CHAPTER XI.

At Last.

For some time Wally's moods had been almost unendurable. The whole night through she would wander about in the open air; by day she was full of unceasing and indomitable energy, labouring restlessly early and late, and expecting every one else to do the same--an impossibility for most people. Vincenz might now venture to call again, for he always knew the latest news in the valley--and Wallburga had all at once grown eager for news. When Vincenz perceived this, he made it his express business to enquire far and near, so as always to have some new thing to retail to Wally, who thus became gradually accustomed to see him every day. He soon observed that she always showed more curiosity about Soelden and Zwieselstein than about any other place, and cunning as he was, he easily discovered the reason. He constantly brought word of the continued intimacy between Joseph and Afra; it was news that threw Wally into the most frightful agitation, but he feigned not to perceive this, and cautiously avoiding any mention of his own love, succeeded in making her feel secure and trustful with him. But he was consumed with jealousy of Joseph; that Hagenbach was the curse of his life. There was no glory in which he had not anticipated him, no deed of valour in which he had not stood before him, no match at skittles or at shooting at which he had not carried off the prize, and now he had taken from him Wally's heart also--Wally's heart, which his persistent suit might perhaps have won, had not Joseph been there. "Why does God Almighty pour everything down on one man and deal so niggardly with another?" growled Vincenz, and tormented himself secretly as much as Wally did. If they had only done their lamentations and grumbling together, it would have been enough to desolate the whole Oetz valley!

One evening--it was in haytime--Wally was helping to load a large hay-cart; the load was ready and only the great crossbar had to be set in its place, but the hay was piled so high that the men could not throw it across. When they had got it half way up, they let it slip again, laughing and playing foolish tricks the while. Wally's patience all at once gave way. "Get out, you blockheads," she exclaimed, and mounted on the waggon, pushing the men to right and left out of her way; then drawing in the rope, she pulled up the crosstree, seized hold of one end of it with both her rounded arms, and with a single jerk hoisted it on to the waggon. A shout of admiration broke from all; the girls laughed at the men for not being able to do what a woman had done, and the men scratched their heads and thought that all could not be as it should be with the mistress, and that the devil must have a hand in it.

Wally stood on the waggon, and looked at the red setting sun. In her attitude and on her features was an expression of proud satisfaction; once more she had felt the certainty that not one was her equal, and strong in her sense of power, she was ready to challenge the whole world.

At that moment Vincenz came up. "Wally," he called out to her, "thou looks like Queen Potiphar on the elephant. If Joseph had seen Potiphar like that, for certain he'd not have been so bashful."

Wally turned crimson at these offensive words, and sprang down from the waggon. "I forbid such jests with me," she said, when she was on the ground.

"Nay," disclaimed Vincenz, "I meant no harm; but thou looked so handsome up there, it came out without thinking: it shall not happen again."

They walked on silently together.

"What news is stirring?" asked Wally at last, according to custom.

"Not much," said Vincenz; "they say that Hagenbach is going to take the maid Afra to the dance at Soelden on St. Peter's Day. I heard it from the messenger who had had to fetch a new pair of shoes from Imst for Afra, and a silk neckerchief, and Joseph paid for them." Wally bit her lips and said nothing, but Vincenz saw what was passing in her mind.

"I tell thee what," said Vincenz, "we also do things in style on St. Peter's Day, and if the peasant-mistress would come, there would be a feast to be talked of far and wide; come for once with me to the dance."

Wally gave her head a short toss. "I'm the right sort to go to dances," she said.

"Nay go, Wally," urged Vincenz, "just for once, if it's only to spite people."

"Much I care for them," said Wally, laughing contemptuously.

"But think a bit, people say--" he paused.

Wally stood still. "What do they say?" she asked, looking at him piercingly.

Vincenz shrank back at the expression on her countenance, "I only mean that they say thou's got some secret trouble. The upper servant says thou wast out the whole night, and goes wandering about like a sick chicken. And folk say thou'st everything heart can desire, and suitors as many as the sand on the seashore, so if thou's not content with that, there must be some love-sorrow on thy mind--and ever since what happened at the Procession--"

"Well! go on!" said Wally huskily.

"Since then they say that Joseph is the only lad in the Oetz valley that thou cares to catch--and that he won't bite."

He darted a lightning glance at Wally as he said the words; they touched her to the quick. She had to stand still and lean her forehead against the trunk of a tree, the blood throbbed so in her temples.

"And if it is so, if they do say such things behind my back--" she gasped, but she could not finish; a sudden mist seemed to cloud and confuse all her thoughts.

Vincenz gave her time to recover herself; he knew what it must be to her, for he knew her pride. After a time he said,

"Look here, it seems to me thou'd best come with me to the dance; that were the best way to stop peoples' mouths."

Wally drew herself up. "I go with no lad to the dance that I don't mean to marry--that I tell thee once for all!" she said.

"If I was thee, I'd sooner marry Vincenz Gellner than die an old maid for love of Hagenbach," said Vincenz sneeringly.

Wally looked at him with newly-awakened aversion. "I wonder thou'rt not tired of that," she said; "when thou knows well it's all of no good."

"Wally, I ask thee for the last time, can thou not bring thyself to think of me as a husband?"

"Never--never! sooner will I die," she said.

Vincenz' sharp and prominent cheek bones became white spots on his yellow face; he looked almost like the vulture, glancing sideways at Wally, as at some defenceless prey. "I'm sorry, Wally," he said, "but I've somewhat to say to thee--something that I'd fain have spared thee, but thou forces me to it. I've given thee a twelvemonth, and now I must speak." He drew a written sheet of paper from his pocket. "It's nigh upon a year since thy father died, and if thou doesn't marry me at the year's end thy right to the farm is over."

Wally stared at him.

He unfolded the paper. "Here's thy father's will, by which he appoints that if thou don't marry me by a twelvemonth after his death, the farm and all belonging to it is mine, and thou gets no more than he was bound by law to leave thee. There'll be an end then of the proud peasant-mistress. As yet, no one knows of this. Thou can turn it over once more, and in the end I fancy thou'll give in, sooner than go with me before the justices, and have the will carried out."

Wally stood still, and measured Vincenz from head to foot with a single glance of cold contempt, then said with perfect calmness: "Oh thou pitiful fool! In _this_ net then thou'st thought to catch the Vulture-maiden? You are a pair, thou and my father, but neither one nor the other of you knew me. What do I care for money or property? That which I want cannot be bought with gold, and so I care nothing for it. On Monday will I pack up my things, and go away again, for thy guest I'll never be--no, not for an hour. And if it gives me pain to leave this farm, where I first saw the light--still, I've been no happier as mistress than when I minded the cattle--and as much a stranger here as there. So it's all for the best, and I'll leave the place, and go away as far as I can."

Calmly she turned towards the house. A wild anguish seized Vincenz; he threw himself at her feet, and clasped her knees. "I never meant that," he cried, "thou mustn't go away,--for God's sake, don't serve me so--what do I want with the farm? I only meant--my God, my God--only to try everything!" With one hand he held Wally fast, with the other he thrust the paper into his mouth, and tore it with his teeth. "There, there, see, there goes the scrawl--I'll have none of the farm, if thou'll not stay--there--there--" he strewed the fragments to the wind, "I want nothing--nothing--only don't thou serve me so--don't go away!"

Wally looked at him in wonder. "I pity thee, Vincenz, but I cannot help thee--no more than I myself am helped. Keep thou the farm and all that belongs to it; my father left it to thee, and that remains the same, although thou hast torn up the will--I'll take nothing as a gift from thee. Everything here is hateful to me, even now--why should I wait? No one is any good to me, nor I to any one. I'll take my Hansl, and go up again to the mountain--that is where I belong. But if I might ask thee one thing--tell no one till I'm gone that the farm was never mine; for thou seest--there's one thing I cannot bear--that folk should make fun of me. That--that drives me mad. Think of the pointing, and the scorn when they know that the proud Wally Stromminger has been turned out of house and home like a maidservant--I couldn't live through it. Let me at least go forth as mistress."

"Wally," cried Vincenz, "where thou goest, I will go. Thou cannot hinder me--the roads are free to all, and he who will, may run. If thou'rt resolved to leave--I go with thee."

Wally looked at him with amazement, as he stood there raving before her, and she shuddered as though she had raised some evil spirit. "What will come of it all?" she murmured helplessly.

At this moment the messenger from Soelden was seen coming across the meadows from the house straight towards Wally. He had a big nosegay in his hat and in his Sunday-coat, like a bridal messenger.

"He's come to bid thee to Joseph and Afra's wedding," cried Vincenz with a wild laugh. Wally's foot stumbled against something; she caught hold of Vincenz, and he seized her round the waist and held her.

Meanwhile the messenger came up, and took off his hat to Wally. "Good day to thee, Mistress. Joseph Hagenbach sends thee friendly greeting, and asks thee to the dance on St. Peter's Day. If it's thy pleasure, he will come up at noon and fetch thee down to the Stag. Thou'lt send an answer by me."

If Heaven itself had opened before Wally, and Hell before Vincenz, it would have been much the same thing.

Then it was not true about Afra! He had come to Wally--he had come after five years of sorrow and suffering--at last, at last! The word was spoken--the winds bore it triumphantly onwards, the breezes echoed it back again, the white glaciers smiled at it in the evening sunshine; Joseph the Bear-hunter bade the Vulture-maiden to the dance! The labourers in the field shouted, the waggons swayed beneath their loads, the vulture on the roof flapped his wings for joy--the two who belonged to one another were come together at last!

Joy to all mankind: the race of giants would live again in this one pair. And smiling graciously, like a Queen beneath the myrtle crown, Wally bowed her beautiful head and told the messenger, half-bashfully, that she should expect Joseph.

Vincenz leaned against a tree, distorted, faded, mute--a ghost of the past.

Wally threw him a compassionate glance--he was no longer to be dreaded: she bore a charmed life, none could hurt or harm her more. She hastened into the house, and the servants looked at her wonderingly, such rapture lay in her expression. But she could not stay indoors; she took money, and went through the village like a bliss-bestowing fairy. She entered all the poorest huts, and gave with liberal hand out of that which she could rightfully and lawfully call her own,[2] for she had decided irrevocably that the farm should belong to Vincenz. She was still rich enough to give to Joseph, and to all around her--even her rightful share of Stromminger's estate was a fortune. She must do good to all; she could not bear alone her newly-learnt, immeasurable happiness.

The two days before St. Peter's festival were like a fairy tale to all the villagers. Who could now recognize the morose and bitter Vulture-maiden in the beatified girl who moved about as though borne on invisible wings? It had needed but this one ray of sunshine, and the hail-stricken, frost-bitten blossom had sprung up again. An inexhaustible power made itself felt in her bosom, a power for love as for hatred, for joy as for pain, for self-sacrifice as for defiance. All around her breathed more freely; it was as though a spell had been taken off them since Wally's dark repining spirit, that had weighed like a storm-cloud upon everything, had melted away.

"When one is as happy as I am, every one else should rejoice too," she said; and soon it was known everywhere that it was because Joseph had asked her to the dance--which was almost the same as asking her in marriage--that Wally was so changed. Why should she conceal it, when in so few days it would be known? why should she deny that she loved him with all her heart, above everything? he deserved it all, and he loved her in return, or he would not be coming to fetch her to the dance. It was well for her that she dared to show all that she felt. If she met a child she took it in her arms, and told it how, on St. Peter's Day, Joseph the bear-hunter was coming--Joseph, who had slain the great bear, and saved the innkeeper's little Lieserl from the mad bull, and how they would all open their eyes, he was so tall, and so beautiful to look at--they had never seen such a man, for there was not such another in all the wide world. The children were quite excited, and played all day at Bear and Joseph the bear-hunter. Then she joked with Hansl, threatening him playfully. "Thou'rt to behave thyself when Joseph comes, else something will happen--that I can tell thee!" and Klettenmaier and all the best of the servants had new holiday-clothes--they knew well enough the reason why; but Wally let them chatter as they would about it, and was not angry.

Then again she would sit for hours quietly in her room, doing nothing, wondering only how it had happened that Joseph had so suddenly changed his mind; but however much she thought and thought she could not understand why the unhoped-for happiness, so sudden, so full, so complete, had come upon her; and she looked up at her holy images, no longer with enmity, but with friendly eyes, and thanked them for all the good that they had brought to her. But when she looked at the cards that were nailed up above her bed, she laughed aloud. "Well, what do you now say? Own that you knew nothing of what was coming!" and like enchanted spirits that no liberating spell can call forth again into the light, the secrets of the future stared unintelligibly at her from these mute tokens. If only old Luckard had been there, she could have told what it was the cards replied to Wally--but to her they were dumb, like a cipher of which the key is lost. If Luckard had been alive, how rejoiced she would have been! Wally would have liked to lie down and sleep till the day of the festival, so that the time might not appear so long. But there was no question of sleep; she could not even close an eye by day or by night for impatience. She was always counting, "Now so many hours more--now so many--"

At last the day was come. After breakfast Wally went to her room, and washed herself, and combed her hair without end. Once more she was a woman--a girl! Once more she stood before the glass, and adorned herself, and looked to see if she were fair, if she might hope to find favour in Joseph's eyes; and once more she had procured a new necklace, even more beautiful than the first, and filigree pins for her hair as well. The box was on the table before her, she took out the ornament, and tied it above her bodice; the bright silver was as white as the snowy pleated sleeves of her chemise and tinkled like clear marriage-bells, and through the rose-coloured chintz curtains a dim rosy light shed a tender mist of bridal-glow over the girl's noble figure. When she was ready, she took from its case a meerschaum pipe heavy with silver, such as no peasant of the country had far and wide--a really splendid pipe--and yet she held it long in her hand, doubting whether it were good enough for Joseph. And still there was something else, that she took out slowly, almost timidly, looking at the door to see if it were securely fastened; it was a small round box, and in it there lay--a ring. She trembled as she took it out, and a tear of unutterable joy and thankfulness glistened in her eye. She held the ring in her folded hands, and for the first time for many days she knelt down, and she prayed over it that the beloved one might be linked to her for ever. And she no longer heard the rustle of her silks, and the tinkle of her silver ornaments; she was lost in the passionate fervour of her prayers; she pressed forward as it were to the presence of God with the vehemence of a thankful child whose father has granted its warmest desire.

"The mistress will never have done with dressing herself to-day," said the maids outside, as Wally did not appear.

Already the peasants were flocking to the Stag. Whoever had feet to go on, and Sunday-clothes to go in, would be there to-day, for the whole village was stirred by the great event of the peasant-mistress going to the dance with Joseph Hagenbach. The road swarmed with people, and the landlord of the Stag had done his best, and sent for musicians to come from Imst.

The upper maid-servant stood at the dormer-window above, and looked down the road by which Joseph must come. Wally stood ready dressed in her room; her heart beat like a sledge-hammer, her cheeks glowed, her hands were icy-cold, she held her white neatly-folded handkerchief pressed tightly to her heart--it had been her mother's wedding handkerchief. The pipe and the ring for Joseph she had hidden away in her pocket; so she waited motionless whilst the minutes passed by, and this silent pause of expectation, in which her breath almost failed her for impatience, was certainly one of the hardest experiences of her life.

"They're coming, they're coming!" cried the maid at last. "Joseph and a crowd of other lads from Zwieselstein and Soelden, and the landlord of the Lamb--it's a regular procession!"

Everyone ran out into the courtyard; already the noise of the approaching steps and voices could be heard in Wally's room. She came out, and a general "Ah!" of admiration broke from all as she appeared.

At the same moment the procession approached the farm-gate, Joseph at its head. She went forward to meet him, modestly but with the beaming loftiness of a bride who is proud of her bridegroom--proud to have been chosen by such a man.

"Joseph, art thou there?" she said, and her voice sounded soft and loving as she had never spoken before. Joseph glanced at her with a strange, almost a shamefaced look, and then cast his eyes down again.

Wally was startled--was it on purpose, or was it by accident? Joseph had placed his black-cock feather upside down, as the young men are in the habit of doing when they seek a quarrel. It could only have happened from an oversight today!

Every one stood round and watched her; she was so anxious that she could say no more, and he also was silent. She looked at him with eyes full of fervent moisture, but his avoided hers. He was as much embarrassed as she was, she thought.

"Come," he said at last, and offered his hand. She laid hers in it, and they silently walked as far as the Stag. The strangers and all the servants closed the procession.

As, sometimes, when we have gazed at the sun, all grows black before us, even in full daylight, so now with Wally in the midst of her happiness, all suddenly grew dark to her soul. She knew not how it was; she was bewildered and hardly knew herself--it was all so different from what she had imagined.

A noisy countrydance was beginning as they entered the Stag, and as Wally passed down the long rows of dancers with Joseph, she heard the people say: "There is not a handsomer couple in the whole world." She now saw for the first time how many strangers had come with Joseph, and that all her rejected suitors were there also. Once more she silently compared them with Joseph, and she could truly say there was not one of them who came up to him for stature and beauty. He was a king among the peasants, a mortal of quite another stamp to the ordinary men who stood around him, and her eye rested with silent delight on the tall figure, from his broad chest down to his slender knees and ankles. Any one seeing him thus must surely understand that him only would she have, and none other.

As she looked round, her glance met two piercing black eyes directed like daggers at Joseph. It was Vincenz, wedged in among the crowd. And not far off was another melancholy face--that of Benedict Klotz, who observed her thoughtfully. As she passed him, he pulled her gently back by the sleeve. "Mind what thou'rt about, Wally," he whispered, "there's some plot against thee--I don't know what, but I forebode no good."

Wally shrugged her shoulders carelessly. What harm could happen to her, when Joseph was at her side?

The sets formed for the dance, and Joseph and Wally were to begin; every one wanted to see them dance together. No couple had yet been watched with such envious eyes as this well-dressed, distinguished-looking pair. Joseph, however, moved away from Wally's side, and stood before her with something of solemnity in his air.

"Wally," he said aloud, and the music stopped at a sign from the host of the Lamb, who stood behind them, "I hope that before we dance together, thou'lt give me the kiss that no one of thy suitors has yet been able to win from thee?"

Wally coloured and said softly, "But not here Joseph, not before everyone."

"Precisely here, before everyone," said Joseph, with strong emphasis.

For a moment Wally struggled between desire and sweet embarrassment; to kiss a man before all these people was to her chaste and half-defiant spirit a severe humiliation. But there he stood before her, the man so dear to her heart; the moment for which she would joyfully have given a year of her life--nay her life itself--was there, and should she reject it for the sake of a few bystanders who could do her no harm, if she did kiss her bridegroom? She raised her beautiful face to his, and his eyes were fixed for a moment on the full and blooming lips that approached his own. Then with an involuntary movement, he pushed her gently from him, saying softly,

"Nay, not so; a true hunter shoots his game only on the spring or on the wing--that I told thee once before. The kiss I'll wrest from thee, not take it as a gift. And were I a maid like thee, I'd give myself away less cheaply. Defend thyself, Wally, that I may win no easier than the others, else my honour is lost."

A scarlet blush overspread Wally's face; she could have sunk into the ground for shame. Had she then so completely forgotten what she owed to herself, that her lover must remind her of it? She was crimson to her very eyes--it was as though a wave of blood were surging to her brain. Drawing herself up to her full height, with one flaming glance she measured herself with him. "Good," she said, "thou shalt have thy will--thou also shalt learn to know the Vulture-maiden. Look to thyself, whether now thou'lt get the kiss!"

She was almost suffocated. She tore off her neckerchief and stood there in her silver-clasped velvet bodice and white linen chemise, so that Joseph's eyes rested in amazement on her beautiful bare neck. "Thou'rt handsome--as handsome as thou'rt wicked," he muttered, and springing on her, as a hunter springs on a wild animal to give the death-blow, he threw his strong arms round her neck. But he did not know the Vulture-maiden. With one powerful wrench she was free, and there was a laugh of derision from all those with whom it had fared no better, that maddened Joseph. He seized her round the waist with arms of iron, but she struck him such a blow on the heart, that he cried out and staggered backwards. Renewed laughter! With this blow, of which she knew the value, she had always defended herself against her importunate suitors, for none had held out after it. But Joseph smothered his pain, and with redoubled fury threw himself again on the girl, seized her by the arms with both hands, and so tried to approach her lips; but in an instant she bent herself down on one side, and now ensued a breathless struggle up and down, to and fro, an oppressive silence broken only by an occasional oath from Joseph. The girl bowed and twisted herself hither and thither like a snake in his arms, so that he could never reach her mouth. It was no longer a strife for love--it was a struggle for life and death. Three times he had got her down to the ground, three times she sprang up again; he lifted her in his arms, but she always twisted herself round, and he could not touch her lips. Her fine linen hung in rags, her silver necklace was all broken to pieces. Suddenly she freed herself, and flew to the doorway; he overtook her, and like a stormwind tore her back into his arms. It was a fierce and glowing embrace. His breath floated round her like hot steam; she lay on his breast; she felt his heart beat against her own; her strength left her, she fell on her knees before him, and said, as if fainting with pain, and shame, and love, "Thou hast me!"

"Ah!" a heavy sigh broke from Joseph. "You have all of you seen it?" he asked aloud--he bent down and pressed his mouth upon her hot and quivering lips. A loud hurrah filled the room. She got up and sank almost senseless on his breast.

"Stay!" he said in a hard voice, and stepped back a little, "ONE kiss is enough--no need of more. Thou'st seen now that I can master thee--and no further will I go."

Wally stared at him, as if she could not understand his words. She was of an ashy paleness.

"Joseph," she stammered, "why then art thou come?"

"Didst think I had come to woo thee?" he answered. "Lately at the procession thou'st said before everyone that Afra was my sweetheart, because she was so easy to be had,--and that Joseph the bear-slayer had not the heart to try and win the Vulture-Wally. Didst truly think a lad with any spirit in him would let such things be said of him and of an honest girl? I only wished to show thee that I can master thee as I can a bear, or a mad bull, and the kiss I have won from thee, that will I take to Afra, as a kiss of atonement for the wrong that thou hast done her. Now take heed to thyself another time when thy haughty temper moves thee. Henceforth, perhaps, thou'll forego the pleasure of holding up a poor and honest girl to scorn and derision--now that thou'st felt what it is to be a laughing-stock thyself."

A shout of laughter from all sides closed Joseph's speech, but he turned with displeasure from the applause. "You have seen that I've kept my word," he said, "and now I must go to Zwieselstein to comfort Afra. The good soul wept to think that I should play the peasant-mistress such a shabby trick. God keep you all."

He went, but they all ran after him; it had been too good a joke. Joseph was something like a man. He had shown the proud peasant-mistress that she had a master.

"It will do her good!"

"It will serve her right!"

"Joseph, that's the best day's work thou's ever done."

"No one'll have anything to do with her, when this is known."

Thus laughed the chorus of rejected suitors, as they crowded joyfully round Joseph.

The dancing-floor was deserted--only two persons remained with Wally, Vincenz and Benedict. Wally stood still in the same place and did not stir; it was as if she were lifeless.

Vincenz watched her with folded arms. Benedict went up to her and took her gently by the arm. "Wally, don't take it so to heart--we are here, and we'll get satisfaction for thee. Wally--speak. What shall we do? we are all ready, only say what thou'd have us to do."

Then she turned round, her large eyes had a ghostly gleam in them, her face was ghastly pale. She opened and closed her lips once or twice, one word there was she struggled to utter, but it seemed as if the breath to speak it failed her. At last she brought it out, as from the very depths of her being,--more a cry than a word: "DEAD would I have him!"

Benedict drew back. "God forbid, Wally!" he said.

But Vincenz stepped forward with flashing eyes. "Wally, art thou in earnest?"

"Ay, in bloody earnest!" She lifted her hand at the oath, her hand was quite stiff and the nails blue, as in one dead. "He who lays him dead at his Afra's feet--him will I marry, as truly as I am Wallburga Stromminger."