BETROTHAL AND PLIGHT.
Mozart's harmonies were entirely ignored at the Roettmann's residence;
indeed, for seven years past, ever since Martina had been in their
service, no songs had ever been heard in that house. In all other
respects, however, the good living went on as before: there was an
everlasting roasting, boiling, and stewing; and the moment you
approached the house such a rich greasy odour was perceptible that all
who came from Roettmanshof seemed impregnated with lard and suet. It was
said that the cause of this greasy smell, was the old lady pouring
whole cansfull of spoiled lard on the road every year. She preferred
its being thrown away to giving it to any poor person. There was very
little stir of labour about the place, for a wood merchant has the
advantage of his possessions growing while he is sleeping, and without
any exertion on his part.
The house looked very singular in the midst of the snowy landscape. In
order to protect it from the weather, it was covered with shingles on
every side, painted bright red. To live in such a dwelling was like
living in a furnace.
There was a great uproar this morning at Roettmannshof, and nothing is
more repulsive than when a morning commences by incessant noise. What
kind of people must they be who on rising from sleep, in the early
freshness of morning, break out into angry discord and noisy strife,
and persevere in them, as if there was no such thing on earth as sleep
or quiet self-forgetfulness for man, enabling him to begin life afresh
each morning?
If the old Roettmaennin, even formerly, when she could still sleep, was
in the habit of rising at early dawn, as if preparing each day a war of
extermination, how much more unendurable now were her impatience and
restlessness, when she could no longer sleep at all! From her sick bed
she regulated everything with twofold severity, and it seemed quite
inconceivable how she could continue to live on amid this perpetual
irritation, and restless state of exasperation.
"I am quite well; I am resolved to go with you myself," said she. "I
don't care if I die by the way, so that I only complete this affair. Go
away, men; I am going to rise and dress properly. Now, this very
morning, the matter shall be finally settled with the Forest Miller's
Tony. What do you mean by standing so stupidly there, Adam? You ought
to be thankful that I manage matters for you--I mean your father and I
together; for in all your life you could do nothing for yourself, and
you will remain a poor creature to the end of your days. If no one will
undertake this Schilder-David and his family, I will show them their
proper place."
She insisted on her husband and son dressing in their Sunday clothes,
and they looked very imposing in their long coats without collars, and
high, boots drawn up above the knees. These high boots are the
uncontested right of the upper class of farmers: the peasants and day
labourers, even to this day, wear shoes and short leather breeches, or
long ones of coarse canvass. The Roettmaennin, who had not left the house
for a whole year, was all at once as active as a young girl. The sledge
was brought to the door, feather beds were placed in it, and the
parents drove with their son to the Forest Mill. A messenger preceded
them to announce their arrival. The amazement was unbounded at the
Forest Mill at the appearance of the Roettmaennin herself. The miller's
wife was especially gracious, and the daughter could not avoid being
also polite, though her eyes were red from crying; in other respects
she looked neat and pretty, and any man who sought her hand from
affection, might well be proud of such a bride. Adam followed his
parents mechanically into the room, as if without any will of his own;
and at the same moment, when the flakes of snow were gently falling in
the valley before the Pastor's house, pledges were finally exchanged,
and Adam was betrothed to Tony.
It scarcely seemed as if a living hand were stretched out to receive a
living one, when Adam clasped that of his bride, but he endeavoured to
make the best of it, and swallowed long draughts of the good red wine
that the Forest Miller placed on the table. They sat together feasting
till the evening. Speidel Roettmann had the power of incessantly
drinking, and as incessantly eating; and he continued throwing large
morsels of meat, right and left, into the jaws of his huge mastiffs;
and the snapping, and growling, and gobbling was wonderful to hear,
every single bone being crunched up. To be able to drink wine, and more
wine, and wine without end, is an advantage that men possess over
animals. While Speidel Roettmann was placing glass after glass to his
lips, he kept stroking the head of one of his great dogs, as if to say,
drinking is my privilege, and not yours. They insisted on Adam
remaining in the kitchen with his bride, who was preparing some hot
mulled wine; and the two fathers drank merrily together, while their
wives gossiped in a low tone.
When the fathers agreed that the affair with Martina would now be
easily broken off, the Forest Miller laughed, and said, "Young people
are become very prudish now-a-days."
"They have no sense whatever," rejoined Speidel Roettmann. "It is nearly
seven years now that Adam has been plaguing both himself and us, on
account of that stupid affair of his. In our youth, much we should have
cared for any such matter." And the two old men clinked their glasses
together.
The mulled wine came, and they drank each other's health, and emptied
the tall glasses to the dregs, and refilled them, and laughed, and
narrated all their youthful pranks and exploits; and the burden of
their song was always, that the youth of the present day were good for
nothing, and totally devoid of all life and spirit.
Adam was standing beside his betrothed bride in the kitchen. For a long
time he did not speak, and at last he said, "I say, why did you agree
to have me? don't you know how I am situated?"
Tony answered smiling, "I suppose since the world began, no one ever
asked his betrothed such a question. But do you know, Adam, I am rather
glad you have done so, for it is honest on your part, and a good
beginning, if it be the will of God that we should live together, and
it appears we must. You see, Adam, there is no hope of your getting
Martina, and I am miserable, far more miserable than you can have the
least idea of. So I thought to myself, we are both miserable, so
perhaps we may lighten each other's burdens; and I am quite resolved to
leave my stepmother, for I am always in her way; and you can't think
what a person feels on seeing a stranger come to your own house and
home, abusing everything she sees, no matter how good and handsome it
may be. It vexes me to death to see her extravagance in the house, and
my father gets no good from it; and even the cup that belonged to my
mother, and was kept sacred, she actually gave to the farm servant, and
she only did so because she knew that it would annoy me. I shall become
cross and spiteful myself if I remain with her. My tongue is full of
gall, and words come to my lips, and thoughts into my head, that are
downright wicked. I often wish I were lying six feet under ground, and
I would have done so long ago, had it not been for the good, kind
Pastorin."
"I pity you," said Adam; "but as for me, though I still have my own
mother, she is more bitter towards me than any stepmother. I do not
like to say it, but I must. My Martina alone induced me to submit to
such usage, and not to run away from it into the wide world. And now I
am become an illtempered fellow; formerly I was only gruff and
thoughtless. I would far rather that you were harsh, and bitter, and
irritable, so that I could feel no compassion for you; in that case I
would have behaved in such a way that you would have been forced to
give me up. But now I don't know what to do; I pity you--yes, I pity
you from the bottom of my heart; but don't forget how I am situated
myself."
It was far from an agreeable conversation that the two held together,
and no fond or kindly words passed between them, as the bride was
preparing the mulled wine. She carried the jug into the next room,
having previously poured out a glass for Adam. When she returned he
drank her health, and when she gave him some more, and, taking some
herself, made her glass ring against his, he said, "Upon my word, you
are much prettier than I thought. After all, I ought not to complain at
being forced to marry you: if it were not for one thing--one thing
alone--I should be quite happy. If I had only seen you seven years ago,
as I see you now, I might have been the most fortunate fellow in the
world. But what am I saying? I feel a stab, as if a knife had pierced
my heart. Have patience with me; I can say no more."
Adam sat down, and covered his eyes with his hands, and then muttered,
"This is my idea, do you see? I wish to tell you something; but not a
word of it to your parents or mine. Give me your hand, as a token that
you will keep my secret."
The bride gave her hand to Adam, who clasped it warmly, and continued,
"I had sent a message to my Martina, that on this very day I would come
to see her. For nearly two years past I have been obliged to go to
church in another village, for spies were always watching me, and for a
whole year I have never been able to speak to my Martina and--my
Joseph; so now I must keep my promise; and yet I would like to give you
a parting kiss; but--I won't, I wont! no! it would be wrong until I am
once more a free man."
"You are honest, and can speak to the purpose," said the bride,
smiling; "and yet people say you are so sulky."
"Very few know anything about me. No one really understands me except
my Martina. She sees me as I really am, and yet I said very little to
her, or she to me, and yet we knew each other thoroughly: she was
quick, and she saw that though I was one of the richest men in the
country, yet I was the poorest in reality. But she shall tell you
about it, for she can talk far better than I can. You don't know how
clever she is, and so good hearted, and so cheerful, and so loveable,
and--and"--
Adam suddenly checked himself. To whom was he saying all this? to his
betrothed bride! and she was looking at him, as if trying to remind him
where they where and what they were. Nothing was heard but the clinking
of the old men's glasses in the next room, and the whispering of the
two mothers. At last Adam said, "So I have your promise that you
won't say a word to any one. And now I must leave you to go to my
Martina----to Martina--and--to my--boy, in the village. I shall be back
by the time the Christmas tree is lighted up, and then it will either
be--or--. God bless you!"
Tony, rather astonished, watched Adam wrapping himself in his grey
cloak, and putting on his fur cap; then seizing his thick knotted stick
with its long sharp point, he swung it in the air. He looked very
handsome, but a formidable fellow. He left the room hurriedly, and the
bride remained quietly seated by the fire. After a time Speidel
Roettmann came into the kitchen, and said, "What is going on here? The
dogs are so restless, and are whining beside us. Where is Adam?"
"He is gone."
"Where?"
"I don't mean to tell you; but he is soon coming back."
"Really? I know well enough where he is gone. But not a word to my wife
of this, nor to your father. Has he been long gone?"
"Only a few minutes."
"Slip into the next room, and fetch me my hat; but take care that
nobody sees you, and on no account let the dogs out. But no--yes; go
get my hat. Adam is a fool, and you are the best girl in the world."
The bride, glad to get away from Speidel Roettmann's hints, went and
fetched his hat and stick; and the old man enjoined on her to say that
he meant to return immediately. So away he went, placing his stick
firmly on the ground each step he took, as he strode along. He takes
good care of himself.