"Because I want to know."
'When they had reached the top of the hill, at "Sour-Water Bat's"
house, the three girls stood still and laid their heads together.
Suddenly, like frightened pigeons, they ran in different directions,
and left the gamekeeper all alone on the road. He whistled to his dog,
who had started in pursuit, put his left arm in his gun-strap, and went
on his way.
At the stone-quarry the girls met again and stood still.
"You are too rough, you are," said Tony to Babbett.
"Yes, you are so," Bridget chimed in.
"He didn't hurt you," continued Tony, "and you went at him like a
bull-dog."
"I didn't hurt him either," answered Babbett; "I only fooled him. Why
didn't the jackanapes answer me? And, another thing, I don't like the
green-coat, anyhow. What does he mean by running through the whole
village with us and making people think we want something of him? And
what will Sepper[6] and Caspar think of it? I'm not such a good-natured
little puss as you are; I don't take things from counts or barons, nor
barons' gamekeepers either."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Sepper and
Caspar, who had looked for their sweethearts at the cherry-bush in
vain. Babbett now told the whole story so glibly that no one else could
get a word in edgewise. As a good many smart things occurred to her
while she was speaking, she put them into her own mouth, without being
unnecessarily precise. People have a way of embellishing the recital of
their own doings and sayings in this manner: it requires so much less
readiness and courage to invent these things when the person at whom
they are levelled is gone than when he is by.
Sepper expressed his hearty approval of Babbett's proceedings, and
said, "These gentry-folk must be stumped short the minute you begin
with them."
The gamekeeper certainly did not belong to the "gentry-folk;" but it
was convenient to class him so, for the purpose of scolding the more
freely about him.
Sepper gave an arm to Tony, his sweetheart, while Bridget hung herself
upon the other. Caspar and Barbara walked beside them; and so they
passed out through the hollow to take a walk.
Sepper and Tony were a splendid pair, both tall and slender, and both
doubly handsome when seen together: among a thousand you would have
picked them out and said, "These two belong together." Sepper wore a
style of dress half-way between that of a peasant and a soldier: the
short flapping jacket set off in fine contrast the display of
well-rounded limbs cased in the close-fitting military breeches. He
looked like an officer in undress, so fine was the blending of ease and
precision in all his movements.
At the top of the hill they saw the gamekeeper in conversation with the
woodranger of Nordstetten. Sepper even observed that he was pointing
toward them, and cleared his throat as if to prepare a sharp answer for
the "gentleman," who was still two hundred yards away. Then he put his
arms around Tony's neck and gave her a hearty smack, as a sort of broad
hint for him who ran to read. This done, he walked on, whistling a
lively tune, with something of a swagger.
His manner would have been still more emphatic if he had heard what the
gamekeeper was saying to the woodranger, which was, "See! there she
comes now. It is a girl as white as wax,--for all the world like the
mother of God in the church: I never saw any thing like it in all my
life."
"Yes, I thought you meant her," replied the woodranger "It's the
Poodlehead's daughter: they call him Poodlehead because he has white
curly hair like a lamb, just as the girl has, too. In the village they
call her the maiden-blush, because she has such pretty red cheeks. The
old parson knew what's good, and wanted her for a cook; but it was no
go. Poodlehead wiped his chops for him with a 'No, thank ye.' Tony will
get her ten acres some day in this commune, and they say there's more
besides."
The gamekeeper shook hands and took his leave before the party had
quite reached him.
Sitting on an unploughed strip of land, between two fields,--such as
take the place of fences in that hedgeless country,--our friends spent
the afternoon in singing and kissing. Bridget had the worst of the
game, for her sweetheart was with the soldiers at Heilbronn: who knows
what he was about while his girl sat aside from the others with
blushing face, playing with a flower and thinking of him? At dusk she
was wanted to "fix up" the others: her own collar was in perfect trim,
while the collars and the hair of her friends were all "mussed and
fussed," as she said, scolding good-naturedly.
All the girls and boys now met on the highroad, and the sexes walked
separately. In the west, or, as they say there, "across the Rhine," the
sun went down blood-red and gave promise of a pleasant day. The boys
walked into the village in files which spread nearly across the street,
singing or whistling tunes set in four parts. About thirty yards
behind, the girls walked arm in arm. They sang incessantly. Scarcely
was one song at an end before one girl or the other struck up a new
one, and the others fell in without consultation or debate.
Tony was on the left flank, and on her right arm hung Blatschle's Mary
Ann, called the Flambeau Mary Ann,--a poor unfortunate girl the whole
left side of whose face, from the forehead to the chin, was blue, just
as if there were clotted blood beneath the skin. At the great fire
which happened eighteen years before, and where seven men lost their
lives, Mary Ann's mother had hurried up, and on seeing the flames had
passed her hand over her face in great fear and fright. When her child
was born, one-half of its face was blue. Tony always had a certain
horror of Mary Ann; but she did not like to hurt her feelings by going
away. So she went on, trembling inwardly, but singing the louder to
regain the mastery over herself.
Near the manor-house farmer's house the gamekeeper came up with the
party on his return from Horb. On seeing Tony he blushed up to the
eyes, and lifted his gun off his shoulder a little, sinking it again
immediately, and, turning toward Tony, he said, "Good-evening, girls."
A few returned the salutation, and he said, in a low voice, to Tony,
"May I walk with you now?"
"No, no! that will never do," said Tony, no louder than he had spoken:
"go and walk with the boys, just to oblige me."
The gamekeeper was delighted, and, with a polite bow, he walked on.
At the Eagle there was, a general halt. The curfew sounded, and the
boys, with their heads uncovered, mumbled a paternoster: the girls did
the same; and then all crossed themselves.
But as soon as this was done the jokes and laughter were resumed. The
gamekeeper said, "Good-night, all," and went on his way. The girls
teased Tony about him, and said he had whispered to her. Sepper, who
heard this, suddenly grew stark and stiff: the pipe which he was
lifting to his mouth remained in the convulsive grasp of his one hand,
while his other fist clenched, and his eyes, which stared upon Tony,
shot forth fierce and angry thoughts. Then again he swung proudly on
his knees, and only once cast his head backward in something of
disdain.
When all separated, Sepper went with Tony to her father's house. He was
silent a while, and then said,--
"What are you carrying on with the gamekeeper?"
"Nothing."
"What were you saying to him?"
"Just what people are apt to talk."
"But I don't want you ever to speak a word to him."
"And I'm not going to ask you for permission to speak to anybody."
"You're a proud, deceitful thing."
"If you think so I can't help it."
They walked on in silence. At Tony's door she said "goodnight;" but
Sepper allowed her to go in without an answer. He stood before the door
all the evening, whistling and singing: he thought that Tony must
certainly come to him; but she did not come, and he went away in high
dudgeon.
That whole week Sepper never spoke a word to Tony, and even went out of
his way to avoid meeting her.
On Saturday afternoon he was out in the "Warm Dell" with his team to
get clover for Sunday. On his way home he saw Babbett coming up the
"Cowslip Dell" with a heavy bundle of clover on her head. He stopped,
and made her put her clover and herself on his wagon. Here Babbett told
him her mind about his foolish jealousy so very plainly that he went to
the well near the town-hall and waited until Tony came to fetch water.
He hastened to lift the bucket for her and adjust it on her head, and
then walked by her side, saying, "How have you been all the week? I
have such lots of work."
[Illustration: He hastened to lift the bucket for her.]
"You give yourself lots of trouble, which you might let alone. You are
a wild, wilful fellow. Do you see now that you were in the wrong?"
"You must never speak to that gamekeeper again."
"I'll speak to him whenever I please," said Tony: "I am not a child. I
understand my own business."
"But you needn't speak to him if you don't choose to."
"No, I needn't; but I am not going to be led about by a halter that
way."
Peace was restored, and no disturbance occurred for a long time, for
the gamekeeper did not show himself at Nordstetten again.
Tony often sat in the cherry-copse of a Sunday afternoon, with her
playmates, and sometimes with Sepper, laughing and singing. The wild
cherries--the only ones which ripen in the climate of the Black
Forest--had long disappeared; the rape-seed was brought home; the rye
and barley were cut, and the peaceful life of our friends had passed
through but little change: Sepper's and Tony's love for each other had,
if any thing, increased in intensity. That fall Sepper had to go
through the last course of drill with the military, and then he would
get his discharge, and then--the wedding.
Since that Sunday in the spring Tony had never cast eyes on the
gamekeeper. But when she and Sepper were cutting oats in the Molda[7]
the gamekeeper came by and said, "Does't cut well?" Tony started, and
plied her sickle busily without answering. Sepper said, "Thank you,"
knelt upon a sheaf and twisted down the tie with all his might,--as if
he were wringing the gamekeeper's neck. The gamekeeper passed on.
It happened that Babbett's and Caspar's wedding came off just three
days before that on which Sepper was obliged to go to the military. So
he made up his mind to enjoy himself once for all, and kept his word.
In almost every house where Caspar and his friend left the invitations,
somebody said, "Well, Sepper, your turn will come next." And he smiled
affirmatively.
At the wedding Sepper was as happy as a horse in clover. He enjoyed the
foretaste of his coming bliss. When the dance began he climbed up to
the musicians and bespoke them for his wedding, with two additional
trumpeters: he belonged to the Guard, and therefore thought himself
entitled to more trumpets than others.
But in the evening a new apparition crossed his path and changed the
color of his thoughts. The gamekeeper came to the dance, and the first
one he asked to dance with him was Tony.
"Engaged," answered Sepper for Tony.
"The lassie can speak for herself, I guess," replied the gamekeeper.
"You and I will dance the next hop-waltz together," said Tony, taking
Sepper's hand. But she turned around toward the gamekeeper once more
before the hop-waltz began. The next waltz Tony danced with the
gamekeeper, while Sepper sat down at the table and made up his mind not
to stir another foot that evening, and to forbid Tony to dance any
more. But Babbett came and asked him to dance. This was the bride's
privilege, and Sepper could not refuse. Of course the dance was a cover
for a round lecture. "I don't know what to make of you at all," said
she: "that gamekeeper seems to have driven every bit of sense out of
your head. It'll be your fault and nobody else's if Tony should ever
come to like him. She wouldn't have had a thought of him this many a
day; but, if you go on teasing her about him this way, what can she do
but think of him? And with always thinking about him, and wondering
whether he likes her or not, she might get to like him at last, after
all, for he does dance a little better than you, that's a fact: you
couldn't reverse waltz the way he does, could you?"
Sepper laughed; but in his heart he could not deny that the shrewd
little rogue was right, and when he sat at the table with his
sweetheart he clinked his glass against the gamekeeper's and beckoned
to Tony to do the same. The gamekeeper drank, bowed politely to Tony,
and nodded slightly to Sepper. The latter had made up his mind,
however, not to be sulky again, and prided himself a little on the good
tact of his behavior to the gamekeeper, and then sat, happy as a king,
with his arm round Tony's waist. He was called away to the master-joke
of the wedding.
According to ancient custom, all the young men had conspired to steal
the bride. They formed a ring around her, and Caspar had to bargain for
her release amid a plentiful volley of small jokes and lively sallies.
Six bottles of wine were at last accepted as a ransom, and the reunited
pair marched off arm in arm. The musicians came down from their
platform to the yard under their windows, and played the customary
march; and many a hurrah followed from the crowd.
Tony stood at the window, in a dreamy mood, long after Babbett was gone
and the others had returned to the dance.
It was very late at night, or, rather, early in the morning, when
Sepper saw Tony home; yet it was long before they parted. Tony pressed
her cheek against his with wild emotion, and held him with all the
force of her arms. He too was greatly excited; yet he could not refrain
from talking about the gamekeeper. "Let the gamekeeper alone," said
Tony: "there's nothing in the world but you."
Sepper lifted her high up in the air; then he embraced her again, and,
pressing his lip to her cheek, he whispered, "Do you see? I should just
like to bite you."
"Bite," said Tony.
Well done! Sepper had bitten in good earnest. The blood flowed freely
and ran down her cheeks into her neck and breast. Her hand rushed to
her cheek, and there she felt the open scars of the teeth. She thrust
Sepper away with such force that he fell on his back, and shrieked and
cried aloud, so that the whole house was alarmed. Sepper got up and
tried to comfort her; but with loud wailing she pushed him away again.
Hearing a noise in the house, he slipped away quietly. He thought the
matter was not so bad, after all, and that if he was out of the way she
would hit upon some excuse to quiet them.
Her father and mother came up with lights, and were frightened almost
to death at the sight of their child dripping in blood. Old Ursula, who
knew so many remedies, was sent for immediately. She had no sooner cast
eyes on the wound than she declared, "This may end in a cancer, or else
the person who did it must clean the wound with his tongue." But Tony
protested vehemently that she would rather die than ever let Sepper
touch her again.
Various remedies were applied, and Tony groaned as if she were at the
point of death.
The story spread through the village like wildfire; and it was even
said that Sepper had taken a piece of flesh out of Tony's cheek.
Everybody came to comfort her and to find out all about it. Sepper came
too; but Tony screamed like a maniac, and declared he must leave the
house at once and never come back. All his prayers and tears availed
nothing: Tony seemed to be really beside herself, and Sepper had to go.
He went to Babbett and begged her to say a good word for him. Babbett
was busy arranging the wedding-gifts: kitchen-furniture, and all sorts
of utensils, lay scattered about. She scolded Sepper roundly, but left
her work at once and hastened to Tony. The latter fell upon her
playmate's neck and cried, "I am spoiled for all the days of my life!"
After a great deal of coaxing, she consented to rise from her bed; but,
when she stood before the looking-glass and saw the horrible
devastation, she exclaimed, "Jesus! Maria! Joseph! why, I am just like
Flambeau Mary Ann! Oh God! I'm sure I must have sinned against her: I
am punished hard enough!"
On no condition would she hear of seeing Sepper again; so the poor
fellow had to trudge off to Stuttgard in a day or two, with a little
white linen knapsack on his back, and a heavy, heavy load on his heart.
It was two weeks before Tony left the house, and then she kept her face
well tied up. She walked out with a hoe on her shoulder to dig
potatoes; and, strange to say, almost the first person she met was the
gamekeeper.
"How are you, pretty Tony?" he asked, almost tenderly.
She could have sunk into the earth with shame, it seemed so strange for
him to call her by name, and say "pretty" besides; and she felt more
keenly than ever how much she was disfigured. As she sighed and said
nothing, the gamekeeper went on:--"I have heard of what has happened:
won't you let me see it?"
She bashfully pushed the kerchief aside, and the gamekeeper
involuntarily raised his hands to his own face and said, "It is horrid,
it is inhuman, to act so to a sweet, good girl like you! There's a fair
specimen of your farmers' brutality. Don't be offended: I certainly
didn't mean you by it: but these people are often worse than wild
beasts. But don't be grieved about it."
Of all this Tony only heard the sympathy of the gamekeeper, and said,
"I'm dreadfully spoiled and mangled, a'n't I?"
"I shouldn't mind it," said the gamekeeper: "if you had but one cheek
you would please me better than all the girls between Nordstetten and
Paris."
"It isn't right to tease one so," said Tony, smiling sadly.
"I am not teasing you," said the gamekeeper; and, taking her hand, he
continued, "Oh, if you would say the word, how glad I should be to
marry you!"
"That is talking sinfully," said Tony.
"I don't see any sin in our getting married," returned the gamekeeper.
"If you want to be good friends with me, don't say another word about
it," said Tony, taking her way across the field.
The gamekeeper was content, for the present, to be "good friends," and
made the most of it; for he came to Nordstetten almost regularly twice
or three times a week. He managed to start some business-negotiations
with the Poodlehead, Tony's father, about cordwood; and this always
gave him an opportunity of talking with Tony. He said nothing more
about marrying, but anybody but a fool could see that he alluded to it
all the time. He had much trouble with Babbett, whose influence upon
Tony was of the greatest consequence. At first he tried good humor and
fun, but Babbett never would understand his jokes: she did nothing but
talk about Sepper as long as the gamekeeper was within hearing.
A lucky occurrence gave the latter a great advantage. Tony had a rich
cousin in Muehringen, who was to be married shortly: the dance was to
last three days; and Tony was invited. The gamekeeper's sister soon
made friends with her, and the two girls rambled over the fields
together and kept near each other at the dance. Tony now appeared for
the first time with an uncovered face; and it might almost be said that
the bite had improved her looks. Some wild and superstitious people
purposely mangle what is perfectly beautiful, so that the "evil look"
may have no power over it, and by way of appeasing the devil, who can
suffer nothing perfect to exist. Whether the "beauty-spots" cultivated
by the damsels of our day were originally derived from this
superstition I cannot tell. At all events, the bite on Tony's cheek was
just enough to give the spirit of envy a little "but" to hang on the
end of an acknowledgment of her comeliness.
The gamekeeper always kept near Tony while the dance was going on; and
in the evening he treated her to something that no peasant-girl of all
Nordstetten had ever enjoyed. The old baron, a stout and well-fed
personage, though very parsimonious, and unmerciful in hunting down
every poor farmer who took an armful of dry sticks out of the wood, was
very ambitious for the prosperity of a little private theatre which he
maintained at the manor-house, and to which he used to invite the grand
folks of the neighborhood. The gamekeeper was permitted to bring Tony
to see the theatricals.
She trembled till her teeth chattered as she walked up the hill on
which the manor-house, or rather castle, stands, with its drawbridge,
moat, and parapet, in the style of the Middle Ages. Without a breath,
and on tip-toe, she came into the hall, where the ladies and gentlemen
were already assembled. A place was assigned her not far back of the
orchestra. The lord-lieutenant's lady levelled her eyeglass at her for
a long time; Tony cast down her eyes, almost afraid to breathe. The
scar on her cheek tingled as if the eyes of the lady had opened the
wound afresh. The rise of the curtain came to her relief, and now she
listened with breathless attention. She shed tears over the fate of the
poor boy who died in prison, because he was accused of stealing, just
to save the credit of his master, to whom he owed a debt of gratitude;
and if she had been the master's daughter she certainly would not have
put off her disclosure until it came too late. When the curtain fell, a
deep sigh escaped her.
On the way home the gamekeeper put his arm around Tony's waist, and she
clung closely to him. She was quite overcome with mingled emotions. It
seemed as if all she felt, and the feigned events she had seen, were of
the gamekeeper's doing, and as if she owed it all to him; and, again,
she wished to go back to the old man and his sweet daughter, who were
now so happy together. The gamekeeper, too, was happy, for he obtained
Tony's promise to walk with him after church on Sunday afternoon.
Thus the gamekeeper's man[oe]uvres were far more successful than those
in which poor Sepper was engaged on horseback on the plains of
Ludwigsburg; and, before the latter got his honorable discharge from
the military, Tony had given him another discharge which he never
desired. When he came home, his first visit was to the house of Tony's
father. She was spinning in the room, but gave him no look of
recognition, only directing a fixed, cold stare at him from time to
time. He took his discharge out of his pocket, brushed every mote of
dust from the table, and spread the document before their eyes. Tony
would not walk to the table to look at it. He wrapped it up in a piece
of paper and went, carrying it carefully in his hand, to Babbett's.
Here he heard the whole story, and also that the two playmates had
quarrelled about the gamekeeper, and were not on speaking terms. He
mashed the discharge into a ball with both hands and went away.
At dark Sepper was sitting under the cherry-tree where we first made
Tony's acquaintance. It was leafless. The wind whistled over the
stubble, and the pine-wood sighed and murmured like a mighty current.
The night-bell sounded from the convent, and a belated raven croaked as
he flew toward the wood. Sepper saw and heard nothing. His elbows
rested on his knees, and his hands covered his eyes. Thus he remained a
long time. The bark of a dog and the sound of footsteps approaching
aroused him, and he sprang to his feet. The gamekeeper was coming out
of the village. Sepper saw the flash of his gun-barrel: he also saw a
white apron, and concluded, rightly, that Tony was accompanying the
gamekeeper. They stood still a while, and Tony returned toward the
village.
When the gamekeeper was near him, Sepper said, in a tone of defiance,
"Good-evening."
"How are you?" returned the gamekeeper.
"I've got a crow to pick with you," said the former again.
"Oh, Sepper," said the gamekeeper, "since when have you got back?"
"Too soon for you, you----: we won't be long about it. There! we'll
draw straws for which of us must give up Tony, and if I lose I must
have the gun."
"I won't draw any straws."
"Then I'll draw your soul out of your body, you rascally green-coat!"
roared Sepper, seizing the rifle with one hand and the gamekeeper's
throat with the other.
"Seize him, Bruin," cried the gamekeeper, with a smothered voice. A
kick from Sepper disabled the hound, but released the gamekeeper a
little. They now wrestled furiously for the gun, and held each other by
the throat, when suddenly the charge went off, and the gamekeeper fell
backward into the ditch. He groaned but slightly, and Sepper bent over
him to hear whether he was still breathing. Tony came running up the
road: she had heard the report, and was filled with forebodings of
evil.
[Illustration: There lies your gamekeeper: now marry him!]
"There, there!" cried Sepper; "there lies your gamekeeper: now marry
him!"
Tony stood like a statue, without speech or motion. At last she said,
"Sepper, Sepper, you have made yourself and me unhappy."
"What am I to you? I ask nothing more of anybody," cried Sepper, and
fled toward the highlands. He was never heard of again.
On the way to Muehringen, in the cherry-copse, is a stone cross, to
mark the spot where the gamekeeper of Muehringen was slain.
[Illustration: In the cherry-copse is a stone cross, where the
gamekeeper was slain.]
Tony lived through many years of solitary grief.