OUT OF A MOTHER’S HEART.
While Barefoot, whether in the village, the field, or the wood,
dreamed, and toiled, and sorrowed,--sometimes trembling with strange
anticipations of joy, sometimes feeling as though thrust out from the
whole world,--two parents in another parish were sending out their son,
that he might return to them far richer than he went forth.
In Allgäu, in the hall of the great farm-house sat the farmer and his
wife, with their youngest son. The farmer began,--“Listen, my son; it
is now more than a year since you returned from your journey. I know
not what happened to you, but you came home like a whipped hound, and
said, you would rather seek a wife here in this place. I do not see
that you are likely to succeed. Will you, for once, follow my advice.
Afterwards, I will never say another word.”
“I will,” said the young man, without looking up.
“Good! try again; once seeking is nothing. You will make me and
your mother happy if you take a wife from the place we came from;
especially from where your mother came from; for I can tell you, wife,
to your face, that in the whole world there are no better women; and if
you are wise, John, you will find one of the right sort; then, upon our
death-bed, you will thank us that we sent you to our home for a wife.
If I could only go with you, we would soon find the right one. But I
have spoken with our George; he will go with you if you ask him. Ride
over, and propose it.”
“If I may speak my mind,” said the son, “if I must go again, I would
rather go alone. I am so made that I could not bear a witness. I could
not advise with any one. If it were possible, I would rather be unseen
and unknown. If there were two of us, it might as well be cried out by
the town crier, and give them all time to make themselves up for the
occasion.”
“As you please,” said his father, “since such is your will. One word.
Start at once. We want a mate for our white horse; endeavor to find
one, but not in the market. When you are in the houses you can inquire,
and see for yourself; and, on your way home, you can purchase a Berner
wagon. Dominic, in Endringen, has three daughters. Seek one of them. A
daughter from that family would be just right.”
“Yes,” said his mother, “Amelia will certainly have good daughters.”
“And it would be better,” continued the father, “that you first looked
at Amrie of Siebenhöfen. She has land and money. But that need not be
thy object. However, I will say no more. You have your eyes in your
head. Come, get yourself ready. I will fill your purse. Two hundred
crown thalers will be enough; but if you need more, Dominic will lend
it to you. Only make yourself known. I cannot understand why you did
not at the wedding. Something must have happened there. But I will not
inquire about it.”
“Because he won’t tell you,” said the mother, smiling.
The farmer immediately began to fill the purse for him. He brought out
two large rolls of gold pieces. If you looked at him, you could see how
pleased he was to let the great coins run from one hand into the other.
He made little heaps of ten thalers each, and counted them twice and
three times over, so as not to make a mistake.
“Well, be it so,” said the young man, and rose from his chair. It is
the stranger who danced with Amrie at the wedding in Endringen.
Soon he brings the white horse, already saddled, from the stable, and
straps on his mantle-sack, while a beautiful wolf-hound sprang up and
licked his hand.
“Yes, yes,” said the young man, “I will take you with me.” And now, for
the first time, he appeared cheerful, crying to his father through the
window, “Father, may I take Lux with me?”
“Yes, if you will,” sounded from within the room, together with
the clinking of money. The dog, who appeared to understand the
conversation, began a joyful barking, revolving round and round in the
room.
The young man went in; and while he was strapping the girdle with the
money about him, he said, “You are right, father, a change will do me
good. I know, indeed, that we should not be superstitious, but it has
done me good already, that as I went into the stable, the horse turned
towards me and whinnied; and now the dog wants to go with me. If we
could consult animals, who knows but that they would give us the best
advice?”
The mother smiled, but his father said, “Do not forget to go to Raven
Zacky, and do not engage yourself to any thing without consulting him.
He knows the circumstances of every one for ten miles round; and is, in
fact, a living record of mortgages. Now, God bless you! You can take
your time, and stay away ten days.”
Father and son shook hands, and his mother said, “I will go a little
way with you.”
The young man led his horse by the bridle, and walked by his mother’s
side, silent, till they had left the court, and turned into a little
side lane; then the mother said hesitatingly, “I would give you a few
words of advice.”
“Yes, yes, mother, begin at once. I shall willingly listen.”
She took his hand in hers, and said, “Stand still, for I cannot talk
while walking. Take care, my son, be sure that she pleases you. This is
the first thing, for without love there is no happiness. I am an old
woman, and may speak without reserve.”
“Yes, yes!”
“If you do not think of it with joy; if it is not to you the first
gift of heaven that you may dare give her a kiss,--then it is not true
love!--Stay a little longer, this is not all; there may be something
concealed--believe me”--the old lady hesitated, and the color mounted
in her cheeks--“look, if there is not true respect, and if you have not
joy also in this--that a woman does a thing exactly so--takes a thing
in her hand and lays it down exactly as she does. Observe also how she
treats her inferiors.”
“I understand, mother, and take your meaning at once. Speaking will
tire you. I understand; she must not be too proud, nor too familiar.”
“That, indeed; but I can understand by the expression of the mouth
whether one is given to anger and scolding. Ah, if you could only see
her weep with anger, or surprise her in a passion, she would betray
her true disposition. The hidden temper sometimes shows itself with
vultures’ claws, like the spirit of evil itself. Oh, my child, I have
learnt and experienced much. I can see by the way she blows out a
candle, what her temper is. She who blows it out with a puff, leaving
sparks and smoke, has a hasty temper, and does things by halves. She
has no true repose of disposition.”
“Ah, mother, how difficult you make it. It is, after all, and always
will remain, a lottery.”
“Yes--you need not be governed by my opinion; but when you meet with
any thing that recalls my words, you will understand me better.
Observe, whether she talks readily with her work in hand. If she takes
her work when she is sitting with you, whether she does not leave off
work at every word; and, indeed, if it is not all for show. Industry is
every thing with a woman. My mother always said a woman should never be
with empty hands; and yet, when she is at work, she must be calm and
steady, and not as though she would tear a piece out of the world. When
she asks a question, or answers one, remark whether she is timid or
bold. You would not believe it, but girls are very different when they
see a man’s hat, from what they are among themselves. There are those
who think when you are in the room their tongues must not be still an
instant.”
The young man laughed, and said, “Mother, you should go about in the
world with your sermon, and have a church for young women alone.”
“Yes! that I might, indeed,” said his mother, smiling; “but,
naturally, I preach first to you. Observe particularly how she behaves
to her parents, and brothers and sisters. You are a good son, and I
need say no more. You have learnt the fifth commandment.”
“Yes, mother, you may be easy on this point. I have sure signs to judge
by. Those who boast much of their love for their parents, that is
nothing. Love is best shown by actions. Those who prattle about it are
slow enough when it comes to performance.”
“Ah, yes, you are clever, my son,” said his mother, laying her hand
upon his breast, and looking into his face. “Shall I go on?”
“Yes, mother, I listen willingly.”
“It seems to me as though to-day I could, for the first time, speak to
you freely; and if I should die, I will leave nothing forgotten that
I would say. The fifth commandment; yes, it now occurs to me what my
father once said of it. Oh, he understood every thing, and had read
many books. I once heard him, as he was speaking to the Pastor, say,
‘I know the reason why a reward is attached to the fifth commandment
alone, where one would naturally think it unnecessary. But it says,
“Honor your father and mother, that you may live long.” That does not
mean, that a good child shall live till he is seventy or eighty years
old; no, he who honors father and mother lives long, but in times past.
He lives the life of his parents in memory and in thought, which
cannot be taken from him; and whatever his age may be, he has lived
long upon earth. He who does not honor his father and mother is here
but to-day, and is gone to-morrow.’”
“Mother, there is truth in that. I understand it, and will not forget
to teach it to my children. But, mother, the longer you speak, the more
difficult it seems to find one that I shall like. She must be like you.”
“Oh! child, do not be so simple. At nineteen and twenty I was very
different. I was wild and self-willed, and even now I am not what I
should be. But what was I saying? Yes, of thy wife! It is strange
you should find it so difficult. From infancy, every thing has been
difficult to you. At two years old, you had scarcely learnt to walk,
and now you can spring like a young colt. Only a trifle or two
more, but from these we often learn great things. Observe how she
laughs,--not a giggle, neither an affected laugh, but heartily, with
her whole soul. I wish you could know how you laugh yourself; then you
would understand me.”
At this John laughed heartily, and his mother cried “Ah, yes! That is
the way my father laughed. Just so he shook his shoulders and sides.”
As the mother said this, so much longer the son laughed, till at last
she joined in, and when one ceased the other began again.
[Illustration: MOTHER AND SON.--PAGE 190.]
They sat down on a grassy bank, and let the horse graze. While the
mother plucked a daisy, and played with it in her hand, she said, “Yes,
this is something of consequence. Observe whether she tends her flowers
carefully. There is more in this than one would believe.”
They heard from a distance maidens singing. The mother said, “Remark
also, whether, in singing, she willingly takes the second part. It
signifies something when one would always give the key. Look, there
come the school children, and this reminds me of something. If you
can find out whether she has preserved her writing-books from her
school-days. This is of importance.”
“Yes, mother, I will take the whole world as witnesses; but what her
writing-books have to do with it, I cannot imagine.”
“That you ask, shows that you have no experience. A young girl who does
not gladly preserve every thing she has once valued has no true heart.”
During this conversation, the young man had been trying to untie a knot
in the lash of his whip; now he took a knife from his pocket and cut it
in two, his mother said, pointing with her finger, “That you may do,
but not a young girl. Observe whether she cuts a hard knot; there is a
secret in this.”
“That I can guess,” said her son, “but your shoe-string is untied, and
it is time to part.”
“Yes, and now you remind me of something; of one of the best signs.
Observe whether she treads evenly, or on one side or the other, and
whether she wears out many shoes.”
“For that, I must run to the shoemaker,” said her son laughing. “But,
mother, all this can never be found out of another.”
“Ah, yes, I talk too much. You need not remember all I have said, only
when any thing occurs you may be reminded of it. But, my son, you know
that I have never vexed you with questions; but now, open your heart to
me, and tell me what happened last year at the wedding, in Endringen,
when you came home like one bewitched, and have not been like yourself
since. Tell me, perhaps I can help you.”
“Oh, mother, that you cannot; but I will tell you. I saw one there, who
would have been the right one, but after all she was the wrong one.”
“Ah, God forbid! you did not fall in love with a married woman?”
“No--but she was yet the wrong one--why should I say much about it--she
was a servant!”
He breathed heavily, and the mother and son were for some moments
silent. At length, his mother laid her hand upon his shoulder, and
said, “Oh, my son, you are brave, and I thank God who has made you so.
You have done bravely to drive her out of your mind. Your father never
would have consented, and you would have lost a father’s blessing.”
“No, mother, I will not make myself out better than I am. It did not
please me that she was a servant. It would not do, and therefore I came
away. But it has been harder to forget her than I could have believed.
But it is all over now--or it must be all over. I have promised myself,
that I will not inquire after her. I will not ask who she is, or where
she is. I will bring you, God willing, a farmer’s daughter.”
“You acted honorably with the young girl? You did not turn her head?”
“Mother! I give you my hand--I have nothing to reproach myself with.”
“I believe you,” she said, and pressed his hand many times. “Now good
fortune, and my blessing go with you.”
The son mounted his horse, and the mother looking after him
cried,--“Hold, I have something more to say. I have forgotten the best
sign.”
The son turned his horse, and said smiling, “Mother, it must really be
the last.”
“Yes, and the best. Ask the young girl about the poor in the place, and
then go round and hear what the poor have to say of her. A farmer’s
daughter cannot be good for much who has not, at least, one poor person
on hand to whom she can do good. Inquire about this. And now, my son,
ride on, and God go with you!”
As he rode away, his mother repeated a prayer in his behalf, and
turning again into the court, she said, “I should have told him to
inquire after the Josenhans children, and learn what has become of
them.” Who can tell the hidden and secret ways the spirit wanders;
the streams that draw us from our accustomed paths, or deep beneath
them. A long-forgotten song, a dancing-tune suddenly occurs to our
memory, we cannot sing it aloud, because the whole is not perfect in
our recollection, but it moves us inwardly, as though we heard it sung.
What is it that thus suddenly awakes this forgotten melody?
Why did the mother, just then, think of these children, who had so
long vanished from her memory? Was it the devout sensibility of the
moment, which awoke the remembrance of another long past emotion, and
the circumstances connected with it? Who can comprehend the invisible
elements that hover around, and connect man with man, thought with
thought?
When the mother came back into the court, the farmer said
jokingly,--“You have no doubt given him the best instructions how he
may select the best wife, but that I have provided for. I have written
to Raven Zacky, who will show him the best houses. He must not bring
one who comes empty handed.”
“Money will not make her good,” said the mother.
“I know as much as that,” said the farmer, “but why should she not have
money and goodness also?”
His wife was silent, but after a while she said, “So, you have sent him
to Raven Zacky. It was with Raven Zacky the Josenhans boy was placed.”
This name recalled her former thoughts to her, and now first was she
conscious of recollections to which she frequently recurred in the
course of the events which followed.
“I know nothing of what you are saying. What is that child to you?”
asked the farmer. “Why do you not say that I have acted wisely?”
“Yes, yes, you have been prudent,” said his wife. But the old man was
not satisfied with this tardy applause, and went out grumbling.
A conscious suspicious fear, that John’s affair would not succeed, and
that they had perhaps been too hasty, made the old man uneasy, and
imparted his uneasiness to all about him.
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