A FATHER IN SEARCH OF HIS SON.
When Adam got into the open air, he felt as if he had suddenly awoke.
"What has happened? Unless I choose, nothing has happened." He
shivered, and the hand which had clasped Tony's was now so cold that he
tried to warm it on the head of his pipe. There was no possibility of
missing the way to the village, but attention was necessary; for there
was a steep precipice overhanging the valley below, close to the road;
the snow was rapidly falling in thick flakes, and Adam had not gone
twenty paces when he looked like a moving snow man. He was obliged to
keep a sharp look out, for he could see no path before him; but he was
so well acquainted with every tree, and every rock hereabouts, that he
had no difficulty in finding them out even in the snow. When he reached
the rising ground whence the descent into the valley commences, and
looking back, saw the lights shining so cheerily in the Forest Mill, he
felt a strong inclination to go back there.
"She is a very pretty creature, and hundreds have done the same, and
yet have lived gaily and happily with their wives:--turn back!"
But, in spite of these tempting thoughts, he went straight on down the
hill, so the lights in the mill soon disappeared from his view; and now
his heart felt lighter, and in the thickly falling snow he lifted his
hand to Heaven and vowed--"I will go home no more. I would rather be a
poor labourer, and earn my daily bread, than desert my Martina, and my
child, my Joseph; it is two years since I have heard his voice--he must
be very much grown, and able now to say 'Father, father'!"
Suddenly Adam stood still--a child's voice was calling "Father,
father!" through the wood, and once more, quite distinctly, "Father!"
"Oh! I must be mistaken. How could it be? That mulled wine has confused
my senses."
Adam relit his pipe, which had gone out, and by its flash he saw that
there were irregular traces of dog's paws in the snow. "What is it? A
dog no doubt has lost his master, and is searching for him," But there
were no marks of a man's foot to be seen. "What need I care? I want to
get on."
Hush! what again? a man's voice shouts from the top of the hill--"Adam!
Adam!"--"Am I dreaming? or is the world bewitched tonight?"
Adam grasped his huge stick more firmly in his hand. "Let them come,
the whole array of sorcerers, or demons, if they like. I am not afraid,
for my life is not less wicked than theirs; because, like a lazy,
foolish fellow, I have yielded to others for so many years; and God
forgive me for my folly in thinking that my mother might yield at
last;--for supposing that an iron horseshoe could be softened;--and now
I have submitted to be made a Christmas mummer, and allowed myself to
be betrothed; but I will never marry Tony, never; and, in spite of the
whole world, I am resolved to do as I choose. I will have my Martina
and Joseph for my own. Come on there, demons and evil spirits! What is
that? It is the dog whose traces I saw just now. Come here, dog, come
along. He won't come. Good Heavens! it is the wolf we have been
searching for. He barks hoarsely--he is coming nearer."
For an instant Adam's hair stood on end, then boldly rushing forwards,
he shouted--"I'll soon do for you--there, and there!"
The wolf now discovered what fierce strokes a man can give who has been
forced into a betrothal, especially when that man is Adam Roettmann. The
wolf received the strokes due to the wicked world in general, on which
Adam would gladly have hammered away for an hour, and even after the
animal lay prostrate, Adam scarcely believed he was dead; for wolves
are vastly cunning, and he continued his blows, till at last he
cautiously turned the animal over with the spike of his staff, and saw
his four feet sticking up in the air. As the wolf no longer showed the
smallest signs of life, Adam said, with infinite composure--"There, you
are pretty well done for!" Perspiration was streaming down his
forehead; he had lost his pipe, which had fallen out of his mouth, and
it was probably the sparks he had shook out that had frightened the
wolf. Adam sought in every direction for his pipe, but it was nowhere
to be seen; at last he gave it up, and seizing the wolf by the nape of
the neck, he dragged it behind him the whole way. When he saw the
lights in the village, he laughed, and thought--"How astonished all in
the village will be, when I bring them the wolf beat to death by my
cudgel, and what will my Joseph say? Yes, little fellow! you must
respect your father for his strength." Adam had in reality heard his
name called behind him; for his father had followed him, and shouted
out "Adam!" Who knows whether in the blinding snow the old man has not
lost his way? Was Adam right also, in thinking that he heard a child's
voice in the wood calling out "Father"?
It was not long before the inhabitants of the Forest Mill discovered
that both father and son had mysteriously gone away, and the Roettmaennin
knew well where they had gone to.
She raged most, however, against her husband, who, without saying a
word to her, had gone in pursuit of his foolish son; he was sure to do
something stupid, when he did not come to her for advice. Adam too was
by no means spared, and she called him many names far from flattering,
and not at all in accordance with bridal festivities. The miller's
wife, however, was sharp enough to interpose, saying that the
Roettmaennin was only in jest, because she knew that in truth no
honourable titles were more than they deserved; and both women looked
up in surprise when the bride said--"All that I heard Adam say, while
he was sitting here with me, was kind, and sensible, and judicious."
The two women burst out laughing with one accord, and said she was
quite right; the Roettmaennin, patting the bride's shoulder, said that
was the only true way to get round a man, for they ought to be under
petticoat government; that men were good-for-nothing creatures, and
that they were utterly useless till they had a good wife. She, however,
said she made an exception in the case of her dear relative, the Forest
Miller, who did not apparently appreciate this compliment; for he could
only stammer when he tried to speak, and then coughed so violently that
he nearly choked. The Forest Miller had committed a rash action in
drinking fair with Speidel Roettmann, a competition no one had ever yet
attempted without being punished for it.
His wife was very much concerned about him, and prevailed on him to go
to bed; she then came back to the room, and said--"Heaven be praised!
he is sleeping quietly; he ought to know that no one is a match for
Roettmann in drinking."
Flattered by this compliment, the Roettmaennin said--"Take care that with
such a cough, he does not delay making his will."
"People say--God forgive me for repeating their malice!" said the
miller's wife, "that the Roettmaennin is a malicious woman. Can any one
be kinder than she is, in thus taking charge of a lone widow?" and
then, as if this misfortune had already occurred, she looked quite
disconsolate, and began to rub her eyes; as this was, however, of no
use, she clasped her hands, and, looking admiringly at the Roettmaennin,
continued--"And she thinks of my interests, and does not want her own
precious son to inherit every thing."
The Roettmaennin said she was obliged to her; but she was quite mistaken,
for she had never meant anything of the kind. She admitted that her son
deserved very little, but still she was not quite such a fool, as to
wish to see money and land heaped on strangers, when it ought by right
to come into her family.
The Roettmaennin now urged very sharply, that a messenger should be sent
after her husband and son. The head farmservant was summoned, but he
declared that he would not go, and that, moreover, he knew none of the
other servants would leave the house in such weather, and indeed he
could not blame them for refusing; and, moreover, there was no need to
fetch them back, for when these hardy Roettmanns once got into the wood
they would only return of their own accord. The Roettmaennin was very
indignant, and begged that at least her sledge might be brought to the
door, that she might be driven home; she would show both her husband
and Adam who was master, when she was once in her own house again. But
no one in the mill would drive her, and both the miller's wife, with
the most civil speeches, and the bride with the most kind cordiality,
pressed her to stay all night at the mill; saying that everything would
look very different by daylight next morning, and Adam had promised to
return before the Christmas tree was lighted. She added that the
children of the servants at the mill had been waiting anxiously for
some time to see the tree lit up, and to receive their presents. The
Roettmannin and the miller's wife thought this a very good idea, and the
former praised the bride exceedingly for her good nature, and
insinuated that she had probably arranged some agreeable surprize with
Adam.