Black Forest Village Stories Part 45

"Crescence, do you talk. I've nothing more to say: whatever you do, I'm satisfied."

"Why, I don't think the boy'll want to stay and leave us. You mean well, I know that; but the child might die of home-sickness."

"I'll ask him," said Peter Mike, leaving the parents more astonished than ever; for habitual poverty deprives people of the power of forming resolutions, and makes them surprised to find this faculty in others.

Neither spoke: they dreaded the forthcoming answer, whatever it might be.

Peter Mike returned, leading Freddie by the hand. He nodded significantly, and Freddie cried, "Yes, I'll stay with cousin: he's going to give me a whip and a horse."

Crescence wept; but Florian said, "Well, then, let's go; what must be, the sooner it's done the better."

He went down-stairs, packed the cart, and hitched the dog. Peter Mike brought him the money.

When all was ready, Crescence kissed her son once more, and said, weeping, "Be a good boy, and mind your cousin: go to school and learn your lessons. Perhaps we shall come back in winter."

Florian turned his head away when his son took his hand, and tightened the strap by which he pulled the cart. Freddie put his arms round the dog's head and took leave of him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Florian pushed the gla.s.s over to Crescence.]

Not a word was spoken until they reached Kochersteinfeld: each mentally upbraided the other for having made so little opposition. Here they rested, and Florian called for a pint of wine to cheer their spirits.

Taking a long draught, he pushed the gla.s.s over to Crescence, bidding her do the same. She raised the gla.s.s to her lips, but set it down again and cried, weeping aloud, "I can't drink: it seems as if I had to drink the blood of my darling Freddie."

"Don't get up such a woman's fuss now: you ought to 've said that before. Let's sleep over it: we shall feel better tomorrow."

As if to escape from their own thoughts, they never stopped till they got to Kuenzelsau. On the way they held counsel as to the best investment of their money, and agreed to act upon the advice of Peter Mike.

Next day they set out for Oehringen; but suddenly Florian stopped and said, "Crescence, what do you say to turning round and going back for Freddie?"

"Yes, yes, yes! come."

In a moment the cart was headed the other way, and the dog leaped up Florian's side, as if he knew what was going on. But suddenly Crescence cried, "Oh, mercy, mercy! He'll never let us have him: there's a whole florin gone,--the night's lodging; and I've bought Lizzie a dress!"

"O women and vanity!" groaned Florian. "Well, we must try it, anyhow.

I'm bound to have my Freddie back."

The dog barked a.s.sent

It was noonday again when the caravan reached the linden-tree. Freddie ran to meet them, crying, "Is it winter?"

His mother went up to Peter Mike, laid down the money, begged him to overlook the florin which was gone, and demanded her child.

The parson was in Peter Mike's room, and had almost succeeded in persuading him to be reconciled to his brother's children and to give the adopted child but a small portion of his property. At sight of Crescence he rose, without knowing why, and raised his hands. He tried to induce the woman not to give her child away; and, when she answered, the sound of her voice was like a reminiscence of something long unthought of.

Peter Mike had called Florian. When the latter saw the parson, he rushed up to him, seized him by the collar, and cried, "Ha, old fellow!

I've caught you again at last." Crescence and Peter Mike interfered.

The parson, with a husky voice, begged the latter to retire, as he had important communications to make to the strangers. Peter Mike complied.

"Is your name Crescence?" asked the parson.

"Yes."

"My child! my child!" said the parson, hoa.r.s.ely, falling on her neck.

For a time all wept in silence. The parson pa.s.sed his hand over her face, and then made them both swear never to reveal the relation in which they stood to him. He would give them a house and set them up in business. Crescence was to be regarded as his sister's child.

Thus the vagrant family settled in the village. Florian has returned to the active use of his faithful knife.

The wife of the Protestant minister, who is very religious, claims to have discovered beyond a doubt that Crescence is not the parson's niece, but his daughter; but people don't believe it.

The dog, who is also in the butchering-line, has exchanged his name of Schlunkel for the honest one of Bless. The gloomy recollections of the past are buried in oblivion.

THE LAUTERBACHER.

The clear tones of the church-bell melted into the bright glow of noonday, and the peasants came homeward from the fields. The men carried their caps in their hands until they reached the highroad: the voice of G.o.d had called upon them to lay their farming-utensils aside and to seek refreshment in prayer and in bodily food. A young man of slender form had come up the road leading from the town to the village.

He was attired in citizen's dress, and carried a brown "Ziegenhainer"

walking-stick, with numerous names engraved upon it, in his hand. On coming in sight of the village, he stood still, listened to the song of the bell, and surveyed the forest of white-blossomed orchards in which the hamlet was imbedded. He saluted the people who came from the fields with a peculiar earnestness, as if they were his friends. They returned the greeting with almost equal cordiality, and often turned round to look at him again. It seemed to them as if he must be some native of the village returning home after long journeys; and yet they could not recall his features.

When the last sound of the bell had died away, when all the fields were hushed and not a human being remained in sight, while the larks alone continued to revel in the skies, the stranger sat down upon a bank, and, after another long look at the village, he drew out his note-book.

Having a.s.sured himself that he was un.o.bserved, he wrote into it as follows:--

"Greeks and Romans, how your triumphs rent the air and your trumpets brayed! But it was left for Christianity to steal the ore from the dark bowels of the earth, to hang it aloft in mid-air, and pour its tones over the land, summoning mankind to devotion, to joy, to mourning. How glorious must have been the sound of harp and drum at Jerusalem! But now there is no longer but one temple upon earth: Christianity has raised them by thousands, far and near. When I heard the sound just now, it was like a heavenly welcome to my entrance into this place. You looked at me in astonishment, good people. Ye know not what we are to be to each other. Oh for a magic charm to obtain, the entire control over the minds of these beings, so that I might free them from ignorance and superst.i.tion and give them a taste of the true pleasures of the mind! They walk the earth even as the cattle which they follow, seeking nothing but food for their mouths.

"This, then, is the spot where my new life is to begin,--there the dingles and the downs on which my eye shall rest when my mind is full of the experiences of labor and exertion! Wherever flowers are seen, the earth is beautiful and gladdening. And, though men do not understand me, thou dost understand me, O deathless Nature, and dost reward my attention to thy revelations with a kindly smile. Here the trees send forth their blossoms, and in the village I hear the merry shouts of the children into whose minds I am to cast the light of education."

He ceased writing, and, looking at his cane, he said to himself, "Ye are scattered to the four winds of heaven, ye friends of my youth, and your names alone are left me; but I lean upon the memory of your names in crossing the threshold of my new existence. I commit my greetings to the spring: may the birds of the air convey it to your ears and refresh your hearts!"

He rose and walked briskly to the village.

It is not necessary to say that it was the new schoolmaster whose acquaintance we have just made. He asked for the squire, and was directed to Buchmaier's house.

Buchmaier and his numerous household were at dinner when the stranger entered. With a hearty welcome, he was invited to take a seat at the table, but politely declined.

"Oh, pshaw!" said Buchmaier, who had resumed his seat and his masticatory operations without delay: "move up a little, you. Quick, Agnes! get a plate. Sit down, Mr. Teacher. We don't do like the Horb folks: they always say, 'If you'd only come sooner.' Whoever comes into our houses at dinnertime must help us. You'll be too late for dinner where you're going; and we're just sitting down. You must take pot-luck, you see. It's a regular Black Forest dinner,--little fried dumplings and dried apples, boiled."

Agnes had brought a plate; and the teacher, to avoid giving offence, took his seat at the table.

"My Agnes here," said Buchmaier, after heaping his plate, "you'll have in Sunday-school."

"Oh, you won't have much more to learn," said the teacher, by way of saying something. The girl's eyes were fixed bashfully on her plate.

"Why, Agnes, why don't you talk? You generally carry your tongue about you. Do you know every thing?"

"Wall, I kin sheow a fist at readin' good enough, but the writin' won't gee no more, noheow, a body gits sich nation hard fingers workin' all the week."

We have attempted to reproduce Agnes' speech in the broadest Yankee brogue; but it is entirely insufficient to give the reader an adequate idea of the effect produced upon our hero's mind by the guttural consonants and parti-colored vowels of the original. All the beauty of the lips disappeared from his view when he heard what issued from them.