WARM AND SNUG IN THE PARSONAGE.
Can there be such a thing as a holy feast for a woman like the
Roettmaennin? Can there exist a human being doomed one day to leave this
world, without ever having felt the joyful sensation of being happy, or
of having contributed to the happiness of others? That there are such
persons, cannot fail to cast a dark shadow on the earth, and must
prevent anyone feeling unalloyed gladness of heart.
These were the reflections floating in the mind of the Pastorin, as she
sat at the window. Soon, however, she chased away all such shadows, and
her soul became as bright as the morning of this joyous and holy
festival, which is a ray emanating from eternity.
She arose and went through the house, like a gentle hushed spirit. The
approaching feast day, and also the thought that her brother was with
her, shed such lustre and gladness on her whole being, that everything
seemed to smile on her; and while she prepared a good breakfast for her
brother, who was sure to return very hungry from shooting, she looked
at the ham, the butter, and eggs, with considerable complacency, as if
grateful to them for possessing the excellent property of nourishing
and strengthening man.
These articles of food could not speak, or make any observations in
return; but the maid being pretty well aware that her mistress liked to
talk of her brother, said, "What a handsome, grand gentleman your
brother is, ma'am. When he arrived yesterday evening I really thought
he was the Prince who drove through here last winter, on his way to
shoot;" and the maid gave her own face a good rub with her apron, to
make it look as well as possible. "I was so glad we happened to have
killed a goose," added she, giving an affectionate look at the
slaughtered victim, hanging outside the kitchen window.
Brother Edward returned home about ten o'clock. The Pastorin warned him
that her husband was still asleep, and he placed his gun as gently in
the corner as if it had been made of cotton. Her brother's good
appetite pleased the Pastorin, who seated herself with her embroidery
beside Edward, and told him the Pastor's adventures. He, in return,
said he had shot nothing, for he felt quite sure he had got on the
track of the wolf; but he lost all traces of the animal in a ravine, as
he was afraid of venturing to descend into it alone. He had gone as far
as the forest mill, and described with much enthusiasm the grand and
striking aspect of the landscape, the waterfalls all frozen, and the
rocks glittering like finely cut crystal. The more awe inspiring and
imposing the young man delineated the scene without, the more snug and
comfortable did the room appear within. And the brother and sister
talked to each other with the same quiet ease with which the heat
diffused itself through the room: the pendulum of the clock and the
crackling of the wood in the stove were more audible than their voices.
Gentle flakes of snow were falling slowly and quietly outside,
fluttering in the air as if in play, making the room within seem even
more comfortable than usual.
"I have still an adventure to relate to you," recommenced Edward.
"Won't you wait till my husband is awake, so that you may not have to
tell it twice over?"
"No; I wish you alone to hear it, and you must promise me secresy. I
was standing behind a bush, not far from the forest mill, on the
watch, for I thought the wolf would be sure to appear again, when I saw
two girls coming along the path. They stood still not far from my
hiding-place, and one girl said, 'I will say good bye to you here;
thank you for your kindness, my mother in Heaven will reward you for
it. But it is all over; I cannot help myself. Oh! why are those days
gone by, when a wicked woman could transform you into a raven? I wish I
were that raven in the sky above our heads; then I could fly far away,
then my misery would be over. See! the snow is melting where my tears
fall on it; but nothing can melt a hard heart, and my father is
entirely changed.' Her tears prevented her saying more, and her
companion left her. The weeping girl turned back towards the mill; I
could not resist advancing to meet her, but I almost regretted it when
I saw such sorrow overclouding the young, fresh, blooming face. I would
gladly have tried to console her, but I really did not know what to
say; so I simply wished her good day. She looked at me, startled, and
stood still for a moment in surprise, and then went on her way."
"That must have been the Forest Miller's Tony," said the Pastorin; "a
good-hearted girl, as ever lived. She is to be betrothed to Adam, I
hear."
"That would be too shameful!" exclaimed Edward, indignantly.
"I quite agree with you. Tony is the Forest Miller's only child. Her
mother was an excellent woman: so long as she lived, the forest mill
was the most highly respected house in the whole community, and the
resort and refuge of all the poor. Little Tony went daily for four
years to school, three or four miles off, and in winter she came on a
donkey. A child like that, going daily alone for years through a
valley, encircled by rocks and by the forest, cannot fail to become
thoughtful and observant, if naturally of a quick and lively
disposition; for there is much to see and hear of animal life in the
forest, unknown to the world. Little Tony was a very quick child, and
she was often to be heard telling her thoughts aloud, and singing songs
in the forest. She has a most lovely voice. Two years ago her mother
died, and the guardian appointed by her father is the innkeeper at
Wenger, whose sister shortly after married the Forest Miller. From that
hour the girl had never another happy moment; and her guardian being
unluckily the brother of her stepmother, it comes to pass that Tony
will be forced to marry Adam Roettmann."
Suddenly the Pastorin interrupted herself, saying, "I must surely have
left the house door open, for I hear some one on the stairs."
"Hush! be quiet!" said she softly, opening the door. "Oh! it is you,
Martina; come in, but tread softly, for the Herr Pastor is asleep. What
message have you for me?"
"Leegart sent me here, to bring you these nightcaps."
"Why did she not come herself?"
"She is in our house, busy making a new jacket for my Joseph."
"You dress Joseph too smartly; you will spoil him," said the Pastorin.
"Leegart takes no payment from me," said Martina timidly, and, turning
away suddenly, the red shawl in which she had wrapped her head fell
back. The young man gazed earnestly at her pretty oval face, and large
dark brown eyes. Martina felt that he was looking at her, and casting
down her eyes blushed deeply, groping for the handle of the door in
going out, as if she had been in the dark.
The Pastorin, however, followed her into the passage, and said, "You
would like to know about the Roettmaennin? The state of her health is as
bad as that of her heart. She sent for the Herr Pastor last night, but
she is not dangerously ill; far from it."
"God is my witness that I do not wish for her death," said Martina
earnestly, laying both hands on her heart.
"I believe you. My husband had a severe struggle with her, but he
persists in his determination never to marry Adam to any one but
yourself. But I will tell you all about it another time," said the
Pastorin, turning to re-enter the room.
But Martina said uneasily, "Oh! dear Madam, I cannot make out what is
the matter with my Joseph for some days past; he speaks and thinks of
nothing but his father. He insists on my talking of him till he goes to
sleep, and in the morning his first words are always about his father.
He has refused positively to go back to school any more, for they call
him _The Foal_ there, because his father's nickname in the village is
_The Horse_."
The Pastorin could not help smiling, but she said, "I cannot stay with
you at present: that was my youngest brother who has come to visit me.
Pray be very strict with Joseph: the whole village spoils that child.
Come to see me again during the holidays, and shut the outer door very
gently."
Martina went homewards with slow and heavy steps, singing in a
melancholy tone the lines that seemed to haunt her memory:
"Faithful love my bosom fills,--
Can true love ever fade?
Oh! what a smile that heart must wear
That never was betrayed."
In the mean time the Pastorin returned into the sitting-room, when her
brother Edward proved that he had a quick eye, not only for fine
scenery, but also for pretty people, by expressing his sincere regret,
that so lovely a creature should be doomed to pass her days in poverty
and sorrow.
"But though she looks ill even now," said the Pastorin, "if you had
seen her a year after her disgrace, she was so changed that it was
scarcely possible to recognise her, she looked so deadly pale, and just
like a dying person. It is said that a speech of Leegart's made her
strive to bear her calamity with more courage. 'Don't go on grieving in
that way,' said she, 'or people will say that Adam is quite right to
forsake such a faded, emaciated creature.' This advice, and love for
her boy, inspired Martina with new life."
While the Pastorin was talking to her brother, and listening to him,
she was also listening to sounds in the adjacent room, for she
suspected that the Pastor was now dressing; and, while doing so, he was
humming the air that she had sung with Edward the evening before; so
she quickly sat down at the piano, and sung once more, with her
brother, Mozart's melody, "Joys and sorrows let us share."
The Pastor entered the room, smiling kindly. He must, however, have
heard a good deal, even in his sleep, for in a few moments he said,
"Lina, Martina has just been here, I do beg that my orders may be
attended to, that she is not to be in the habit of coming here."
"You are generally so indulgent," ventured Edward to remark.
"Perhaps so; but that is quite compatible with sternness, when it is
requisite. Those who have sinned may reform and repent, but the
privilege of being at home in the Parsonage is one they ought no longer
to enjoy. It would be destructive to all morality if sin were allowed,
from false ideas of humanity, to remain unpunished."
The usually benevolent features of the Pastor assumed a stern,
uncompromising air while uttering these words. But he quickly added,
"Edward, give me one of your cigars."
The three once more sat pleasantly together.