Chapter VII: Johanna to Ludwig

"DOeNNINGHAUSEN, Dec. 19, 1873.

"... I have been here just a fortnight to-day, and feel
entirely at home. You cannot fancy how, after the sorrow and
agitation through which I so lately passed, I am soothed and
rested by the quiet life here, with its regular methodical
occupations. I accompany my grandfather every morning in his
rides to inspect his saw-mill, his wood-cutting, and his farms,
and in the evening I read aloud to him the newspapers and
magazines, an office silently transferred to me by Johann
Leopold. In the course of the day I go with Aunt Thekla to see
her poor people and the sick in the village, or we sew, or knit
Christmas-presents for her protegees. Aunt Thekla is a gentle
kindly soul. When Magelone awhile ago laughed at us for taking
such pains to manufacture what could so easily be bought in any
town, she said, 'You cannot imagine how I enjoy the thought
that the work of my hands, which would else have nothing to do,
may keep certain little feet warm as they run to school on some
cold morning, or may help to make the winter less intolerable
for the aged and bedridden.' Magelone could not understand
this, or perhaps she did not choose to understand it. She is a
puzzle to me; I cannot discover whether she is really
superficial by nature, or whether she tries to become so. She
wants to be entertained, amused, but every serious book tires
her, all really fine music gives her the headache, although she
is not frightened by technical difficulties, and in
conversation she insists upon changing the subject if it turns
upon anything save dress and society. Nevertheless, she is
admirably endowed intellectually as well as physically, and the
charm that she had for me when I first saw her has grown with
time. There is something odd and striking about her that rivets
one's interest. She is really short in stature, and yet her
graceful lithe figure in her long trains seems that of a tall,
slender woman; her hair is light brown or golden, according as
the light falls on it; her eyes one would call blue, another
gray, and a third green, and they would all be right; her smile
is that of a child, but in an instant there will be something
arch, mocking, even sneering, in it. One moment she will call
me awkward, pedantic, the next I am her comfort, her stay, the
friend for whom she has been longing. For a moment her whim
will be enthusiasm, and on a sudden she will turn herself and
everybody else into ridicule. Whether she enjoys doing this or
not I cannot say; I suspect she hardly knows herself.

"Johann Leopold's seeming indifference to her is very
extraordinary. Although she tells me that she thinks him
'awfully tiresome,' she sometimes makes a brilliant display of
coquetry in his honour, on which occasions he gazes at her with
lack-lustre eyes, not smiling at all, and even, if possible,
making no reply to her sallies. And these two are to marry each
other. Can you understand it?

"This morning I had a little adventure that gave me some
insight into Johann Leopold's character; until then I really
had not discovered in him one human emotion. Grandpapa had an
attack of gout, consequently could not ride out, and was
annoyed that his absence would delay some operations going on
in the new clearing. I offered to ride thither with Martin; so
I received my instructions and set forth.

"Beyond the village, in the valley, we met a labourer's wife,
who told me with tears that she was obliged to run to the
drug-shop, at least a mile and a half distant, for some
medicine for her sick husband, who must thus be left alone
with a little girl only six years old. Of course I sent the
woman back to her patient's bedside, despatching Martin upon
her errand, and struck into my beloved forest-path up the
mountain alone, or rather under Leo's protection.

"I had never ridden in this direction except in grandpapa's
company, when I had enjoyed immensely the grand old beeches at
the beginning of the way, the views of the village of
Doenninghausen, and of the opposite hills, which open out as the
path ascends the mountain-side, leading to the most magnificent
hemlocks that I have ever seen. Of the realm of magic and
enchantment of which I dreamed as I looked at my mother's
sketch of Doenninghausen I found no trace.

"To-day, however, the forest-sprites seemed determined to lead
me astray. Although, as far as I knew, I turned into the forest
at the right point, the hemlocks would not appear. The path
seemed uncommonly steep; on the left, crags which I did not
recognize thrust themselves forth from the shrubbery, but yet I
could not make up my mind to turn back. Perhaps this way also
might lead to my destination. At all events, fresh footprints
in the snow were evidence that both men and horses had preceded
me shortly before; and I rode on and on, although forced to
believe that my goal lay more to the right. The desire to
explore had taken possession of me. I could not but go on! The
air was exhilarating in its freshness, the sun shone, the snow
glittered upon the trees and bushes; the rocks on my left grew
more huge; gnarled roots twisted out from crevice and fissure;
a flock of screaming crows flew overhead, making the only sound
to be heard, save the rustling among the trees and the snorting
of my horse.

"At last--I had been riding perhaps an hour--I reached a small
plateau shaded by oaks; across my way ran a rude fence, the
gate in which my clever Leo opened, and soon after a peaked
roof, with a smoking chimney, appeared among some hemlocks. As
I approached, the horns nailed above the door told that it was
a forester's lodge, and I was greeted by the loud barking of
five or six dogs,--the only living creatures to be seen.

"I alighted, fastened Elinor's bridle to a tree, and, opening
the door, entered--followed by the noisy pack, which Leo
haughtily disdained to notice--a hall, around which were
several doors. I knocked at the right-hand one of these,--no
answer; at the left, where I heard voices, and instantly the
door was opened. An elderly woman, with an air of distress,
appeared, and in the background of the long, dim apartment
there stood, by a curtained bed, a figure which seemed familiar
to me. 'Johann Leopold!' I exclaimed involuntarily; and I was
not mistaken: he whom I addressed turned and came quickly
towards me.

"'Johanna, what brings you here?' he cried, with a certain
confusion of manner; and when I replied that I had lost my way,
he begged the woman to take me to her sitting-room, promising
to join me in a few moments.

"She conducted me to the opposite room; hurriedly offered me
some refreshment; begged pardon for leaving me alone, since she
must assist the gentleman with his patient, and vanished.

"I could not but see that my arrival here had been inopportune,
and I was just pondering whether I had not better make good my
retreat without waiting for Johann Leopold, when there arose a
loud barking again, and a forester whom I had now and then met
when with my grandfather passed the window.

"'Wife!' he called out, as he entered the house, and then I
heard him ask what the deuce was the meaning of the
Doenninghausen horse with the side-saddle, and whether the old
lady had come. I could not hear the woman's reply, but the man
declared in a harsh tone that he had had enough of secrets; the
fellow must leave the house to-day, for no one could expect him
to risk his daily bread for the sake of such a
good-for-nothing. He must leave immediately.

"'Fritz! Fritz! it may be his death, and he is my brother!' the
woman wailed. The man cut short her words with an oath; but
Johann Leopold's voice was now heard telling him to be quiet,
and all three came into the room together,--the woman with her
apron at her eyes, the man with gloomy looks, and Johann
Leopold with an air of energy that surprised me.

"'Dear Johanna,' he said, as the forester bowed sullenly,
'chance has here made you acquainted with circumstances which
must be withheld from our grandfather. You surely will promise
me and these worthy people to say nothing of what you have
seen, will you not?'

"'With all my heart,' I replied.

"The forester shrugged his shoulders. 'A young lady's
promise----' he began.

"'Kruger, remember to whom you are speaking,' Johann Leopold
interrupted him authoritatively. 'My cousin's promise is as my
own. I am going now to saddle my horse, and meanwhile you will
explain the matter to her.'

"With these words he left the room, and the woman followed him.
The forester gave him an angry look and then turned to me.

"'There's not much to explain,' he said, crossly. 'Red Jakob,
my wife's brother, is a good-for-nothing fellow, a brawler and
a poacher, whom our old master--Jakob used to be a servant at
the castle--dismissed from his service. But he is always coming
back here from Brunswick, where he had work in a saw-mill.
Early last Sunday I caught him in the very act of aiming at a
fine doe. I shouted to him. He made a leap over the rocks to
get off; fell, his gun went off, and a bullet pierced his arm.
What was I to do? I had to get him up here; but if the master
should hear of it the fellow would be sent to jail, and I never
could outlive the disgrace.'

"The man's blunt manner pleased me.

"'Grandpapa certainly shall not hear of it from me, forester,'
I said, and offered him my hand. He looked at me in surprise,
reddened, and took my hand, grasping it so tightly that I could
hardly help crying out. 'Thanks, Fraeulein,' he said, simply,
and, as Johann Leopold now made his appearance with his horse,
we left the lodge.

"While the forester helped me mount my horse, Johann Leopold
addressed him again in an arrogant tone: 'Remember, Kruger,
that I positively forbid the man to be moved. Until he is
recovered he stays here as my patient. Everything that he needs
is to be charged to me.'

"The forester's wife broke out into protestations of gratitude,
her husband muttered some unintelligible words, and we rode
off.

"When Johann Leopold learned my errand, he offered to guide me
by a road over the mountain to the clearing, and we agreed to
tell grandpapa that we had met, but to say nothing further.
Johann Leopold told me that 'Red Jakob' had been his most
cherished playmate when they were boys. No one could approach
him in the knowledge of the woods and fields. He knew every
plant, every stone, and every animal of the country; the habits
of the game, the holes of the foxes, and the nests of the
birds.

"'He was a born Nimrod,' he added, 'and would have made a far
better lord of Doenninghausen than I shall ever be; but in the
sphere of life to which he belongs his tastes and talents are a
stumbling block to him.'

"I asked him whether he did not think that a place could be
found in the world for every kind of talent. He shook his head.
'There may be a place,' he replied, 'but occupied by some one
who does not feel himself authorized to resign it. Take me for
an example. No one knows better than I how unfit I am to be the
heir of Doenninghausen. My capabilities and my inclination lead
me to the study, or to the bedside of the sick. Nevertheless I
cannot decide to resign my position, and when an inferior
opposes me, as the forester did awhile ago, my hot blood, or my
acquired arrogance, asserts the mastery, and I should like to
put the fellow in irons. And yet I am theoretically convinced
of the equal rights of mankind.'

"This conversation gave me food for reflection. I wonder
whether Johann Leopold acquiesces in a marriage with Magelone,
from an idea of the requirements of his rank, or whether, under
apparent indifference, he does not really feel an interest in
the enchanting siren. As I have been mistaken with respect to
his outward life, I may also be in appreciation of his mind and
heart. For example, during our ride I learned that instead of
leading the owlish existence which Magelone ascribes to him, he
is the physician of the poor for miles around the country,
providing them himself with all the needed medicaments. My
grandfather must know nothing of this; he would call it all
quackery, and would consider it an insult offered to worthy old
Dr. Francke, who has been the physician at Doenninghausen for
the last thirty years.

"As for myself, I get on very well with grandpapa. I was rather
uncertain as to how he would receive the intelligence that I
had sent off Martin and undertaken the forest ride alone, but
he was pleased and praised me. 'That's right, child; never
delay where help is needed, is my maxim.' Nevertheless, he is
usually, as he says himself, apt to be cross. To be tied to his
room and to his arm-chair by gout at Christmas-time, when all
the family assemble here, is a hard trial for an impatient
temperament. Aunt Thekla says we must look for stormy times."

"December 23.

"I have not been able to write for the last few days, but this
letter must go to-day, that you may have it for a
Christmas-greeting. Day before yesterday the cousins arrived
with husbands and belongings,--Hildegard, with two children;
Hedwig, with three, beside nurses and lady's-maids. Both
mothers look like Aunt Thekla,--tall, slender, fair, and rather
stately. They have rosy cheeks, abundant hair, and bright
light-blue eyes, are vain of their looks, of their husbands and
children, of their name and social position, and mutually
endeavour to outshine each other in the splendour of their
attire. With Magelone they wage a very amusing petty warfare.
Their husbands, twin-brothers, are strikingly alike,--fair and
stately like their wives, but better-natured, gayer, more at
their ease. Eduard, Hedwig's husband, distinguished himself in
the Schleswig-Holstein war, whence come his stiffened arm and
several orders,--a _creve-coeur_, as Magelone maintains, for
Hildegard, whose Karl has only won peaceful laurels as an
orator at agricultural meetings. To-morrow afternoon the
brothers of the sisters are coming. The festival takes place in
the evening.

"Grandpapa is unfortunately still obliged to be pushed from one
room to another in his wheeled chair. His great-grand-children
must be with him as much as possible, and when the three boys,
respectively six, five, and four years old,--the little girls
are still in arms,--are romping about the spacious
drawing-room, his face clears up. His grand-daughters do not
seem very near to him, and it must pain him at these family
gatherings that he has no children to link him with the younger
generation.

"I had one distressing moment with him yesterday. Before the
second breakfast he sends off the post-boy. Every inmate of the
household brings or sends the letters, which grandpapa himself
locks into the bag. I had a Christmas-gift to send to Lisbeth,
and took the package to his room myself. How his eyes flashed
at me as he read the address!

"'A Christmas-gift for my little sister,' I replied to their
mute inquiry.

"'You have no sister, and no friendly correspondence with those
people shall be carried on from my house!' grandpapa fairly
roared. This was the voice of which Magelone had told me. But I
took courage, and said, in a trembling voice indeed, and
without looking up, 'Dear grandfather, I might have sent my
package secretly----'

"He stared at me, and his brow cleared. 'Do you love the
child?' he asked.

"'Yes, grandpapa!' I cried; 'and if you could see the dear
little creature----'

"'Enough, enough!' he interrupted me; and, laying the package
aside, he added, 'It shall go, Johanna, and you have done
well.'

"Since then he has been kinder than ever to me, perhaps on
account of my cousins, who tried to treat me coldly. The old
man has so emphatic a way of saying 'My grand-daughter
Johanna,' that they changed their tactics, and are now almost
amiable to me. Nevertheless, I like Doenninghausen better
without them, and am looking forward with pleasure to our quiet
days when they shall have departed."