Book 8 — CHAPTER IV.

THE LILY-STALK.

“I was still lingering in my departure, for I knew not what to do if I were gone, when Frau Elizabeth came to the door, and desired me to send my mother down to her, and then to go about, and, if possible, get tidings of the husband. ‘Mary begs you very much to do this,’ said she. ‘Can I not speak with her again myself?’ replied I. ‘That will not do,’ said Elizabeth; and we parted. In a short time I reached our dwelling: my mother was ready that same night to go over, and be helpful to the young stranger. I hastened down the country, thinking I should get the surest intelligence at the Amtmann’s. But the Amtmann himself was still in uncertainty; and, as I was known to him, he invited me to pass the night there. It seemed interminably long; and still I had the fair form before my eyes, as she sat gently swaying in the saddle, and looking down to me so sorrowful and friendly. Every moment I hoped for news. To the worthy husband I honestly wished life and safety, and yet I liked so well to fancy her a widow! The ranging troops by little and little collected; and, after many variable rumors, the certainty at last came to light, that the carriage was saved, but the hapless traveller dead of his wounds in a neighboring village. I learned also, that, according to our first arrangement, some of the party had gone to communicate the melancholy tidings to Frau Elizabeth: consequently I had nothing more to do there. Yet a boundless impatience, an immeasurable longing, drove me over wood and mountain once more to her threshold. It was dark; the door was shut; I saw light in the room, I saw shadows moving on the curtains; and thus I sat watching on a bench opposite the house; still on the point of knocking, and still withheld by many considerations.

“But why should I go on describing to you what is in itself of no interest? In short, next morning, too, the 119house was shut against me. They knew the heavy tidings, they needed me no further; they sent me to my father, to my work; they would not answer my inquiries; they wanted to be rid of me.

“For eight days this sort of treatment had continued, when at last Frau Elizabeth called me in. ‘Step softly, my friend,’ said she, ‘but enter without scruple.’ She led me into a trim apartment, where, in the corner, through the half-opened curtains, I saw my fair one dressed, and sitting upright in the bed. Frau Elizabeth went towards her as if to announce me, lifted something from the bed, and brought it me,—wrapped in the whitest swathings, the prettiest boy! Frau Elizabeth held it straight betwixt the mother and me; and just then the lily-stalk occurred to me, which, in the picture, springs from the ground between Joseph and Mary, as witness of the purity of their affection. From that moment I was certain of my cause, certain of my happiness. I could approach her with freedom, speak with her, bear her heavenly eye, take the boy on my arm, and imprint a warm kiss on his brow.

“‘How I thank you for the love you bear to that orphan child!’ said the mother. Unthinkingly and briskly I cried, ‘It is no orphan any longer, if you like!’

“Frau Elizabeth, more prudent than I, took the child from my hands, and got me put away.

“To this hour, when I chance to be wandering over our mountains and forests, the remembrance of that time forms my happiest entertainment. I can still recall the slightest particulars; which, however, as is fit, I spare you at present. Weeks passed on: Mary was recovered; I could see her oftener; my intercourse with her was a train of services and attentions. Her family circumstances allowed her to choose a residence according to her pleasure. She first staid with Frau Elizabeth: then she paid us a visit, to thank my mother and me for so many and such friendly helps. She liked to live with us, and I flattered myself that it was partly on my account. What I wished to tell her, however, and durst not utter, came to words in a singular and pretty wise, when I took her into the chapel, which I had then fitted up as a habitual apartment. I showed her the pictures, and explained them to her one after the other, and, so doing, unfolded the duties of a foster-father in so vivid and cordial a manner that the tears came into her eyes, and I could not get to the end of my picture exhibition. I thought myself 120certain of her affection, though I was not proud enough to wish so soon to efface the memory of her husband. The law imposes on widows a year of mourning; and, in truth, such an epoch, which includes in it the change of all earthly things, is necessary for a feeling heart, to alleviate the painful impressions of a great loss. We see the flowers fade and the leaves fall; but we likewise see fruits ripen, and new buds shoot forth. Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for vicissitudes.

“I now spoke with my mother on the concern which lay so near my heart. She thereupon disclosed to me how grievous to Mary the death of her husband had been, and how she had borne up and gathered courage again, solely from the thought that she must live for her child. My inclination was not unknown to the women, and already Mary had accustomed herself to the idea of living with us. She staid a while longer in the neighborhood: then she came up to us, and we lived for a time in the gentlest and happiest state of betrothment. At last we wedded. That feeling which had first drawn us together did not fade away. The duties and joys of the father and the foster-father were united: and so our little family, as it increased, did certainly surpass its prototype in number of persons; but the virtues of that pattern, in respect to faithfulness, and purity of sentiments, were sacredly maintained and practised by us. And so also in friendly habitude we keep up the external appearance which we, by accident, arrived at, and which fits our internal state so well; for though all of us are good walkers, and stout bearers of weight, the beast of burden still remains in our company, when any business or visit takes us through these mountains and valleys. As you met us last night, so does the whole country know us; and we feel proud that our walk and conversation are of such a sort as not to throw disgrace on the saintly name and figure whose imitators we profess to be.”

Wilhelm to Natalia.

I now conclude a pleasant, half-marvellous history, which I have just written down for thee, from the mouth of a very worthy man. If I have not always given his very words; if here and there, in describing his sentiments, I have expressed my own,—this, considering the relationship of mind I feel with him, was natural enough. His reverence for his wife, does it not resemble that which I entertain for thee? 121And is there not, even in the first meeting of these lovers, something similar to ours? But that he is fortunate enough to walk beside his animal, as it bears the doubly beautiful burden; that he can enter at evenings, with his family possession, through the old cloister-gate; that he is inseparable from his own loved ones,—in all this, I may well secretly envy him. Yet I must not complain of my destiny; seeing I have promised thee that I will suffer and be silent, as thou also hast undertaken.

Many a fair feature in the domestic union of these devout and cheerful persons I have been obliged to omit, for how could it be depicted in writing? Two days have passed over me agreeably, but the third warns me to be mindful of my farther wayfaring.

With Felix I had a little quarrel to-day. He was almost for compelling me to break through one wholesome regulation, for which I stand engaged to thee. It has been an error, a misfortune, in short, an arrangement of Fate with me hitherto, that, before I am aware, my company increases; that I take a new burden on my shoulders, which thenceforth I have to bear, and drag along with me. So, in my present wanderings, no third party is to become a permanent associate with us. We are, we will and must continue, Two; and just now a new, and not very pleasing, connection, seemed about to be established.

To the children of the house, with whom Felix has gayly passed these days in sporting, there had joined himself a little merry beggar-boy, who, submitting to be used or misused as the play required, had very soon got into favor with Felix. By various hints and expressions, I now gathered that the latter had found himself a playmate for the next stage of our journey. The boy is known in this quarter, and everywhere tolerated for his lively humor, and now and then obtains an alms. Me, however, he did not please; and I desired our host to get him sent away. This likewise took place; but Felix was angry at it, and we had a little flaw of discord.

In the course of this affair, I discovered something which was pleasant to me. In the corner of the chapel, or hall, stood a box of stones, which Felix, who, since our wanderings through the mountains, has acquired an excessive fondness for minerals, eagerly drew forth and examined. Many pretty eye-catching things were among them. Our landlord said the child might choose out what he liked: these were the 122remains of a large collection which a friend had despatched thence a short while ago. He called this person Montan; and thou wilt easily suppose how glad I was to hear this name, under which one of our best friends is travelling, one to whom we owe so much. Having inquired into date and circumstances, I can now hope to meet him erelong on my pilgrimage.