THE PEASANTS' DANCE
FERDINAND needed no call to arouse him in the morning. He was awake and
up long before any of his family, but he did not catch Herr Runkel nor
his buxom wife, napping.
"Come along, Ferdinand, and help me get the leather ready for the men,"
said the farmer, and he led the way across the garden to a great timber
building, two stories in height. He opened the door, and they entered a
very large room, with a decided smoky smell about it.
"What is this?" asked Ferdinand.
"This is our Feld-kasten (field-box) where we keep all our supplies.
Here are the seeds for planting when the time comes; here are the hams
and bacons and dried meat for use during the winter; here is the lard
for the year;" and Herr Runkel took off the lids of the great casks
and showed the white lard to the child, astonished beyond expression,
at this collection of supplies.
"And what's in the loft?" asked the boy, seeing the substantial ladder
leading thereto.
"Oh, that's for the women-folks," he replied. "We keep all sorts of
things there. Let's go up."
And they ascended.
The loft was a room full of shelves; in most delightful order were
ranged bundles of white cotton cloth, bundles of flax for spinning,
bundles of woolen goods for making up into apparel, some dyed and some
in the natural wool; there were rows and rows of yarn for embroidering
the garments of the peasants, and upon the floor in one corner was a
great heap of leather, with all sorts of machinery, and harness, and
Ferdinand never _could_ learn what there was not here, so overwhelmed
was he.
"Here we are," said Herr Runkel, as he tugged at the pile of leather.
"We must get this out, for the shoemakers start after breakfast. Give
us a lift, child," and he half dragged, half lifted the leather to the
trap-door and let it slide down the ladder.
For days afterwards Ferdinand was in a fever of excitement. First he
would help cut out the leather for the heavy farm shoes, working the
best he could with his inexperience; the main thing being to keep busy,
and he certainly accomplished it. Then he helped the tailors, for every
one who could be spared about the farm joined in the tasks of the
journeymen, that they might finish their work and move on to another
farm, before the busy season should begin for the farmers.
It is customary in addition to the low wages of about twelve cents a
day for servants to receive their clothing, as part payment, so that
upon a large farm, of the extent of Herr Runkel's, there were many
to be provided for. Frau Müller assisted Frau Runkel in the kitchen,
where Teresa, too, was kept busy; even Ferdinand not disdaining to make
himself useful in that department.
At length the journeymen were finished, and Herr Müller spoke about
leaving in a few days for Tyrol.
"We shall have a merrymaking, then, before you go," said his host. "But
I presume parties are not a novelty to you; are they, Ferdinand? City
folks, especially Viennese, are very gay."
"Oh, we never have parties in Vienna," replied the lad. "That is,
private parties; they cost too much. But we have our masked balls and
ice festivals. Of course I can't go to those; they are only for grown
folks."
Herr Müller took up the thread of conversation at this point. "Vienna,
with all its glitter, is but a poor city, after all," he said. "Living
is very costly; the rich and the aristocracy have impoverished
themselves by their extravagant ways of living. They dwell in fine
homes, wear gorgeous uniforms and gowns, but cannot pay for these
extravagances. They have shooting-lodges in the mountains, country
villas for the summer, besides their town homes, but they have the fear
constantly over their heads that these will be taken from them, to
redeem the mortgages upon them."
"I am more than ever thankful," replied the farmer, "that I have my
farm and my family, and owe no man."
"You are certainly right," answered his friend. "It is to such men as
you that Austria must look in the future."
"But about the party, Herr Runkel," interrupted Ferdinand, who feared
that his host might forget his suggestion.
"Oh, yes. Well, we'll have that Saturday night; so run along and help
the women-folks get ready for it, for you never saw such feasts as we
do have at our parties, child."
Ferdinand, being just a boy, rushed off to the kitchen to provide for
the "spread" that was to come, and he and Teresa chattered like two
magpies over the splendid prospect.
Although Ferdinand Müller did not quite believe that Saturday afternoon
would ever come, it eventually did come; and a perfect day, too.
Teresa was dressed in her most shining silver buckles and her whitest
of homespun stockings, while Frau Runkel outshone every one in the
room with her gayly embroidered apron over her dark skirt, and her
overwhelming display of hand-made silver ornaments in her ears, upon
her arms, about her neck, and on her fingers. And her head-dress was
a marvel to behold, glistening with gold thread and shining with tiny
beads of various colors.
The table was set in the Gesindestube; there were roast ducks, and
geese and chickens, roast meats and stewed meats, and Wienerschnitzel
(veal cutlet), without which no Austrian home is complete. There were
sausage and cheese and black bread and noodles; there were cakes with
white frosting and pink frosting, and some were decorated with tiny
colored seeds like caraway-seeds. Never had Ferdinand beheld such a
sight before; but truly the Austrian peasant knows how to enjoy life.
The reception over, the host and hostess led the way to the
dining-table, the men placing themselves on the bench on one side while
the women sat opposite them on the other. With bowed heads, the host
said the grace; then began the gayety. There was no constraint; each
helped himself and his neighbor bountifully. Meanwhile, the two young
children, at the foot of the board, were not neglected, but kept up a
lively conversation of their own, utterly oblivious of their elders.
"Wait until the dessert comes," said Teresa. "Did you ever see one of
these nettle-cakes?"
[Illustration: "IT TOWERED HIGH ABOVE HER HEAD."]
"Nettle-cakes?" repeated the lad. "What is that?"
"Oh, you will see," replied the young lady, looking wise. "But be
careful, I warn you, not to prick your fingers. Perhaps, though," she
added, "mother may not allow us to join in, for this is a special
feast-day, in honor of you and your parents."
Ferdinand was not kept long in suspense. The viands having been
disposed of to the satisfaction of every one, the maid brought in the
"pièce de resistance." It towered high above her head, and had she not
been brought up in the open air of the country she certainly never
would have had the strength to manage such a burden. Upon a huge wooden
dish was piled high fresh fruits from the orchard, cakes with delicious
frosting, nuts and bright flowers. It was a medley of color, set off by
great streamers of gay ribbons and bows; quite like a bridal cake,
but vastly more interesting.
Tongues wagged fast, you may be sure; all wished to get a chance at
the gorgeous centrepiece, nevertheless, they all waited for their
host's approval, and, waiting his opportunity, when many were not on
the alert, he raised his hand, and then such a scramble you never saw
in all your days. The men rose out of their seats and grabbed for one
particular sweetmeat, which might appeal to the palate of his fair
partner; but for all their precautions, knowing the hidden secrets
of the dessert, many emerged from the battle with scratched hands or
bleeding fingers, for these delicious cakes and luscious fruits covered
prickly nettles, a trap for the unskilful.
But what mattered these trifles to the happy-hearted peasant folk. They
chatted and laughed and dived for fruit and decked the hair of their
favorites with gay flowers, or cracked nuts with their knife handles
and fed them to their lady loves. With the coffee, the feast ended.
Carrying the benches to the sides of the room, where they ordinarily
reposed, the table was cleared as if by magic. Now the dance was
on. Zithers and violins appeared, and the darkened rafters of the
Gesindestube rang with the clatter of many feet.
By ten o'clock all was quiet at the farm-house; the guests had
complimented their host and hostess upon the success of the evening,
and the elaborateness of the table; they bade farewell to the Müller
family, and saying good night to all, made their way over the fields,
singing with hearty voices, their tuneful folk-songs; and thus
Ferdinand heard the last of them ere he fell asleep.