CHAPTER LVIII
"Mr. Ex-Bailiff," began the lady.
"Please say simply Landolin, without the Mr. or ex-bailiff."
"Well then, Landolin, a while ago you said a word which I will not repeat. You said it in derision, in anger and vexation. Landolin, you are acquitted, but I wish that you would acquit yourself, and that you can do to-day, to me, by my help."
"Madam, I went to confession to-day, to the priest, at church."
"Very well. I don't mix myself in church affairs; but I see in your eyes, I see in your heart, that you have a feeling like one who strives to hide a secret sorrow, and thinks that it is not seen. You do not feel yourself free, and clear, and at ease."
The veins in Landolin's forehead swelled in anger, but the lady looked steadily into his face as though he were a wild animal that could be tamed by a firm, unwavering look. His eyelids rose and fell quickly, his tightly compressed lips quivered, and his hand that lay on the table clenched nervously.
"I know what you want to say," said the lady, quickly; "you have a right to do so: only say right out that I must leave your house; that I had no right to force myself into your home, or into your heart. Only say it, and I will go."
"No, stay. You are a brave woman, I must say. I should not have thought it possible, never, – a woman! Speak without fear. From such a woman as you I will hear anything. I think there can be but one such as you in the world."
The lady blushed, and for hardly longer than a thought takes the flattery disconcerted her, and seemed to turn her from her course.
Landolin perceived this momentary confusion, and smiled triumphantly. "After all, she's only a woman, and, like every woman, can be bought with dress and praise!"
Controlling herself quickly, the lady resumed, with a tone that came from her inmost soul:
"Landolin, men are put in the world together that one may help another-"
"I see nothing of it. Nobody troubles himself about his neighbors," interrupted Landolin.
Did you ever do otherwise yourself? Did you formerly concern yourself about others? the lady wanted to say; but she was quick-witted enough to suppress that, and replied instead:
"You have a right to be bitter against the world."
Landolin looked at her in astonishment. He felt something of that mild art of healing which does not try to soften sorrow by denying it and covering it over, but by recognizing it in its reality and importance.
"Thank you," said Landolin, "but I have taken advantage of that right. The world is nothing to me, and I am nothing to the world."
"May I ask a question?"
"Why not?"
"Then tell me if the misfortune, or accident, in this poor fellow's case had happened, not to you, but to Titus, to the Oberbauer, or to Tobelurban, would Landolin of Reutershöfen have acted differently toward him?"
Landolin shrugged his shoulders and whistled softly. He followed her through the first, second, even the third thought, but at the fourth he stopped, and, like a balking horse, was not to be moved from the spot. With an encouraging smile the lady said:
"I will answer for you. 'Yes, Madam Pfann; I should have acted toward the others just as they have acted toward me.'"
Landolin nodded.
"You are sharp; you cut one through and through."
"Very well; then do not be so timid and afraid."
"I afraid? Of what?"
"Of your own thoughts. Within Landolin there are two Landolins, and one of them wants to cast out the other. And now I want to say, don't turn away the only one who can help you."
"Nobody can help me."
"Yes, yes, there is one, and he is a strong man; only he does not know it now. And do you know what his name is? Landolin of Reutershöfen. You alone can help yourself, and then you will have no one else to thank."
"Yes; but how?"
"Take a drink first, and give me one, and then listen."
CHAPTER LIX
"Landolin," began the judge's wife anew, "if we could rely upon it that people would lay penance upon themselves, and do good where they had done evil, or when a bad accident had happened to them-if we knew that surely, we should need no courts and no punishment in the world. Landolin, there is a way in which you can free yourself and your whole house from unhappiness."
"Does this look like an unhappy house?"
"It does not look so, but it is so, Landolin. Outside, there sits a poor woman, whose only son is dead. In field and forest this woman has only the one little spot of earth in which her son rests, where grows-"
"The woman is nothing to me."
"Your mouth only says that; the soul within you speaks quite differently. If you had been found guilty you would have had to support this desolate widow."
She was startled when she was suddenly interrupted by a laugh from Landolin. To be sure, it was a forced one, but a laugh nevertheless. She looked at him inquiringly, and he cried:
"I see you understand all about law."
"We are not talking of law. The poor woman has no legal claim. What you do you will do voluntarily, and it is that that is beautiful. Landolin, you will give the money that I desire; but that is not enough for me: you must also give the right thoughts with it."
"I have no money, and no right thoughts."
"Yes, you have; you have both. You will have them, and the more you give the more you will have. I vouch for you, you will yet make the poor woman's days happy and peaceful."
"Oho!" cried Landolin, "so that the world shall say, 'He feels, after all, that he is guilty, and is trying to cover it over with generosity.'"
"What difference does what the world says make to you?"
A violent struggle must have taken place in Landolin's soul, and it showed itself in his manner. He walked restlessly up and down the room. He clenched his hands; he opened them again. At length he stood still before the judge's wife and said:
"Madam, even should you succeed with me, seven angels could not tear a wicked woman from her wickedness. 'Tis easier to drag a fox from his hole with the bare hand. Perhaps you do not know that Cushion-Kate has always had a hardened disposition. Perhaps she cannot help it. Her mother stood at the church door with a straw wreath on her head before Cushion-Kate was born. No, Madam Pfann, with me-you have seen-I let myself be persuaded; but who knows-"
"Just leave that to me. Oh, dear Landolin, you'll make my life more happy if you'll obey me; and every morsel you eat, every moment you sleep, will be doubly blessed to you. Come now with me to Cushion-Kate."
"I go to Cushion-Kate! If she wants anything of me she may come to me. I wouldn't like to tell you of all she tries to do to me on highway and byway."
"And for that very reason go to her with me now. I know very well what that is-Landolin to Cushion-Kate; – but do not ask yourself now if you are doing too much-if you are lowering yourself. Come with me! Give me your hand. Come!"
"Very well. I will go with you."
It was quiet in the road; no one was to be seen while Landolin walked along with the judge's wife. She frequently looked at her companion, as if in fear that he might suddenly turn and run away; but he kept step with her, and only where the road and the meadow path met he stopped and said:
"I should never have believed it if any one had told me that I should do this. But I do it for your sake; and Cushion-Kate may curse and insult me as she will. I will say nothing in return."
"She will change for the better," said the judge's wife, confidently.
CHAPTER LX
In the little house past which led the meadow path, Cushion-Kate sat at the table this Sunday afternoon. Before her lay the hymn-book, but it was not open. The old woman had rested her elbow on the table, and her left cheek lay on her bony hand; she was gazing out of the window before which the black elderberries glistened, and a young starling sang.
For a long time she looked before her without moving, and a bitter smile passed over her hard features as she muttered:
"He dares to go to the Lord's Table before the whole congregation. O Thou above! forgive me that I quarrel with Thee so. But even Thou art not as Thou wast in old times. Landolin should have stood before the church door in a penitent's dress. Yes, mother; you had to stand there with a straw wreath on your head, and thought that you must sink into the ground in shame; and you cursed the whole world; and I beneath your heart learned it then-there is nothing but sorrow and distress in my blood. O God, I pray for only one thing; let me not die before I have seen how this ends with Landolin. I cannot wait till the next world; I will not-"
She took her hand from her cheek and listened; voices, steps, drew nearer; the wooden bolt of the house door was pushed back, and the room door opened.
"Sit still, Kate," said the judge's wife; and behind her stood Landolin. The old woman opened her mouth, but she could not bring out a word. The judge's wife laid her hand on her shoulder, and said, "Kate! Here is the ex-bailiff; he wants to bring you rest and kindness, and everything that is beautiful and right. Now I beg you, take heart, and lighten your soul and his; he wants to take care of you as though you were his own mother."
"His mother! I was a mother; I am called so no longer. Had there been, not twelve men, but twelve mothers, in court, they would have hanged him, and the ravens would have eaten his eyes and his fat cheeks."
The judge's wife was struck dumb by this raving; but Cushion-Kate now turned to Landolin:
"They say that you spoke for yourself in court; do you now need some one else to speak for you?"
Controlling himself with a violent effort, Landolin said that he was heartily sorry that so great a sorrow had come upon Cushion-Kate; that he could not bring the dead to life, but he promised her that she should live as though she were a rich farmer's wife. With a shrill cry Cushion-Kate screamed:
"And I say to you, fie upon all your gold and goods! Only because the good lady is there do I not spit in your face. I have found out in weary nights that every sinner can be forgiven except one-except the liar, and that is what you are. You must go to ruin, you must have no rest by day or night, and all that is yours must go to ruin too. Come with me! Come to my Vetturi's grave; kneel down there; call the congregation together and confess-But true, you never go through the churchyard. But take heed! You must soon go, when one of your family dies-"
"That is enough," cried Landolin. "Come with me, Madam Pfann, or I shall go alone; I cannot stand this any longer."
He turned away; Madam Pfann cast one more beseeching glance at Cushion-Kate, but she laughed scornfully.
Landolin and the judge's wife walked silently together to where the footpath joins the road; there they stood still, and taking his hand, she said:
"Farewell! I thank you for having been so good to me; and you may be sure it will do you good too. You have done all a man could, and may now rest easy. We have not gained what I hoped, but your soul must feel easier and freer."
"Yes; but I should like to ask a favor-"
"Only tell it," said the judge's wife, encouragingly, as Landolin paused hesitatingly.
"Well, Madam, when I think of it fairly, I cannot blame Cushion-Kate so much, that she is so frantic and raves against me; I am innocent, but still it happened. I don't believe in witchcraft and prophecy; but the way she spoke of death in my family frightened me. Now what was I going to say? I forget. Oh! this. Cushion-Kate may cherish a hate toward me; but my daughter-yes, I will tell you how deaf and dumb she is toward me. It is hard that a stranger should come between father and child; but I think-"
"So do I. You may depend on it I will speak to Thoma, and I shall succeed better than we did over there. I will ask her to come and see me."
With hearty thanks, Landolin and the lady parted. She walked on a while as if lost in thought, and forgetful of the way; but she soon began, as usual, to pick flowers and grasses and pretty sprigs, and arrange them in a beautiful bouquet.
In the garden of the Sword Inn her husband met her, and she soon sat pleasantly conversing with the people of rank in their separate arbor.
CHAPTER LXI
"The members of the Casino had made it an variable rule never to question the judge's wife respecting her experiences in her work; and she herself never mentioned it unless she had need of another's help. It could easily be seen that she must have met with something difficult to-day; but her face brightened when the school-master began:
"The gentlemen will allow me to explain to Madame Pfann the starting-point and progress of our conversation. The physician had told us that Walderjörgli, since the day of the celebration, had been approaching his release. This suggested the assertion that the advantage of culture to the common people is questionable in every respect; that roughness keeps the people even physically stronger than culture. The judge replied that a child must become a youth, and then a man, and it is an idle question whether it would not have been happier if it had remained a child. The physician was just about to speak of the effect of culture in relation to diseases."
"Not exactly that," said the physician; "but I was going to say that the greater difficulty of regulating the peasant's diet is attributable to his degree of culture; and, again, the acute character of a disease that is already developed may often be broken up by timely remedies."
"I claim this also for intellectual and social discipline," cried the school-teacher. "The moderating power of culture will turn aside the violence of the passions, and ward off their tragical end. Obstinacy and unbending willfulness are not real strength."
"A quarrel about the people's beard," said a clergyman to a colleague, smiling, and handing him an open snuff-box. The school-master had heard a whisper, but had not understood what was said; so he continued, with a sharp sidelong glance at the disturbers:
"As sure as the means of healing from the apothecary help struggling nature in sickness, or put aside a hindrance to nature's work, just as certainly will the means of culture, which for centuries have been gathered together by science, mitigate and heal moral infirmity, and the outbreak of passion that leads to crime-yes, even crimes that are already committed."
Turning to the clergyman, he continued: "Religion is also a health-giving means of culture, but it is not the only one."
"Thanks," replied the clergyman, waving his hand, between the thumb and fore-finger of which he held a pinch of snuff. "But, most honored doctor, your culture-cure is a brewage of classic and scientific education, a teaspoonful every hour, to be well shaken before taken-probatum est."
Amidst general laughter his colleague added:
"Your plan of education would not even give the people new enjoyments. What do you propose to give them? They have not the coarseness that is necessary. Look there! Those boys who have been tiring themselves all the week at harvest work, on Sunday play ten-pins and throw the heavy balls."
The game of ten-pins was here interrupted, for the railroad train rushed past; and the boys, who had evidently been waiting for some one, hastened to the station, which could be seen from the Casino arbor, and the company exclaimed:
"The Hollanders! There comes Anton Armbruster with the raft-drivers." Powerful men descended from the cars; they carried cloaks rolled up tightly on the axes over their shoulders. They came into the inn garden, and soon sat drinking the foaming beer, surrounded by groups of friends and strangers. The voices of the raftsmen were loud, and their laughter sounded like logs rolled over one another. Anton sat with his father, who had awaited him here. He had regained his old, fresh appearance; but, from his manner, as well as from that of the miller, it was easy to see that something had happened that was not to the old man's liking. To be sure, he touched glasses with his son; but he put his down again without drinking.
The judge's wife walked up and down the garden with the hostess; but the latter soon went and said something to Anton. He rose and went toward the judge's wife, greeting her politely. She gave him her hand, and went with him toward the vacant promenade by the river side. There she first gave him the lieutenant's greeting, and then told him where she had been that day, and what she had experienced. She looked at him closely and added:
"Thoma is soon coming to see me. May I speak to her of you?"
"Oh, certainly."
"So you did not become engaged in Holland?"
"No, indeed! As long as Thoma does not marry, I too will remain single. It was very pleasant in Holland. They are very pleasant, hearty people, and they have got over the stupidity of thinking that we Germans want to take Holland. They listened to me attentively when I told of the war, and the eldest daughter of our business friend said to me that she could listen three days while I told about it."
"Did you like her?"
"Oh yes. She is a beautiful girl, and good-nature shines from her face; but nevertheless she was not Thoma. As I said, I have not changed. Look! There comes Peter of Reutershöfen with the wagon. Peter, what's the matter?"
"My mother is sick, and I have come for the doctor. There isn't much the matter, but father is so anxious."
"Are all the rest well?"
"Of course they are."
The doctor drove away with Peter, and the judge's wife asked him to send Thoma to her as soon as she could leave her mother.
Anton, too, soon went home with his father.
The physician on the plateau, and the raft-drivers in the valley, were overtaken by a severe thunderstorm that burst forth with wind and hail.
CHAPTER LXII
Two days and two nights it stormed in the valley and on the plateau, with only short intermissions. When the thunder-clouds are ensnared between close-set wooded mountains and sharply pointed rocks, they can find no outlet. They toss hither and thither; they break and then come together again; it thunders and lightens, rains and hails, till they have entirely disburdened themselves.
One could almost say that it was the same with the people here; when bad humor had fastened on these hard, sharp-pointed natures, the anger and quarreling had no end.
Landolin and Thoma sat by the mother's sick bed; sometimes together, sometimes alone. Their eyes flashed, but their thoughts were unspoken. The mother was constantly faint, for the air did not cool off during the two days and nights. On the third day, however, when the sun shone again, and a balmy, fresh air quickened everything anew, she said:
"I feel better. Thoma, it would do you good to go out, and the judge's kind wife has certainly something good to say to you. Go and see her. She sent you word by the doctor. Go, for my sake, and bring me back good news. You can go right away. You have nursed me as I hope some day your child may nurse you."
Peter had told them that Anton had returned from Holland, and that he had seen him talking earnestly with the judge's wife. And, although her mother did not say so, she secretly hoped to live to see their reconciliation.
Thoma prepared herself for the walk into the city. But she did not wish a stranger to mix in their affairs. She did not need outside help, and it would do no good.
When she went to her mother, in her Sunday dress, the mother said, taking her hand:
"Child, you look quite different, now you have fixed yourself up a little. Let me give you this advice. You are so gentle and so kind to me; be the same to others. Don't put on such a dark face. There, that's right. When you laugh you are quite another person. Say good-bye to your father; he is at the stable. The bay mare has a colt. That is a good sign. Go in God's name, and you will come home happy again. God keep you!"
As Thoma went past she called a hurried good-bye into the stable, and did not wait for an answer. On the road it seemed to her as if she must turn back: she ought not to leave her mother to the care of strangers; but she went forward, thinking over what she should say to the judge's wife.
Thoma often threw up her hands in distress, and looked sadly at the destruction which the hail had wrought in the fields; but she soon comforted herself. She knew that her father had them insured against hail. Now they should have something in return for the tax they had paid so many years. When she reached the beautiful pear-tree which before had looked like a nosegay, she stood still. The storm had shaken off almost all the pears, and they lay scattered on the ground. Thoma called a girl who was working in the potato field to come and pick them up. Then she went on her way.
Everything reminded her of her first and only walk with Anton, after their betrothal. Since then she had not been on this road. She avoided the spot where Vetturi had spoken to her; but where she had rested, and Anton had stroked her face with the lily of the valley, she paused awhile. There was no sound in the forest; not a bird sang, a sultry stillness brooded over moss and grass on which the sunbeams quivered, the path was strewn with dead and green branches, and the trees which had been tapped for resin were broken down. The way was not clear and open again till she reached the path through the meadow where the grass was still trodden down from the celebration. The water in the river was yellow, and ran in high, roaring waves almost to the upper arch of the bridge.
The hostess of the Sword Inn nodded to Thoma from the window. Thoma responded and hurried past.