The Grandmother. Божена Немцова

known my wants, asking for his help and guidance. My father praised me, said that I was pious, held me up as an example to the other children, who performed ​their devotions carelessly, often dozing or pushing each other; they did not see before them the living Christ!"

      Madame Nemec was not the worshiper of mere culture. In one of her letters is the following:

      "You say that you desire nothing so much as culture. Believe me, if you knew the nature of culture here (in Germany) as it is exhibited in its results, you would be astonished. Above all things I desire to protect my children against this culture. I know not what to think! My highest aspirations, too, were to gain culture; and yet to-day I have the conviction that more precious than all learning is simplicity of manner and purity of heart. I see here among the cultured a contempt for worthy sentiments; I see the conceptions of virtue perverted or uprooted, and this not only among individuals, but throughout society. Domestic happiness, sincere love and tenderness, these are unknown. This culture of which the wealthy boast forms a deeper and deeper abyss betwen the learned and the unlearned, the rich and the poor, and who is there to reconcile these opposites?"

      The works of Madame Nemec were collected and published, in 1862, in eight volumes, and again, in 1875, in six volumes. The Grandmother is without question her best work, but The Mountain Village is also a novel of much excellence. As a story, it is superior to the former, since it has a more developed plot; but as a picture of Bohemian life, it is too local and restricted. The other works consist of shorter stories, tales and fables, and Recollections from my Life in Hungary.

      Since the days of Madame Nemec many authors have arisen, and a great deal has been written that has been received with much favor by the public. As novelists, Mrs. Caroline Svetla, Alois Jirasek, Benes Trebisky, and, perhaps, some others are superior to Madame Nemec; but as a faithful artist of Bohemian country life,—one that saw and was able to reproduce the salient characteristics of the country people,—she has no equal; and her works will ever be regarded as a precious legacy to her people.

      1 ↑ One of the earliest novelists of this period in Bohemia.

      2 ↑ One of the patriots who fell a victim to Austrian intolerance.

      Chapter 1

       Table of Contents

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      THE GRANDMOTHER.

       Table of Contents

      CHAPTER I.

      IT was long, long ago, when last I gazed on that dear face, kissed those pale, wrinkled cheeks, and tried to fathom the depths of those blue eyes, in which were hidden so much goodness and love. Long ago it was when, for the last time, those aged hands blessed me. Our Grandmother is no more; for many a year she has slept beneath the cold sod.

      But to me she is not dead. Her image, with its lights and shadows, is imprinted upon my soul, and as long as I live, I shall live in her. Were I master of an artist's brush, how differently, dear Grandmother, would I glorify you! but this sketch—I know not, I know not how it will please. But you used to say, "Upon this earthy ball, not a soul that pleases all." If, then, a few readers shall find as much pleasure in reading about you as I do in writing, I shall be content.

      Grandmother had three children, a son and two daughters. For many years the older daughter lived with relatives in Vienna; when she married, the younger took her place. The son, a mechanic, worked at his trade in a small town in Bohemia, ​while Grandmother dwelt in a village upon the borders of Silesia. Her family consisted of herself and Betsey, an old servant who had been in the family ever since Grandmother could remember.

      Grandmother did not live the life of a recluse; all the people of the village were to her brothers and sisters; she was to them a mother, a counsellor, and a friend. No christening, wedding, or funeral could go on without her. The course of her life was so even, her days were so busy and happy, that she desired no change—she would have been content to live thus forever.

      This even course of life was disturbed by a letter. Grandmother often received letters from her children, but none ever came before, fraught with such momentous questions for her to solve. It was from her daughter in Vienna, who told her mother that her husband had obtained service in the household of a certain princess, whose estates were but a few miles distant from the village where Grandmother lived, and that he was to be at home with his family during the summer only, while the princess lived in the country, and therefore it was their earnest desire that Grandmother should come to live with them. Indeed, no excuse would be accepted, as both she and the children had set their hearts upon it and were eagerly looking for her arrival.

      Upon reading this letter Grandmother burst into tears. She did not know what to do. She loved her daughter, and her heart yearned towards her grandchildren whom she had not seen; on the other hand, the good people of the village were very dear to her, and it was hard to break away ​from all the old associations. But blood is thicker than water. After much tossing up of the matter, her maternal instincts came to the aid of her convictions, and she decided to go. The old cottage, with all it contained, was given over into the care of Betsey with these words: "I don't know how I shall like it there; and perhaps, after all, I shall die here among you."

      A few days after this a wagon stood at the door of the cottage. Wenzel, the driver, placed upon it Grandmother's large flowered chest; her feather-beds tied in a sheet; the spinning wheel, to her an indispensable piece of furniture; a basket, containing four top-knotted chickens; and a bag with a pair of party-colored kittens. Last, but not least, came Grandmother herself, her eyes red from weeping. It was no wonder that she wept; for around her stood the villagers, who had come to bid her farewell, and followed by their blessing she rode slowly to her new home.

      What bright anticipations, what rejoicing at The Old Bleachery,—for thus the people called the isolated house that had been assigned to Grandmother's daughter, Mrs. Proshek, as her home on the estates of the princess. Every few moments the children ran out to the road to see if Wenzel was coming; and every passer by heard the wondrous news that Grandma was coming. The children kept asking each other, "How do you suppose Grandma will look?"

      They knew several grandmas, whose images were curiously confounded in their little heads, and they could not decide to which of them their own could be compared.

      ​At last the long expected team arrived. "Grandma's come!" shouted the children in a chorus. Mr. and Mrs. Proshek rushed out to meet her; Betty, the maid, followed carrying the youngest child, and behind her came the three children accompanied by the two dogs, Sultan and Tyrol.

      The wagon stopped at the gate, and Wenzel helped a little old woman to alight. She was dressed in the garb of a peasant, having her head wrapped up in a large white kerchief. This was something the children had never seen before, and they stood still, their eyes fixed upon their grandmother. Mr. Proshek welcomed her cordially, her daughter embraced and kissed her, and Betty presented the dimpled cheeks of Adelka to be kissed. Grandmother smiled, called the child "her own sweet fledgling," and signed her with the cross. Then she turned to the other children and said: "O my darlings, my little ones, how I have longed to see you!" But the children, with downcast eyes, stood as if frozen to the spot, and uttered never a word; and not until they were ordered by their mother would they step forward to be kissed, and even then they could not recover from their amazement. They had known many grandmothers in their life, but never one like this; they could not turn their eyes from her; they walked round and round and examined her from head to foot.

      They wondered at the curious little coat, with its full pleating, like organ pipes, behind; the green linsey-wolsey petticoat, bordered with a wide ribbon was an object of great admiration;