Unbending.
This was the short story of love and sorrow, whose pain even now awoke
again in the young heart as she looked down into the valley, thinking
to see Joseph who so often passed along it, and never found the way up
to her. She wiped her forehead, for the sun was beginning to burn, and
she had already mowed the whole meadow-land from the house up to the
"Sonnenplatte;" so the point on which she stood was called, because
rising high above all around, it ever caught the earliest rays of the
morning sun. From it the village took its name.
"Wally, Wally," some one now called from behind her, "come to thy
father, he's something to say to thee," and old Luckard came towards
her from the house. Her father had sent for her? What could he want?
Never since their adventure in Soelden had he spoken with her excepting
of what concerned the day's work. Wavering between fear and reluctance
she rose and followed the old woman.
"What does he want?" she asked.
"Great news," said Luckard, "look there!"
Wally looked, and saw her father standing before the house, and with
him a young peasant of the place named Vincenz, with a big nosegay in
his button hole. He was a dark, robust fellow whom Wally had known from
her childhood as a reserved and stubborn man. He had never bestowed a
kindly word on anyone but Wally, to whom from her school-days upwards
he had shown a special goodwill. A few months previously both his
parents had died within a short time of each other; now he was
independent, and next to Stromminger the richest peasant in the country
side. The blood stood still in Wally's veins, for she already knew what
was coming.
"Vincenz wants to marry thee," said her father; "I've said 'yes,' and
next month we'll have the wedding." Having thus spoken he turned on his
heel and went into the house as if there were nothing more to be said.
Wally stood silent for a moment as though thunderstruck; she must
collect herself, she must consider what was to be done. Vincenz
meanwhile confidently stepped up to her with the intention of putting
his arm round her waist. But she sprang back with a cry of terror, and
now she knew well enough what it was she had to do.
"Vincenz," she said, trembling with misery, "I beg of thee to go home.
I can never be thy wife--never. Thou wouldn't have my father force me
to it. I tell thee once for all I cannot love thee."
A look brief as lightning flashed across Vincenz's face; he bit his
lips, and his black eyes were fixed with passionate eagerness on Wally.
"So thou doesn't love me? But I love thee, and I'll lay my life on it
that I'll have thee too. I've got thy father's consent and I'll never
give it back, and I've a notion thou'll come to change thy mind yet if
thy father wills it."
"Vincenz," said Wally, "if thou'd been wise thou'd not have spoken like
that, for thou'd have known I'll never have thee now. What I will not
do, none can force me to do--that thou may know once for all. And now
go home, Vincenz; we've nothing more to say to each other," and she
turned short away from him and went into the house.
"Oh, thou!" Vincenz called out after her in angry pain, clenching his
fist. Then he checked himself. "Well," he murmured between his teeth,
"I can wait--and I _will_ wait."
Wally went straight to her father. He was sitting all bent together
over his accounts and turned round slowly as she entered. "What is it?"
he said.
The sun shone through the low window and threw its full beams on Wally,
so that she stood as though wrapped in glory before her father. Even he
was amazed at the beauty of his child as she stood before him at that
moment.
"Father," she began quietly, "I only wanted to tell you that I will not
marry Vincenz."
"Indeed!" cried Stromminger, starting up. "Is that it? Thou won't marry
him?"
"No, father, I don't like him."
"Indeed! and did I ask thee if thou liked him?"
"No, I tell it you plainly, unasked."
"And I tell thee too unasked that in four weeks thou'll marry Vincenz
whether thou likes him or not. I've given him my word, and Stromminger
never takes his word back. Now get thee gone."
"No, father," said the girl, "things can't be settled in that way. I'm
no head of cattle to let myself be sold or promised as the master
pleases. It seems to me I also have a word to say when it has to do
with my marriage."
"No, that thou hasn't, for a child belongs to her father as much as a
calf or a heifer, and must do what its father orders."
"Who says that, father?"
"Who says so? It's said in the Bible," and an ominous flush rose on
Stromminger's face.
"It says in the Bible that we are to honour and love our parents, but
not that we are to marry a man when it goes against us merely because
our father orders it. See, father, if it could do you any good for me
to marry Vincenz, if it could save you from death or from misery--I'd
do it willingly, and even if I were to break my heart over it. But
you're a rich man that need ask nothing of anyone; it must be all one
to you whom I marry; and you give me to Vincenz out of pure spite, that
I may not marry Joseph, whom I love, and who would certainly have loved
me if he could have got to know me; and it's cruel of you, father, and
it says nowhere in the Bible that a child should put up with that."
"Thou--thou pert thing, I'll send thee to the priest; he'll teach thee
what the Bible says."
"It will be no good, father; and if you sent me to ten priests, and if
they all ten told me that I must obey you in this, I yet wouldn't do
it."
"And I tell thee thou _shall_ do it so sure as my name is Stromminger.
Thou shall do it, or I'll drive thee out of house and home and
disinherit thee."
"That you can do, father, I'm strong enough to earn my own bread. Yes,
father, give everything to Vincenz--only not me."
"Foolish nonsense," said Stromminger perplexed. "Shall people say of me
that Stromminger cannot even master his own child? Thou shall marry
Vincenz; if I have to thrash thee into church, thou shall."
"And even if you thrashed me into church I'd still say no, at the
altar. You may strike me dead, but you cannot thrash that 'Yes' out of
me; and even if you could, sooner would I fling myself down from the
cliff, than I'd go home with a man I've no love for."
"Now listen," cried Stromminger; his broad forehead was cleft as it
were, with a swelling blue vein that ran across it, his whole face was
suffused, his eyes bloodshot. "Now listen, thou'd better not drive me
mad. Thou's already had enough of my cudgel; now give in, or between us
things will come to a bad end!"
"Things came to a bad end between us a year ago, father. For when you
beat me so that time on my confirmation day, then I felt all was at an
end between us. And see, father, since then it's been all one to me
whether you are bad to me or good, whether you treat me well or strike
me dead--it's all one to me. I have no heart left for you. You're no
dearer to me than the Similaun-, or Vernagt-, or Murzoll-glacier."
A stifled cry of rage broke from Stromminger. Half-stupified he had
listened to the girl's words, but now, incapable of speech, he sprang
upon her, seized her by the waist, swung her from the ground high over
his head, and shook her till his own breath failed; then flinging her
to the ground he set his heavy heel studded with nails upon her breast.
"Unsay what thou has said," he gasped, "or I'll crush thee like a
worm."
"Do it," said the girl, her eyes fixed steadily on her father. She
breathed hard, for her father's foot weighed on her like lead, but she
did not stir; not so much as an eyelash trembled.
Stromminger's power was broken. He had threatened what he could not
perform, for at the thought of crushing the fair and innocent breast of
his child his anger faded, he grew suddenly calm. He was conquered.
Almost staggering he drew back his foot.
"Nay, I'll not end my days in a prison," he said gloomily, and sank
exhausted into his chair.
Wally got up, she was pale as death, her eyes were tearless,
lustreless, like a stone. She waited passively for what might come
next. Stromminger sat for a minute in bitter reflection, then he spoke
in hoarse tones.
"I cannot kill thee, but since Similaun and Murzoll are dear to thee as
thy father, by Similaun and Murzoll thou may remain for the future,
thou may belong to them. Thou shall never more stretch thy feet under
my board. Thou shall go and mind the cattle up on the Hochjoch, till
thou's found out it's better to be in Vincenz's warm home, than in the
snow drift of the glacier. Tie up thy bundle, for I'll see no more of
thee. Go up early tomorrow, I'll let the Schnalser people know, and
send the cattle after thee next week by the boy. Take bread and cheese
enough to last till the beasts come; Klettenmaier will guide thee up
there. Now take thyself off. These are my last words and by _these_
I'll stand."
"It is well, father," said Wally softly; she bowed her head, and
quitted her father's room.