At Last.
For some time Wally's moods had been almost unendurable. The whole
night through she would wander about in the open air; by day she was
full of unceasing and indomitable energy, labouring restlessly early
and late, and expecting every one else to do the same--an impossibility
for most people. Vincenz might now venture to call again, for he always
knew the latest news in the valley--and Wallburga had all at once grown
eager for news. When Vincenz perceived this, he made it his express
business to enquire far and near, so as always to have some new thing
to retail to Wally, who thus became gradually accustomed to see him
every day. He soon observed that she always showed more curiosity about
Soelden and Zwieselstein than about any other place, and cunning as he
was, he easily discovered the reason. He constantly brought word of the
continued intimacy between Joseph and Afra; it was news that threw
Wally into the most frightful agitation, but he feigned not to perceive
this, and cautiously avoiding any mention of his own love, succeeded in
making her feel secure and trustful with him. But he was consumed with
jealousy of Joseph; that Hagenbach was the curse of his life. There was
no glory in which he had not anticipated him, no deed of valour in
which he had not stood before him, no match at skittles or at shooting
at which he had not carried off the prize, and now he had taken from
him Wally's heart also--Wally's heart, which his persistent suit might
perhaps have won, had not Joseph been there. "Why does God Almighty
pour everything down on one man and deal so niggardly with another?"
growled Vincenz, and tormented himself secretly as much as Wally did.
If they had only done their lamentations and grumbling together, it
would have been enough to desolate the whole Oetz valley!
One evening--it was in haytime--Wally was helping to load a large
hay-cart; the load was ready and only the great crossbar had to be set
in its place, but the hay was piled so high that the men could not
throw it across. When they had got it half way up, they let it slip
again, laughing and playing foolish tricks the while. Wally's patience
all at once gave way. "Get out, you blockheads," she exclaimed, and
mounted on the waggon, pushing the men to right and left out of her
way; then drawing in the rope, she pulled up the crosstree, seized hold
of one end of it with both her rounded arms, and with a single jerk
hoisted it on to the waggon. A shout of admiration broke from all; the
girls laughed at the men for not being able to do what a woman had
done, and the men scratched their heads and thought that all could not
be as it should be with the mistress, and that the devil must have a
hand in it.
Wally stood on the waggon, and looked at the red setting sun. In her
attitude and on her features was an expression of proud satisfaction;
once more she had felt the certainty that not one was her equal, and
strong in her sense of power, she was ready to challenge the whole
world.
At that moment Vincenz came up. "Wally," he called out to her, "thou
looks like Queen Potiphar on the elephant. If Joseph had seen Potiphar
like that, for certain he'd not have been so bashful."
Wally turned crimson at these offensive words, and sprang down from the
waggon. "I forbid such jests with me," she said, when she was on the
ground.
"Nay," disclaimed Vincenz, "I meant no harm; but thou looked so
handsome up there, it came out without thinking: it shall not happen
again."
They walked on silently together.
"What news is stirring?" asked Wally at last, according to custom.
"Not much," said Vincenz; "they say that Hagenbach is going to take the
maid Afra to the dance at Soelden on St. Peter's Day. I heard it from
the messenger who had had to fetch a new pair of shoes from Imst for
Afra, and a silk neckerchief, and Joseph paid for them." Wally bit her
lips and said nothing, but Vincenz saw what was passing in her mind.
"I tell thee what," said Vincenz, "we also do things in style on St.
Peter's Day, and if the peasant-mistress would come, there would be a
feast to be talked of far and wide; come for once with me to the
dance."
Wally gave her head a short toss. "I'm the right sort to go to dances,"
she said.
"Nay go, Wally," urged Vincenz, "just for once, if it's only to spite
people."
"Much I care for them," said Wally, laughing contemptuously.
"But think a bit, people say--" he paused.
Wally stood still. "What do they say?" she asked, looking at him
piercingly.
Vincenz shrank back at the expression on her countenance, "I only mean
that they say thou's got some secret trouble. The upper servant says
thou wast out the whole night, and goes wandering about like a sick
chicken. And folk say thou'st everything heart can desire, and suitors
as many as the sand on the seashore, so if thou's not content with
that, there must be some love-sorrow on thy mind--and ever since what
happened at the Procession--"
"Well! go on!" said Wally huskily.
"Since then they say that Joseph is the only lad in the Oetz valley
that thou cares to catch--and that he won't bite."
He darted a lightning glance at Wally as he said the words; they
touched her to the quick. She had to stand still and lean her forehead
against the trunk of a tree, the blood throbbed so in her temples.
"And if it is so, if they do say such things behind my back--" she
gasped, but she could not finish; a sudden mist seemed to cloud and
confuse all her thoughts.
Vincenz gave her time to recover herself; he knew what it must be to
her, for he knew her pride. After a time he said,
"Look here, it seems to me thou'd best come with me to the dance; that
were the best way to stop peoples' mouths."
Wally drew herself up. "I go with no lad to the dance that I don't mean
to marry--that I tell thee once for all!" she said.
"If I was thee, I'd sooner marry Vincenz Gellner than die an old maid
for love of Hagenbach," said Vincenz sneeringly.
Wally looked at him with newly-awakened aversion. "I wonder thou'rt not
tired of that," she said; "when thou knows well it's all of no good."
"Wally, I ask thee for the last time, can thou not bring thyself to
think of me as a husband?"
"Never--never! sooner will I die," she said.
Vincenz' sharp and prominent cheek bones became white spots on his
yellow face; he looked almost like the vulture, glancing sideways at
Wally, as at some defenceless prey. "I'm sorry, Wally," he said, "but
I've somewhat to say to thee--something that I'd fain have spared thee,
but thou forces me to it. I've given thee a twelvemonth, and now I must
speak." He drew a written sheet of paper from his pocket. "It's nigh
upon a year since thy father died, and if thou doesn't marry me at the
year's end thy right to the farm is over."
Wally stared at him.
He unfolded the paper. "Here's thy father's will, by which he appoints
that if thou don't marry me by a twelvemonth after his death, the farm
and all belonging to it is mine, and thou gets no more than he was
bound by law to leave thee. There'll be an end then of the proud
peasant-mistress. As yet, no one knows of this. Thou can turn it over
once more, and in the end I fancy thou'll give in, sooner than go with
me before the justices, and have the will carried out."
Wally stood still, and measured Vincenz from head to foot with a
single glance of cold contempt, then said with perfect calmness: "Oh
thou pitiful fool! In _this_ net then thou'st thought to catch the
Vulture-maiden? You are a pair, thou and my father, but neither one nor
the other of you knew me. What do I care for money or property? That
which I want cannot be bought with gold, and so I care nothing for it.
On Monday will I pack up my things, and go away again, for thy guest
I'll never be--no, not for an hour. And if it gives me pain to leave
this farm, where I first saw the light--still, I've been no happier as
mistress than when I minded the cattle--and as much a stranger here as
there. So it's all for the best, and I'll leave the place, and go away
as far as I can."
Calmly she turned towards the house. A wild anguish seized Vincenz;
he threw himself at her feet, and clasped her knees. "I never meant
that," he cried, "thou mustn't go away,--for God's sake, don't serve me
so--what do I want with the farm? I only meant--my God, my God--only to
try everything!" With one hand he held Wally fast, with the other he
thrust the paper into his mouth, and tore it with his teeth. "There,
there, see, there goes the scrawl--I'll have none of the farm, if
thou'll not stay--there--there--" he strewed the fragments to the wind,
"I want nothing--nothing--only don't thou serve me so--don't go away!"
Wally looked at him in wonder. "I pity thee, Vincenz, but I cannot help
thee--no more than I myself am helped. Keep thou the farm and all that
belongs to it; my father left it to thee, and that remains the same,
although thou hast torn up the will--I'll take nothing as a gift from
thee. Everything here is hateful to me, even now--why should I wait? No
one is any good to me, nor I to any one. I'll take my Hansl, and go up
again to the mountain--that is where I belong. But if I might ask thee
one thing--tell no one till I'm gone that the farm was never mine; for
thou seest--there's one thing I cannot bear--that folk should make fun
of me. That--that drives me mad. Think of the pointing, and the scorn
when they know that the proud Wally Stromminger has been turned out of
house and home like a maidservant--I couldn't live through it. Let me
at least go forth as mistress."
"Wally," cried Vincenz, "where thou goest, I will go. Thou cannot
hinder me--the roads are free to all, and he who will, may run. If
thou'rt resolved to leave--I go with thee."
Wally looked at him with amazement, as he stood there raving before
her, and she shuddered as though she had raised some evil spirit. "What
will come of it all?" she murmured helplessly.
At this moment the messenger from Soelden was seen coming across the
meadows from the house straight towards Wally. He had a big nosegay in
his hat and in his Sunday-coat, like a bridal messenger.
"He's come to bid thee to Joseph and Afra's wedding," cried Vincenz
with a wild laugh. Wally's foot stumbled against something; she caught
hold of Vincenz, and he seized her round the waist and held her.
Meanwhile the messenger came up, and took off his hat to Wally. "Good
day to thee, Mistress. Joseph Hagenbach sends thee friendly greeting,
and asks thee to the dance on St. Peter's Day. If it's thy pleasure, he
will come up at noon and fetch thee down to the Stag. Thou'lt send an
answer by me."
If Heaven itself had opened before Wally, and Hell before Vincenz, it
would have been much the same thing.
Then it was not true about Afra! He had come to Wally--he had come
after five years of sorrow and suffering--at last, at last! The word
was spoken--the winds bore it triumphantly onwards, the breezes echoed
it back again, the white glaciers smiled at it in the evening sunshine;
Joseph the Bear-hunter bade the Vulture-maiden to the dance! The
labourers in the field shouted, the waggons swayed beneath their loads,
the vulture on the roof flapped his wings for joy--the two who belonged
to one another were come together at last!
Joy to all mankind: the race of giants would live again in this one
pair. And smiling graciously, like a Queen beneath the myrtle crown,
Wally bowed her beautiful head and told the messenger, half-bashfully,
that she should expect Joseph.
Vincenz leaned against a tree, distorted, faded, mute--a ghost of the
past.
Wally threw him a compassionate glance--he was no longer to be dreaded:
she bore a charmed life, none could hurt or harm her more. She hastened
into the house, and the servants looked at her wonderingly, such
rapture lay in her expression. But she could not stay indoors; she took
money, and went through the village like a bliss-bestowing fairy. She
entered all the poorest huts, and gave with liberal hand out of that
which she could rightfully and lawfully call her own,[2] for she had
decided irrevocably that the farm should belong to Vincenz. She was
still rich enough to give to Joseph, and to all around her--even her
rightful share of Stromminger's estate was a fortune. She must do good
to all; she could not bear alone her newly-learnt, immeasurable
happiness.
The two days before St. Peter's festival were like a fairy tale
to all the villagers. Who could now recognize the morose and bitter
Vulture-maiden in the beatified girl who moved about as though borne on
invisible wings? It had needed but this one ray of sunshine, and the
hail-stricken, frost-bitten blossom had sprung up again. An
inexhaustible power made itself felt in her bosom, a power for love as
for hatred, for joy as for pain, for self-sacrifice as for defiance.
All around her breathed more freely; it was as though a spell had been
taken off them since Wally's dark repining spirit, that had weighed
like a storm-cloud upon everything, had melted away.
"When one is as happy as I am, every one else should rejoice too," she
said; and soon it was known everywhere that it was because Joseph had
asked her to the dance--which was almost the same as asking her in
marriage--that Wally was so changed. Why should she conceal it, when in
so few days it would be known? why should she deny that she loved him
with all her heart, above everything? he deserved it all, and he loved
her in return, or he would not be coming to fetch her to the dance. It
was well for her that she dared to show all that she felt. If she met a
child she took it in her arms, and told it how, on St. Peter's Day,
Joseph the bear-hunter was coming--Joseph, who had slain the great
bear, and saved the innkeeper's little Lieserl from the mad bull, and
how they would all open their eyes, he was so tall, and so beautiful
to look at--they had never seen such a man, for there was not such
another in all the wide world. The children were quite excited, and
played all day at Bear and Joseph the bear-hunter. Then she joked
with Hansl, threatening him playfully. "Thou'rt to behave thyself
when Joseph comes, else something will happen--that I can tell
thee!" and Klettenmaier and all the best of the servants had new
holiday-clothes--they knew well enough the reason why; but Wally let
them chatter as they would about it, and was not angry.
Then again she would sit for hours quietly in her room, doing nothing,
wondering only how it had happened that Joseph had so suddenly changed
his mind; but however much she thought and thought she could not
understand why the unhoped-for happiness, so sudden, so full, so
complete, had come upon her; and she looked up at her holy images, no
longer with enmity, but with friendly eyes, and thanked them for all
the good that they had brought to her. But when she looked at the cards
that were nailed up above her bed, she laughed aloud. "Well, what do
you now say? Own that you knew nothing of what was coming!" and like
enchanted spirits that no liberating spell can call forth again into
the light, the secrets of the future stared unintelligibly at her from
these mute tokens. If only old Luckard had been there, she could have
told what it was the cards replied to Wally--but to her they were dumb,
like a cipher of which the key is lost. If Luckard had been alive, how
rejoiced she would have been! Wally would have liked to lie down and
sleep till the day of the festival, so that the time might not appear
so long. But there was no question of sleep; she could not even close
an eye by day or by night for impatience. She was always counting, "Now
so many hours more--now so many--"
At last the day was come. After breakfast Wally went to her room, and
washed herself, and combed her hair without end. Once more she was a
woman--a girl! Once more she stood before the glass, and adorned
herself, and looked to see if she were fair, if she might hope to find
favour in Joseph's eyes; and once more she had procured a new necklace,
even more beautiful than the first, and filigree pins for her hair as
well. The box was on the table before her, she took out the ornament,
and tied it above her bodice; the bright silver was as white as
the snowy pleated sleeves of her chemise and tinkled like clear
marriage-bells, and through the rose-coloured chintz curtains a dim
rosy light shed a tender mist of bridal-glow over the girl's noble
figure. When she was ready, she took from its case a meerschaum pipe
heavy with silver, such as no peasant of the country had far and
wide--a really splendid pipe--and yet she held it long in her hand,
doubting whether it were good enough for Joseph. And still there was
something else, that she took out slowly, almost timidly, looking at
the door to see if it were securely fastened; it was a small round box,
and in it there lay--a ring. She trembled as she took it out, and a
tear of unutterable joy and thankfulness glistened in her eye. She held
the ring in her folded hands, and for the first time for many days she
knelt down, and she prayed over it that the beloved one might be linked
to her for ever. And she no longer heard the rustle of her silks, and
the tinkle of her silver ornaments; she was lost in the passionate
fervour of her prayers; she pressed forward as it were to the presence
of God with the vehemence of a thankful child whose father has granted
its warmest desire.
"The mistress will never have done with dressing herself to-day," said
the maids outside, as Wally did not appear.
Already the peasants were flocking to the Stag. Whoever had feet to go
on, and Sunday-clothes to go in, would be there to-day, for the whole
village was stirred by the great event of the peasant-mistress going to
the dance with Joseph Hagenbach. The road swarmed with people, and the
landlord of the Stag had done his best, and sent for musicians to come
from Imst.
The upper maid-servant stood at the dormer-window above, and looked
down the road by which Joseph must come. Wally stood ready dressed in
her room; her heart beat like a sledge-hammer, her cheeks glowed, her
hands were icy-cold, she held her white neatly-folded handkerchief
pressed tightly to her heart--it had been her mother's wedding
handkerchief. The pipe and the ring for Joseph she had hidden away in
her pocket; so she waited motionless whilst the minutes passed by, and
this silent pause of expectation, in which her breath almost failed her
for impatience, was certainly one of the hardest experiences of her
life.
"They're coming, they're coming!" cried the maid at last. "Joseph and a
crowd of other lads from Zwieselstein and Soelden, and the landlord of
the Lamb--it's a regular procession!"
Everyone ran out into the courtyard; already the noise of the
approaching steps and voices could be heard in Wally's room. She came
out, and a general "Ah!" of admiration broke from all as she appeared.
At the same moment the procession approached the farm-gate, Joseph at
its head. She went forward to meet him, modestly but with the beaming
loftiness of a bride who is proud of her bridegroom--proud to have been
chosen by such a man.
"Joseph, art thou there?" she said, and her voice sounded soft and
loving as she had never spoken before. Joseph glanced at her with a
strange, almost a shamefaced look, and then cast his eyes down again.
Wally was startled--was it on purpose, or was it by accident? Joseph
had placed his black-cock feather upside down, as the young men are in
the habit of doing when they seek a quarrel. It could only have
happened from an oversight today!
Every one stood round and watched her; she was so anxious that she
could say no more, and he also was silent. She looked at him with eyes
full of fervent moisture, but his avoided hers. He was as much
embarrassed as she was, she thought.
"Come," he said at last, and offered his hand. She laid hers in it, and
they silently walked as far as the Stag. The strangers and all the
servants closed the procession.
As, sometimes, when we have gazed at the sun, all grows black before
us, even in full daylight, so now with Wally in the midst of her
happiness, all suddenly grew dark to her soul. She knew not how it was;
she was bewildered and hardly knew herself--it was all so different
from what she had imagined.
A noisy countrydance was beginning as they entered the Stag, and as
Wally passed down the long rows of dancers with Joseph, she heard the
people say: "There is not a handsomer couple in the whole world." She
now saw for the first time how many strangers had come with Joseph, and
that all her rejected suitors were there also. Once more she silently
compared them with Joseph, and she could truly say there was not one of
them who came up to him for stature and beauty. He was a king among the
peasants, a mortal of quite another stamp to the ordinary men who stood
around him, and her eye rested with silent delight on the tall figure,
from his broad chest down to his slender knees and ankles. Any one
seeing him thus must surely understand that him only would she have,
and none other.
As she looked round, her glance met two piercing black eyes directed
like daggers at Joseph. It was Vincenz, wedged in among the crowd. And
not far off was another melancholy face--that of Benedict Klotz, who
observed her thoughtfully. As she passed him, he pulled her gently back
by the sleeve. "Mind what thou'rt about, Wally," he whispered, "there's
some plot against thee--I don't know what, but I forebode no good."
Wally shrugged her shoulders carelessly. What harm could happen to her,
when Joseph was at her side?
The sets formed for the dance, and Joseph and Wally were to
begin; every one wanted to see them dance together. No couple had
yet been watched with such envious eyes as this well-dressed,
distinguished-looking pair. Joseph, however, moved away from Wally's
side, and stood before her with something of solemnity in his air.
"Wally," he said aloud, and the music stopped at a sign from the host
of the Lamb, who stood behind them, "I hope that before we dance
together, thou'lt give me the kiss that no one of thy suitors has yet
been able to win from thee?"
Wally coloured and said softly, "But not here Joseph, not before
everyone."
"Precisely here, before everyone," said Joseph, with strong emphasis.
For a moment Wally struggled between desire and sweet embarrassment; to
kiss a man before all these people was to her chaste and half-defiant
spirit a severe humiliation. But there he stood before her, the man so
dear to her heart; the moment for which she would joyfully have given a
year of her life--nay her life itself--was there, and should she reject
it for the sake of a few bystanders who could do her no harm, if she
did kiss her bridegroom? She raised her beautiful face to his, and his
eyes were fixed for a moment on the full and blooming lips that
approached his own. Then with an involuntary movement, he pushed her
gently from him, saying softly,
"Nay, not so; a true hunter shoots his game only on the spring or on
the wing--that I told thee once before. The kiss I'll wrest from thee,
not take it as a gift. And were I a maid like thee, I'd give myself
away less cheaply. Defend thyself, Wally, that I may win no easier than
the others, else my honour is lost."
A scarlet blush overspread Wally's face; she could have sunk into the
ground for shame. Had she then so completely forgotten what she owed to
herself, that her lover must remind her of it? She was crimson to her
very eyes--it was as though a wave of blood were surging to her brain.
Drawing herself up to her full height, with one flaming glance she
measured herself with him. "Good," she said, "thou shalt have thy
will--thou also shalt learn to know the Vulture-maiden. Look to
thyself, whether now thou'lt get the kiss!"
She was almost suffocated. She tore off her neckerchief and stood there
in her silver-clasped velvet bodice and white linen chemise, so that
Joseph's eyes rested in amazement on her beautiful bare neck. "Thou'rt
handsome--as handsome as thou'rt wicked," he muttered, and springing on
her, as a hunter springs on a wild animal to give the death-blow,
he threw his strong arms round her neck. But he did not know the
Vulture-maiden. With one powerful wrench she was free, and there was a
laugh of derision from all those with whom it had fared no better, that
maddened Joseph. He seized her round the waist with arms of iron, but
she struck him such a blow on the heart, that he cried out and
staggered backwards. Renewed laughter! With this blow, of which she
knew the value, she had always defended herself against her importunate
suitors, for none had held out after it. But Joseph smothered his pain,
and with redoubled fury threw himself again on the girl, seized her by
the arms with both hands, and so tried to approach her lips; but in an
instant she bent herself down on one side, and now ensued a breathless
struggle up and down, to and fro, an oppressive silence broken only by
an occasional oath from Joseph. The girl bowed and twisted herself
hither and thither like a snake in his arms, so that he could never
reach her mouth. It was no longer a strife for love--it was a struggle
for life and death. Three times he had got her down to the ground,
three times she sprang up again; he lifted her in his arms, but she
always twisted herself round, and he could not touch her lips. Her fine
linen hung in rags, her silver necklace was all broken to pieces.
Suddenly she freed herself, and flew to the doorway; he overtook her,
and like a stormwind tore her back into his arms. It was a fierce and
glowing embrace. His breath floated round her like hot steam; she lay
on his breast; she felt his heart beat against her own; her strength
left her, she fell on her knees before him, and said, as if fainting
with pain, and shame, and love, "Thou hast me!"
"Ah!" a heavy sigh broke from Joseph. "You have all of you seen it?" he
asked aloud--he bent down and pressed his mouth upon her hot and
quivering lips. A loud hurrah filled the room. She got up and sank
almost senseless on his breast.
"Stay!" he said in a hard voice, and stepped back a little, "ONE
kiss is enough--no need of more. Thou'st seen now that I can master
thee--and no further will I go."
Wally stared at him, as if she could not understand his words. She was
of an ashy paleness.
"Joseph," she stammered, "why then art thou come?"
"Didst think I had come to woo thee?" he answered. "Lately at the
procession thou'st said before everyone that Afra was my sweetheart,
because she was so easy to be had,--and that Joseph the bear-slayer had
not the heart to try and win the Vulture-Wally. Didst truly think a lad
with any spirit in him would let such things be said of him and of an
honest girl? I only wished to show thee that I can master thee as I can
a bear, or a mad bull, and the kiss I have won from thee, that will I
take to Afra, as a kiss of atonement for the wrong that thou hast done
her. Now take heed to thyself another time when thy haughty temper
moves thee. Henceforth, perhaps, thou'll forego the pleasure of holding
up a poor and honest girl to scorn and derision--now that thou'st felt
what it is to be a laughing-stock thyself."
A shout of laughter from all sides closed Joseph's speech, but he
turned with displeasure from the applause. "You have seen that
I've kept my word," he said, "and now I must go to Zwieselstein to
comfort Afra. The good soul wept to think that I should play the
peasant-mistress such a shabby trick. God keep you all."
He went, but they all ran after him; it had been too good a
joke. Joseph was something like a man. He had shown the proud
peasant-mistress that she had a master.
"It will do her good!"
"It will serve her right!"
"Joseph, that's the best day's work thou's ever done."
"No one'll have anything to do with her, when this is known."
Thus laughed the chorus of rejected suitors, as they crowded joyfully
round Joseph.
The dancing-floor was deserted--only two persons remained with Wally,
Vincenz and Benedict. Wally stood still in the same place and did not
stir; it was as if she were lifeless.
Vincenz watched her with folded arms. Benedict went up to her and took
her gently by the arm. "Wally, don't take it so to heart--we are here,
and we'll get satisfaction for thee. Wally--speak. What shall we do? we
are all ready, only say what thou'd have us to do."
Then she turned round, her large eyes had a ghostly gleam in them, her
face was ghastly pale. She opened and closed her lips once or twice,
one word there was she struggled to utter, but it seemed as if the
breath to speak it failed her. At last she brought it out, as from the
very depths of her being,--more a cry than a word: "DEAD would I have
him!"
Benedict drew back. "God forbid, Wally!" he said.
But Vincenz stepped forward with flashing eyes. "Wally, art thou in
earnest?"
"Ay, in bloody earnest!" She lifted her hand at the oath, her hand was
quite stiff and the nails blue, as in one dead. "He who lays him dead
at his Afra's feet--him will I marry, as truly as I am Wallburga
Stromminger."