About a week after the arrival of his relatives the forester had
published an edict in his domicile, which, as he said, had been hailed
with joy by his prime minister, and in accordance with which the duty of
taking their mid-day meal every Sunday at the Lodge was imposed upon the
Ferber family. Those were joyous days for Elizabeth.
Long before the first sound of the church bell they usually set out for
church. In her fluttering white dress, her soul filled with the
consciousness of youth and happiness, convinced that such a clear,
lovely day, must bring joy with it, Elizabeth walked beside her parents,
and looked eagerly for the moment when the round gilt ball upon the
village church tower at Lindhof emerged from the waves of green in the
valley below them; then from the dark and silent forest paths to the
right and left, groups of church-goers from the different hamlets around
would appear and join them with kindly greetings, until, while the bells
were ringing, the whole assembly arrived in the meadow just before the
church, where the forester was usually awaiting them. He welcomed them
from a distance with sparkling eyes and a flourish of his hat in the
air. In every movement of his tall figure, in his whole bearing, might
be read that inflexible integrity which never bowed to the mighty ones
of the earth, that expression of manly power and force of character from
which we expect to see quick resolve and bold action result, but which
never suggests the tender emotions of a sensitive nature. Elizabeth
declared that it was always a touching surprise when a single gentle
star beamed forth at night from a sky covered with clouds, and that the
sudden look of melting tenderness that occasionally illumined her
uncle's frank, determined countenance, affected her in like manner. And
she had many an opportunity of observing this change of expression, for
she had grown to be the apple of his eye. He had never had any
children, and now poured forth all the paternal affection of which his
large, warm heart was capable, upon his brother's lovely child, who, he
felt with pride, resembled himself in many points of character, although
in her they were transfigured by the charm of feminine delicacy and
refinement.
And she repaid his affection with the clinging love and filial care of a
daughter. She soon discovered how to make many an addition to his
domestic comfort, and where Sabina's penetration or capacity were at
fault, she effected many an improvement, with so much tact that the old
servant was never offended, whilst a new life opened upon her uncle,
surrounded by Elizabeth's tender care.
On the return from church, her uncle led Elizabeth by the hand, "just
like a little school-girl," as she said, and, indeed, it looked like it.
The excellent sermon which they had just heard, furnished matter for
abundant conversation and exchange of newly-developed thoughts and
sentiments; while the birds twittered and sang as though determined to
vindicate their right to speak here, and the golden-green sunshine came
quivering through the tops of the trees, flecking their heads as they
passed with its transfiguring light.
At the farthest end of the long dim forest aisle, for it was a very
narrow path which led from the Lodge to the village of Lindhof, a little
point of light indicated the meadow, in the middle of which stood the
old house. With every step the picture grew more distinct, until at last
they could distinguish Sabina waiting for them at the door, shading her
eyes with the corner of her white apron, and retreating into the house
when she saw them, that she might take her stand behind the soup tureen,
which was smoking upon the table beneath the beeches, where she
fulfilled her duty with the air of a general upon a rampart.
But to-day Sabina had prepared a particularly delicious repast, for in
the centre of the table was piled a huge crimson pyramid, the first
wood-strawberries of the year, hailed with delight by little Ernst, and
by full-grown Elizabeth too. The forester laughed at the enthusiasm of
the big and little child, and declared that he had a surprise to offer
as well as Sabina,--he would have the horse harnessed and take Elizabeth
to L----, where he had a little business to attend to,--a long-promised
pleasure. The young girl accepted his proposal with delight.
At table Elizabeth related the occurrences of the previous evening. Her
uncle shook with laughter.
"The doctor's a bold fellow," he said, still laughing; "but 'tis of no
use, he has drunk his last cup of tea at Lindhof."
"Impossible, uncle,--it would be outrageous!" cried Elizabeth,
earnestly. "Fraeulein von Walde would never permit such a thing, she
will resist with all her might."
"Well," he said, "I wish we could question the little lady to-day with
regard to her sentiments towards the doctor, and you would see. How can
a strong will inhabit such a frail dwelling? That imperious woman will
soon influence her, and there is none to resist, for 'Heaven is high,
and the Czar afar,' as the Russians say. We know, Sabina, that many a
strange thing has happened since the rule of the baroness began, eh?"
"Ah, yes indeed, Herr Forester!" replied the old woman, who was just
putting a dish upon the table. "When I think of poor Schneider,--she is
the widow of a day-labourer in the village," she said, turning to the
others; "she always worked hard to make both ends meet, and no one could
say a word against her, but she had four children to feed, and lived
from hand to mouth. And matters went badly with her last harvest, and
she had nothing to give her children to eat, so she was driven to do
what was wrong, and took an apron full of potatoes from a splendid field
belonging to the castle. But the overseer, Linke, who happened to be
standing behind a tree not far off, saw her, sprang out upon her
instantly, and knocked her down. Even if he had stopped there 'twould
not have been so bad, but he kicked her brutally as she lay upon the
ground. I had been to Lindhof, and as I was passing beneath the cherry
trees near the village, on my way home, I saw some one lying upon the
ground,--it was the poor woman, bleeding profusely, and with not a soul
near her. She could not move, so I called some people, who helped me to
carry her home. The Herr Forester was absent, but I was sure of his
permission, and so I nursed and tended her as well as I could. The
people in the village were furious at the overseer,--but what could they
do? There was some talk of arresting him, but it all came to nothing.
Linke is one of the saints, he is the baroness' right-hand man, turns up
his eyes, and does everything in the name of the Lord. It must never
get abroad that such a pious man could behave so inhumanly, and so the
baroness drove to town every day, and was wonderfully condescending,
and, in short, the story was hushed up, and the poor woman, who has
never entirely recovered, had to get along as best she might, for
neither she nor her children ever had a bite or a drop from the castle
all the while that she was sick. Ah! yes, the overseer and the
baroness' old waiting-maid make a hard time of it for the poor people,
they keep a close watch to see who misses prayers or chapel over there,
and they have been the means of depriving many an honest man of work at
the castle."
"Don't say any more about it," said the forester. "I cannot relish my
food when I think of these things, and our pleasant Sunday, to which I
look forward all the week, must have no other shadows upon it than those
cast by the white, fleecy clouds up there."
As soon as the meal was concluded the forester's modest little equipage
made its appearance. He handed in Elizabeth, and seated himself by her
side. As she nodded a farewell to the others, she glanced up at the
house, and started with actual terror at the eyes which were gazing down
upon her from a window in the upper story. 'Tis true, the head
disappeared instantly, but Elizabeth had time to recognize the mute
Bertha, and to convince herself that she was the object of that look of
rage and hate, although she could not divine its cause. Until now
Bertha had withdrawn herself entirely from all intercourse with the
Ferber family. She never appeared when Elizabeth was at the Lodge. She
took her Sunday dinner alone in her own room, and the forester allowed
her to please herself in the matter. He had no desire to establish any
relation between the two girls.
Frau Ferber had once made an attempt to address the unfortunate girl.
Her gentle feminine nature could not believe that mere wilfulness was
the spring of Bertha's extraordinary behaviour. She suspected the
existence of some deeper cause, perhaps of some secret grief, which made
her indifferent to her surroundings, or rendered her so irritable that
she chose to remain silent rather than be engaged in perpetual strife.
A gentle word from her, a kindly advance on her side, would, she hoped,
unseal Bertha's lips; but she succeeded no better than Elizabeth had
done. She was even so outraged by the girl's manner that she strictly
forbade all further attempt at intercourse with her upon Elizabeth's
part.
After a charming drive, Elizabeth and her uncle reached their
destination.
L---- was certainly a small town, and bore the unmistakable impress of a
small town, although the court resided there from the appearance of the
first primrose to the fall of the last autumn leaf, and its inhabitants
took the greatest pains to adapt themselves, in their social life, to
the manners and customs of a large Capital. But the loud, uneasy
creaking of the machinery of a most complicated domestic economy could
not be drowned by the rustle of the most flowing and elegant crinoline.
The honest townsfolk, who left their dwellings, with doors wide open, in
perfect safety, to earn their daily bread in the little uneven streets,
or in the strips of meadow land between their houses, fell as far short
of being peacocks as did the ducks, that daily delighted to swim in the
little brook running directly through the town, of becoming stately
swans.
The situation of the place was undeniably delightful. In the centre of a
not very spacious valley, nestled at the foot of an eminence whose
summit was crowned by the royal castle and domain, it lay buried in the
dark, rich green of avenues of lindens, and surrounded in spring by the
lovely blossoms of countless orchards.
The forester took Elizabeth to the house of an assessor, one of his
friends. She was to wait for him there until he had concluded his
business. Although made cordially welcome by the lady of the house, she
would gladly have turned round and followed her retreating uncle,--for
she found herself, to her vexation, in the midst of a large assemblage
of ladies. Her hostess informed her that, in honour of her husband's
birthday, she had gotten up a set of tableaux from mythology, to
rehearse which was the cause of the present gathering. At the
coffee-table, in a pleasantly-furnished apartment, eight or ten ladies
were seated, already dressed in mythological costume, and upon the
arrival of the stranger, they measured her with glances that seemed to
penetrate every plait and fold of her simple attire.
All the goddesses, without exception, had submitted themselves, in their
costume, to the sceptre of the royal fair of France, and wore their
white robes over abundant crinoline, which was then the fashion, "For,"
said Ceres, a trig little blonde, upon whose flushed brow a whole
harvest was waving, "one looks so forlorn without crinoline;" and how
else could her dress have supported the huge bunches of wheat ears and
red poppies with which it was adorned? How Dame Ceres had managed this
difficulty in her days of splendour was a problem which no one took the
pains to solve.
Perhaps the artificial light of the evening would be favourable to the
remarkable arrangement of some of the toilets, but now the bright
sunlight illuminated and revealed with cruel sincerity every pasted bit
of gold-paper, every paper-muslin scarf that should have represented
satin, and every basting stitch in the improvised tunics. Several
old-fashioned paste shoe-buckles glittered in the girdle of Venus; and
the silver crescent upon the forehead of Diana showed the blotting-paper
behind it at every movement of the head which it adorned.
The hostess went from one to the other of her guests, exerting herself
for the entertainment of all.
"What a shame!" she said, entering the room after a short absence, "Frau
Raethin Wolf has sent to say that her Adolph cannot come to-night; he is
in bed with a fever. As soon as the note came, I ran across myself to
Doctor Fels; but there is no doing anything with that man upon the
subject of his children's education. He repeated his former refusal,
and so ungraciously, that I am quite outraged. He says that he
considers any part in such entertainments with grown-up people entirely
unfit for half-grown boys like his Moritz, who get their heads filled
with a sense of their own importance, their minds distracted from their
lessons,--and Heaven knows what besides. He told me, most insolently,
that he thinks I should have done better this evening to have provided
my suffering husband--suffering, indeed, he is as lively as a fish in
the sea, except for a touch of rheumatism--with a supper that he liked,
than to have worried him with such buffoonery, which will only deprive
him of his usual comfort and night's rest, and do no living creature any
earthly good."
"How coarse! how rude! He is always pretending to be a connoisseur of
art, and doesn't understand it one whit better than my little finger,"
was heard from one and the other of the ladies.
"Let my experience console you, dear Adele," said Ceres. "Were it not
that my husband cannot dispense with his services as a physician, Fels
should never darken my doors again. When I had that children's
fancy-ball last winter, which was acknowledged to be a great success, he
refused my invitation to his children; and what do you think he said to
me, when I begged him to allow his little girls to come,--'Does it
really give you pleasure to see such monkey-tricks?' I never will
forgive him!"
Elizabeth suddenly seemed to see the doctor's intellectual face, with
its searching glance, sarcastic smile, and the slightly contemptuous
play of its finely-formed lips. She laughed inwardly at his rude
replies; but she was struck at the same time by the depressing thought,
how hard it is for a man to live up to his convictions.
"But what would you have, Frau Director?" broke in Flora, a delicate,
languishing figure with a pretty but very pale face, who had hitherto
been entirely occupied in smiling upon her flower-decked reflection in
an opposite glass. "He has treated us no better. Two years ago he told
my father and mother to their faces, that it was not only folly but want
of principle--just think of such a thing!--to allow me to go into
society so young, with my constitution. Papa and mamma were
furious,--as if they did not know best about their own children! It was
well that we all knew what prompted such tender care on his part. His
youngest sister was then still unmarried, and, naturally enough, she was
by no means pleased to see young girls usurping her place in society.
Papa would have dismissed the doctor upon the spot, but mamma depends
upon his prescriptions. Well, they paid no attention to his advice,
and, as you see, I still live."
The silence of the assemblage confirmed Elizabeth's conviction that the
triumph which Flora spoke of was a very doubtful one, and that this
delicate creature, with her narrow chest and pallid face, would still
have to atone severely for the physician's neglected counsel.
Suddenly a barouche slowly passing down the street attracted the ladies
to the window. Where she was sitting Elizabeth could plainly see the
object of the universal curiosity. In the elegant vehicle sat the
Baroness Lessen and Fraeulein von Walde. The latter had her face turned
towards the assessor's house, and she looked as if she were diligently
counting the windows of the lower stories. Her cheeks were slightly
flushed, always a sign in her of inward agitation. The baroness, on the
contrary, was leaning back negligently among the cushions, and appeared
to be entirely unconscious of everything around.
"The Lindhof ladies," said Ceres. "But, Heavens! what is the meaning of
that? They are entirely ignoring Doctor Fels' windows. There stands
the doctor's wife. Ha, ha! what a long face; she tried to bow, but the
ladies have no eyes in the backs of their heads."
Elizabeth looked across at the opposite house. A very beautiful woman,
with a lovely fair-haired child in her arms, was standing at the window.
There certainly was a puzzled look in her pleasant blue eyes, but the
delicate oval of her face was not in the least lengthened. Attracted by
the movements of the child, who stretched out his little arms towards
the fantastic heads at the windows of the assessor's house, she looked
across, and, archly smiling, nodded to the ladies, who kissed their
hands, and replied to her salutation by all sorts of tender pantomime.
"Strange!" said the hostess; "what could the ladies mean by passing by
her house without nodding to her? They never went by without stopping
before to-day. Frau Fels would stand on the carriage-step for ever so
long, and Fraeulein von Walde seemed to like her so much--the baroness,
'tis true, often made a wry face. It certainly is very strange; but we
must wait and see what the future will bring forth."
"Herr von Hollfeld must have stayed at Odenberg. He was with the ladies
this morning when the carriage passed," said Diana.
"How will Fraeulein von Walde endure the separation?" asked Flora, with
a sneer.
"Why, is there anything in that quarter?" asked the hostess.
"Don't you know that, child?" cried Ceres. "We can't tell yet what his
sentiments are, but beyond all doubt she loves him passionately. In
fact, it is almost certain that the love is all on one side; for how can
such an unfortunate cripple inspire affection,--and in such a cold
nature as Hollfeld's, which has been unmoved by the greatest beauties?"
"Yes, true enough," said Venus, with a glance at the mirror, which
Flora, in spite of her emaciation, had entirely monopolized. "But
Fraeulein von Walde is enormously rich!"
"Oh, he can have the wealth at a cheaper rate," said Flora. "He is said
to be heir to the sister and brother too."
"Oh, the brother!" rejoined Venus. "He had better not rely upon his
chances there. Herr von Walde is a man in the prime of life, and may
marry at any time."
"Nonsense!" cried Ceres, excitedly. "The woman is yet to be born, or
rather sent down from heaven, who can touch him. He is haughtiness
itself, and has less heart than his cousin. How provoked I used to be
at the court-balls, to see him standing in the doorway with his arms
crossed as if they were glued together, and looking down so arrogantly
upon the crowd. Only when the princess, or one of the royal family,
requested him to dance did he stir from the spot, and then he was at no
pains to conceal that he cared not a bit for the honour. Well, we know
well enough what his requisitions are for the woman at whose feet he
will lay the proud name of von Walde--Ancestors! ancestors she must
have, and her pedigree must date from Noah's ark."
All laughed, except Elizabeth, who remained very grave. Fraeulein von
Walde's behaviour had made a deep impression upon her. She was annoyed,
and felt that her views of human nature had been lowered. Was such a
change possible in the course of a few short hours? The fact just
stated by the ladies, that Helene von Walde loved the son of the
Baroness Lessen, would have fully explained the influence exercised by
the latter to any one of a practical, matter-of-fact nature,--but not to
Elizabeth.
The elevating sentiment, described by the poets of all ages and all
climes as the truest and most ennobling of which human nature is
capable, could not possibly be an incentive to unworthy conduct; and it
was equally hard to imagine how Herr von Hollfeld could inspire that
sentiment. Here she judged from the one-sided, personal point of view
from which we are prone to pass sentence on others; but whether from the
instinct of her true womanly nature, or whether she really possessed the
clear insight that sees in the lines of the face the clear indications
of the soul within and traces them to their source, we cannot
say,--certainly, in this case, her judgment of a man with whom she had
had scarcely any intercourse was entirely correct.
Herr von Hollfeld was certainly not calculated to personate the ideal of
a refined feminine nature. He neither possessed intelligence nor wit,
was inordinately vain, and by no means content with the interest excited
by his fine person. He was fully aware that most women will forgive
defects of person sooner than defects of mind; and therefore he adopted
the mask of silence and reserve, behind which the world is so ready to
see great intelligence, originality, and strength of character. There
was no man living who could boast of being upon intimate terms with Herr
von Hollfeld; he was cunning enough to elude every attempt to test the
quality of his mind, and avoided all earnest conversation with men,
while women, as soon as they perceived the rough shell of his repellant
behaviour, were only too ready to cry, "the sweeter the kernel." Herr
von Hollfeld understood his part,--he was moved by secret desires and
hopes, which were strengthened by the difficulty attending their
attainment. Animated by no lofty aspirations, he was the slave of
avarice and sensuality. To make his position a brilliant one from a
worldly point of view, he disdained no petty intrigue, and his office as
chamberlain at the court of L---- opened the way to many such. He
deceived and lied, and was all the more dangerous on account of the
frank honest seeming behind which men never suspected the low schemer,
or women the vulgar sensualist.
Elizabeth was glad when she saw her uncle turn the corner and approach
the house. With a sigh of relief she took her place in the carriage at
his side. She took off her hat, and bathed her hot forehead in the
fresh, delicious evening breeze that swept gently by. The last rays of
the sun were just gilding the trembling leaves of the poplars by the
roadside, and there was a rosy light upon the fields of blooming grain;
but the forest that enclosed in its bosom Elizabeth's home lay dark and
gloomy beyond, as if it had already forgotten the sunny life which had
penetrated its inmost recesses so short a time before.
The forester glanced several times at the silent young girl at his side.
Suddenly he transferred both reins and whip to one hand, took hold of
Elizabeth's chin, and turned her face up to him.
"Come, let me see, Elsie!" he said. "What! why, zounds! you have got
two wrinkles there in your forehead as deep as old Sabina's furrows.
What has happened? Come, out with it! Something has vexed you, hey?"
"No, uncle, I am not vexed, but pained that you were so right in your
estimate of Fraeulein von Walde," replied Elizabeth, while a deep blush
of emotion covered her face.
"Pained because I was right, or because Fraeulein von Walde has acted
unworthily?"
"Well, because what you prophesied was evil, and----"
"And therefore it follows that you should be angry with me. He is
always the criminal who tells the truth in such a matter. And pray,
which of the utterances of my worldly wisdom has been justified by
time?"
She told him of Helene's conduct, and of what the ladies had said. The
forester smiled meaningly.
"Oh women, women, and those women in especial! They prophesy an
immediate marriage if two people only say good morning to each other.
But perhaps they are right in this case,--it clears up much to my mind
that has hitherto seemed inexplicable to me."
"But, uncle, you cannot believe that any one would sacrifice the best
feelings of our nature to such a preference?"
"Many other things have happened, my child, for the sake of such a
preference, and although I do not for one moment defend Fraeulein von
Walde's weakness and submission; still, I shall henceforth judge her
more leniently. She succumbs to the power which leads us to forget
father and mother for another's sake."
"Ah! that is just what I cannot understand," said Elizabeth, earnestly.
"How can any one love a stranger better than father or mother?"
"Hm!" rejoined the forester, touching the horses lightly with his whip,
to accelerate their speed. This "hm" was followed by a clearing of his
throat, and he changed the subject, for he justly thought, "If that be
so, she will never understand my definition of love, although I should
speak with the tongues of angels." And he himself?--Far, far in the
past lay the time when he had carved the dear name upon the trees, and
trained his deep voice to sing love songs; when he had walked miles for
a single smile, and had hated as his bitterest enemy the man who dared
to regard with favour the object of his adoration. He looked back and
rejoiced in that wonderful time, but to paint it with its tempests of
excited feeling,--its tears and laughter, its hopes and fears,--was more
than he could do.
"Do you see that perpendicular black streak just above the forest
there?" he asked, after a long silence, pointing with his whip to the
mountain which they were approaching.
"Yes, indeed, it is the flag-staff upon Castle Gnadeck. I saw it a few
moments ago, and am now rejoicing unspeakably in the thought that there
lies a spot of earth that we may call our own,--a place from which no
one has the right to drive us. Thank God, we have a home!"
"And such a home!" said the forester, as his beaming eyes looked around
the horizon. "When I was quite a little child, how I longed for the
Thuringian forest! It was all because of my grandfather's stories. In
his youth he had lived in Thuringia, and had the tales and legends of
his home at his tongue's end; and when I had reached man's estate, I
came hither. Then all the forest which we see before us belonged to the
Gnadewitzes, but I would not enter their service,--my father had told me
too much about them. I was the first Ferber from time immemorial who
had renounced their service. I applied to the Prince of L----. The
last of the Gnadewitzes divided his forests because the Prince of L----
was willing to pay an immense sum of money that he might enlarge his own
woodland possessions. And thus it happened that the most ardent desire
of my youth was gratified, for I live now in the house that may be
called the cradle of the Ferbers. You know that we came at first from
Thuringia?"
"Oh yes, I have known that from my childhood."
"And do you know the story of our origin?"
"No."
"Well, it was long ago, and perhaps I am the only one who now knows
anything about it, but it shall not be lost, for remembrance is all the
gratitude that posterity can show for a brave action,--so now you shall
hear the story, and then you can tell it again.
"About two hundred years ago,--you see we can trace back a considerable
pedigree,--the only pity is that we have no idea who the mother of our
race was,--if you should ever be asked any questions concerning her by
the Baroness Lessen, or others, you can answer with confidence that we
suspect her to have been either Augusta von Blasewitz,--for the story
dates from the thirty years' war,--or a vivandiere: perhaps she was a
good, honest woman, who clung to her husband through all the hardships
of the war, although I cannot forgive her for forsaking her
child,--well, then, about two hundred years ago, as the wife of the
huntsman Ferber opened her door in the morning--the very door that now
shuts upon my home--she saw a little child lying upon the threshold. She
clapped the door to again in a great hurry, for the forest was then
swarming with gypsies, and she thought it would prove to be one of their
dirty brats. But her husband was more of a Christian, and took the
child in. It was scarcely a day old. A paper was pinned upon its
breast, stating that the child was born in holy wedlock, that he had
been baptized by the name of Hans, and that whoever would take care of
him should receive further revelations concerning him at some future
day. Hidden in the child's dress was found a purse containing some
money. The huntsman's wife was a good woman, and when she heard the
child was born of Christian parents, and was probably the son of some
honest soldier who had left it here that it might not be exposed to the
dangers of the war, she took it to her heart and brought it up with her
own little girl as if they had been brother and sister. It was well for
him that she did so, for no one ever heard another word about his
relatives. His foster-father afterwards adopted him, and, to make his
happiness complete, he married his foster-sister. He, as well as his
son and grandson, lived where I live now, as foresters to the
Gnadewitzes, and they all died there. My grandfather was the first who
left this place with his master for one of the estates in Silesia. As a
boy, I was much disappointed that some countess mother did not turn up
in the end who should recognize the foundling as her son, stolen from
her by the malice of an enemy, and bear him home in triumph to her
castle. Later in life I learned to endure the want of this romantic
termination to the story with a good grace, as I considered that in such
case my own appearance here would have been very dubious, and my honest
name pleased me too much to wish it changed for any other; but imagine
my sensations when I stood for the first time upon the threshold where
the little foundling had passed the most helpless moment of his life,
when, deserted by his natural parents, sympathy had not yet supplied
their place. The worn stone is undoubtedly the same upon which the
child lay, and as long as I live here or have anything to do with the
place, it shall never be removed."
Suddenly the forester leaned forward and pointed through the boughs, for
they had entered the wood.
"Do you see that white spot?" he asked.
The white spot was the cap of Sabina, who was sitting at the door of the
Lodge waiting for them. When she saw the carriage, she rose quickly,
shook the contents of her apron, which proved to be a quantity of
forget-me-nots, into a basket, and came to assist Elizabeth to alight.
The horse trotted, neighing, behind the house, where he was awaited and
received with a caressing pat. Hector laid himself down upon the
ground, wagging his tail contentedly, and the doves and sparrows, which
the noise of the arrival had frightened away, returned and hopped
fearlessly about upon the green painted bench and table under the
linden, where, as the little rogues well knew, the forester was in the
habit of taking his morning and evening meals. He went into the house
for a moment that he might exchange his uniform for the more comfortable
garment worn at home, and soon returned, pipe and newspaper in hand, to
the linden, where Sabina soon began to lay the table.
"'Tis a fact, it's a silly piece of Sunday work for such an old woman as
I am," said the housekeeper, laughing, as she passed Elizabeth, who,
sitting upon the stone step which now possessed such an interest for
her, continued the weaving of the wreath which Sabina had begun. "But I
have been used to such work from my youth. I have two little black
pictures up in my room, likenesses of my blessed father and mother; they
certainly deserve that I should honour them and hold them in loving
remembrance, so I hang fresh flowers around them every Sunday, as long
as there is a blossom to be had. A couple of children from Lindhof bring
me fresh ones every Sunday, and to-day they brought me so many that
there is enough for a wreath for Gold Elsie; if she puts it in a dish of
water it will keep fresh all through the week."
Elizabeth sat a long time this evening with her uncle. A flood of
memories came rushing over his mind, called forth by his narration of
the old story of two hundred years before. He recalled many a wish,
plan, and aspiration of his youth, which now provoked only a smiling
sigh of sympathetic pity,--they had all vanished before the actual, like
dust before the wind. He talked them over now, as one who, standing
upon the land, hears the dash of the breakers afar that cannot reach
him. Sometimes he would make some witty attack, in the midst of his
recollections, upon Elizabeth, who would parry his thrusts and retort
merrily.
Meanwhile a light arose behind the trees, which had blended
undistinguishably with the dark heavens, but which now stood out in
strong relief against the bright background. Single rays shot like
silver arrows between interlacing boughs, and lay motionless like oases
of light upon the dim meadow, until at last the moon arose, large and
victorious, above the tops of the trees, and its full lustre flooded the
landscape. The gentle breeze of evening had long since folded its
wings,--you could have counted the shadows of the linden leaves upon the
moonlit earth, so distinct and motionless they lay. All the clearer was
heard the gurgle of the little fountain in the court-yard of the Lodge,
and the low, indefinite murmur from the woods, which Elizabeth called
"the sleepy rain" of the forest.
"There," said Sabina, crowning Elizabeth's head lightly with the
forget-me-not wreath, which she had just completed. "Carry it home so,
and you'll not crush it."
"Then it may stay there," said she, laughing, as she arose. "Many
thanks for my ride! Good-night, uncle, good-night, Sabina!"
And then she hastened through the house and garden, and was soon outside
the gate, which she closed behind her, and flew along up the narrow
moonlit forest path. In the dwelling-room above, the lamp was burning;
in spite of the bright moonlight, its beams were distinctly visible, for
the front of her home lay in deep shade.
As she reached the little clearing, a remarkable shadow fell across her
path. It was neither a tree nor a post, but the figure of a man, a
stranger, who had been standing upon one side of the path, and now, to
her terror, approached her. The apparition courteously removed its hat,
and Elizabeth's terror vanished on the instant, for she saw before her
the smiling, good-humoured countenance of a well dressed, rather elderly
man.
"I pray your pardon, Fraeulein, if I have frightened you," he said, as
he looked kindly over the large, shining glasses of his spectacles into
her face. "I assure you, I have no designs either upon your life or
your purse, and am simply a peaceful traveller, returning to his home,
who greatly desires to know what the light in the ruins yonder may
betoken; and yet this moment convinces me that my question is quite
superfluous. Fairies and elves are holding their revels there, while
the fairest among them keeps guard in the forest around, that none may
invade their charmed circle with impunity."
This gallant comparison, trite as it may appear, was not ill applied at
this moment, for the slight girlish figure in white robes, with the blue
wreath crowning her angelic countenance, and bathed in moonlight, might
well have been mistaken for a fairy vision, as it glided so lightly
among the trees of the wood.
She herself laughed inwardly at the quaint compliment, but with a little
pique at the thought of resembling such a mercurial elfish being, and
she replied to the old gentleman with maidenly dignity.
"I am really sorry," she said, "to be forced to lead you back to
realities, but I fail to see anything in the light yonder, except a
commonplace lamp in the dwelling-room of a forester's clerk in the
service of the Prince of L----."
"Ah!" laughed the gentleman, "and does the man live all alone in those
uncanny old walls?"
"He might do so with a quiet mind, for over those whose consciences are
pure nothing uncanny can have any power. Nevertheless some loving
creatures bear him company, among the rest, two well-fed goats and a
canary bird, not to mention the owls, who have retired into private life
in great indignation, since the frivolous conduct of human beings does
not assort at all well with the solemn views of life entertained by
their grave worships."
"Or perhaps because they shun the light and cannot endure----"
"That the new arrival should adore the truth?"
"Perhaps that, too; but I was about to suggest that they fly from the
two suns that have suddenly arisen in the old ruins."
"Two suns at once? That would be a terrible experience for their poor
owls' eyes, and might even prove too much for a fire-worshipper,"
replied Elizabeth, laughing, as she passed him with a slight
inclination, for her parents had just emerged from the gate in the wall,
and were advancing towards her. They had come out with some anxiety
when they heard Elizabeth's voice and that of a stranger, and they
gently reproved her, after she had related her little adventure, for
entering so thoughtlessly into conversation with strangers.
"Your badinage might have had unpleasant consequences for you, my
child," said her mother. "Fortunately, they were gentlemen."
"Gentlemen?" interrupted her daughter, with surprise. "There was only
one."
"Look around," said her father; "you can see for yourself."
And certainly just where the path began to descend into the valley, two
hats were plainly to be seen.
"So you see, mother dear," said Elizabeth, "what an entirely harmless
encounter it was. One never stepped out from behind the bushes, and
there was certainly not an atom of the brigand to be seen in the kind
old face of the other."
When she went to her room she carefully took the wreath from her head,
laid it in fresh water, and placed it before the bust of Beethoven, then
she kissed the forehead of the sleeping Ernst, and said good-night to
her father and mother.