Waldfried: A Novel. Auerbach Berthold

with every nook in the woods, and when the new road was laid out she pointed out to Joseph a clear and fresh spring which had remained undisturbed, while we in the village were often poorly supplied with good drinking water. She persuaded him to alter its course so that it would flow towards the village; and now, thanks to her, we have a splendid spring which even in the heat of summer furnishes us with an abundance of cool and pure water.

      To this day we call it the Gustava spring.

      Every year, at my wife's birthday, it is decorated by the youth of the village.

      She seemed to live with the woods that she had planted. Without a trace of sentimentality, I mean exaggerated susceptibility, she rejoiced in the sunshine and the rain, the mists and the snow, because they helped the plants, and this state of mind contributed to the quiet grace and dignity which so well became her.

      On Christmas afternoon we could, in our sleighs, ride as far as the wood and the village beyond it.

      Martella told us that she, too, had planted thousands of white and red pines, but that there was not a tree that she could call her own.

      She called out unto the snow-covered plantation: "Say: Mother."

      "Mother," answered the distant echo.

      "And now say: Waldfried."

      "Waldfried" was the answer. We returned home, happy and light-hearted. Ernst remained with us until New Year's Day, and seemed to have regained his wonted cheerfulness.

      It was with pleasure not unmixed with jealousy, that Ernst saw how Martella hung on Richard's lips while listening to his calm and clear remarks on the topics that arose from day to day. His explanations were such that the simplest intellect could comprehend them. I cannot help thinking that Ernst's glances at Martella often were intended to convey some such words as these: "Oh, I know all that, too, but I am not always talking about it!"

      "I did not know that you could talk so well," said Martella on one occasion. At times we had quite heated discussions.

      With my sons it cost me quite an effort to defend my faith in the people.

      Ernst and Richard, who rarely agreed on any question, united in their low opinion of the people.

      Ernst despised the farmers, and said he would not confide the charge of the woods to them, as they would inconsiderately destroy the whole forest if they had the chance.

      Richard adduced this as a proof that it would always be necessary to teach the people what, for their own good, should be done as well as left undone.

      He dwelt particularly on that severe sentence, terrent nisi metuant. The mass of the people is terrible unless held in subjection by fear. History, which was his special science, furnished him with potent proofs, that the people should always be ruled with a firm hand.

      Joseph listened silently to the discussions carried on by the brothers. He was always glad to hear what those who were educated had to say. He never took part when generalities were discussed. It was not until they began to conjecture as to what Napoleon, the ruler of the world, might say in his next New Year's address, that his anger found vent in sharp words.

      Later generations will hardly be able to understand this. These men were seated together in a well-ordered house in the depths of the forest; and even there the spirit of doubt and questioning, that could not be banished, was constantly at their side, and pouring wormwood into their wine.

      There was no unalloyed happiness left us-no freedom from care. Will not the Emperor of the French hurl his bottles at us in the morning! What will he not attempt for the sake of securing his dynasty and gratifying the theatrical cravings of his people! The whole world was in terror. Everything was in a state of morbid excitement, and, as Ernst said, "watching like a dog for the morsel that the great Parisian theatrical manager might throw to it;" and here Richard interrupted him.

      Richard had a great love for established forms. He always expressed himself with moderation. Ernst, however, would allow his feelings to run away with him, and would often find that he had gone too far.

      Richard, who had had his younger brother at his side during the years spent at the Gymnasium, still regarded himself as a sort of teacher and guide to Ernst, and could hardly realize how that youth could have been so self-reliant as to get himself a bride under such peculiar circumstances.

      Richard confessed that he desired to achieve a career. "My time will come. Perhaps I may have to wait until I have gray hairs, or none at all; but I shall, at all events, not allow love to interfere with my plans. I shall not marry, unless under circumstances that will help to secure the end I have in view."

      I had accustomed myself to leave both sons undisturbed in their views of life. They both agreed in regarding me as an idealist, although their reasons for reaching this conclusion were dissimilar.

      I love to recall the passage in Plutarch's Lycurgus. The old men are singing, "We were once powerful youths;" the men sing, "But we are now strong;" and the youths sing, "But we will be still stronger than you are!"

      The world progresses, and every new generation must develop the old ideas and introduce new ones. It will go hard with us old folks to admit that these are better than ours; but they are so, nevertheless.

      When Richard was alone with me, he expressed his great delight in regard to his youngest brother; and as the journals of that day contained a call for participants in the German Expedition to the North Pole, Richard would gladly have seen Ernst take a part in the enterprise. He maintained that Ernst was endowed with qualities that would gain him distinction as a student of nature, and that a voyage of discovery would make a hero of him. For he had invincible courage, fertility of invention, fine perception, and much general knowledge, combined with the ability to see things as they are.

      Ernst was full of youthful buoyancy, just as he had been in the earliest years of his student life. He was the life of the house, constantly singing and yodling; and his special enthusiastic friend, Rothfuss, one day said to me while in the stable, "I knew it. I knew all about it. Our Ernst cannot come to harm. Why, just listen to his singing. A tree where a bird builds its nest is in no danger from vermin."

      CHAPTER XV

      At a meeting of the burgomasters of the neighborhood, held on New Year's day, it was determined to call a general meeting of electors, to assemble in the chief town of the district, and to receive a report in regard to the last session of the Parliament.

      On New Year's Day Ernst left us, as the Prince and his ministers intended to hunt during the next few days in the district which was in charge of his chief.

      When he was about to leave, Martella said to him, "You have good reason to feel happy. The walls have heard you with joy, and every being in there thinks well of you and me."

      "And you?" asked he.

      "I need not be thinking of you. For you are my other self."

      It was a clear, mild, winter day when, accompanied by Joseph and Richard, I drove to the neighboring town in which the meeting was to be held. It was Richard's intention to return to the University at the close of the meeting.

      Rothfuss had fully recovered. Displaying his new stockings, and wearing his forester's coat, he sat up on the driver's box, while he managed the bays. Although he entertained a deep contempt for mankind in general, and for that portion of it that lived in our neighborhood in particular, he was always willing to take part in anything that was done in my honor.

      He often remarked that the people did not deserve that one should walk three steps for their sake. He would never forget the way in which they had treated the chieftains of 1848; or that a man like Ludwig, to whom he always accorded most generous praise, was obliged to leave his home, while no one had a thought for him, or for the one who had suffered himself to be imprisoned for his sake.

      The road led through the valley, and was cheerful with the sound of the sleigh-bells. Rothfuss cracked his whip, and soon distanced all the other drivers.

      Here and there, sleighs might be seen coming down the hillside. At the village taverns, teams were resting, and from every window, as well as from passers on the highway, came respectful greetings, and at times even enthusiastic