Landolin

CHAPTER XIII

At the edge of the wood they saw "Cushion Kate," with her red kerchief round her head, standing by a young man who sat by the roadside. She offered him a pretzel, but he refused it.

"See," said Thoma, "that's 'Cushion Kate' with her Vetturi. She spoils the good-for-nothing fellow. He used to be a servant of ours, but we found that he had been stealing oats, nobody knows how long. So, of course, father sent him away."

"The poor creature looks almost starved."

"He's not only poor, but he's a rascal. Father doesn't want to prosecute him, so the fellow keeps bothering him for his wages."

When they came up, the lad arose quickly. He was of slight build, and his bluish-black hair fell in disorder over his forehead. The dark, weary eyes had a frightened look. He took off a torn straw hat, and bowed several times to Anton. He seemed to be trying to say something.

"Your name is Vetturi, isn't it?" asked Anton. "Come here. Is there anything you want?"

"I won't take alms like a beggar, I'd rather strike my mouth against a stone," replied Vetturi in a hoarse voice; and turning to his mother as though she had contradicted him, said: "Mother, you shan't take anything."

Then in an entirely different tone he said to Thoma: "May I wish you joy?"

"No, you may not. Nobody who speaks so disrespectfully of my father shall wish me joy. Own up to stealing the oats. If you do, I will go to father and get him to forgive you."

"I won't do it."

"Then abuse me, not my father. My father might, perhaps, have given up to you, but I won't let him as long as you keep on lying."

"But I can wish you joy, Anton," cried Cushion Kate; "I hope your wife will be like your mother. She was a good woman; there isn't her like in the whole country. I was in your house when you came into the world. You are just eight days older than my oldest daughter would be now. Now, get your father-in-law to take my Vetturi again, and straighten everything out. We are poor people. We don't want to quarrel with such a powerful farmer as he is, but he must not squeeze us until the blood runs out from under our nails."

"Come along," cried Thoma, taking hold of Anton's arm, "don't let her talk to you so."

She walked away. Anton did not follow her, but said to Vetturi that he would employ him as a wood-cutter up in the forest.

"My Vetturi cannot do that," interrupted the mother. "He cannot work up there from Monday morning to Saturday night, and have no decent food, and no decent bed."

"Come! come!" urged Thoma from a distance. Anton obeyed, and Vetturi called after them all kinds of imprecations against Landolin.

With a frown Thoma said to Anton, in a reproachful tone:

"That Vetturi is no comrade of yours, and why do you stop and talk with him? I do not like it in you. You are not proud enough. Such people should not speak to us unless they are spoken to."

Anton looked at her with astonishment. There was a sharpness in her words and voice which surprised him. She noticed it, perhaps, for she gave him a bewitching smile, and continued:

"See, I am proud of you, and you must be proud of yourself. Such a man as you are! People ought to take off their hats when they speak to you. I wouldn't say good-day to a rascal, and you ought not to either. Perhaps you think I'm angry. Don't think that for an instant. It's only that I have no patience with a liar. Whatever a man does, if he confesses it, you feel like helping him; but a liar, a hypocrite-"

"But, Thoma dear," interrupted Anton, "lying belongs to badness; a man who is bad enough to steal, must be bad enough to lie."

"I understand everything at once. You need not always explain a thing to me twice. I could see a liar or a hypocrite perishing before my eyes and not help him until he-"

"Oho! You're getting excited."

"Yes, I always do when I'm on this subject. But enough of this. What are the cottagers to us! See there, it was there by the pear-tree that you said good-by to me, when you went to the war. See, it is the finest tree of all. It looks like a great nosegay."

"And before the flowers become fruit you will be mine."

CHAPTER XIV

Anton asked about their neighbor's daughter, Thoma's old playmate. Sadly she told him how she had broken with her only friend. Anger and shame reddened her cheeks as she related to him how her old playmate had, on her wedding day, worn a wreath which she had no right to wear. Thoma's lips quivered when she said:

"They say that Cushion Kate's mother was forced to stand at the church door with a straw wreath on her head, and a straw girdle round her waist. That was hard, but just. But for the girl to lie so, before God and man; to accept an honor to which she had no right. To know it herself and yet be so bold-. There, that is just like Vetturi. I have no patience nor friendship with a liar, whether rich or poor, man or woman. He who will not take the responsibility of his own acts may go to perdition. Indeed, it is not necessary to tell him so, for he has already gone there. You laugh? You are right! Such an honorable man as you are doesn't need to be lectured. Now I don't need my playmate nor anything else while I have you and father. No princess could be happier than I."

They went on hand in hand. When they reached the farm-house, her mother, who had come straight home, called to them from the window to wait until everything should be ready for the visitors, who would soon be there with their congratulations.

So the two seated themselves in the garden back of the house, on the terrace beyond the cherry-tree, and the blossoms on the tree were not richer than the happy thoughts of the young couple.

While they were here under the cherry-tree, Cushion Kate was sitting by her son; he said:

"Mother, I must get away from here. I will go to Alsace, into a factory."

"And you will leave me alone," complained the mother for the hundredth time; and for the hundredth time related, as though it were a comfort, that Vetturi's grandfather had been one of the Reutershöfen family; and though he received his portion as a younger son, neither he nor his descendants had ever been able to get along. Vetturi let his mother talk, but still insisted that he would go.

"Mother, I'm a burden to you. It makes me ashamed."

"You're not a burden to me, and you shouldn't be ashamed to stay with your mother. What have I left in the world if you go away? I shall never want to get up again. I shall never want to make the fire. If you go away you must take me along."

"We'll see, mother. But first, I will have my pay from Landolin; this very day I will have it."

With these words he tore himself away, and hurried to the farm-house.

CHAPTER XV

Just as the farmer's wife had expected, many people returning from the fair, and many too who had not been there, came to offer their good wishes upon Thoma's betrothal. She made them welcome, and invited them to eat and drink.

When Landolin reached home his greeting to the guests was cool and careless, and he did not look at all like the father of a girl who had just been happily betrothed to her lover.

People said afterward that they knew then from his manner what he was likely to do. But who knows whether they were really so wise?

Landolin said to his wife:

"Stop feeding these people. Start them off. Don't be so friendly and talkative with the herd. It's impudence for them to come to me with good wishes. I don't want their good wishes."

He then went across the yard and stood awhile by the dog. Yes, he even spoke to him. "You're right, you should have been with me. Such fellows don't deserve a word. They ought to have a dog set on them."

Then Vetturi rushed into the yard, bareheaded, and called out: "Farmer! for the last time I say, I want my pay, my money."

"What? You want anything from me! March out of this yard at once. Off with you! What? You're standing there yet? Once for all, go, or I'll make you!"

"I won't go."

"Shall I untie the dog and set him on you?"

"You needn't untie the dog. You're a dog yourself."

"I'm what?"

"What I just said."

"Vetturi, you know I have a hand like iron. Go! Go, or I'll knock you down so you'll never move again."

"Do it! Kill me! You man-skinner, you-"

A stone was thrown; there was a shriek; a moan was heard that even hushed the barking of the dog. Vetturi fell down, groaned once, and then lay motionless.

Anton and Thoma had come to the open gate. They stood there as if rooted to the spot.

"For God's sake! What has happened?" Anton cried, and hastened to the prostrate form. But Thoma stood still, and fixed her gaze on her father, who was tearing open his vest, and loosening his collar.

Controlling herself with a violent effort, Thoma went up to her father, who was staring into his open hands.

"Father! What have you done?" cried she. He looked at her. There was a terrible change in his face. Is this the look of a man at the moment that he has killed another?

Thoma laid her hand on his shoulder. He shook it off and said: "Let me alone." He was afraid of her, and she of him.

At this moment it came to pass that father and daughter lost each other.

"He's dead! His skull is broken!" called the hostler, Fidelis, who, with Anton, had lifted Vetturi up.

With eyes cast on the ground, Thoma went to the house. Landolin left the yard, and went to the spring on the other side of the road.

The people in the house, who had come to give their congratulations, hastened out. With lamentation and mourning they carried Vetturi home to his mother.

Landolin's yard was suddenly still and forsaken; only a little pool of blood, near the heap of paving-stones, showed what had happened there. The sparrows and chickens had gathered round. The head-servant Tobias drove them off, and quickly swept everything away. He then threw the stone and the broom into the drain.

CHAPTER XVI

When Anton returned Landolin was still at the spring, holding his hands under its broad stream of water.

"How is it?" he asked, turning round.

"He is dead; he gives no sign of life," replied Anton.

Landolin shook the water from his hands fiercely, and shaking his head slowly, said:

"You saw it, Anton? You had just come up. The stone didn't touch him; he fell down at the sound of my voice."

Before Anton could reply, Landolin asked: "Was his mother at home?"

"Yes, she had just come in, and it was terrible when she threw herself on her son's body and cried out: 'Vetturi! open your eyes, Vetturi! Open your mouth, here is some brandy! Drink, do drink!'"

"I, too, must drink something," replied Landolin; and placing his lips to the trough, he drank long. Indeed, it was plain that he purposely allowed the water to splash into his face, and as he slowly wiped it dry, he said:

"Go to Thoma, now! I'll soon follow you."

Anton obeyed. He found Thoma standing near the porch by the flowers, picking off the dead leaves of the rosemary, the yellow jessamine, and the carnations. She did not look round.

"Thoma, here I am; don't you see me?" cried he.

"Yes, I see you," answered Thoma. Her voice and her face, which she now turned toward Anton, were changed; and her eyes, which before had been so fearless, now wandered uneasily here and there.

"I see you," she continued, "I see the flowers, I see the trees and the sky. Everything pretends to be alive, but everything is dead."

"Thoma, you are always so strong and resolute. Control yourself. I know it is sad and distressing, but for the sake of a person who is dead-"

"It is not only that a person has been killed; he, you, I, my father, all, all have received a deathblow."

"Thoma, don't excite yourself so, you are always so sensible. You know I have been in the war, and have seen many-"

"Yes, yes, it is true; you too have killed men. When he was still alive you were so tender-hearted toward him, and now that he is dead you are so hard. Say, am I still in my right mind?"

"You are, if you will only control yourself."

"I'll try, thank you. Do you think that my father, that any one of us, can ever be happy again for a single minute?"

"Certainly! Your father has done nothing."

"Who then has? Is Vetturi not dead?"

"He is dead, but he was hurt by falling on the paving-stones. Yes, he was."

"Anton!" cried Thoma, intensely excited, "Anton, you're not saying that yourself, some one else is speaking through you. Did my father tell you that?"

Anton trembled, and Thoma continued: "Anton, for my sake you are speaking falsely. You lie! There he stands, and has such true eyes, so honest, and yet will lie. How can I now believe your Yes before the altar? Anton, you're telling a lie."

With tremulous voice, Anton replied:

"Thoma, I'm-I'm a soldier." His hand touched the medal of honor upon his breast.

"Take that off," cried Thoma. "Go! go away! Even you can tell a lie. Go! go!"

"Thoma! I forgive you. In affliction one turns against his dearest friend-"

"You're no more my dearest friend. I'll not have your forgiveness. Go away forever and ever. I have no part in you, and you shall have no part in me."

She rushed away and locked herself in her bedroom. Anton stood for a time benumbed, then knocked at her door, and spoke lovingly to her. She made no answer. He threatened to break open the door unless she gave some sign. Then the bolt was drawn; the door opened a little way; and at his feet fell the engagement ring. The door was again closed and bolted; Anton picked up the ring and went away.

CHAPTER XVII

Landolin turned away from the spring and went into the yard. He stopped a moment at the dog's kennel, and said to himself: "Chained! Chained!"

Did he feel, and did he wish to say that henceforth he himself was in chains?

He unfastened the dog, and it followed him into the living-room. No one was there. Landolin sat down in the easy chair, nervously grasped its arms, and moved his hands over them as if to convince himself that they were still there. Then he pulled up the loose tops of his boots, as though making ready for a walk. He arose, but went only as far as the table, which he repeatedly rubbed with his hands, as though trying to wipe something off. With a peremptory voice he called to have the supper brought. It was soon ready. His wife sat down beside him. She said nothing; she seemed comforted, even delighted, that her husband was willing to eat; and she forced herself to eat with him.

Landolin told the maid to call Thoma and Anton to supper. The maid returned with the answer that Anton had gone away, and that Thoma sent word that she was not coming. At this, Landolin seized his fork, and struck it through the cloth, deep into the hard table. His wife arose, her lips tightly compressed, and looked with dismay at the sacred family table, as though she expected to see it shed blood after her husband's terrible blow.

The fork was still sticking in the table, when a carriage drew up to the door, and the District Judge and his clerk entered. The farmer's wife had the courage to draw the fork quickly out.

Landolin held out his hand in welcome, but the District Judge appeared not to notice it. Landolin with a steady voice thanked the judge for coming so soon to find out the facts of the unhappy affair.

"Pray be seated, your honor; and you, too, Mr. Clerk," he said, ingratiatingly; then poured out three glasses of wine, and taking one in his hand, touched the other two, as a sign to the gentlemen to drink. But the District Judge said curtly: "No, thank you," and did not take the glass. He leaned back in his chair while the clerk spread a paper on the table.

"Sit down," he said to Landolin; but the latter replied: "I'm comfortable standing," and laid his hand upon the back of the chair which stood in front of him. He drummed on it with his fingers, and controlling himself with a violent effort, said:

"Will you ask me questions, or shall I tell it in my own way?"

"You may go on."

"Your honor, that wine there is pure, for I brought it myself from the vat at Kaiserstuhl; but I think the wine at the Sword is not pure. When I drink during the day, and talk at the same time, it sets me beside myself; but the fright at the accident has brought me to my senses."

"So you were drunk at the time of the-of the accident."

Landolin started. "This is not a man who has come to gossip with me. It is a judge, and a judge over me. Stop! How can being drunk help?" These thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, and he replied, almost smiling:

"Thank heaven, I am never so drunk as not to know what I am doing. I can stand a good deal."

He bestowed a confidential smile on the judge, but when he saw the unchanging gravity of his countenance, he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and went on determinedly:

"I can prove that the good-for-nothing fellow got no harm from me."

"Have you got that down?" said the judge to the clerk; and he replied: "Yes, I am taking it in short-hand."

The chair under Landolin's hand moved, for he was dismayed to find that his disconnected expressions were all written down. He now waited for questions to be put to him, and after a little while the judge began:

"Have you not had a violent quarrel, once before to-day, with one-handed Wenzel of Altenkirchen?"

"Have you found that out already?"

"Yes. Tell me how it happened."

"How it happened? The story is soon told. More than thirteen years ago Wenzel was my substitute in the army. My father knew him well. He was a boatman. You can ask Walderjörgli if he wasn't. Our families are the oldest in the country-"

"But what has that to do with Wenzel?"

"Oh yes! Well! My father gave both Wenzel and his mother a great deal of money and clothes, and now Wenzel still tries to bleed me."

"Did you not threaten to lay him out cold if he spoke to you before other people again?"

"Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't. A man sometimes says such a thing when he's angry; but I did not say it in earnest. Have I all at once become a man who is ready to kill any one that crosses his path? Am I an unknown adventurer?"

Landolin waited in vain for an answer, for the judge came back to the main point and asked:

"Were there any witnesses to the affair with Vetturi?"

"Yes, to be sure! My future son-in-law, Anton Armbruster, whom you know, and my daughter."

The District Judge desired them both to be called. He was told that Anton had gone away.

Thoma soon entered, and the judge arose and set a chair for her opposite to him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Thoma sat down and folded her hands. She did not look up. "As you are Landolin's daughter you may refuse to testify," said the judge in a kindly tone. Thoma wearily raised her head.

"Father! What can I say?"

"What you saw."

She looked steadily into her father's face. She saw that he forced his eyes to remain open, but the eyelids trembled as though they must close before her glance. She turned away with a relentless movement of her head, and laying her clenched hand upon the table, said:

"Your honor-I say-I-I refuse to testify."

Landolin groaned. He knew what was going on in his daughter's mind. She rose and left the room without a look or a word for any one. They all gazed after her in silence.

The judge now asked Landolin if any of the servants had seen the affair. Landolin answered hesitatingly that he did not know; he had not looked around; but that Tobias and Fidelis were at home. It was with alarm that he perceived that his fate was in the hands of others.

The judge asked for his son Peter. Landolin shrugged his shoulders. Nobody cared whether Peter was at home or not. He was an obstinate, insignificant boy.

Nevertheless, though no one knew it, at this hour Peter had become an important personage.

No one dreamed that the little sliding window, between the living-room and the kitchen, was half-open, and that Peter lurked behind it. When he heard his father's answer, he quickly pulled off his boots, sprang noiselessly down the steps to the barn where Tobias was, and said:

"We now know how it happened. The stone did not hit Vetturi. Do you hear? And you too?" turning to the hostler Fidelis. Tobias nodded understandingly. Fidelis, on the other hand, made no answer.

There was no time to say anything more, for the two servants were called into the house. Before Tobias left the yard he threw a stone down near the gate.

Tobias was first reprimanded for having swept away the marks of blood. He took it all quietly, and said, in a firm voice, that he had plainly seen that Vetturi, who was always shaky, had not been hit by the stone, but had fallen down himself on the paving-stones. When the head-servant began speaking, Landolin had closed his eyes, but he now looked up triumphantly. His elbow rested on the chair; he held his hand over his mouth, and pressed his lips tightly together when Tobias concluded with:

"The stone that Vetturi threw, lies down there yet, scarcely a step from where the master stood."

Landolin raised himself to his full height. "That's the thing! Self-defense! I must justify myself on that ground." Landolin grasped the arm of the chair, as a drowning man, battling with the waves, grasps the rope thrown out to save him; and, just so, his soul clung to the thought of self-defense.

Fidelis said quite as positively that he had seen his master pick up a paving-stone with both hands, lean back, draw a long breath, and throw it. It had struck Vetturi on the head, and he had not seen Vetturi throw anything.

Landolin started up with an angry exclamation. He was told to be silent. The judge arose and said, evidently with forced calmness, that he was sorry, but, in order to prevent any tampering with the witnesses, he was compelled to place Landolin in confinement for the present.

The chair moved violently, and Landolin cried:

"Your honor, I am Landolin of Reutershöfen; this is my house; out there are my fields, my meadows, my forests. I am no adventurer, and I sha'n't run away for a beggar who is nothing to me."

The judge shrugged his shoulders, and said that they would probably be able to release him in a few days.

As the clerk folded his papers together, he cast a longing look at the poured-out wine; but he had to content himself with licking the ink-spots from his fingers.

"May I not send my husband a bed?" asked the farmer's wife. This was the first word she had spoken. The judge replied with a compassionate smile that it was not necessary.

Landolin took her hand, and, for the first time in many years, said in an affectionate tone:

"Dear Johanna." Her face was illuminated as though a miracle had been worked; and Landolin continued: "Don't worry. Nothing will happen to me."

"Can't he take me with him?" asked his wife of the judge.

"I am sorry that it is impossible."

She was about to send a maid-servant for Thoma, but Landolin prevented it, and said to the judge:

"I am ready to go now."

When Landolin had taken his seat in the carriage, a guard, who had been standing before the house, sprang upon the box with the coachman. The farmer's wife brought her husband's cloak, and he wrapped himself in it, for he was shivering, although the air was mild. He pulled his hat down to hide his face, and besides, it was night.