What is it? A dog no doubt has lost his master, and is searching for him," But there were no marks of a man's foot to be seen. "What need I care? I want to get on."

Hus.h.!.+ what again? a man's voice shouts from the top of the hill--"Adam!

Adam!"--"Am I dreaming? or is the world bewitched tonight?"

Adam grasped his huge stick more firmly in his hand. "Let them come, the whole array of sorcerers, or demons, if they like. I am not afraid, for my life is not less wicked than theirs; because, like a lazy, foolish fellow, I have yielded to others for so many years; and G.o.d forgive me for my folly in thinking that my mother might yield at last;--for supposing that an iron horseshoe could be softened;--and now I have submitted to be made a Christmas mummer, and allowed myself to be betrothed; but I will never marry Tony, never; and, in spite of the whole world, I am resolved to do as I choose. I will have my Martina and Joseph for my own. Come on there, demons and evil spirits! What is that? It is the dog whose traces I saw just now. Come here, dog, come along. He won't come. Good Heavens! it is the wolf we have been searching for. He barks hoa.r.s.ely--he is coming nearer."

For an instant Adam's hair stood on end, then boldly rus.h.i.+ng forwards, he shouted--"I'll soon do for you--there, and there!"

The wolf now discovered what fierce strokes a man can give who has been forced into a betrothal, especially when that man is Adam Rottmann. The wolf received the strokes due to the wicked world in general, on which Adam would gladly have hammered away for an hour, and even after the animal lay prostrate, Adam scarcely believed he was dead; for wolves are vastly cunning, and he continued his blows, till at last he cautiously turned the animal over with the spike of his staff, and saw his four feet sticking up in the air. As the wolf no longer showed the smallest signs of life, Adam said, with infinite composure--"There, you are pretty well done for!" Perspiration was streaming down his forehead; he had lost his pipe, which had fallen out of his mouth, and it was probably the sparks he had shook out that had frightened the wolf. Adam sought in every direction for his pipe, but it was nowhere to be seen; at last he gave it up, and seizing the wolf by the nape of the neck, he dragged it behind him the whole way. When he saw the lights in the village, he laughed, and thought--"How astonished all in the village will be, when I bring them the wolf beat to death by my cudgel, and what will my Joseph say? Yes, little fellow! you must respect your father for his strength." Adam had in reality heard his name called behind him; for his father had followed him, and shouted out "Adam!" Who knows whether in the blinding snow the old man has not lost his way? Was Adam right also, in thinking that he heard a child's voice in the wood calling out "Father"?

It was not long before the inhabitants of the Forest Mill discovered that both father and son had mysteriously gone away, and the Rottmannin knew well where they had gone to.

She raged most, however, against her husband, who, without saying a word to her, had gone in pursuit of his foolish son; he was sure to do something stupid, when he did not come to her for advice. Adam too was by no means spared, and she called him many names far from flattering, and not at all in accordance with bridal festivities. The miller's wife, however, was sharp enough to interpose, saying that the Rottmannin was only in jest, because she knew that in truth no honourable t.i.tles were more than they deserved; and both women looked up in surprise when the bride said--"All that I heard Adam say, while he was sitting here with me, was kind, and sensible, and judicious."

The two women burst out laughing with one accord, and said she was quite right; the Rottmannin, patting the bride's shoulder, said that was the only true way to get round a man, for they ought to be under petticoat government; that men were good-for-nothing creatures, and that they were utterly useless till they had a good wife. She, however, said she made an exception in the case of her dear relative, the Forest Miller, who did not apparently appreciate this compliment; for he could only stammer when he tried to speak, and then coughed so violently that he nearly choked. The Forest Miller had committed a rash action in drinking fair with Speidel Rottmann, a compet.i.tion no one had ever yet attempted without being punished for it.

His wife was very much concerned about him, and prevailed on him to go to bed; she then came back to the room, and said--"Heaven be praised!

he is sleeping quietly; he ought to know that no one is a match for Rottmann in drinking."

Flattered by this compliment, the Rottmannin said--"Take care that with such a cough, he does not delay making his will."

"People say--G.o.d forgive me for repeating their malice!" said the miller's wife, "that the Rottmannin is a malicious woman. Can any one be kinder than she is, in thus taking charge of a lone widow?" and then, as if this misfortune had already occurred, she looked quite disconsolate, and began to rub her eyes; as this was, however, of no use, she clasped her hands, and, looking admiringly at the Rottmannin, continued--"And she thinks of my interests, and does not want her own precious son to inherit every thing."

The Rottmannin said she was obliged to her; but she was quite mistaken, for she had never meant anything of the kind. She admitted that her son deserved very little, but still she was not quite such a fool, as to wish to see money and land heaped on strangers, when it ought by right to come into her family.

The Rottmannin now urged very sharply, that a messenger should be sent after her husband and son. The head farmservant was summoned, but he declared that he would not go, and that, moreover, he knew none of the other servants would leave the house in such weather, and indeed he could not blame them for refusing; and, moreover, there was no need to fetch them back, for when these hardy Rottmanns once got into the wood they would only return of their own accord. The Rottmannin was very indignant, and begged that at least her sledge might be brought to the door, that she might be driven home; she would show both her husband and Adam who was master, when she was once in her own house again. But no one in the mill would drive her, and both the miller's wife, with the most civil speeches, and the bride with the most kind cordiality, pressed her to stay all night at the mill; saying that everything would look very different by daylight next morning, and Adam had promised to return before the Christmas tree was lighted. She added that the children of the servants at the mill had been waiting anxiously for some time to see the tree lit up, and to receive their presents. The Rottmannin and the miller's wife thought this a very good idea, and the former praised the bride exceedingly for her good nature, and insinuated that she had probably arranged some agreeable surprize with Adam.