High up on the plateau lie Landolin's broad acres. The buildings stand
by themselves, for the farm-houses of the borough are scattered miles
apart over the hill-sides. Only the dwelling-house, with its shingled
roof, faces the road; its various outbuildings lie back of it, around
an open square, and the pastures and fields extend up the steep
hill-side to the beech wood, whose brown buds are glistening with the
morning dew.
It is still early in the morning; no sound is heard in the farm-yard,
save the noisy splashing of the broad rivulet from the spring. A roof
extends far over the water, for in the winter the cattle are brought
there to drink. Near by are heaps of paving stones, with which a new
drain is to be built through the yard.
Gradually the larks began their songs high in the air; the sparrows on
the roof twittered; the cows lowed; the horses rattled their halters;
the doves began cooing; the chickens on their roost and the pigs in
their pens all awoke and gave signs of comfort or discomfort. The huge
watch-dog, whose head lay on the threshold of his kennel, lazily opened
his eyes now and then, and closed them again as though he would say,
"What strange sounds; what do they all amount to, compared with a
hearty bark! That's, after all, the most beautiful and sensible noise
in the world, for dogs of my rank never bark without good reason."
The first person who came through the yard was the farmer's stately
wife, well dressed, and still in her prime. It is a well-ordered
household where the master or mistress is the first awake.
The farmer's wife was a quiet woman, such a one as is called a "genuine
farmer's wife;" not much more than this could be said of her. She was
industrious, and watchful of her interests, and kept others under
strict control. She held her husband in all fitting honor, as a wife
should, but there was never any thought of love, either in her youth or
now. She was the daughter of a farmer in a neighboring borough, and had
married in the same rank, for she had never dreamed of the possibility
of doing otherwise. During the time that Landolin was bailiff she had
worthily done the honors of the house; she had unbounded confidence in
her husband, and when people came with complaints to her, her usual
answer was: "Just be patient, my husband will make everything right."
She was entirely frank, what she said she meant; but she spoke little,
for much speaking was not befitting a farmer's wife; and as for much
thinking--for that there was no need. A wife must keep the house in
order, economize, and be strictly honest, as the custom is--to think is
quite unnecessary.
The head-servant, Tobias, came from the stable-door. The two nodded to
one another without a word, and yet each had a deep respect for the
other; for, in his place, the head-servant was equally responsible for
the honor of the household; therefore he ranked next after the farmer,
and before the only son, who, in this family, was indeed too young to
be much thought of.
Tobias had already endured fifteen years in this house, for living here
meant endurance, and during all this time he had never called upon the
farmer's wife for aid against the violence of the master; in his heart
he respected the mistress who never wanted anything for herself, but
who seemed to think herself in the world only that she might be
obedient to her husband. When the farmer drove through the country to
the different gala-day festivals with his beautiful, proud daughter,
his wife thought it only right and a matter of course that she should
be left behind, and she had no longing for the world outside. She had
grown up in a secluded farm-house, where the principal pleasure lay in
being able, while the sun shone on Sunday--to sleep in the afternoon.
"Mistress," began the head-servant, Tobias, "Mistress, may I ask you a
question?"
"Certainly."
"Is it true that your daughter----?"
"Will be betrothed to-day."
"Praise be to God and thanks!" cried the head-servant; "God forgive me,
I was afraid the master would not give her to anybody, that he would
think nobody good enough for her! Anton Armbruster is a fine, honest
fellow, and in the war he showed himself a brave man; he will be the
husband to----"
The farmer's wife interrupted this speech, lest something unpleasant
about Thoma might be added, and said, "The betrothal is not to be here
at home, it will take place in the city to-day, at the Sword Inn. I am
to go too," she concluded, pleased that so great an honor should be
done her. She walked more quickly than usual to the house, awakened the
maids, and then mounted the stairs to the large guest chamber. There
stood two high bedsteads, but they held bed-clothing enough for six,
for from this house neither feathers nor linen were ever sold. It was
easy enough to see that when the mistress opened the double doors of
the great, gayly-painted wardrobe. She feasted her eyes on the masses
of linen heaped up there; of which that in the left side of the
wardrobe, tied with blue ribbon, was the outfit long ago prepared for
Thoma. The mother laid her hand on it as if in blessing, and her lips
moved.
But now she heard footsteps in the living-room, and went down stairs
again.