in the evening of the same day that john had ridden forth from zusmarshofen, raven zacky came to farmer rodel’s, and sitting with him in his back room, read a letter to him in a low voice.
“a hundred dollars, crown dollars, i must have when the thing is settled, and promised in writing too,” said raven zacky.
“i should think fifty were enough—that is a good bit of money.”
“no, not a groschen less than a round hundred—but then i make you a present of double the sum; i do it willingly for you and your sister. i could get in endringen, or in siebenhöfen, as much again. your rose is a respectable farmer’s daughter; that cannot be denied—but for any thing else they might ask she is not remarkable. what are a dozen such worth?”
“be silent—no more of that.”
“yes, yes, i will be silent, and not disturb your writing. now give me the receipt.”
[197]farmer rodel knew whom he had to deal with, and after he had written he said, “what do you think; shall i tell rose about this?”
“indeed, it were best, but she must not let it be known to any one in the place. we all have enemies. you and your sister no less than others. take my advice; tell rose to wear her every-day dress, and to milk the cows when he is here. i will introduce him to your house. you have read what landfried writes—‘that he has his own peculiar notions, and would be off at once if he saw that any preparation had been made for him.’ this very evening, you must send to lauterbach for your brother-in-law’s white horse. i will send the wooer with the broker to look at the horse. take care that you do not betray yourself.”
as soon as raven zacky had gone, rodel called his wife and sister into the back room, and told them, with strict orders to keep it secret, that in the morning a suitor would come for rose; a man like a prince, who had a farm such as there was not a second in the country—in one word, the son of farmer landfried of zusmarshofen. he then gave them the advice of raven zacky, and recommended the strictest secrecy.
after supper, rose could not refrain from asking barefoot if she would not go with her as a servant when she was married; she would double her wages, and then she need not go across the rhine to work in a factory.
[198]barefoot gave an evasive answer, for she was little inclined to go with rose. she knew, beside, that she had some other motive in asking the question. in the first place, she wanted to show her triumph, that she had a suitor in view, and then she wanted barefoot to take charge of her housekeeping, with which she troubled herself very little. barefoot would have willingly done this for a mistress she loved, but not for rose; and if she once left her present service, she would go into a factory with her brother.
as amrie was going to bed, her mistress called her and intrusted her with the secret, adding, “i know you have always been patient with rose; but now be doubly so, that there may be no noise in the house while the expected suitor is here.”
“yes, certainly, but i think it wrong that she should only this once milk the cows. that will be deceiving the young man—beside, she cannot milk.”
“thou and i—we cannot alter the world,” said her mistress, “and i think you have trouble enough of your own. let others do as they will.”
barefoot laid down with heavy thoughts, that people should thus, without conscientious scruples, deceive each other. she knew not, indeed, who the deceived might be, but she pitied the poor young man, and it seemed still worse, when she thought, “perhaps rose will be as much deceived in him as he is in her.”
[199]in the morning, when barefoot looked early from her window, she started back as though she had suddenly received a blow. “oh, heavens, what is that?” she rubbed hastily her eyes, and looked again—then asked herself whether she were not dreaming? “ah, no! there is the horseman who was at the endringen wedding. he is coming to the village! he is coming for me! no, he does not know me! but he shall know. ah! no! no! what am i thinking of? he comes nearer and nearer! he is here! but he does not look up!” a full-blown pink falls from amrie’s hand over the window-sill, and strikes upon the mantle-sack of his horse, but he does not see it—it fell upon the street, and barefoot hastened down to recover the treacherous signal. and now the fearful thought struck her, that he is rose’s suitor—that he it is whom she meant last evening. she did not mention his name, but it can be no other! none! he is the person to be deceived! in the stable, upon the green clover which she had gathered for the cows, she knelt down and prayed fervently to god, to save him from becoming the husband of rose. that he should become her own, she ventured not the thought; she could not indulge the hope!
soon as she had finished milking, she hastened to mariann to ask her what she should do. mariann was lying severely ill. she had become extremely deaf, and could scarcely understand a connected[200] sentence, and barefoot could not venture to shriek the secret which she had partly trusted, and which the old woman had partly guessed, so loud that people in the street might hear. thus she had to return uncounselled to her home.
she was obliged to go out into the fields, and stay the whole day, planting. at every step she hesitated, trembled, and was on the point of going back to tell the stranger every thing. yet a feeling of duty to her employer, as well as calmer reflection, held her to her task. if he is so inconsiderate as to act without reflection, then he cannot be helped; he will deserve no better. engaged is not married. with this she consoled herself—but she was all day uneasy. when she returned in the evening to milk the cows, rose sat with a full bucket before a cow that had already been milked, and sang in a voice loud and clear, while she heard the stranger in the neighboring stall consulting the farmer about a white horse. but whence comes this white horse? hitherto they had none. then the stranger asked, “who is that singing?”
“that is my sister,” said the farmer. hearing this, amrie sang the second part, thinking it would induce the stranger to ask whose was the other voice? but her singing prevented her from hearing the question, although he did really ask. as rose went with her full pail across the court-yard, where they were still looking at the horse, the farmer said, “there—that is my sister. rose, be[201] quick! and see what there is for supper. we have a relation for a guest. i will soon bring him in.”
“and the little girl who sang so well the second part,” asked the stranger, “is she, also, your sister?”
“no, that is only an adopted child. my father was her guardian.” the farmer very well knew, that such a benevolent action would give a good report to a family, and therefore he avoided calling barefoot a servant.
she was secretly rejoiced that the stranger had noticed her. if he is prudent, she justly thought, he will inquire of me about rose, and then if the knot is not tied, he can at least be preserved from ill fortune.
rose carried up the supper, and the stranger, not knowing that he was expected, was much astonished that so excellent a guest’s repast could be prepared at such short notice. rose made excuses, saying, “he was no doubt accustomed to much better fare at home.” she imagined, not unwisely, that any thing complimentary to one’s home, was always well received.
barefoot remained in the kitchen to prepare every thing for rose’s hand. again and again she besought her to say who the stranger was. “pray, rose, tell me who he is? what is his name?” rose gave her no answer. at length the mistress solved the riddle by saying, “you should know already—it is farmer landfried’s son john,[202] from zusmarshofen. is it not true, amrie, that you have a remembrance from his mother?”
“yes, yes!” said barefoot. she was obliged to sink down upon the hearth; her knees wholly failed her; she would otherwise have fallen. how wonderful was it all! he was the son of her first benefactress! “now i must indeed help him,” she said to herself, “and if the whole village should stone me for it, i can endure it.”
the stranger went forth; they would have followed him, but upon the steps he turned again and said, “my pipe has gone out. i would rather kindle it myself with a coal in the kitchen.” rose pressed in before him, and standing exactly before amrie, who sat by the fire, she gave him a coal with the tongs.
late in the night when all were asleep, barefoot left the house, and ran up and down through the village, seeking some one whom she could trust to warn john. but she knew no one. “hold! there dwells the sacristan—but he is an enemy to farmer rodel, and would bring out all the scandal. go not to an enemy of thy master, much less of thy own, and thou hast enemies enough since the sitting of the parish council about dami! ah, dami? he can do it. why not? one man can speak to another. he can reveal all. then john—that is his name—will not forget the service—then dami will have an advocate. a good one—a man—perhaps a whole family. then he will succeed.[203] ah, no! dami dare not show himself in the village. was he not expelled? but there is mathew? he can do it. perhaps dami may.”
thus her thoughts wandered,—swift,—as she herself ran through the fields, not knowing where; and it was frightful to her, as it always is to those who know nothing of the world or of themselves. she was frightened at every sound; the frogs in the pond croaked fearfully; the grasshoppers in the meadow chirped scornfully, and the trees stood, so black in the dark night. towards endringen there had been a thunder-storm, and flying clouds hastened across the sky, through which blinked the stars. barefoot hastened from the fields into the forest. she would go to dami. she must at least speak with some one. she must hear a human voice. “how dark it is in the forest! was that a bird that twittered? like the black-bird when he at evening flies home and sings, ‘i come, come, come, come home; come quick, come quick.’ and now the nightingale struck in—so breathless, so from the inmost heart—welling, sparkling, softly rippling, like a wood fountain, that from the deepest source wells forth.”
the longer she wandered, the more she became involved in the wreaths and sprays that wound confusedly about her feet in the wood, as her plans became confused in her head. “no,” she said at last, “it will come to nothing—you had better go home.” she turned, but wandered long[204] after in the fields. she no longer believed in wandering lights, “will-o’-the-wisp,” but to-night it seemed to her that she was led hither and thither, and impelled to follow them. she began to feel that she had been all night barefoot in the night dew, and that fever burnt in her cheeks. bathed in perspiration, she reached at last her bedroom.
