A DAY OF TROUBLE.
The whole night through, Martina continued as restless as if she knew
by intuition that, at this very time, a kind and honest heart had
revived the sad story of her life. She was full of impatience, and felt
as if she must rush out into the world, in order suddenly to change the
whole course of her life--as if it were in her power to accomplish
this! The cocks crowed more loudly, and occasionally a cow was heard
lowing, and a dog barking. Surely day would soon dawn now.
Martina rose, and lighted the stove, and made a good fire on the hearth
besides. She was anxious that the soup for breakfast should be
particularly good today, for the sempstress, Leegart, was to arrive
early, as little Joseph was to get a new green jacket of Manchester
cloth. A slate was lying on the table, on which little Joseph had on
the previous evening drawn a gigantic figure of a man, formidable to be
seen, and yet the child had said "Look! that is my father." Martina
could not help thinking this strange, as she rubbed out the figure. She
wished she could as easily efface from the child's memory what she had
told him the night before when he was going to sleep, about his father,
and that he was to come this very day; that was probably why the child
during the night had called out three times, "Is it morning yet?"
Martina gazed long at the blazing fire, and half unconsciously sung:--
Faithful love my bosom fills,--
Can true love ever fade?
Oh! what a smile that heart must wear
That never was betrayed!
I cannot brook the heedless gaze
Of them that haunt the busy mart;
And tears come welling to my eyes,
Up from the fountains of my heart.
When Martina, with the pitcher in her hand, opened the door, a strong
blast of bitter cold wind rushed in; so she wrapped herself more
closely: in the red shawl, with which she had covered her head and her
throat, and went along to the well. The day was biting cold, and the
water pipes all frozen; indeed there was no water left unfrozen, except
in the deep well close to the church. A crowd of women and girls were
standing round the well, and when the pitchers were too full, so that
the water ran over, there was a great outcry, for the water froze so
quickly that it made the ground like slippery ice. The early sun peeped
forth for a minute into the valley, but apparently the sight did not
please him, for he quickly disappeared again behind the clouds. The
fields and meadows were glittering brightly with morning hoarfrost, a
chilling sight; for everything freezes quickly when without a
sheltering cover of snow. A thick surface of snow, however, lay on the
hills.
"God be praised; you will see that these clouds will bring honest snow
at last, today!"
"A blessing for the fields, for it is a sorrow to see them so yellow."
"We have always hitherto had snow at Christmas, and sledging at the New
Year--" this was the kind of talk round the well. The words of the
speakers issued like vapoury clouds from their lips.
"Is it true?" said an elderly woman to Martina when she joined them,
"Is it true that our pastor was called to your mother-in-law's last
night?"
"I think," said another, "that Roettmann would have no objection to saw
up the tree that killed Vincent, and to make a coffin of it for his
tigress."
"A very good thing if she were to take herself off, and then you would
get your Adam."
"And then we should have a quiet Roettmaennin instead of a fierce one."
"If I were you, I would pray the old woman to death. The tailor of
Knuslingen knows a prayer, by which you can pray a person to death."
"No, no; you must curse them to death."
This was the discursive talk that went round. Martina, who had filled
her pitcher with water, and lifted it on her head, only replied, "Don't
speak in so godless a way, remember that tonight is Christmas Eve."
She went slowly homewards, as if the words, that still sounded in her
ears, made her linger behind, and she shivered when it occurred to her
that perhaps little Joseph had a presentiment of what was going on so
far from him, and that this had made him so restless. She had inwardly
reproached Adam with not suffering as she did, and at that very hour,
he was perhaps enduring the most severe trial that can befall any human
being--that of seeing the person you love best on earth draw their last
breath with bitter hatred in their soul.
The group of women standing round the well seemed to be in no hurry,
for some were leaning on their full pitchers, and some had placed them
on their heads, but all were talking of Martina.
"Martina would gladly go to the parsonage today."
"She is a strange creature. Old Roettmann offered her two thousand
guilders if she would give up all claims for her boy on his father, but
she refused at once."
"And old Schilder-David refuses also."
"Good morning, Haespele," said some one hastily; "what are your hens
doing? are they all safe and sound?"
"Is it true that you have a long-legged bird that crows in Spanish? Can
you understand him?"
This was the mode of greeting to the only man who came to the well with
a pitcher. It was Haespele. He wore a grey knitted jacket, and had a
coloured nightcap on his head, from underneath which a jovial, merry
face was seen, full of fun and good humour.
"Martina was here a few minutes ago; she is sure to come back soon,"
said one of the women, as she went away.
Haespele smiled his thanks, but was obliged to wait till all the women
had filled their pitchers, which he did willingly, and was even
goodnatured enough to help the others. Just as he had finished drawing
water for himself, Martina returned, on which they mutually assisted
each other, and walked a considerable way together, for Haespele was
obliged to pass Martina's house, in order to reach his own. So, as they
went along, Martina informed her companion that the Pastor had been
summoned on the preceding night to the Roettmaennin, and was not yet come
home. She could not resist expressing her hope, that the Pastor might
possibly succeed in softening the old woman's hard heart; but Haespele
said, "Oh, do not think so. Sooner would the wolf now prowling about
our woods come to my room and allow me to chain him up, as I do my
goat, than the fierce Roettmaennin give way. I told you already all that
occurred, when I took home a new pair of boots eight days ago to Adam,
and I gave you a message, that he would certainly come to see you
today. I myself believe the report, which is, that you intend to set
him free." Martina made no answer, but she suddenly stopped before the
door of her house, and said, "Look, here comes our Pastor home."
On the opposite side of the river, for Martina's house was on this side
of the ferry, a sledge was slowly driven along the high road. A man was
seated beside the driver, closely wrapped in a fur cloak, and a fur cap
drawn very forward over his face. The driver was comfortably smoking,
and made a friendly sign with his whip to Martina, as they passed. It
was one of Roettmann's farm-servants whom she knew. She returned the
greeting by waving her hand, and went into the house, while Haespele
also went homewards.
Just as Martina was about to shut the door, a female voice exclaimed,
"Leave it open, for I want to come in too."
"Good morning, Leegart; it is so good of you to come so early," said
Martina; and the sempstress, who, in spite of its being winter, wore
slippers with high heels, helped to put aside the water cans, for which
service Martina thanked her cordially. Leegart would not have done this
for most people; any one whom she assisted in any matter unconnected
with her work, might well be very proud; she considered it indeed,
quite an especial favour to come at all the very day before Christmas,
for she was much in request among all the women in the neighbourhood,
and wherever she went to work, she was held in high respect. This
feeling was evident now, from the manner in which Martina threw open
the house door as wide as possible, for her to enter; she received,
however, but a cool welcome within doors, for little Joseph exclaimed:
"Woe's me, Leegart!"