One day Ernst visited us and went about for a long while in
silence,--now going out to Rothfuss in the stable, and then again
joining us in the room; but here again he uttered no word. Although I
could see that he was agitated, I did not ask him the reason. I had
been obliged to accustom myself to allow him to speak when it suited
him, and to avoid any advances on my part until it pleased him to seek
them.
We were just about to rise from the dinner-table when he said to us in
a hurried manner, "Before you hear it from others, I must announce it
to you myself:--I am engaged to be married."
We looked at each other in silence. Not a sound was heard, save the
ticking of the two Black Forest clocks in our room. At last my wife
asked: "And with whom?"
I could tell by the tone of her voice how many heavy thoughts had
preceded these words.
"With a healthy girl. I--I know all about selection in breeding,"
answered Ernst, while he lit his cigar.
I reprimanded him severely for his tone. Without changing a feature, he
allowed me to finish my remarks. After that he arose, threw his rifle
over his shoulder, put on his green hat, and left the house. I wanted
to call him back, but my wife prevented me. I reproached myself for the
violent manner in which I had spoken to him. Now he will rush into
misfortune--who knows what he may do next? With mild words, I might
have been able to direct him on the right path; but now he may,
perhaps, not return, and will even persuade himself to hate me.
My wife consoled me with the words: "He will return before nightfall."
And it was so. In the evening he returned, and addressing me with a
voice full of emotion, said: "Father, forgive me!"
Rothfuss was in the room at the time, and I beckoned to him to leave;
but Ernst requested that he should remain, and continued:
"I have done wrong. I am heartily sorry for it. I have also done wrong
to Martella. I should not have acted as I have done, but ought to
have brought her to you first of all. She deserves quite different
treatment--better indeed than I do. I beg of you, give back the words
that I uttered! Forgive me! and, above all things, do not make Martella
suffer for what I have said."
He uttered these words with a trembling voice. Rothfuss had left the
room. I held out my hand to Ernst, and he continued firmly:
"You have so often told me, and as I am always forgetting it, you will
have to tell it to me many a time again, that there is something in me
which causes me at times to express myself quite differently from the
way in which I intended to. I also know, dear father, that such a word
lingers in your memory like a smouldering spark, especially when the
word is uttered by your own child; and that in your grief you picture
to yourself the utter ruin of a character that can indulge in such
expressions. I understand you, do I not? Trust in me: I am not so bad,
after all.
"I do not believe in the possessed; and yet there must be something of
that kind. Enough on that point, however. Though I seemed cheerful, I
had a heavy heart; but now I am one of the happiest beings alive; and
if I were obliged to be a wood-cutter for the rest of my days, I could
still content myself. O mother, I would not have believed that I could
have found such a creature in a world in which all others are mere
pretence and _rouge_, lies and deceit.
"She is in perfect health, and as pure and as fresh as a dewdrop.
Although she has learned nothing, she knows everything. She cannot
couch it in words, but her eyes speak it. Her heart is so thoroughly
good,--so strong,--so pure,--indeed, I cannot find the right word for
it. She has no parents, no brothers or sisters. She is a child of the
woods, and as pure and as holy as the primeval forest itself.
"O, forgive me all! I cannot describe my emotions. Now I understand and
believe everything. They tell us that in the olden time, a Prince once
lost his way while hunting in the forest, and that he found a maiden
whom he placed upon his horse and led to his castle and then made her
his queen. Those stories are all true. I cannot make a queen of
Martella, but through her I am ennobled; and it grieves me that it will
not do to have our wedding at once. But I will wait. I can wait. Or, if
you like it better, we will wander forth to America, and, far from the
world, shall live there as our first parents did in Paradise. Believe
me, there is indeed a paradise.
"O mother! You are certainly all that a human being can be, but still
you have one fault;--yes, yes; you have wept--and the first commandment
should be, 'Man, thou shalt not weep.' And, just think of it, mother,
Martella has never yet wept! She is as healthy as a doe, and I swear it
to you, she shall never know what it is to weep. O mother! O father! in
the depths of the forest I have found this pure, innocent child, so
wise and clever, so strong and brave. This flower has blossomed in the
hidden depths of the forest; no human eye had ever seen her before. I
am not worthy of her, but I will try to become so."
His voice became thick. He beat his breast with both hands, and drew a
long deep breath. I have never yet seen a being so refulgent with
happiness. Thus, in the olden time, must they have looked who thought
they were beholding a miracle; and even now, when I write of these
things, feeble as my words seem, I tremble with emotion.
And could this be my child, my son, my madcap, who now felt so humble
and contrite. I had lost all memory of his former rudeness and sarcasm.
It was some time before we could answer his words.
The sun was going down in the west, its last broad rays fell into the
room, shedding a glow of light over all, and as we sat we heard the
evening chimes.