Waldfried: A Novel. Auerbach Berthold
her red stockings.' I was wishing for that on our way here. But she refused so positively, that I desisted from my endeavors to persuade her."
After a little while, she continued:
"A voice in the forest helped me to bring all things about as they should be. I heard the cuckoo's cry, and was reminded by that, that he would leave his young in a strange nest, and that other birds would patiently and affectionately nurture the strange birdling. We are something like these cuckoo parents. What they do without thought, we do consciously."
When at early dawn on the following day, I looked out of my window, I saw Martella and her dog at the fountain in front of the house. Seen by day, and in her light attire, she seemed wondrously beautiful and fascinating.
She washed her face and plaited her thick brown hair. Her every movement seemed free and noble, and almost graceful enough to please an artist's eye.
She sang in a low voice, and would from time to time exclaim, "Cuckoo!"
Rothfuss, who saw that she was washing herself, called out to her that she must not do that again. "The cows drink there, and if you wash yourself in that basin, they will never go there again."
"I have already noticed," she replied, "that the cattle have the first place in this house."
When she saw me, she called out in a clear, ringing voice:
"Good-morning, master. Ernst was certainly right when he told me that it is lovely here. One can see so far in every direction. I shall yet climb every one of those hills. How good the water is! Do you, too, hear the cuckoo? He is already awake, and has bid me good-morning. Old Jaegerlies2 has often told me that I was the cuckoo's child. And do you know that the cow got a calf during the night? A spotted cow-calf? We have already given the cow something warm to drink. The calf drank milk when it was hardly two minutes old. Rothfuss said it would be a pity to kill the calf. I am going to drive out into the fields with Rothfuss to get some clover. Yes, a cow has a good time of it in your house. But look! the cuckoo is flying over your house! That is an omen!"
She went to the stable, and I followed her a short time afterwards. She looked on dreamily while the cow was licking the new-born calf, and said at last,
"That is what you folks call kissing."
Rothfuss asked her:
"Are you fond of cows?"
"I don't know; I never had one."
He showed her our best cow and said,
"Three years ago, when she was a calf, she got the first prize at the agricultural exhibition. She puts food to the best use. Everything that she eats turns either to meat or to milk."
Rothfuss told Martella to put on a little jacket. They soon drove out to the fields, and when she held up the scythe, she exclaimed, "Cuckoo!" It seemed to me as if I were dreaming, and yet I remembered quite distinctly that my wife had spoken to me on the previous night of the cuckoo's young ones.
What a strange coincidence it seemed!
Martella returned from the fields in good spirits, and during the morning lunch was quite cheerful. She was constantly talking of the daughter-in-law, and the cow-calf that had come into the family during the night before.
I then said to her, "I will give you the cow-calf. It is yours."
She made no answer, but looked at me with an air of surprise.
Rothfuss told me that when in the stable, she had said to the calf: "You belong to me. But of course, you know nothing of it. You really belong to your mother. But your mother belongs to the master, the master belongs to Ernst, and Ernst belongs to me; and that is how it is."
When evening came, Rothfuss expressed his opinion in the following words:
"If her inside is like her outside, she need not be made any better than she already is."
Our oldest maid-servant, Balbina, seemed quite kindly disposed to the new arrival, and Martella said that Balbina had told her something with the air of imparting a secret of which she was the only possessor. And what was it? "Why, nothing more than that it is sinful to lie and steal."
I have given the story of this first day in its smallest details. It is only for the first green leaves of spring that we have an attentive eye. They go on, silently increasing, until they become so numerous that they excite no comment.
CHAPTER IX
Martella did not become attached to any one in the house except Rothfuss, whom she was constantly plying with questions about Ernst's childhood. When in pleasant evenings during the week, and on Sunday afternoons in clear weather, the youths and maidens would march through the village, with their merry songs, she would sit with Rothfuss on the bench by the stable, or, unattended by any companion save her dog, would be up in the woods that lay back of our house.
When she had any special request, she would communicate it through Rothfuss.
Among other things, she wanted to go out into the forest with the wood-cutters. From her thirteenth year she had wielded the axe, and could use it as cleverly as the men. We did not grant this wish of hers.
Her craving for knowledge was insatiable, and I marvelled at the patience and equanimity with which my wife told her everything she wanted to know.
Things to which we had become accustomed were to her occasions of the liveliest surprise. This did not seem to change, for she never could get used to what with us had, through daily habit, become a matter of course. To her all seemed a marvel.
Her glance was full of courage. Her voice seemed so full of sincerity, that her strangest utterances required no added assurance of their truthfulness. Her laughter was so hearty that it seemed contagious.
Rothfuss was quite proud that he could control Martella, just as he did the two bays that he had raised from the time they were foals, and delighted to speak of the fact, that our youngest-as he called Ernst-was the best of marksmen. He had secured the best prize. For there could be no other girl so wise and merry as Martella. And she was so full of merry capers that the very cows looked around and lowed, as if to say, "We, too, would be glad to laugh with you, if we only could. But, alas! we cannot. We have not the bellows to do it with."
She had named her calf "Muscat." She would nurse it as if it were a younger sister. She maintained that it was a perfect marvel of health and wisdom, and that the old cow was jealous, and tried to butt her because she had noticed that the calf had greater love for Martella than for its own mother.
There was one point on which she and Rothfuss always quarrelled. She had an inexplicable aversion to America, of which Rothfuss always spoke as if it were Paradise itself. The manner in which Lisbeth, the locksmith's widow, had been provided for, was his chief argument in its favor. "None but a free state would provide so well for the families of the men killed in battle. How different our Germans are about that."
Towards my wife and myself, Martella was respectful, but diffident.
Ernst came to us but twice during the summer, remaining but a few hours each time.
He wanted Martella to walk or drive around the neighborhood with him, but she refused, saying "that she would not leave home. She had been away long enough."
Ernst was evidently provoked that Martella refused to go with him, but kept his anger to himself.
In that summer, 1865, we had charming harvest weather, and I shall never forget Martella's saying, "I shall help gather the harvest. I was a gleaner once, and know that this is good weather for the farmers. To cut the ears in the morning and carry home the rich sheaves in the evening, without having had a storm during the day, is good for the farmer, but not so pleasant for the poor gleaner. Storms during the harvest time scatter the grain for the poor; for the farmers give nothing away of their own accord."
Rothfuss looked towards me, and nodded approval of her words.
Towards the end of summer, Richard paid us a visit.
Richard had written to us some time before, and had referred to Ernst's conduct in indignant terms. He felt shocked that
This name means: Lizzy, the huntress.