“is it true? is it not a dream? are we together, and awake, and will the morning come again, and then the day, and so on forever?” thus spoke barefoot to lux, who remained by her side while john was in the stable saddling the horse. he came out, put the sack upon the horse, and said, “i will sit upon it, and you shall sit before me on the saddle.”
“let me rather sit upon my sack.”
“if it please you.”
having swung himself upon the saddle, he said, “now put your foot on mine, stand firmly upon it, and give me both your hands.” she swung herself lightly up, he raised, and kissing her, said,—“now you are in my power, i can do with you what i please.”
“i do not fear you,” said barefoot, “and you are also in my power.”
silently they rode out of the village. in the last house a light was burning; there was the sexton’s[224] wife watching by the dead mariann. john suffered amrie to weep undisturbed. as they rode across the holden meadow, amrie first spoke.
“here,” she said, “i once kept the geese, and here i gave your father water from the spring. god bless thee, thou wild pear-tree, and you fields and forests! it seems to me all a dream, and forgive me, dear john, that i do not rejoice. i cannot yet, and dare not, when i think that my friend is lying there dead. it is a sin to rejoice, and a sin not to rejoice. do you know, john, what i say to myself? when a year is past i shall be so happy—when the year is over, oh! how beautiful it will be! but no! to-day is beautiful, i will be happy to-day—it is just. now, we will ride into heaven! ah, what dreams i have had there upon the holder common; that the cuckoo was perhaps an enchanted prince, and now i sit upon your horse, and have become the salt duchess. i know they joke about it in holdenbrunn, but i am glad you called me salt duchess. do you know the history of the saying, ‘as dear as salt’?”
“no, what then is it?”
“there was once a king who asked his daughter one day, ‘how much do you love me?’ and she answered, ‘i love thee as dear—as dear as salt.’
“the king said, ‘that is a stupid answer,’ and was angry at it. not a long time after the king gave a great feast, and the daughter contrived that[225] all the dishes should come upon the table unsalted. of course, nothing tasted well, and the king asked his daughter, ‘how the dinner came to be so badly cooked?’
“she said, ‘because the salt failed; there was no salt. you see now that i was right when i said i loved you as dear as salt!’ the king was satisfied, and to this day we say as dear as salt.
“this story mariann told me. alas! she can never tell me any more. there she lies dead! hark! there sings the nightingale. oh! so happy! i will think no more of sorrow. i will be thy salt duchess, john. yes, i am happy! mariann said, ‘god rejoices when people are happy, as parents are happy to see their children dance and sing.’ we have danced already; come now, we will sing. turn a little to the left in the forest; we will ride to my brother. sing, nightingale, we will sing with you.”
“sweet bird of night! i hear thee sing
till soul from life to part, will spring.
come nearer, bird! and teach me well
how love and life together dwell!”
both sang together all their songs, melancholy and lively, without ceasing, and barefoot sang the second part as well as the first. but most often they sang the landler, the waltz they had danced together three times at endringen, and whenever they paused, they told each other how often,[226] when they were far off, they had thought of each other.
john said, “it has been impossible for me to get that waltz out of my head, for with it you have always danced there. but i was not willing to have a servant for my wife, for i must tell you that i am proud.”
“that is right; i am also proud.”
john now told her how he had struggled with himself to forget her, and how delightful it was now, that time was all over. then he told her he had been twice to his mother’s native village to bring home a wife from there; but all in vain, for since he met her that day at the entrance of endringen, his heart had been wholly hers; but as he heard she was a servant, he would not make himself known to her.
barefoot told him how rose had behaved to her at the wedding in endringen, and at that time she was first wounded at hearing her say, “it is only our servant!”
after much mutual confidence, john cried, “i could go mad when i think how different it might have been. how could i have taken any but yourself homewards? how could it have been possible?”
after reflecting some time, amrie said, in her considerate manner,—
“do not think too often how it could have been different, or so and so, otherwise. as it is, it is[227] right, and must be right; be it for joy or sorrow. god has willed it as it is, and now it depends on us to make it for the best.”
“yes,” said john, “if i shut my eyes and listen to you, i think i hear my mother; she would have said exactly these words. your voice is also like hers.”
“she must be now dreaming of us,” said barefoot; “i am sure of it.”
and after her peculiar manner, in the midst of security, although her life from her infancy had been filled with the seeds of wonder, she asked:
“how is your horse called?”
“as he looks.”
“that will not do; we must give him another name. do you know what? silver trot.”
and now to the tune they had danced together, john sang over and over again the one word “silver-trot, silver-trot, silver-trot!” barefoot sang it with him, and when they no longer sang words that had any meaning, their merriment was pure, full, unlimited; they expressed their inward joy by outward jubilee, by joddling together, for there are bell-tones in the soul that have no connected melody, but include in themselves every sound of joy; and hover here and there, over and above us, and rock together the hearts of the living. again they found words. john sang,—
“my treasure is mine,
i hold it as firmly
as the tree holds its branch,
as the apple its kernel.”
[228]then they sang in low, deep tones, this serious song,—
“after grief comes quickly joy—
and joy takes place of every grief.
i know a dear, brown little maid,
she has two dark brown little eyes,
and to my heart she brings this joy.
my own she will be!
no other she will bless!
thus we shall live in joy and grief
till cruel death divide us both!”
there were pure sounds in the forest, where the moonbeams played upon the branches and hung upon the stems, and two joyful human children emulating and contending with the nightingale.
not far off, by the charcoal-heap, sat dami in the quiet night, listening to the charcoal-burner, who related to him wonderful histories from past times, when the trees stood so closely together that a squirrel could run from the neckar to the bodensee, from tree to tree, without once touching the ground. then he told him the history of a rider upon a white horse, a messenger from the old heathen gods, who diffused over the earth beauty and splendor, and poured out joy to men.
there are proverbs and fables that influence the soul, as looking long into an intense fire affects the eye. varied colors play around, are extinguished, and again break out; but when we turn from the flame, the night is darker than before.
thus listened dami, and thus he looked around,[229] while mathew in a monotonous voice related his stories. he held in, for down the hill came a white horse with sweet and pleasant music accompanying him. “has the world of wonders come to us?” nearer came the horse, and there sat upon him a wonderful rider, broad and tall, and apparently with two heads. it came always nearer, and the music changed to a man’s and a woman’s voice, crying, “dami, dami, dami!”
both would have sunk into the ground from fright; they could not stir, but the horse was there, and now the strange figure alighted.
“dami! it is i,” cried barefoot, and related all that had happened to her.
dami had nothing to say, but stroked sometimes the horse and sometimes the dog, and only nodded when john told him he would take him for his dairyman; that he should have the care of thirty cows, and learn to make butter and cheese.
“that will be coming out of darkness into the light,” said barefoot. “we could make a riddle out of that, dami.”
at last dami recovered his speech, “not forgetting a pair of leather breeches also,” he said. all laughed, and he declared that john’s mother had promised him a pair of these breeches.
“in the mean time take my pipe,” said john,—“the pipe of a brother-in-law,”—and he gave him his pipe.
“but you will have none for yourself,” amrie objected.
[230]“i no longer need one,” said john.
how happy was dami, as he sprang into the log-hut with his silver-mounted pipe; but who would have believed that he could have made so clever a joke. after a moment he came back with the hat and long coat of mathew on, and a lighted torch in each hand. with the utmost gravity of tone and manner, he addressed the betrothed lovers,—
“john, i have brought a couple of torches with which to light you home. how came you to think you could take my sister from me? i am her adult brother; you must receive her from me, and until i say yes, all goes for nothing.”
amrie laughed gayly, and john made a formal request to dami for the hand of his sister. dami would have carried the joke still further, for he was proud of the part in which he had succeeded so well; but amrie knew that he could not be depended upon, and that he would commit some folly. she had seen already that he had stretched his hand more than once towards john’s watch-seals, and had drawn it back again without touching them. she spoke, therefore, in a severe tone, as to a young child,—
“that is enough; you have done well; now let it pass.”
dami assumed again his own character, and said to john, “it is all right you have a steel-bound wife, and i a silver-bound pipe.” as nobody laughed, he added,—“ah, brother-in-law, you did[231] not know that you had so wise a relation. what say you, brother-in-law? we are both of one stock, brother.” it seemed in his joy that he could not say brother-in-law too often.
at length they mounted, and when they had ridden a short distance, dami called after them,—
“brother, don’t forget my leather breeches!” merry laughter answered him, and then again the music of their songs, as the lovers rode on in the moonlight.
