A Day at Home.
As Wally went back across the bridge, she turned giddy; she felt now
for the first time how the blood had mounted to her head. The milder
air down here that felt heavy and oppressive after the clear, icy
atmosphere of the Ferner, the bird that clung tightly to her shoulder
as her rapid movements made his hold insecure--all seemed painful,
almost unbearable. At last she came to the village where her home
stood, but to reach it she was obliged to go the whole length of the
street, to the very last house. All the villagers, who had just
finished their dinners, put their heads out of window and pointed at
her with their fingers. "See, there goes the Vulture-maiden. Hast
ventured down at last, then? And thou's brought the vulture back with
thee, thou and he were not frozen together, then? Thy father left thee
to shiver up there long enough!" "Let's see, now, how thou'rt looking?
As brown and lean as a Schnalser herdsman." "He! he! thou's grown tame
enough up yonder; yes, yes, that's the way to serve such as will not
obey their father!"
A shower of spiteful comments such as these fell around Wally; she kept
her eyes bent on the ground, and the burning red of shame and
bitterness mounted to her brow. Insulted--scoffed at--thus the proud
daughter of the chief peasant returned to her home. And all--for what?
An implacable hatred rose up in her, sorer, bitterer than anger; for
anger may subside, but the deep hatred that grows in an embittered,
ill-treated heart strikes its roots through the whole being; it is the
silent, persistent outcome of helpless revenge.
Silently Wally mounted the hill behind the hamlet whence Stromminger's
farm looked proudly down. No one noticed her arrival but the deaf
Klettenmaier, who was splitting wood for winter-use under the wooden
shed in the yard; all the others were in the field.
"God be praised," he said, and took off his cap to his master's child.
She set down her burden, the heavy vulture, on the ground, and gave her
hand to the old man.
"Thou's heard?" he said. "Old Luckard?"
Wally nodded.
"Ay! ay!" he continued without interrupting his work. "If Vincenz once
takes a dislike to any one he never rests till he's driven them out.
He'd be glad enough to see me off the place, for he knows very well I
always held by Luckard, and he thinks that if no one was left at the
farm to help thee, thou dursn't be so wilful. And because there's
nothing else he can do to me, he leaves me always the hardest work;
I've a whole waggon load of wood to cut up every day, but I can't do it
for long. See, I'm nearly seventy-six years old, and this is the third
day. But that's just what he wants, to be able to tell Stromminger that
I'm no longer good for anything, or else for me to go away of myself
when I can hold out no more. But where could I go--an old man like me?
I _must_ hold out."
Wally had listened with a gloomy countenance to the old man's speech.
Now she went quickly into the house to fetch bread and wine for him;
but the store-room was locked and so was the cellar. Wally went into
the kitchen. Her heart felt a pang--here had been Luckard's peculiar
domain, and she felt as if the old woman _must_ come to meet her and
ask: "How is it with thee?--what does thou want?--what can I do to
serve thee?" But all that was over and gone. A strange and sturdy
servant girl sat on the hearth, peeling potatoes.
"Where are the keys?" asked Wally.
"What keys?"
"The keys of the store-room and the cellar!"
The girl looked insolently at Wally. "Ho, ho! what next--and who may
thou be?"
"That thou might guess well enough," said Wally proudly, "I am the
master's daughter."
"Ha, ha," laughed the girl, "then thou may just take thyself out of the
kitchen. The master has forbidden that thou should come into the house.
Over there in the barn--that's thy place. Dost understand me?"
Wally grew pale as death. Thus, then--thus was she to be received in
her father's house. Wallburga, daughter of the Strommingers, must give
way to the lowest servant girl on the estate to which she was heir! Not
only was she to be forbidden her father's presence--it was intended to
break her spirit through degrading humiliations. She, Wally, the
Vulture-maiden, of whom her father had once proudly said that a girl
like her was worth ten boys!
"Give me the keys!" she commanded in a firm voice.
"Ha! ha! that's better still. The master has ordered us to look on thee
as a stable girl--there's no question of keys there. I look after the
house, and I give out nothing but what the master allows."
"The keys," cried Wally in an outburst of anger, "I command thee!"
"Thou's no call to command me--dost understand? I'm Stromminger's
servant, and none of thine. And I am master in the kitchen, dost
understand? It's Stromminger's orders. And if Stromminger holds his own
daughter lower than a servant--no doubt he knows the reason why!"
Wally stepped close up to the servant, her eyes flashed, her lips
quivered; the girl was frightened. But only for an instant did the
struggle last in Wally, then her pride conquered; with the miserable
serving maid she had nothing to do. She left the house. Her pulses beat
like hammers, her eyes swam, her bosom rose and fell in gasps; it was
too much--all that this day had brought her. She crossed the yard, took
the cleaver from the hand of the old man who was trembling with his
efforts, and led him to a bench that he might rest himself. He honestly
resisted, he dared not leave his task incomplete; but Wally made him
understand she would do his work for him.
"God bless thee, thou hast a good heart," said the man, seating himself
wearily on the bench. Wally went into the shed and split the heavy logs
with mighty blows. So wrathfully did she swing the axe that at each
stroke she hit it through the wood deep into the block. The old man
watched with astonishment how the work went on better in her hands than
in a man's, and he took a pride in it--he had seen the child grow up
from her birth and loved her in his own way. But Wally saw afar the
hated form of Vincenz approaching, and involuntarily she discontinued
her work. Vincenz did not see her. He came up from behind Klettenmaier,
and suddenly stood close in front of the startled old man, whilst Wally
observed him from within the shed. He seized the man by the doublet and
pulled him up. "Hallo," he screamed in his ear, "dost call that
working? thou lazy dawdle, thou; as often as I come by thou's sitting
there doing nothing--now I've had enough of it--be off with thee," and
he gave him a push with his knee, so that the trembling old man was
flung to a distance on the stone pavement of the yard.
"Help, master! help me up," cried the man imploringly, but Vincenz had
seized a cudgel and raised his arm. "Wait a bit--thou shall see how I
help up a lazy knave!" he said. At this moment such a blow fell on
Vincenz's head that he uttered a loud cry and staggered backwards. "God
in heaven, what is that?" he stammered and sank upon the bench.
"It is the Vulture-maiden," answered a voice trembling with rage, and
Wally, the hatchet in her hand, stood before him with white lips and
staring eyes, struggling for breath as if the wild pulses of her heart
were choking her.
"Did thou feel that?" she panted out with breathless pauses. "Dost know
now how it feels to get a heavy blow? I'll teach thee to oppress my
faithful old servant. Thou'st already sent my Luckard underground, and
now thou'll do the same by this old man? Nay, before I'll suffer such a
deed, I'll set my whole inheritance in flames and smoke thee out of it
as I would a fox." Meanwhile she had helped up old Klettenmaier, and
led him out to the barn. "Go in, Klettenmaier," she said, "and recover
thyself, _I_ order thee."
Klettenmaier obeyed; he felt that at this moment she was master, but at
the door he freed himself from her support and said, shaking his head,
"Thou shouldn't have done it, Wally--go and look after Vincenz; I fear
thou'st given him a heavy blow."
She left the old man and went out again. Vincenz lay quite still. Wally
looked at him with half-averted eyes; he had lost consciousness and lay
stretched out on the bench, and blood dripped from his head on to the
ground. With quick decision, Wally went into the kitchen and called to
the girl; "Come out here; bring some vinegar and a cloth and help me."
"What, thou's more orders to give already," said the girl, laughing out
loud, without stirring from the spot where she sat.
"It's not for me," said Wally with a dark and evil glance, as she took
the vinegar flask from the shelf. "Vincenz is lying out there--I've
half killed him."
"Heaven and earth!" shrieked the maid; and instead of hastening to help
Vincenz, she ran screaming about the house and yard. "Help, help," she
cried; "Wally has struck Vincenz dead!" And from every side the alarm
cry was echoed back till it reached even to the village, and every one
ran to the spot.
Wally had meanwhile called Klettenmaier to her assistance, and was
washing the face of the senseless man with vinegar and water. She could
not understand how it was the wound was so deep, for she had struck
with the back of the hatchet, and not with the sharp edge; but the blow
had been dealt with a force of which she herself was unconscious. Her
long restrained rage had concentrated itself in that one stroke, which
came crashing down as if she were still splitting the logs of wood.
"What's happened here?" roared a voice in Wally's ear, and her blood
stood still--her father had dragged himself out on his crutches.
"What's happened here?" repeated twenty or thirty voices, and the yard
was filled with people.
Wally was silent.
A buzzing murmur arose all round her, every one pressed forward,
touching and examining the lifeless man. "Is he dead?" "Will he die?"
"How came it about?" "Did Wally do it?" was asked from one to another.
She stood there as though she neither heard nor saw, and laid a bandage
on the wounded Vincenz. "Can thou not speak?" thundered her father.
"What hast thou done, Wally?"
"You can see!" was the short reply.
"She owns to it," they all shrieked together. "Gracious Heaven, what
insolence!" "Thou gallows-bird, thou!" cried Stromminger. "Is it so
thou comes down again to thy home?"
At the word "home," Wally gave a short bitter laugh and fixed a
piercing glance on her father.
"Laugh away," cried Stromminger; "I thought thou'd learn better up
there, and now, scarce a quarter of an hour in the house, thou's
already at mischief again."
"He moves," cried one of the women, "he's still alive."
"Carry him into the house and lay him on my bed," ordered Stromminger,
making way by the kitchen door against which he was leaning. Two men
raised Vincenz and carried him indoors.
"If only the doctor were here," lamented the women, following the sick
man into the room.
"If only we had old Luckard, we should need no doctor," said some of
them, "she knew what was good for everything."
"Let her be fetched," cried Stromminger, "tell her to come this
instant."
Again Wally laughed. "Yes, truly, old Luckard," she said. "Thou'd be
glad to have her back again now, Stromminger! Thou must seek her now in
the churchyard!"
The people looked at each other in consternation. "Is she dead?" asked
Stromminger.
"Yes, three days ago she died--died heartbroken because of what you did
to her. See, Stromminger, it serves thee right, and if yon man dies
because there is no one by who knows how to cure him, it serves him
right too; so much as that he has well deserved of Luckard."
Now there arose a tumult--this was too bad. "After such a deed to talk
like this, and say it served him right, instead of repenting it. Why,
no one's life was safe! and Stromminger to stand by and let her talk
like that and never say a word! there was a fine father for you!" So
they talked together, while Wally, with folded arms, stood defiantly in
the kitchen door looking at Stromminger, who, in spite of himself, was
hard hit by her reproaches. Now however his wrath returned with double
force, and raising himself on his crutch he cried to the crowd; "I'll
show you what manner of father I am! seize her and bind her."
"Yes, yes," cried the people confusedly, "bind her, such a one should
be under lock and bolt--before the justice she shall go, the
murderess."
Wally uttered a dull cry at the word "murderess," and drew back into
the kitchen. "Hold," cried Stromminger. "Before a justice my daughter
shall never go; do you think I'll live to see the chief peasant's child
taken off to prison? Do you know Stromminger no better than that? Do
_I_ need a court of justice to punish a wilful girl? Stromminger
himself is man enough for that, and on my own ground and my own
territory I am my own judge and justice. I'll soon show you who
Stromminger is, though I am lame. Into the cellar she shall go, and
there remain under lock and key, till her proud spirit is broken and
she comes after me on her knees before you all. You have heard, all of
you, and if I don't keep my word you may set me down a rascal."
"Merciful God, hast Thou forgotten judgment?" cried Wally. "No, father
no! for God's sake don't lock me up! Turn me out, send me up the
Murzoll to perish in the snow--I'll die of hunger--I'll die of
cold--but under the open heavens. If you lock me up, harm will come of
it!"
"Aha, thou'd like to be off again wandering round like a vagabond--that
would please thee better? Not so; I've been too soft with thee. Thou'll
stop under lock and key till thou asks pardon on thy knees of me and of
Vincenz."
"Father, all that is no good with me; sooner than do that, I'd rot away
in the cellar--that you might know of yourself. Let me go, father, or,
I tell you once more, harm will come of it."
"There--enough said. Well, you--what are you all standing there for?
Are you dreaming? Am I to run after her with my lame foot? Seize her,
but hold her fast--she has Stromminger blood in her that'll try your
teeth--hold on there!"
The peasants, stung by this mockery, crowded into the kitchen. "We'll
soon get hold of her!" they said scoffingly.
But with one spring Wally was at the hearth, and had snatched burning
brands from the fire. "The first that touches me, I'll singe him, hair
and skin!" she cried, and stood like the archangel with the flaming
sword.
All fell back.
"Shame upon you!" cried Stromminger. "All of you together might be a
match for a girl! Strike the brands from her hand with a stick," he
ordered, in a paroxysm of rage, for it was now a point of honour with
him to master his daughter before the eyes of the whole village. Some
of them ran and fetched sticks; it was like hunting a wild animal, and
a wild animal Wally had in truth become. Her eyes bloodshot, the sweat
of agony on her brow, her white teeth clenched, she defended herself
against this pack of hounds, fought like the wild beast of the forest,
without reflection, without calculation, for her freedom--her life's
element. Now they struck with the sticks at the brands in her grasp,
her only weapon, and she flung them into the midst of the crowd, so
that they fell back on one another, shrieking; then, snatching another
brand from the hearth, and yet another, she threw them like fiery shot
at the heads of her assailants. The uproar grew louder.
"Water here," cried Stromminger, "fetch water,--put out the fire!"
This would be an end to everything; the fire once out, Wally was lost.
One moment more, and the water would be brought--despair seized the
girl. All at once there came a thought--a terrible, desperate thought;
but there was no time for consideration; the thought was a deed before
she could reflect upon it, and waving a burning log in her hand, she
rushed swift as an arrow through her pursuers out into the courtyard,
and hurled the brand with a mighty fling on to the hay-loft, right into
the middle of the hay and straw.
There was a scream of terror and amazement. "Now put the fire out,"
cried Wally, and flew across the courtyard through the gate, away and
away, whilst all in the farm hurried shouting and storming to
extinguish the flames that were already blazing upwards through the
roof.
With the rising pillar of smoke, as if born of the roaring flame, a
dark object rose screeching from the roof, circled two or three times
high overhead in the air, and then took flight in the direction in
which Wally had fled.
Wally heard the rushing sound behind her; she thought it was her
pursuers, and ran blindly on. It was already night, but there was no
darkness, clear light quivered all around her, so that she might still
be seen from afar. She mounted a steep point of rock whence she could
look down the road, and now she saw that her pursuer was coming through
the air. She had attained her end, no one thought any more of following
her. To save the farm buildings was a more pressing need, and all hands
were engaged in the work. The vulture overtook her as she stood there,
and bounded against her with such force as nearly to throw her down
from the rock. She pressed the bird to her bosom and sank exhausted on
the ground. With dazed eyes she looked up at the glare of the fire that
shone afar, and lighted up the dark mountain tops around. With a
glowing and angry aspect her deed looked down on her--threatening,
wrathful, overpowering. From every church tower in the canton round
sounded the dismal peal of warning, and the bells rang out quite
distinctly, "Incendiary, incendiary." But the terrible song lulled her
senses to sleep--unconsciousness dropped a kindly veil over her hunted
spirit.