Black Forest Village Stories Part 31

"At first, I guess, I thought of nothing at all. You might break me on the wheel, and I couldn't remember any thing. Then I came upon a nest of young quails,--dear little bits of things. I put them on one side, out of the way of the boys. Then I was wis.h.i.+ng to see how surprised the old ones would be when they came to find their house in another spot.

Then I thought of Nat's song, which you can sing too, about the poor soul. Then I thought, 'Where may Nat have gone to?' Then,--then I thought, 'I'm glad it's only half an hour till dinner-time,' for I was getting mighty hungry. There! that's all: it isn't much, is it?" She tugged bashfully at her sleeves, and could not raise her eyes to his face. Ivo asked again,--

"Don't you sometimes think how wonderful it is that G.o.d causes the seed which man throws out to bear sevenfold, and that the young crop sleeps under the snow until the sun wakes it in spring? How many millions of men have already lived upon the juices of the earth, and yet have not exhausted them!"

"Oh, yes, I often think that, but it wouldn't have occurred to me of my own accord: the parson says it often in sermons and in the catechism.

You see, when you have to work at all these things yourself you don't find time for such reflections, but only think, 'Will it be ripe soon?'

and 'Will it bear much?' The parsons, who don't work in the field, don't carry out the dung, and don't do any thres.h.i.+ng, have more time for such thinking."

"But you must seek such thoughts a little, and then you will find them oftener. Won't you, Emmerence?"

"Yes, indeed I will: you are right: it is always well to admonish me.

If you ask me often, you'll soon find I shall have more to tell you.

I'm not so very stupid."

"You're a dear girl," said Ivo. He was on the point of taking her hand, but restrained himself with an effort, though he could not prevent himself from being more and more absorbed in admiration of her frank and sterling ways.

With a heavy heart Ivo returned to the convent. He admired the heroic endurance of his mother, and vowed to imitate it. But another subject occupied him. Through suffering and pain the paradise of his parental home had uprisen from its ashes, and he saw what an inexhaustible source of happiness is found in the attachment of two loving hearts which cling together the more closely the more rudely they are tossed by life's storms and changes. The undying sorrow of his heart broke forth again. He thought of Emmerence; and, sitting in the dark valley of pines, he wept. Down in the dingle was heard the harsh clang of a saw-mill; and Ivo wished that the boards being sawed there might be nailed into his coffin.

In the next holidays he was again almost constantly at home. Life was happy and peaceful there now. Valentine was regenerated, and a petulant word was never heard. Each member of the household behaved with tender consideration to all the others, and the Palm Sundays of early childhood seemed to have returned. But this very calm was to Ivo a source of unrest; in this very peace grew for him a tree of discord. He saw, with unmantled clearness, the solitary gloom of his own future, and knew that the happiness he witnessed was never to be his.

Two important events enhanced the interest of this vacation. Johnnie, Constantine's father, had had a house built for his son. Valentine and his sons had erected it; and Joseph, who became master-builder about this time, spoke the customary poem or oration.

The whole village had a.s.sembled before the building: the master and the journeymen were on the summit, engaged in fastening the crown of a young fir, hung with ribbons of all colors, to the peak of the gable.

All were on the alert for Joseph's first performance. After a simple salutation, he began:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Joseph's first performance.]

"Here you see I have climb'd up unbidden: If I had had a horse I would have ridden; But, as I never had a horse, I may as well talk about something else, of course.

The highest power in the State, The Kaiser,--G.o.d keep him, early and late,-- And all the lords and princes round about, The carpenters' trade could never do without.

A journeyman-carpenter here I stand, And I travel through every prince's land.

I look about me with care, Whether I can make a living there.

If I had every la.s.sie's good-will, And every master's craft and skill, And all the wit of my friend the beadle, I could build a house on the point of a needle; But, as I can do nothing of the kind, I must first have my house design'd.

He who would build on roads and streets Must give every one a chance to try his wits.

I like what is fine, Though it be not mine; Though it cannot be my treasure, It can always give me pleasure.

So I'll drink its health in some yellow wine: Comrade, just fill up this gla.s.s of mine.

Builder! I drink to your satisfaction, Not that I envy or wish you detraction, But for good feeling and brotherhood.

Long life to the Kaiser and all his brood!

Destruction to every enemy, And good luck to this wors.h.i.+pful company, And to all the people, from far and near, That have come to look at the building here.

Now I drink over all your heads: Look out! what comes down's no feather-bed; What goes up must come down: Every man take care of his crown.

Now I'll think no more about it, But drink the wine and throw away the gla.s.s without it."

Having dropped the gla.s.s, among the cheers of the crowd, he went on:--

"By G.o.d's help and his gracious power We have finish'd this house in good time and hour.

And so we thank him, one and all, That he has suffer'd none to fall,-- That none has been unfortunate In life or limb, health or estate; And also to our Lord we pray Us henceforth still to keep alway; And now I commend this house into his hand, And all the German fatherland.

And hope the owner may use it so As to make a good living out of those who come and go.

And I wish you, all together, Health and success in all wind and weather.

And almost I had done great wrong To have left the la.s.sies out of my song, Who have wound for us these garlands fine, And hung them with roses and eglantine: The flowers in our hats we mean to wear In honor of our la.s.sies fair."

With the rosemary in his hat, and the ap.r.o.n of skins, Joseph came down to receive the applause and congratulations of his friends. His intended, Hansgeorge's Maria, took both his hands, gazed into his face with radiant eyes, and then looked triumphantly round on the bystanders.

Turning to Ivo, Joseph said, "I can preach too, if it comes to that: can't I, Ivo? This was my first ma.s.s, you see."

Ivo sighed deeply at the mention of the first ma.s.s.

All now returned home, except those specially invited by Constantine to partake of a grand dinner. Ivo, however, could not be persuaded to accept this invitation: he stood still a while, looking at the airy rafters, and thinking how happy Constantine must be in the possession of a house of his own. "As for these parsonages," he said to himself, "they are like sentry-houses, which belong to no one, and where no one leaves a trace of his existence: a solitary sentinel takes the place of his predecessor until he is relieved in his turn. But let me not be selfish: if the joys of a home are not for me, I will work for the welfare of others.

"I like what is fine, Though it be not mine; Though it cannot be my treasure, It can always give me pleasure."

A week later was Joseph's wedding. It was a merry time. Christina sat at the head of the table, beside her son Ivo, who was and remained the pride of the family. Ivo danced a figure with his sister-in-law, and another with Emmerence. She was overjoyed, and said, "So we've had a dance together: who knows whether we shall ever have another?"

Ivo's second brother now brought his sweetheart to him, and said, "Dance together." When they had done so, his mother came to him and said, "Why, you dance splendidly! Where did you learn it?"

"I never forgot it: the spin-wife used to teach me, you remember, in the twilight."

"Shall we try it?"

"Yes, mother."

All the others stopped to see Ivo dance with his mother. Valentine rose, snapped his fingers, and cried,--

"Gentlemen, play a national for me, and I'll send an extra bottle.

Come, old girl!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Valentine took his wife and danced the old national dance.]

He took his wife by the arm, skipped and jumped, and danced the old national dance, now wellnigh forgotten: he smacked his tongue, struck his breast and his thighs, swayed himself on his toes and his heels alternately, and executed all sorts of flourishes. Now he would hold his lady, now let her go, and trip round and round her with outstretched arms and loving gestures. Christina looked down modestly, but with manifest enjoyment, and turned round and round, almost without stirring from the spot on which she stood. Holding a corner of her ap.r.o.n in her hand, she slipped now under his right arm, now under his left, and sometimes they both turned under their uplifted arms. With a jump which shook the floor, Valentine concluded the dance.

Thus was their vacation full of joy, in the house and out of it.

14.

THE QUARREL.

Once more Ivo was compelled to leave these things behind and return to the convent. He no longer met Clement there, the latter having obtained permission to leave a year before the usual time, in order to enter a Bavarian monastery.

A new pang awaited him in the fate of Bart, of whom we, like him, have lost sight for some years. The poor, good-natured, but weak-minded, youth was in a terrible condition. He gnawed his finger-nails incessantly, and rubbed his hands as if they were cold: his walk was unsteady and tottering; the color of his face was a livid green; his cheeks were sunken; while the red nose and the ever-open mouth made the lank, ungainly lad a fright to look upon. He was not far from imbecility, and had to be transferred to the hospital. It was intended to make an effort for his recovery and then discharge him from the convent. Ivo shuddered when he went to see him. The only signs of mental vigor he displayed took the form of frenzied self-accusation.

The very air of the place now seemed infected. The design which had long worked within Ivo's breast at last became an outward act, and he wrote a letter to his parents, informing them of his unalterable resolution to leave the convent, as he could not become a clergyman: further than this he entered into no argumentations, well knowing that they would lead to no result. He would have been called unG.o.dly if he had disclosed them fully, and thus the pain he caused would have been double. With a firm hand he wrote the letter; but with trembling he dropped it into the letter-box in the dusk of evening. As the paper glided down the opening, it seemed as if his past life was sinking into the grave; and every life--even a hopeless one--dies with a struggle.

With a firm effort, however, he recovered his courage and looked the future in the face.

Some days after, Ivo had a visit from his parents. They took him with them to the Lamb Tavern. There Valentine ordered a room; and, when they were all in it, he bolted the door.

"What's the matter with you?" he said to Ivo, sternly.

"I cannot be a minister, dear father. Don't look so angrily at me: you have been young too, surely."