THE BROKEN CUP
JOHANN HEINRICH DANIEL ZSCHOKKE 663
CASTLE NEIDECK
WILHELM HEINRICH VON RIEHL 691
THE YOUNG GIRL OF TREPPI
PAUL JOHANN LUDWIG HEYSE 739
THE STONEBREAKERS
FERDINAND VON SAAR 793
THOU SHALT NOT KILL
LEOPOLD VON SACHER-MASOCH 839
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
RUDOLF BAUMBACH 849
GOOD BLOOD
ERNST VON WILDENBRUCH 863
DELIVERANCE
MAX SIMON NORDAU 903
A NEW-YEAR’S EVE CONFESSION
HERMANN SUDERMANN 917
BRIC-A-BRAC AND DESTINIES
GABRIELE REUTER 929
THE FUR COAT
LUDWIG FULDA 939
THE DEAD ARE SILENT
ARTHUR SCHNITZLER 955
MARGRET’S PILGRIMAGE
CLARA VIEBIG 981
THE BROKEN CUP
BY JOHANN HEINRICH DANIEL ZSCHOKKE
[Illustration]
_Unlike most of the early romantic writers of Germany, Zschokke
is still read in his own country and abroad. He was born in
Magdeburg in 1771 and died in 1848, honored throughout Germany
as liberal and patriot during the Napoleonic wars._
_After a sojourn in Switzerland as head of the Department of
Education in the Canton of Grisons and later of the Department
of Forests and Mines in the Canton of Aargau, he began to
devote himself more exclusively to literature, producing with
amazing versatility a great number of works on religion,
history, politics, and the drama. But popularity came to him
through his charming short stories, written in a rather loose
and careless style, but full of vivacity, imagination, humor,
and a broad knowledge of life and character. Many years of
literary sifting have proved “The Adventures of a New-Year’s
Eve” and “The Broken Cup” to be the most enduring and popular
of his short stories._
[Illustration]
THE BROKEN CUP
BY HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE
Translated by P. G.
Copyright, 1891, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.
Author’s Note.--There is extant under this name a short piece
by the author of “Little Kate of Heilbronn.” That and the
tale which here follows originated in an incident which took
place at Bern in the year 1802. Henry Von Kleist and Ludwig
Wieland, the son of the poet, were both friends of the writer,
in whose chamber hung an engraving called _La Cruche Cassée_,
the persons and contents of which resembled the scene set forth
below, under the head of The Tribunal. The drawing, which
was full of expression, gave great delight to those who saw
it, and led to many conjectures as to its meaning. The three
friends agreed, in sport, that they would each one day commit
to writing his peculiar interpretation of its design. Wieland
promised a satire; Von Kleist threw off a comedy; and the
author of the following tale what is here given.
That Napoule is only a very little place on the bay of Cannes is true;
yet it is pretty well known through all Provence. It lies in the shade
of lofty evergreen palms, and darker orange trees; but that alone would
not make it renowned. Still they say that there are grown the most
luscious grapes, the sweetest roses, and the handsomest girls. I don’t
know but it is so; in the mean time I believe it most readily. Pity
that Napoule is so small, and can not produce more luscious grapes,
fragrant roses, and handsome maidens; especially, as we might then have
some of them transplanted to our own country.
As, ever since the foundation of Napoule, all the Napoulese women have
been beauties, so the little Marietta was a wonder of wonders, as the
chronicles of the place declare. She was called the little Marietta;
yet she was not smaller than a girl of seventeen or thereabout ought to
be, seeing that her forehead just reached up to the lips of a grown man.
The chronicles aforesaid had very good ground for speaking of Marietta.
I, had I stood in the shoes of the chronicler, would have done the
same. For Marietta, who until lately had lived with her mother Manon at
Avignon, when she came back to her birthplace, quite upset the whole
village. Verily, not the houses, but the people and their heads; and
not the heads of all the people, but of those particularly whose heads
and hearts are always in danger when in the neighborhood of two bright
eyes. I know very well that such a position is no joke.
Mother Manon would have done much better if she had remained at
Avignon. But she had been left a small inheritance, by which she
received at Napoule an estate consisting of some vine-hills, and a
house that lay in the shadow of a rock, between certain olive trees and
African acacias. This is a kind of thing which no unprovided widow ever
rejects; and, accordingly, in her own estimation, she was as rich and
happy as though she were the Countess of Provence or something like it.
So much the worse was it for the good people of Napoule. They never
suspected their misfortune, not having read in Homer how a single
pretty woman had filled all Greece and Lesser Asia with discord and war.
* * * * *
Marietta had scarcely been fourteen days in the house, between the
olive trees and the African acacias, before every young man of Napoule
knew that she lived there, and that there lived not, in all Provence, a
more charming girl than the one in that house.
Went she through the village, sweeping lightly along like a dressed-up
angel, her frock, with its pale-green bodice, and orange leaves and
rosebuds upon the bosom of it, fluttering in the breeze, and flowers
and ribbons waving about the straw bonnet, which shaded her beautiful
features--yes, then the grave old men spake out, and the young ones
were struck dumb. And everywhere, to the right and left, little windows
and doors were opened with a “Good morning,” or a “Good evening,
Marietta,” as it might be, while she nodded to the right and left with
a pleasant smile.
If Marietta walked into church, all hearts (that is, of the young
people) forgot Heaven; all eyes turned from the saints, and the
worshiping finger wandered idly among the pearls of the rosary. This
must certainly have provoked much sorrow, at least, among the more
devout.
The maidens of Napoule particularly became very pious about this time,
for they, most of all, took the matter to heart. And they were not
to be blamed for it; for since the advent of Marietta more than one
prospective groom had become cold, and more than one worshiper of some
beloved one quite inconstant. There were bickerings and reproaches on
all sides, many tears, pertinent lectures, and even rejections. The
talk was no longer of marriages, but of separations. They began to
return their pledges of troth, rings, ribbons, etc. The old persons
took part with their children; criminations and strife spread from
house to house; it was most deplorable.
Marietta is the cause of all, said the pious maidens first; then the
mothers said it; next the fathers took it up; and finally all--even
the young men. But Marietta, shielded by her modesty and innocence,
like the petals of the rosebud in its dark-green calix, did not suspect
the mischief of which she was the occasion, and continued courteous to
everybody. This touched the young men, who said, “Why condemn the pure
and harmless child--she is not guilty!” Then the fathers said the same
thing; then the mothers took it up, and finally all--even the pious
maidens. For, let who would talk with Marietta, she was sure to gain
their esteem. So before half a year had passed, everybody had spoken to
her, and everybody loved her. But she did not suspect that she was the
object of such general regard, as she had not before suspected that she
was the object of dislike. Does the violet, hidden in the downtrodden
grass, think how sweet it is?
Now every one wished to make amends for the injustice they had done
Marietta. Sympathy deepened the tenderness of their attachment.
Marietta found herself greeted everywhere in a more friendly way than
ever; she was more cordially welcomed; more heartily invited to the
rural sports and dances.
* * * * *
All men, however, are not endowed with tender sympathy; some have
hearts hardened like Pharaoh’s. This arises, no doubt, from that
natural depravity which has come upon men in consequence of the fall
of Adam, or because, at their baptism, the devil is not brought
sufficiently under subjection.
A remarkable example of this hardness of heart was given by one Colin,
the richest farmer and proprietor in Napoule, whose vineyards and
olive gardens, whose lemon and orange trees could hardly be counted
in a day. One thing particularly demonstrates the perverseness of his
disposition; he was twenty-seven years old, and had never yet asked for
what purpose girls had been created!
True, all the people, especially damsels of a certain age, willingly
forgave him this sin, and looked upon him as one of the best young
men under the sun. His fine figure, his fresh, unembarrassed manner,
his look, his laugh, enabled him to gain the favorable opinion of the
aforesaid people, who would have forgiven him, had there been occasion,
any one of the deadly sins. But the decision of such judges is not
always to be trusted.
While both old and young at Napoule had become reconciled to the
innocent Marietta, and proffered their sympathies to her, Colin was the
only one who had no pity upon the poor child. If Marietta was talked of
he became as dumb as a fish. If he met her in the street he would turn
red and white with anger, and cast sidelong glances at her of the most
malicious kind.
If at evening the young people met upon the seashore near the old
castle ruins for sprightly pastimes, or rural dances, or to sing
catches, Colin was the merriest among them. But as soon as Marietta
arrived the rascally fellow was silent, and all the gold in the world
couldn’t make him sing. What a pity, when he had such a fine voice!
Everybody listened to it so willingly, and its store of songs was
endless.
All the maidens looked kindly upon Colin, and he was friendly with all
of them. He had, as we have said, a roguish glance, which the lasses
feared and loved; and it was so sweet they would like to have had it
painted. But, as might naturally be expected, the offended Marietta
did not look graciously upon him. And in that she was perfectly right.
Whether he smiled or not, it was all the same to her. As to his roguish
glance, why she would never hear it mentioned; and therein too she
was perfectly right. When he told a tale (and he knew thousands) and
everybody listened, she nudged her neighbor, or perhaps threw tufts of
grass at Peter or Paul, and laughed and chattered, and did not listen
to Colin at all. This behavior quite provoked the proud fellow, so that
he would break off in the middle of his story and stalk sullenly away.
Revenge is sweet. The daughter of Mother Manon well knew how
to triumph. Yet Marietta was a right good child and quite too
tender-hearted. If Colin was silent, it gave her pain. If he was
downcast, she laughed no more. If he went away, she did not stay long
behind: but hurried to her home, and wept tears of repentance, more
beautiful than those of the Magdalen, although she had not sinned like
the Magdalen.
* * * * *
Father Jerome, the pastor of Napoule, was an old man of seventy, who
possessed all the virtues of a saint, and only one failing; which was,
that by reason of his advanced years, he was hard of hearing. But, on
that very account, his homilies were more acceptable to the children
of his baptism and blessing. True, he preached only of two subjects,
as if they comprehended the whole of religion. It was either “Little
children, love one another,” or it was “Mysterious are the ways of
Providence.” And truly there is so much Faith, Love, and Hope in these
that one might at a pinch be saved by them. The little children loved
one another most obediently, and trusted in the ways of Providence.
Only Colin, with his flinty heart, would know nothing of either: for
even when he professed to be friendly, he entertained the deepest
malice.
The Napoulese went to the annual market or fair of the city of Vence.
It was truly a joyful time, and though they had but little gold to buy
with, there were many goods to look at. Now Marietta and Mother Manon
went to the fair with the rest, and Colin was also there. He bought a
great many curiosities and trifles for his friends--but he would not
spend a farthing for Marietta. And yet he was always at her elbow,
though he did not speak to her, nor she to him. It was easy to see that
he was brooding over some scheme of wickedness.
Mother Manon stood gazing before a shop, when she suddenly exclaimed:
“Oh! Marietta, see that beautiful cup! A queen would not be ashamed
to raise it to her lips. Only see: the edge is of dazzling gold, and
the flowers upon it could not bloom more beautifully in the garden,
although they are only painted. And in the midst of this Paradise! pray
see, Marietta, how the apples are smiling on the trees. They are verily
tempting. And Adam can not withstand it, as the enchanting Eve offers
him one for food! And do see how prettily the little frisking lamb
skips around the old tiger, and the snow-white dove with her golden
throat stands there before the vulture, as if she would caress him!”
Marietta could not satisfy herself with looking. “Had I such a cup,
mother!” said she, “it is far too beautiful to drink out of: I would
place my flowers in it and constantly peep into Paradise. We are at the
fair in Vence, but when I look on the picture I feel as if I were in
Paradise.”
So spoke Marietta, and called her companions to the spot, to share
her admiration of the cup: but the young men soon joined the maidens,
until at length almost half the inhabitants of Napoule were assembled
before the wonderfully beautiful cup. But miraculously beautiful was it
mainly from its inestimable, translucent porcelain, with gilded handles
and glowing colors. They asked the merchant timidly: “Sir, what is the
price of it?” And he answered: “Among friends, it is worth a hundred
livres.” Then they all became silent, and went away in despair. When
the Napoulese were all gone from the front of the shop, Colin came
there by stealth, threw the merchant a hundred livres upon the counter,
had the cup put in a box well packed with cotton, and then carried it
off. What evil plans he had in view no one would have surmised.
Near Napoule, on his way home, it being already dusk, he met old
Jacques, the Justice’s servant, returning from the fields. Jacques was
a very good man, but excessively stupid.
“I will give thee money enough to get something to drink, Jacques,”
said Colin, “if thou wilt bear this box to Manon’s house, and leave it
there; and if any one should see thee, and inquire from whom the box
came, say ‘A stranger gave it to me.’ But never disclose my name, or I
will always detest thee.”
Jacques promised this, took the drink-money and the box, and went with
it toward the little dwelling between the olive trees and the African
acacias.
* * * * *
Before he arrived there he encountered his master, Justice Hautmartin,
who asked: “Jacques, what art thou carrying?”
“A box for Mother Manon. But, sir, I can not say from whom it comes.”
“Why not?”
“Because Colin would always detest me.”
“It is well that thou canst keep a secret. But it is already late;
give me the box, for I am going to-morrow to see Mother Manon; I will
deliver it to her and not betray that it came from Colin. It will save
thee a walk, and furnish me a good excuse for calling on the old lady.”
Jacques gave the box to his master, whom he was accustomed to obey
implicitly in all things. The justice bore it into his chamber, and
examined it by the light with some curiosity. On the lid was neatly
written with red chalk: “For the lovely and dear Marietta.” But
Monsieur Hautmartin well knew that this was some of Colin’s mischief,
and that some knavish trick lurked under the whole. He therefore opened
the box carefully for fear that a mouse or rat should be concealed
within. When he beheld the wondrous cup, which he had seen at Vence,
he was dreadfully shocked, for Monsieur Hautmartin was a skilful
casuist, and knew that the inventions and devices of the human heart
are evil from our youth upward. He saw at once that Colin designed
this cup as a means of bringing misfortune upon Marietta: perhaps to
give out, when it should be in her possession, that it was the present
of some successful lover in the town, or the like, so that all decent
people would thereafter keep aloof from Marietta. Therefore Monsieur
Hautmartin resolved, in order to prevent any evil reports, to profess
himself the giver. Moreover, he loved Marietta, and would gladly have
seen her observe more strictly toward himself the sayings of the
gray-headed priest Jerome, “Little children, love one another.” In
truth, Monsieur Hautmartin was a little child of fifty years old, and
Marietta did not think the saying applied particularly to him. Mother
Manon, on the contrary, thought that the justice was a clever little
child, he had gold and a high reputation from one end of Napoule to the
other. And when the justice spoke of marriage, and Marietta ran away in
affright, Mother Manon remained sitting, and had no fear for the tall,
staid gentleman. It must also be confessed there were no faults in his
person. And although Colin might be the handsomest man in the village,
yet the justice far surpassed him in two things, namely, in the number
of years, and in a very, very big nose. Yes, this nose, which always
went before the justice like a herald to proclaim his approach, was a
real elephant among human noses.
With this proboscis, his good purpose, and the cup, the justice went
the following morning to the house between the olive trees and the
African acacias.
“For the beautiful Marietta,” said he, “I hold nothing too costly.
Yesterday you admired the cup at Vence; to-day allow me, lovely
Marietta, to lay it and my devoted heart at your feet.”
Manon and Marietta were transported beyond measure when they beheld the
cup. Manon’s eyes glistened with delight, but Marietta turned and said:
“I can neither take your heart nor your cup.”
Then Mother Manon was angry, and cried out: “But I accept both heart
and cup. Oh, thou little fool, how long wilt thou despise thy good
fortune! For whom dost thou tarry? Will a count of Provence make thee
his bride, that thou scornest the Justice of Napoule? I know better how
to look after my interests. Monsieur Hautmartin, I deem it an honor to
call thee my son-in-law.”
Then Marietta went out and wept bitterly, and hated the beautiful cup
with all her heart.
But the justice, drawing the palm of his flabby hand over his nose,
spoke thus judiciously:
“Mother Manon, hurry nothing. The dove will at length, when it learns
to know me better, give way. I am not impetuous. I have some skill
among women, and before a quarter of a year passes by I will insinuate
myself into Marietta’s good graces.”
“Thy nose is too large for that,” whispered Marietta, who listened
outside the door and laughed to herself. In fact, the quarter of a year
passed by and Monsieur Hautmartin had not yet pierced the heart even
with the tip of his nose.
During this quarter of a year Marietta had other affairs to attend to.
The cup gave her much vexation and trouble, and something else besides.
For a fortnight nothing else was talked of in Napoule, and every one
said it is a present from the justice, and the marriage is already
agreed upon. Marietta solemnly declared to all her companions that she
would rather plunge to the bottom of the sea than marry the justice,
but the maidens continued to banter her all the more, saying: “Oh, how
blissful it must be to repose in the shadow of his nose!” This was her
first vexation.
Then Mother Manon had the cruelty to force Marietta to rinse out the
cup every morning at the spring under the rock and to fill it with
fresh flowers. She hoped by this to accustom Marietta to the cup and
heart of the giver. But Marietta continued to hate both the gift and
giver, and her work at the spring became an actual punishment. Second
vexation.
Then, when in the morning, she came to the spring, twice every week
she found on the rock, immediately over it, some most beautiful
flowers, handsomely arranged, all ready for the decoration of the cup.
And on the flower-stalks a strip of paper was always tied, on which
was written, “Dear Marietta.” Now no one need expect to impose upon
little Marietta as if magicians and fairies were still in the world.
Consequently she knew that both the flowers and papers must have come
from Monsieur Hautmartin. Marietta, indeed, would not smell them
because the living breath from out of the justice’s nose had perfumed
them. Nevertheless she took the flowers, because they were finer than
wild flowers, and tore the slip of paper into a thousand pieces, which
she strewed upon the spot where the flowers usually lay. But this did
not vex Justice Hautmartin, whose love was unparalleled in its kind as
his nose was in its kind. Third vexation.
At length it came out in conversation with Monsieur Hautmartin that
he was not the giver of the beautiful flowers. Then who could it be?
Marietta was utterly astounded at the unexpected discovery. Thenceforth
she took the flowers from the rock more kindly; but, further, Marietta
was--what maidens are not wont to be--very inquisitive. She conjectured
first this and then that young man in Napoule. Yet her conjectures were
in vain. She looked and listened far into the night; she rose earlier
than usual. But she looked and listened in vain. And still twice a week
in the morning the miraculous flowers lay upon the rock, and upon the
strip of paper wound round them she always read the silent sigh, “Dear
Marietta!” Such an incident would have made even the most indifferent
inquisitive. But curiosity at length became a burning pain. Fourth
vexation.
* * * * *
Now Father Jerome, on Sunday, had again preached from the text:
“Mysterious are the dispensations of Providence.” And little Marietta
thought, if Providence would only dispense that I might at length find
out who is the flower dispenser. Father Jerome was never wrong.
On a summer night, when it was far too warm to rest, Marietta awoke
very early, and could not resume her sleep. Therefore she sprang
joyously from her couch as the first streaks of dawn flashed against
the window of her little chamber, over the waves of the sea and the
Lerinian Isles, dressed herself, and went out to wash her forehead,
breast, and arms in the cool spring. She took her hat with her,
intending to take a walk by the seashore, as she knew of a retired
place for bathing.
In order to reach this retired spot, it was necessary to pass over the
rocks behind the house, and thence down through the orange and palm
trees. On this occasion Marietta could not pass through them; for,
under the youngest and most slender of the palms lay a tall young man
in profound sleep--near him a nosegay of most splendid flowers. A white
paper lay thereon, from which probably a sigh was again breathing. How
could Marietta get by there?
She stood still, trembling with fright. She would go home again.
Hardly had she retreated a couple of steps, ere she looked again at
the sleeper, and remained motionless. Yet the distance prevented her
from recognizing his face. Now the mystery was to be solved, or never.
She tripped lightly nearer to the palms; but he seemed to stir--then
she ran again toward the cottage. His movements were but the fearful
imaginings of Marietta. Now she returned again on her way toward the
palms; but his sleep might perhaps be only dissembled--swiftly she ran
toward the cottage--but who would flee for a mere probability? She trod
more boldly the path toward the palms.
With these fluctuations of her timid and joyous spirit, between fright
and curiosity, with these to-and-fro trippings between the house and
the palm-trees, she at length nearly approached the sleeper; at the
same time curiosity became more powerful than fear.
“What is he to me? My way leads me directly past him. Whether he
sleeps or wakes, I will go straight on.” So thought Manon’s daughter.
But she passed not by, but stood looking directly in the face of the
flower-giver, in order to be certain who it was. Besides, he slept as
if it were the first time in a month. And who was it? Now, who else
should it be but the arch, wicked Colin.
So it was _he_ who had annoyed the gentle maiden, and given her so much
trouble with Monsieur Hautmartin, because he bore a grudge against
her; he had been the one who had teased her with flowers, in order to
torture her curiosity. Wherefore? He hated Marietta. He behaved himself
always most shamefully toward the poor child. He avoided her when he
could; and when he could not, he grieved the good-natured little one.
With all the other maidens of Napoule he was more chatty, friendly,
courteous, than toward Marietta. Consider--he had never once asked her
to dance, and yet she danced bewitchingly.
Now there he lay, surprised, taken in the act. Revenge swelled in
Marietta’s bosom. What disgrace could she subject him to? She took the
nosegay, unloosened it, strewed his present over the sleeper in scorn.
But the paper, on which appeared again the sigh, “Dear Marietta!” she
retained, and thrust quickly into her bosom. She wished to preserve
this proof of his handwriting. Marietta was sly. Now she would go away.
But her revenge was not yet satisfied. She could not leave the place
without returning Colin’s ill-will. She took the violet-colored silken
ribbon from her hat, and threw it lightly around the sleeper’s arm
and around the tree, and with three knots tied Colin fast. Now when
he awoke, how astonished he would be! How his curiosity would torment
him to ascertain who had played him this trick! He could not possibly
know. So much the better; it served him right. She seemed to regret her
work when she had finished it. Her bosom throbbed impetuously. Indeed,
I believe that a little tear filled her eye, as she compassionately
gazed upon the guilty one. Slowly she retreated to the orange grove by
the rocks--she looked around often--slowly ascended the rocks, looking
down among the palm trees as she ascended. Then she hastened to Mother
Manon, who was calling her.
* * * * *
That very day Colin practised new mischief. What did he? He wished to
shame the poor Marietta publicly. Ah! she never thought that every one
in Napoule knew her violet-colored ribbon! Colin remembered it but too
well. Proudly he bound it around his hat, and exhibited it to the gaze
of all the world as a conquest. And male and female cried out: “He has
received it from Marietta.”--And all the maidens said angrily: “The
reprobate!” And all the young men who liked to see Marietta cried out:
“The reprobate!”
“How! Mother Manon?” shrieked the Justice Hautmartin when he came to
her house, and he shrieked so loudly that it reechoed wonderfully
through his nose. “How! do you suffer this? my betrothed presents the
young proprietor Colin with her hat-band! It is high time that we
celebrate our nuptials. When that is over, then I shall have a right to
speak.”
“You have a right!” answered Mother Manon, “if things are so, the
marriage must take place forthwith. When that is done, all will go
right.”
“But, Mother Manon, Marietta always refuses to give me her consent.”
“Prepare the marriage feast.”
“But she will not even look kindly at me; and when I seat myself at her
side, the little savage jumps up and runs away.”
“Justice, only prepare the marriage feast.”
“But if Marietta resists--”
“We will take her by surprise. We will go to Father Jerome on Monday
morning early, and he shall quietly celebrate the marriage. This we
can easily accomplished with him. I am her mother, you the first
judicial person in Napoule. He must obey. Marietta need know nothing
about it. Early on Monday morning I will send her to Father Jerome all
alone, with a message so that she will suspect nothing. Then the priest
shall speak earnestly to her. Half an hour afterward we two will come.
Then swiftly to the altar. And even if Marietta should then say No,
what does it matter? The old priest can hear nothing. But till then,
mum to Marietta and all Napoule.”
So the secret remained with the two. Marietta dreamed not of the
good luck which was in store for her. She thought only of Colin’s
wickedness, which had made her the common talk of the whole place. Oh!
how she repented her heedlessness about the ribbon; and yet in her
heart she forgave the reprobate his crime. Marietta was far too good.
She told her mother, she told all her playmates: “Colin has found my
lost band. I never gave it to him. He only wishes to vex me with it.
You all know that Colin was always ill-disposed toward me, and always
sought to mortify me!”
Ah! the poor child! she knew not what new abomination the malicious
fellow was again contriving.
* * * * *
Early in the morning Marietta went to the spring with the cup. There
were no flowers yet on the rock. It was still much too early; for the
sun had scarcely risen from the sea.
Footsteps were heard. Colin came in sight, the flowers in his
hand. Marietta became very red. Colin stammered out: “Good morning,
Marietta,” but the greeting came not from his heart.
“Why dost thou wear my ribbon so publicly, Colin?” said Marietta, and
placed the cup upon the rock. “I did not give it thee.”
“Thou didst not give it to me, dear Marietta?” asked he, and inward
rage made him deadly pale.
Marietta was ashamed of the falsehood, drooped her eyelids, and said
after a while: “Well, I did give it thee, yet thou shouldst not have
worn it. Give it back.”
Slowly he untied it; his anger was so great that he could not prevent
the tears from filling his eyes, nor the sighs from escaping his
breast.--“Dear Marietta, leave thy ribbon with me,” said he softly.
“No,” answered she.
Then his suppressed passion changed into desperation. Sighing, he
looked toward heaven, then sadly on Marietta, who, silent and abashed,
stood by the spring with downcast eyes.
He wound the violet-colored ribbon around the stalks of the flowers,
and said: “There, take them all,” and threw the flowers so spitefully
against the magnificent cup upon the rock that it was thrown down and
dashed to pieces. Maliciously he fled away.
Mother Manon, lurking behind the window, had seen and heard all. When
the cup broke, hearing and sight left her. She was scarcely able to
speak for very horror. And as she pushed with all her strength against
the narrow window, to shout after the guilty one, it gave way, and
with one crash fell to earth and was shattered in pieces.
So much ill-luck would have discomposed any other woman. But Manon soon
recovered herself. “How lucky that I was a witness to this roguery!”
exclaimed she; “he must to the justice--he shall replace both cup and
window-sash with his gold. It will give a rich dowry to Marietta.”
But when Marietta brought in the fragments of the shattered cup, when
Manon saw the Paradise lost, the good man Adam without a head, and of
Eve not a solitary limb remaining, the serpent unhurt, triumphing, the
tiger safe, but the little lamb gone even to the very tail, as if the
tiger had swallowed it, then Mother Manon screamed forth curses against
Colin, and said: “One can easily see that this _fall_ came from the
hand of the devil.”
* * * * *
She took the cup in one hand, Marietta in the other, and went, about
nine o’clock, to where Monsieur Hautmartin was wont to sit in judgment.
She there made a great outcry, and showed the broken cup and the
Paradise lost. Marietta wept bitterly.
The justice, when he saw the broken cup and his beautiful bride in
tears, flew into so violent a rage toward Colin that his nose was
as violet-colored as Marietta’s well-known hat-band. He immediately
despatched his bailiffs to bring the criminal before him.
Colin came, overwhelmed with grief. Mother Manon now repeated
her complaint with great eloquence before justice, bailiffs, and
scribes.--But Colin listened not. He stepped to Marietta and whispered
to her: “Forgive me, dear Marietta, as I forgive thee. I broke thy cup
unintentionally; but thou, thou hast broken my heart!”
“What whispering is that?” cried Justice Hautmartin, with magisterial
authority. “Harken to this accusation, and defend yourself.”
“I have naught to defend. I broke the cup against my will,” said Colin.
“That I verily believe,” said Marietta, sobbing. “I am as guilty as
he; for I offended him--then he threw the ribbon and flowers to me. He
could not help it.”
“Well!” cried Mother Manon. “Do you intend to defend him? Mr. Justice,
pronounce his sentence. He has broken the cup, and he does not deny it.”
“Since you can not deny it, Mr. Colin,” said the Justice, “you must pay
three hundred livres for the cup, for it is worth that; and then for--”
“No,” interrupted Colin, “it is not worth that. I bought it at Vence
for Marietta for a hundred livres.”
“You bought it, sir brazen face?” shrieked the Justice, and his whole
face became like Marietta’s hat-band. He could not and would not say
more, for he dreaded a disagreeable investigation of the matter.
But Colin was vexed at the imputation, and said: “I sent this cup on
the evening of the fair, by your own servant, to Marietta. There stands
Jaques in the door. Speak, Jaques, did I not give thee the box to carry
to Mother Manon?”
Monsieur Hautmartin wished to interrupt this conversation by speaking
loudly. But the simple Jaques said: “Only recollect, Justice, you took
away Colin’s box from me, and carried what was in it to Mother Manon.
The box lies there under the papers.”
Then the bailiffs were ordered to remove the simpleton; and Colin was
also directed to retire, until he should be sent for again.
“Very well, Mr. Justice,” interposed Colin, “but this business shall be
your last in Napoule. I know this, that you would ingratiate yourself
with Mother Manon and Marietta by means of my property. When you want
me, you will have to ride to Grasse to the Governor’s.” With that,
Colin departed.
Monsieur Hautmartin was quite puzzled with this affair, and in his
confusion knew not what he was about. Manon shook her head. The affair
was dark and mysterious to her. “Who will now pay me for the broken
cup?” she asked.
“To me,” said Marietta, with glowing, brightened countenance, “to _me_
it is already paid for.”
* * * * *
Colin rode that same day to the Governor at Grasse, and came back
early the next morning. But Justice Hautmartin only laughed at him,
and removed all of Mother Manon’s suspicions by swearing he would let
his nose be cut off if Colin did not pay three hundred livres for
the broken cup. He also went with Mother Manon to talk with Father
Jerome about the marriage, and impressed upon him the necessity of
earnestly setting before Marietta her duty as an obedient daughter in
not opposing the will of her mother. This the pious old man promised,
although he understood not the half of what they shouted in his ear.
When Monday morning came Mother Manon said to her daughter: “Dress
yourself handsomely, and carry this myrtle wreath to Father Jerome; he
wants it for a bride.” Marietta dressed herself in her Sunday clothes,
took the myrtle wreath unsuspiciously, and carried it to Father Jerome.
On the way Colin met her, and greeted her joyfully, though timidly; and
when she told him where she was taking the wreath, Colin said: “I am
going the same way, for I am carrying the money for the church’s tenths
to the priest.” And as they went on he took her hand silently, and both
trembled as if they designed some crime against each other.
“Hast thou forgiven me?” whispered Colin, anxiously. “Ah! Marietta,
what have I done to thee, that thou art so cruel toward me?”
She could only say: “Be quiet, Colin, you shall have the ribbon again;
and I will preserve the cup since it came from you! Did it really come
from you?”
“Ah! Marietta, canst thou doubt it? All I have I would gladly give
thee. Wilt thou, hereafter, be as kind to me as thou art to others?”
She replied not. But as she entered the parsonage she looked aside at
him, and when she saw his fine eyes filled with tears, she whispered
softly: “Dear Colin!” Then he bent down and kissed her hand. With this
the door of a chamber opened and Father Jerome, with venerable aspect,
stood before them. The young couple held fast to each other. I know not
whether this was the effect of the hand-kissing, or the awe they felt
for the sage.
Marietta handed him the myrtle wreath. He laid it upon her head and
said: “Little children, love one another;” and then urged the good
maiden, in the most touching and pathetic manner, to love Colin. For
the old gentleman, from his hardness of hearing, had either mistaken
the name of the bridegroom, or forgotten it, and thought Colin must be
the bridegroom.
Then Marietta’s heart softened under the exhortation, and with tears
and sobs she exclaimed: “Ah! I have loved him for a long time, but he
hates me.”
“I hate thee, Marietta?” cried Colin. “My soul has lived only in thee
since thou camest to Napoule. Oh! Marietta, how could I hope and
believe that thou didst love me? Does not all Napoule worship thee?”
“Why, then, dost thou avoid me, Colin, and prefer all my companions
before me?”
“Oh! Marietta, I feared and trembled with love and anxiety when I
beheld thee; I had not the courage to approach thee; and when I was
away from thee I was most miserable.”
As they talked thus with each other the good father thought they were
quarreling; and he threw his arms around them, brought them together,
and said imploringly: “Little children, love one another.”
Then Marietta sank on Colin’s breast, and Colin threw his arms around
her, and both faces beamed with rapture. They forgot the priest, the
whole world. Each was sunk into the other. Both had so completely lost
their recollection that, unwittingly, they followed the delightful
Father Jerome into the church and before the altar.
“Marietta!” sighed he.
“Colin!” sighed she.
In the church there were many devout worshipers; but they witnessed
Colin’s and Marietta’s marriage with amazement. Many ran out before the
close of the ceremony, to spread the news throughout Napoule: “Colin
and Marietta are married.”
When the solemnization was over, Father Jerome rejoiced that he had
succeeded so well, and that such little opposition had been made by the
parties. He led them into the parsonage.
* * * * *
Then Mother Manon arrived, breathless; she had waited at home a long
time for the bridegroom. He had not arrived. At the last stroke of the
clock she grew anxious and went to Monsieur Hautmartin’s. There a new
surprise awaited her. She learned that the Governor, together with
the officers of the Viguerie, had appeared and taken possession of
the accounts, chests, and papers of the justice and at the same time
arrested Monsieur Hautmartin.
“This, surely, is the work of that wicked Colin,” thought she, and
hurried to the parsonage in order to apologize to Father Jerome for
delaying the marriage. The good gray-headed old man advanced toward
her, proud of his work, and leading by the hand the newly married pair.
Now Mother Manon lost her wits and her speech in good earnest when she
learned what had happened. But Colin had more thoughts and power of
speech than in his whole previous life. He told of his love and the
broken cup, the falsehood of the justice, and how he had unmasked this
unjust magistrate in the Viguerie at Grasse. Then he besought Mother
Manon’s blessing, since all this had happened without any fault on the
part of Marietta or himself.
Father Jerome, who for a long while could not make out what had
happened, when he received a full explanation of the marriage through
mistake, piously folded his hands and exclaimed, with uplifted eyes:
“Wonderful are the dispensations of Providence!” Colin and Marietta
kissed his hands; Mother Manon, through sheer veneration of heaven,
gave the young couple her blessing, but remarked incidentally that her
head seemed turned round.
Mother Manon herself was pleased with her son-in-law when she came to
know the full extent of his property, and especially when she found
that Monsieur Hautmartin and his nose had been arrested.
“But am I then really a wife?” asked Marietta; “and really Colin’s
wife?”
Mother Manon nodded her head, and Marietta hung upon Colin’s arm. Thus
they went to Colin’s farm, to his dwelling-house, through the garden.
“Look at the flowers, Marietta,” said Colin; “how carefully I
cultivated them for your cup!”
Colin, who had not expected so pleasant an event, now prepared a
wedding feast on the spur of the occasion. Two days was it continued.
All Napoule was feasted. Who shall describe Colin’s extravagance?
The broken cup is preserved in the family to the present day as a
memorial and sacred relic.
CASTLE NEIDECK
BY WILHELM HEINRICH VON RIEHL
[Illustration]
_Popular wherever German is read, Riehl ought to be more than
a mere name among readers of English. In “Castle Neideck”
there is the old-world atmosphere, the truth to nature,
the originality, the seriousness of aim, lightened with a
sly humor, that characterize all the writings of this most
important author--including his histories of culture and
morals. Of his culture novels in general the author himself
says: “The problem of the historical novel is to display
upon the background of social conditions freely modeled
characters”--and of “Castle Neideck” in particular: “It is
entirely imaginative, based on a study of the times.”_
_Riehl was born in 1823 at Biebrich, near Wiesbaden. His
father was Castle Administrator of the place, and undoubtedly
prototype of the old schoolmaster in Castle Neideck, as, by his
son’s own account, Burg Reichenberg, near St. Goarshausen, was
prototype of Castle Neideck itself. In 1880 Riehl was ennobled,
and died in 1897._
[Illustration]
CASTLE NEIDECK
BY WILHELM VON RIEHL
Translated by A. M. Reiner.
Copyright, 1907, by P. F. Collier & Son.
I
In Germany there are several castles of the name of Neideck, but,
doubtless, the most beautiful is that of the principality of Westerau,
whose proud ruins looked down from the steep slate rock over the broad
plain of the Felber Valley, and far beyond to the heights of the Dill
Mountains.
On the slope of the mountains nestles the little village of Westerau:
the site of the new castle. At the time of the Seven Years’ War a part
of this was habitable, but even then most of it was roofless and a
ruin. At the back the castle was open, but the front was protected by a
moat and a drawbridge.
Fixed upon the rock like the nest of some gigantic bird, Neideck
was considered a strong, though not impregnable, fortress. It was
garrisoned by three men: a sergeant and two common soldiers; all three
were disabled. The sole defense of the fortress, one old cannon,
thundered above the valley on the prince’s birthday and whenever a
princess gave birth to a child. It is hard to tell why there was a
garrison at all; probably for no other reason than because it had not
been withdrawn; the three men had been left by a previous garrison as
the ruins had been left by a previous castle. The veterans served at
Neideck because they could not serve elsewhere. Was not that reason
enough? The three men had a roof to cover them, good air, and few
expenses.
Besides the garrison, one other, the schoolmaster, lived in the
castle. He was Philip Balzer, called “Burg” Balzer (Fortress Balzer)
to distinguish him from all other Balzers of that locality. Burg
Balzer’s quarters were in the keeper’s lodge, near the gate, and in
his quarters he kept school. The parish consisted of twelve thatched
cottages, standing at the foot of the hill of Neideck. It was too poor
to provide a regular schoolhouse, so the prince graciously permitted
the schoolmaster to use the lodge for that purpose, which answered very
well. In all there were about ten scholars, and these were huddled
together like sheep in a thunderstorm.
Philip’s father had been herdsman as well as schoolmaster: the office
had descended from father to son; but now there were so few cattle that
a child could watch them, and Philip detailed his laziest pupil for
that duty. From a pedagogic standpoint the practise was of questionable
value, for, as in summer, children prefer the open air, why, every
child made efforts to be the laziest.
The schoolmaster and the garrison would have been happy but for the
fact that their chief necessities, food and drink, were insufficient.
Their quarters were dry, the air was bracing, and their clothes
appeared to be imperishable.
This calm was broken by bad news. With November of 1757 the tide of war
came in upon them. From the watch-towers they heard the distant roar
of cannon, while the fugitive peasants could see the Prussian soldiers
foraging not far away. What could Neideck do? The men of the garrison
held a council; the sergeant suggested blowing up the castle; one of
the soldiers counseled honorable surrender; the other advised immediate
flight. The schoolmaster, who had been invited to the council, urged
resistance to the death; resistance to the point of annihilation.
During the evening of November 13 a chasseur galloped up the
mountainside with orders to “Retire to the other side of the
Schwarzach, and there join the imperial army! Take all arms and
commissary stores; destroy everything that can not be transported!”
The orders pleased the garrison; there was little to take away and
nothing to destroy. But the cannon! What could they do with that? It
had no wheels; they could not draw it after them; and, as there were no
oxen in the village, they could not haul it.
“Let us spike it!” said the sergeant; “that is done in wartime.” But
how? He did not know. To blow it up might be dangerous. Finally they
followed the advice of the schoolmaster. The well was two hundred
feet deep, and within the memory of man it had never held water. They
dropped the cannon into the well.
When they were setting out, the sergeant asked the schoolmaster where
they should find the Schwarzach. The schoolmaster gave the desired
information; critical pedagogy is supposed to follow the principle that
it is better to give any answer than to confess ignorance.
The schoolmaster refused to abandon the fortress: he watched the
soldiers sorrowfully as they marched down the hill and disappeared
like phantoms in the silence and the darkness. “They will not return,”
he mused; “I am now the sole keeper of the fort!” He drew the bridge,
barred the gates, and went into his lodge.
For a long time he had been laying in provisions: apples, nuts, prunes,
bread, bacon, and smoked beef. These, with an old dressing gown and
“Gottsched’s Critical Art of Poetry,” he carried to the western slope
of the hill. He waited an instant, listening, turning his head in all
directions, to make sure that he was alone, for the night was dark and
he could see nothing; then he climbed over a broken wall, parted the
thick branches of a thorn-bush, and crawled through an opening into an
underground passage choked with rubbish.
This passage was known only to Burg Balzer. He had found it in his
youth. In a place where the passage widened he had made a bed of
leaves, and, lying there on rainy days, many an hour, for many years,
he had dreamed his dreams. He loved to dream of the days of knighthood;
and the dim light of his hiding-place gave atmosphere to his illusions.
At times he had worked hard to clear away the rubbish and penetrate
deeper under ground. Philip thought he might find wine here. Strange
things had been found before this in secret passages! In the abandoned
cellar of a castle in Alsatia ancient wine had been found; the casks
had rotted and dropped apart, but the old wine had formed a skin. As
he went alone, Philip decided to hide in his grotto and wait for the
first shock of war to pass; he should be safer down there than with the
fugitive peasants in the woods. It was romance as well as common sense
that led him to hide there. Philip Balzer was a German schoolmaster.
“I am Burg Balzer,” he said to himself; “this is my castle! I must be
faithful; I must stand or fall with this stronghold. I am the real
warder, and to guard Neideck is my heritage. Let the Prussians blow it
up and me with it! Better, far better, to wing my flight thus than to
forsake my trust!”
To tell the exact truth, Burg Balzer was not at all afraid that he
should be blown up; from an old legend he had learned that destiny
had marked him for important work; he was to restore prosperity to
Neideck. Neideck, the ancestral home of the princes of Westerau, had
been occupied by the family until the Thirty Years’ War broke out. But
on the approach of the imperial army the princes had escaped, leaving a
strong garrison, and the peasants of the whole country had taken refuge
there. From that time onward Neideck had been known as a stronghold.
“And, in truth,” said the schoolmaster, “it has always been a fortress;
it has never been a robbers’ nest.”
There was one stain on the record, however. In the dark year, 1634,
when the castle was packed with fugitives, and provisions ran low, the
commandant of the fortress ordered his men to drive out the women and
the children, in order to “shut out useless mouths.” The victims fell
upon their knees and begged for mercy; they cried out that they had no
other refuge. The commandant was deaf to their prayers. When the gates
closed behind them, the women cursed Neideck. Three of the curses were
remembered.
First--Let Neideck be a ruin, and let every stone of that ruin bear
witness against Neideck’s lord!
Second--One hundred years shall pass before a lord of Neideck wins a
woman’s love!
Third--To the shame of man, when all men are powerless, let Neideck be
saved by a woman!
The first two curses were already fulfilled. Soon after the lord
of Neideck had abandoned the women and children to their fate, the
castle was stormed, the east wing was destroyed, and the once powerful
fortress fell into ruins. After that the reigning family lived in the
new castle in Westerau; not one of them returned to Neideck. For a time
governors and warders kept the castle; not one of them was blessed by
a woman’s love. Some of them lived and died unmarried; two had lost
their wives; while the only man among them all who had a wife was so
tormented by her that he cut his throat. The third curse was yet to
come; namely, after all the men had failed to save Neideck, the place
was to be redeemed by a woman.
Now, the schoolmaster, though not a woman, believed that he was
destined in some way to fulfill the curse and be the means of saving
the castle, and in such a way as to bring about perfect harmony.
Philip’s dreams were so ardent and so bold that he dared not speak of
them or even think about them. It was hope that made him cling to the
castle; that dispelled all fear. He lived on dreams as much as on his
prunes and bacon.
Lying on his bed of leaves the second day after the garrison’s
departure, he detected the smell of burning stubble. “It is the
village!” he thought calmly, and continued his dream. He heard cannon,
now near, now far away, and he heard other sounds, too: the clash of
arms, the pounding of horses’ hoofs, then silence fell--.
He had been underground two days and two nights; he was tired of
prunes and bacon, and of lying down and of sitting still. Early in the
morning he crept out. Just as he reached the thorn-bush he heard the
rustling of leaves, and, peering out, he saw a goat tossing his head
and nibbling the last leaves of the late autumn. The village lay in the
distance, calm and peaceful in the morning light; nor far, nor near,
was there a sign of war.
Tempted by the mellow sunlight, the schoolmaster left his hiding-place,
and saw that the peasants were returning with their chattels to the
deserted homes. He skirted the hill and entered the village from
the opposite side of the castle. In the village he learned that the
soldiers had not entered Neideck. The peasants blushed for their fears;
they had suffered cold and hunger in the woods; so had their cattle.
The camp-followers, finding the place deserted, had fired the fields.
Now the damages must be repaired! The peasants praised the schoolmaster
for his prudence; they said he had done well to remain in the castle.
Philip was modest; he disclaimed their praises; he lauded the
castle--“a stronghold even in its ruin!” There is not a man on earth
who has not faith in something! Burg Balzer had faith in his castle.