Waldfried Part 35

CHAPTER III.

Richard and the Baron rode over to the Wild Lake which they had intended to stock. Annette accompanied them.

It was already night, but Richard had not returned; I was seated alone at the table, and waiting for him. It had always been his habit to tell us when he intended to remain out longer than the usual time.

Martella entered. Her cheeks were flushed, and she said, "Father, send me away--wherever it be. I cannot remain here. It shall not be my fault if any one is bad."

Trembling, and covering her face with her hands, she declared that Richard had told her that Ernst was unworthy of her, even if he were yet living, and that he would never return again. And after that he said--it was some time before she would tell what it was, and at last she exclaimed: "that he loves me with all his heart, and wanted to make me his wife! He! His brother! I would rather he should tie a stone about my neck, and throw me into the lake where his young fishes are! I could hardly believe at first, that he had said it, and answered him: 'That is a poor joke: just think of how your mother would feel if she knew that you would joke in this way!' and then he swore that mother had said Ernst was untrue to me, and had for that very reason gone out into the wide world. Can mother have said that? My eyes would start from their sockets, before Ernst would forsake me. But let me never see Richard again. Never! Let me go away. You can send me away, but Richard cannot cease to be your son. Nor can I cease to be your child, but I can go away."

It is impossible to find words for all that bubbled forth from Martella's soul. I pacified her, and she promised to remain until the next day.

I sat up alone to await Richard's return. He did not come until near midnight.

He wanted to bid me a short "good-night," but I detained him. He sat down and told me that the Baron and Annette had met Rautenkron down by the lake, and that he had ridiculed their undertaking. He had said, and rightly too: "Where there are no frogs, there is no stork; where there are no flies and worms, there are no birds or fishes. In what was called 'all-bountiful nature' one beast used the other for its blessed meal; and, besides that, the lake was entirely frozen over every winter, and had no outlet that was open through the whole year. If fishes were in it, they would become suffocated for want of air."

Rautenkron had displayed much knowledge in the matter, but he would not consent to a.s.sist them. He was delighted, moreover, that nature contained much that was egotistic and was of no use to mankind. Thus spoke Richard.

I was indignant. I could hardly conceive how Richard could talk about such subjects, and not make the slightest allusion to what had happened between him and Martella. I thought of Ernst's letter that I had received on the day of my wife's death. No one had seen it but I; for why should I have cared to spread the knowledge of Ernst's wickedness in offering his betrothed to another? Could it be that an open rupture with Annette had urged Richard to this unheard-of deed?

I endeavored to stifle my indignation, and said, "You talk of the Wild Lake--Wild Lake, indeed; you have an unfathomable one in yourself."

He looked at me with surprise.

"What do you mean, father?"

"How can you ask? You dare to touch that which should be holy in your eyes--the betrothed of your brother!"

"Father, did she tell you herself?" he said hesitatingly.

And I replied:

"What matters that? Until now, I had always thought that you were even a better man than I was at your age; do not undeceive me."

I said nothing more, and that was enough.

On the following morning, Richard announced that he was about to depart, and it cost me a great effort to induce Martella to permit him to take leave of her. At last she came, on condition that I would remain present while Richard bade her farewell.

Richard said:

"Martella, you have a right to be angry with me, but I am angrier at myself than you can possibly be. I make no protestations, no oaths; but I pledge my honor as a man, that you will nevermore hear a wrong word or receive a wrong glance from me. Farewell."

Thus, this trouble was arranged; but it seemed as if there could be nothing perfect in this world.

I do not know whether Johanna had been eavesdropping, or how she happened to find it out; but, at dinner, she spitefully hinted at what had happened, for when we were talking of the imprisoned fish poacher, she said, "People who are without religion are capable of anything, and the irreligious ones who catch a thief are no better than the thief himself. They stretch forth their hands to grasp things that ought to be sacred in their eyes."

During the whole of that winter I saw nothing of Richard, and received but one letter from him, in which he informed me that he had been offered an appointment at a distant university, and that, for many reasons, he would gladly have accepted it, but that the Prince had requested him to remain in the country. He added that he was now again able to say that his only happiness lay in the pursuit of science.

It was a great pleasure to me to have Julius stationed in our neighborhood. He was so pure, so fresh, and so bright, that whenever he came to our house, his presence seemed like the odor of flowers.

I am indebted to Julius for joys which even transcend those my children have given me, and my pride in my eldest grandson was now about to be mingled with that I cherished for my eldest son.

My joy was fully shared by Rothfuss. He counted how many days it would be before Ludwig arrived, and said:

"There are but seven steps yet--right foot, sleep; left foot, get up; or, taking it the other way, the two together make one step."

The last days of waiting seemed long, even to me. Ludwig had particularly requested that I should not go to meet him.

On the night before his arrival, I suddenly felt so oppressed that I thought I should die.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and, afterward, the breathing of some one in front of my door. a.s.suredly, he has wished to prevent my worrying--he is here already.

"Who is there?"

"It is I,--Rothfuss. I thought to myself that you would not be able to sleep, and then it suddenly occurred to me that everybody says I am so entertaining that I can put any one to sleep, and so I thought--"

Rothfuss' allusion to this peculiar art made me laugh so heartily that I felt quite well again. After he left the room, I was obliged to laugh again at the thought of what he had said; and then I fell asleep, and did not awake until the bright daylight shone into my room.

CHAPTER IV.

_May_ 28, 1870.

"Good-morning, dear Henry," she said to herself, this day forty-six years ago, when she awoke on the last morning she spent in her own chamber.

"Good-morning, Gustava," said I, opening my eyes. It was the anniversary of our wedding-day, and every year while we were together, these were the first accents from her lips and mine--in joy and in sorrow, always the same.

And this very morning, when awakening, I heard her quite distinctly in my dream saying, "Good-morning, Henry." But I am alone. She has been s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me.

On this day our first-born returns from the new world. I am writing these words in the early dawn, as it will be a long while before I again have a chance quietly to set down my recollections. I will now prepare myself to go forth and meet my son.

_June_, 1870.

Ludwig and Richard have gone to the capital, and I have at last quiet and time to note down his arrival and his presence with us.

I had just finished writing the above lines, on the twenty-eighth of May, when I heard Rothfuss drawing the chaise up from the barn to the front of the house. He then placed the jack-screw under the frame and took off one wheel after the other and greased the axles, singing and whistling while at his work.

He saw me seated at the window, and called out in a joyful voice:

"One waits ever so long for the Kirchweih,[4] but it comes at last.

Martella is up already, and has been fixing up the beehives with red ribbons; the bees, too, are to know that joy comes to this house to-day. While busy at her work, she called out Ernst's name, as if she could drag him here that way. But to-day we must not let ourselves remember that any one is missing."

There it was again. No cup of joy without its drop of gall.