her large mouth; and I noticed that she clasped the child closer to her
bared breast, and tried to draw the shirt up over her shoulders.
Therewith a slight redness tinged her round, white face, and her blue
eyes assumed a half imploring, half simple and dreamily vacant,
expression.
"I excused myself for intruding; her mother had allowed me to come in;
I would immediately go out again if she wished. She hummed her song
without appearing to notice me; but from time to time she would
suddenly lift her eyes, as if to see whether I were still there; then
bite her full, red under-lip; rock the child back and forth; and, with
her bare feet in the straw, beat time to her song.
"The child, which was but a few months old, had drunk and cried itself
to sleep. The cradle-song grew ever softer; at length the young mother,
kneeling down, wrapped the little one, which lay before her like some
rosy, waxen doll, in a great woollen shawl. In the corner near the
pillow I observed a little couch made of old rags and tatters. On this
the baby was gently and carefully laid, and, in spite of the heat,
covered yet again.
"Then the mother, always as if entirely alone in the room, began to let
down and rebraid her tangled, yellow hair. The rest of her toilet
seemed to be perfectly satisfactory.
"Indeed, no elegant costume could have displayed the poor young woman's
charming figure to more advantage. The face was too like the old
woman's to be considered pretty. Yet in the coloring and youthful
contour of that round little head lay a charm, which was not lessened
even by an evident trace of absent-mindedness, or downright imbecility.
I felt intense sympathy for the poor, half-foolish creature, singing
her lullaby so contentedly in such pitiable deprivation of all usual
nursery comforts.
"She did not answer any of my questions even by a gesture. Since they
had plenty of wood and did not grudge it, the oven was heated almost to
bursting; although the air without was mild enough, even here on the
windy height. So I did not wait until she finished arranging her heavy
braids, but laid a shining thaler on the edge of the loom, nodded
kindly to the harmless creature, and left the room.
"I found the old woman no longer by her sick darling, but at the well,
where she was cleaning a handful of turnips and cutting them into a
pot.
"'Mother Lamitz,' said I, 'you have a very pretty daughter. But she
would not speak a word to me. Is she always so silent with strangers?'
"The old woman contracted her brows and stared gloomily at the pot
which she held between her knees. In this attitude she might have
served an artist as model for a witch preparing some noxious potion.
"'Silent?' she asked after a pause. 'No, sir; it is not her tongue that
is lacking. When she will, she can chatter like a starling. The lack is
above. She was so even as a child. Well, it was not such a great shame.
If she had had the best sense, would that have helped a poor,
fatherless thing like her? Did it matter to me that I had all my five
senses right? I was cheated in spite of them, and therefore I care not
a whit whether the brat to which she has given life takes after her, as
people say, or after me. Either way, the little Mary will sometime
become a mother on the sly, as it came into the world on the sly. It is
in the family, sir, it is in the family.'
"And then, after a pause, for I knew not what to say to this frank
worldly wisdom--'Besides, the child will hardly grow old. Hannah treats
it too foolishly. Indeed, reason has nothing to do with her actions.
And when the winter comes, and we all must hunger--it is said, though,
that God lets no sparrow fall from a roof without His will--I am
curious to see whether He will trouble Himself about us four poor
females up here.'
"Therewith she gazed pityingly at the donkey, which was now crouching
quietly in its bedding. I could have laughed to see her so
unconcernedly consider gray, long-eared Minka as the fourth in the
family; but the horrible cold-bloodedness with which she spoke of her
child and grandchild was not humorous.
"'You seem to care much more tenderly for the donkey than for your
poor, little grandchild,' I said severely.
"She nodded her head calmly.
"'So it is,' she said; 'Minka needs me more. If I die to-day, she must
come to a miserable end. Do you think Hannah would throw her even an
armful of grass, although the poor beast can no longer seek it herself?
No; she has no thought except for her baby, and beyond that, for the
rascal who is its father. She waits for him every evening at sunset,
although it is already a half year since he last crossed our threshold.
And withal she is as happy as any one can wish to be, considers the
dear God a good man, and lets her old mother do all the housework
without any help. Why should I pity her or her brat? Both are already
as if in heaven, and if it goes hard with them, and they must hunger
and freeze, can they not make that good hereafter in Paradise? But
Minka, look you, sir, has had no lover, and brought no young one into
the world, and when she dies she will be thrown in the flaying-place,
and on doomsday, when we other poor sinners gather our bones together,
of her nothing at all will be left, and it will never be credited to
her that she had a harder life than her twin sister. Look you, some
other poor Christian mortal must pity the beasts if our Lord Jesus
Himself cannot bring Himself to do it.'
"This logic allowed no reply. But I confess that the future of the
little human being was more momentous to me, in spite of its immortal
soul, than the question whether Minka would lose or not in the final
distribution of justice. If to-morrow the only person among these 'four
females' who had sound human sense should be struck by lightning, what
would then become of the poor fool and her baby?
"'Does the father do nothing at all for the little one?' I asked at
last. 'The child is as beautiful as if carved out of ivory, and it is
by no means certain that it will become like the mother. Has he never
shown himself again?'
"'He!' exclaimed the old woman, thrusting the knife with which she had
been cleaning the turnips deep into the wooden well-spout. 'If I should
drag him to justice, he would swear himself free, that he would,
although he is the town-judge's own son. Do you think I did not see it
in him, even the first time when he came into our little house to
kindle his pipe at the hearth--so he said, the villain! He is
unfortunately as pretty to look at as he is bad within, and the stupid
thing, Hannah she was still innocent, and I could let her wander all
day long in the woods alone with Minka, filling the two panniers with
berries and mushrooms--she thought of no man then, and I--God knows how
it came about! Just because she is so foolish and weak in her head, I
imagined that no one would trouble about her. But she pleased the
judge's son, and was herself instantly carried away with him. After
that I had trouble enough with her. She had worked bravely till then in
the house and garden, and no work was too hard for her. Now, of a
sudden, half the day her hands in her lap, and if I began to scold she
would smile at me like a child waking from a lovely dream. If I sent
her to the woods, she would bring the baskets back to the house
scarcely a quarter full. It was Minka's misfortune too. You cannot
believe, sir, how the beast clung to Hannah; it had human sense, anyway
more than Hannah, and realized that the smart fellow with the black
mustache had nothing good in mind. It always ran after the stupid girl,
and gave a loud bray to warn her. I saw everything well enough, but
what could I do? Scoldings and warnings were useless; she did not
understand. And one cannot shut up a grown woman, who will use force to
get out. She would have climbed from the window or even the chimney to
rush into the very arms of ruin. Well, and so it happened. But the
worst of it was that Minka suffered for it too. One evening she
followed the girl into the woods, and soon afterward came limping home
alone, with the wound in her neck, groaning and crying like a human
being. Hannah came back an hour later. I questioned her closely as to
how the brute had received the wound. "Ha!" said she, laughing
insolently, "she screamed all the time and crowded between us, although
Frank tried to drive her back with blows; so he suddenly became angry,
drew his knife, and gave her a thrust." I struck the shameless thing
for laughing about it, and put salve on the wound. But Minka rolled on
her back as if crazy, and would bear no bandage, and so it has grown
worse with her every day, and with Hannah too. Well, at least she has
had her way, and nothing much better could have happened to her. Who
would take one like her for his honest wife? And if sometime she
realizes that it is useless to wait for her lover, and becomes crazy
with grief at his wickedness, then she has little wit to lose. Whereas
Minka, sir, who is cleverer than many people, believe me, she lies for
days pondering why good and bad are so unequally divided on the earth;
why she has nothing but a ruined life, while her sister trots about
elegant and happy; and why our good Lord did not arrange it so that
donkeys might go to heaven, and obtain their reward for all the flaying
and toiling, beating and kniving, they have to bear.'
"She uttered these last words with such violence that she was obliged
to stop for breath. Then, brushing back the loose hairs at her neck,
she tied her head-cloth more firmly, and took the pot of turnips on her
arm.
"'I must go in, sir,' she said hoarsely, 'or I shall go to bed hungry.
Do you know the town-judge and his fine son? It does not matter. He
will not have to pay for what he did to my girl and to Minka until he
stands before God's throne. And for the rest, why should his conscience
prick him? She wished nothing better; indeed, we all wish nothing
better; if we were not silly, you men could not be bad. So it will be
as long as the world lasts. At doomsday I shall not complain of that,
but I shall ask our Lord whether donkeys go to heaven too, of that you
may be sure--of that you may certainly be sure!'
"She nodded her head vigorously, passed by without another look at me,
and disappeared in the house.
"You can imagine that, as I descended the slope, passing the black
water, and finally reaching the village, all that I had seen and heard
continually pursued me. Even when I had secured a carriage at the inn,
and was rolling along the highway towards my brother-in-law's house,
the figure of the old woman, and especially that of her blonde daughter
with the naked babe clasped to her breast, seemed actually before my
eyes. It chanced that my driver was an elderly man, who could give
trustworthy answers to my questions about the inmates of the little
house on the hill. He remembered Betty Lamitz's sudden appearance there
twenty years ago very well. Her own home was in a neighboring place,
where, her mother having died without leaving any property, the parish
refused to receive her. She was a servant in an aristocratic house in
Prague, and behaved properly enough until one of the sons of the house,
an officer home on a furlough, noticed her. She had been a fine-looking
person even at thirty, in spite of her flat nose and broad cheeks, a
maid with unusual eyes, and when she laughed--which to be sure she
seldom did--she could cut out many younger women even then. But things
simply went the usual way, in spite of her cleverness, and although she
had always said she would never do as her own mother had done. Of
course her master did not keep her in the house. He gave her a suitable
sum of money, with which she bought the forsaken hill-house and the bit
of garden plot, and since then, as she would not go into service again,
perhaps could not, she had lived there and brought Hannah up, in
perfect retirement. For the first few years the young count remembered
her, and sent her something. After awhile he failed to do this, and she
was obliged to struggle along by herself. She had done so; and
certainly no one could accuse her of grief at her child's lack of
reason.
"Then my driver spoke of the sad affair with the judge's son, against
whom he expressed himself in very strong terms. Every one knew about
it. But he was the only son of a most respectable family, and no one
could expect him to make amends for the foolish mis-step by an honest
marriage. A wild, insane thing! Why didn't the old woman watch her
better? If he did a little something for the child, no one would blame
him much for this youthful sin.
"I listened without entering into any discussion of the moral aspect of
the case. In my heart--I know not why--I felt such intense sympathy for
the poor creature, that if her betrayer had come in my way, I would
have thrashed him with much pleasure.
"My first action, when I saw my people again, was to tell them of my
experience, and induce my good sister to take some interest in the
neglected young woman. She was true to her sympathetic nature. The next
day she sent her 'Mamselle,' an experienced, elderly person, in a
carriage to Mother Lamitz's hut, with a basket containing all sorts of
good things--provisions for several weeks, baby-clothes, and several
uncut dress pieces to provide for the winter. To this I added a trifle
in cash, fully intending to go in person very soon, and see if this
feeble attempt to make up the deficiencies of the world-system had been
at all effectual.
"But I did not go. Our physician ordered me to take sea-baths earlier
than I expected. I merely heard that our gifts were received by the old
woman with but moderate thanks, and by the young mother with child-like
exultation. Then I departed, remaining away the entire summer, and the
inmates of that forest hut soon became of as little moment to me as any
beggar into whose hat one tosses a groschen.
"Even when, after having washed away in the sea my invalidism and its
accompanying world-sickness, I returned to the estate in the autumn for
hunting, it did not occur to me for several weeks to inquire about the
'four females.' My sister and her husband had themselves been away, and
been occupied with entirely different things. On a lonely tramp which I
undertook one cold, cloudy, disagreeable day in the middle of October,
I suddenly recollected that I had wandered over the same forest-path
five months before, and that it had finally led me to the donkey with
the 'immortal soul.' What might have happened to Minka in the meantime?
"I stepped along more briskly, for evening was already coming on. It
was dark and comfortless in the forest; the moisture dripped heavily
from the pines; the little clearings, with their bushes and birches,
were not so cheerful, in spite of the red berries hanging plentifully
on their faded branches, as on that day in May, when I alone wore a
troubled face. When I finally emerged from the pines at the edge of the
height, the land below me and the purplish peaks on the horizon looked
as strange as if a terrible storm were impending. The air was perfectly
still; one heard each drop falling on the dry leaves, and, from time to
time, the crows, very numerous in that locality, cawing in the
treetops. The noise was so hateful to me that, in a sort of sudden
fury, I snatched my gun from my shoulder, and fired into the
unsuspecting flock. A single bird fell fluttering and quivering at my
feet. I felt ashamed of this childish outburst and hurried towards the
hut, which, standing in its old place, and in the same condition,
looked extremely desolate in the murky evening mist.
"The enclosed space had beautified itself with half a dozen tall
sunflowers and with several rows of pumpkin-vines growing over the
rubbish-heap; but the black hen had evidently failed to outlive the
summer. On the side of the house where the brook flowed, and where
Minka had lain, there was no longer any trace of her. Possibly it was
now too cold on this damp couch for the poor, wounded beast. But where
had she gone? I laughed to myself as I realized that the fate of the
brute creature was more interesting to me than that of the hut's human
inmates. Of them nothing was to be seen or heard.
"In the room where the loom stood, excepting that the straw-bed was
empty, everything appeared as at my first visit. But the oven was cold
and all the windows were open. I pressed the door-latch of the single,
mean chamber on the right of the narrow hall. Here I was amazed to find
one at least of the 'four females,' the good Minka herself. She lay on
a litter of yellow leaves, moss, and pine-needles, close to a low
hearth, whereon coals were still glowing; and as she saw me enter, she
lifted her head wearily.
"The old woman must have housed here, since, besides cooking utensils,
all sorts of woman's trumpery was lying about, while on the other side
of the hearth stood an ancient, grandfather's chair, with torn
cushions, plainly Mother Lamitz's bedstead. She had evidently brought
her sick darling into her immediate vicinity.
"I approached the poor creature and stroked her coat, for which
attention her ears wagged a doleful gratitude. The wound had grown
worse; indeed, her whole condition was serious, and for the first time
I saw on an animal something like the hippocratic face. Seeing that I
was friendly, she made a painful effort to unburden her distressed
heart; but no longer able to express herself satisfactorily, she soon
became silent again, and with an indescribably piteous look let her
tongue loll from her mouth, thus taking away her last trace of beauty
in my eyes. As I could not help her, I went out in a few moments,
leaving the door open; for the close air, which I could scarcely
breathe, must have been equally unbearable for a sick donkey.
"Outside I looked about in all directions. Of grandmother, mother, or
child--not a trace. In the forest--but what could they be seeking there
so late, and in such horrible weather? They have gone down to the town,
thought I, to make some purchases. But nobody knows when they will
return.
"To await them in the damp hut was out of the question. I thought that
perhaps I might meet them on the way down, as I intended to descend and
return by the highroad, instead of the dark, slippery forest path. So
once again I took the little path between the meadows, and heard then,
for the first time, a muffled sound of musical instruments, principally
clarionets and contrabasses, evidently coming from the inn in the town
below. Although dance music, it was far from merry; indeed, it seemed
but a proper accompaniment to the melancholy song heaven and earth were
singing together; as if cloud spirits were playing a waltz to which
they might whirl madly over the cold mountain-tops.
"The neighborhood is not musical. Only occasionally, when a band of
wandering Bohemians strays into this corner of the hills, does one hear
merry tunes in lively time; but even a Bohemian band can seldom set in
motion the clumsy feet of the men and maids.
"However, that scarcely belongs to my subject. I will be brief. I had
not taken twenty steps when I saw, down by the fishpond, sitting on a
mossy stone, a woman's motionless figure, with the back turned toward
me. She seemed to be staring into the black water. I could scarcely see
the outline, yet I recognized her at once.
"'Mother Lamitz!' I cried, 'Mother Lamitz!'
"At the third call, and when I was very close to her, she slowly turned
her head, but I could not see her eyes.
"'Why do you sit here on a wet stone, Mother Lamitz?' I asked. 'Have
you thrown a net and do you wish to haul your catch? Or for whom are
you waiting in this unhealthy fog?'
"She looked straight into my face, evidently trying to remember the
person to whom these features and this voice belonged. But it dawned on
her very slowly.
"I helped somewhat by recalling to her mind my spring visit, and
telling her that since then I had often considered whether or no
donkeys would go to heaven, and had never arrived at any conclusion.
She listened silently, but I was not certain that she rightly
understood my meaning, for she nodded continually, even when I asked a
question demanding a negative answer.
"But when I mentioned her daughter's name, she became suddenly alert,
looking suspiciously at me from under her thick brows.
"'What do you want with Hannah?' she said. 'She is not at home. But she
is very well, she and her brat. Did I tell you she was a trifle weak in
the head? In that I lied. She had more sense than most of the foolish
geese. Oh, I wish that I might have gone away so, but there are
different gifts, and how does the Testament say? Those who are poor in
spirit--yes, yes. O thou merciful One!'
"Stopping suddenly, she spread her hands on her knees and let her head
fall upon her breast.
"She seemed more and more uncanny to me. It was ghastly there by the
bank; the bats were beginning to flit among the low bushes, and the
rising wind brought a musty swamp odor. From below came the unceasing
music of the clarionets and basses.
"Merely to break the silence, I said, 'There seems to be high festival
in the inn down yonder. Is it a feast?'
"She sprang to her feet, again looking distrustfully at me. 'Have you
only just heard it? They have piped and fiddled so since noonday, and
will go on till midnight. I have stopped my ears, but it is useless.
Weddings are not funerals--one knows that very well--but if they knew,
if they knew! To be sure they would not have one waltz the less. O thou
merciful One!'
"'Whose wedding is it?'
"Spitting violently, she cast a furious look across the pond towards
the house from which the sounds arose.
"'Go down there and look at the pair for yourself,' she snarled; 'they
suit each other well. He is bad and handsome, and she is stupid and
rich. A brewer's daughter, she measures her money by the bushel. But
she has reason enough to answer a question correctly, and she did not
say no when the parson asked her if she wished the judge's son for a
husband.'
"'The judge's son! He?' Now, indeed, I knew the cause of the old
woman's fury.
"'Poor Hannah! And does she know what is going on down there?'
"'How could she help knowing, sir? Do you think there are not
sympathetic souls enough to carry such news wherever they are likely to
earn God's blessing for it? She sat just before the door with her baby
on her lap; she was decked out in her best clothes, that blue dress,
you know, which the lady baroness sent her; and her baby was dancing to
the music. Then the druggist's maid came down, pretending that she
passed by accident, but it was the wickedest curiosity, dear sir, to
see how the poor fool would act when she heard that her lover was
holding his wedding feast down there. She did not tell it to Hannah.
"Mother Betsey!" she screamed in to me, "the judge's son! What do you
say to that?" and then she abused the badness of the world. I merely
blinked at her, for I thought I should sink into the earth. I never
believed he would marry Hannah, but she waited for him every evening,
and was so happy doing so, that she might have expected him for all
eternity, and sung her cradle-songs contentedly. And now the whole
baseness of it, and the news of the marriage with the brewer's
daughter, to come on her so suddenly--as if a trusted friend had thrust
a knife in her breast. The words stuck in the spiteful tell-tale's
throat as she saw what she had done. She said she must hurry; her
mistress expected her, and she ran off. I went out and saw the poor
thing sitting on the bank, with her head leaning back on the wall as if
too heavy for her, and her eyes and mouth wide open.
"'"Hannah!" I coaxed, "do not believe it--she lied," and as much more
as I could bear to say. She did not speak, but all at once laughed
aloud, and stood up, holding her child fast in her arms.
"'"Where are you going?" I said. "Come into the house. I will brew you
some elder tea." But it was as if she did not hear me. She went slowly
away from the house, down the path. I followed, trying to hold her back
by her clothing, but there was something superhuman in her; her face
was rigid and deathly pale. "Hannah," said I, "you are not going to
him? Think what they would say if you went to the wedding. They would
say you were out of your wits, and by and by the law would come and
take away the child, because they dare not leave it with an idiot."