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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Silent Mill
+
+Author: Hermann Sudermann
+
+Release Date: November 22, 2010 [EBook #34407]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT MILL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+   1. Page scan source:
+      http://www.archive.org/details/silentmill01sudegoog
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE SILENT MILL
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                              SILENT MILL
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+                           HERMANN SUDERMANN
+
+
+
+
+
+                                NEW YORK
+                               BRENTANO'S
+                               PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          Copyright, 1919, by
+                               BRENTANO'S
+
+                               *   *   *
+
+                          Copyright, 1917, by
+                        Story Press Corporation
+
+                               *   *   *
+
+                         _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE SILENT MILL
+
+
+No one can tell how many years ago it is was since the "Silent Mill"
+first received its name. As long as I can remember it has been an old,
+tumble-down structure, an ancient relic of long-forgotten times.
+
+Old, and weather-beaten, and roofless, its crumbling walls stretch
+upwards toward the sky, giving free access to every gust of wind. Two
+large, round stones that once, maybe, bravely fulfilled their task,
+have broken through the rotten wood-work and, obeying the natural law
+of gravitation, have wedged themselves deep into the ground.
+
+The large mill-wheel hangs awry between its moulding supports. The
+paddles are broken off, and only the spokes stick up into the air, like
+arms stretched forth to implore the "coup de grāce."
+
+Moss and lichen have clothed all in green, and here and there some
+water-cress puts forth its sickly green, sodden growth. From a
+half-broken pipe the water runs slowly down, trickles in sleepy
+monotony onto the spokes and breaks there, filling the surrounding air
+with fine, drizzling spray. Under a gray thicket of alders the
+little rivulet lies hidden in malodorous slothfulness, washed full of
+water-weeds and frog-spawn, choked up with mare's tail and flowering
+rushes. Only in the middle there trickles still a tiny stream of thick,
+black water, in which the little palegreen leaves of the duck-weed
+lazily drift along.
+
+But those long years ago the mill-stream flowed right gayly and
+jauntily; snow-white foam gleamed at the weir; the merry chatter of the
+wheels resounded as far as the village; in long rows the carts drove in
+and out of the mill-yard; and far into the distance there echoed the
+mighty voice of the old miller.
+
+Rockhammer was his name, and all who saw him felt that he did honor to
+it, too. What a man he was! He had it in him to blast rocks. Of course
+there was no such thing as trying to bully or contradict him, for it
+only served to make him perfectly wild with rage: he would clench his
+fists; the veins on his temples would swell up like thick thongs; and
+when he started swearing into the bargain, every being trembled before
+him, and the very dogs fled in terror to their kennels. His wife was a
+meek, gentle, yielding creature. How could it be otherwise? Not
+for twenty-four hours would he have endured at his side a more
+sturdy-natured being, who might have attempted to preserve even the
+shadow of an independent will. As it was, the two lived together fairly
+well, happily one might almost have said, had it not been for his fatal
+temper, which broke forth wildly at the slightest provocation and
+caused the quiet woman many a tearful hour.
+
+But she shed most tears when misfortune's hand fell heavily upon her
+children. Three had been born to them--bonny, healthy, sturdy boys.
+They had clear, blue eyes, flaxen hair and, above all, "a pair of
+promising fists," as their father was wont to declare with pride,
+though the youngest, who was still in his cradle, could as yet only
+make use of his to suck at them. The two elder boys, however, were
+already splendid fellows. How defiantly they looked about them, how
+haughtily they took up their stand! With their heads thrown back and
+their hands in their trousers pockets, each seemed to assert: "I am my
+father's son. Who'll dare me?"
+
+They fought each other all day long and it was their father himself who
+always goaded them on. And if their mother in her terror intervened and
+begged them to be at peace with one another, she got laughed at into
+the bargain for her fears. The poor woman lived in constant anxiety
+about her wild boys, for she saw to her terror that both had inherited
+their father's violent temper. Once already she had only just arrived
+in the nick of time, when Fritz, then eight years old, was about to
+attack his brother, two years older than himself, with a large kitchen
+knife; and a half a year later the day really dawned on which her dark
+presentiments were realized.
+
+The two boys had been fighting in the yard, and Martin, the elder one,
+wild with rage because Fritz had beaten him, had hurled a stone at him
+and hit him so unfortunately at the back of his head that he fell down
+bleeding and immediately lost the power of speech. They could stanch
+the blood, and the wound healed up, but his speech did not return.
+Indifferent to all around, the boy sat there and let them feed him: he
+had become an idiot.
+
+It was a hard blow for the miller's family. The mother wept whole
+nights through, and even he, the energetic hard-working man, went about
+for a long time as if in a dream.
+
+But the perpetrator of the disastrous deed was the one most impressed
+by it. The defiant, boisterously happy boy was hardly recognizable. His
+exuberance of spirits had disappeared; he spent his days in silent
+brooding, obeyed his mother to the letter and, whenever possible,
+avoided joining in the games of his school-fellows.
+
+His love for his unfortunate brother was touching. When he was at home,
+he never stirred from his side. With superhuman patience he accustomed
+himself to the brutalized habits of the idiot, learned to understand
+his inarticulate sounds, fulfilled his every wish, and looked on
+smilingly when he destroyed his dearest toy.
+
+The invalid boy got so used to his companionship that he would not be
+without him. When Martin was at school, he cried incessantly and
+preferred to go hungry rather than take food and drink from anyone
+else.
+
+For three years he dragged on this miserable existence; then he began
+to ail and died.
+
+Though his death certainly came as a relief to the whole household, all
+mourned his loss sincerely, and Martin especially was inconsolable.
+During the first months he wandered out daily to the cemetery and often
+had to be torn by force away from the grave. Only very gradually he
+grew calmer, chiefly through intercourse with the youngest boy,
+Johannes, to whom he now appeared to transfer the intense love which he
+had lavished upon his dead brother.
+
+As long as the invalid lived, he had taken little notice of Johannes,
+for he seemed to think it almost sinful to give even the merest
+fraction of his affection to any one else. Now that death had robbed
+him of the poor unfortunate, an invincible longing drew him towards his
+younger brother--as if by his love for him he might fill the agonizing
+void which the loss of his victim had left in him as if he might atone
+toward the living for what he had inflicted on the dead.
+
+Johannes was at that time a fine lad of five, already quite a little
+man, who was to have his first pair of stout boots at next fair-time.
+He seemed to have inherited nothing of his father's harsh, defiant
+nature; he took much more after his gentle, quiet mother, to whom he
+clung specially as her pet, and whose very idol he was. Not hers alone,
+though, for all in the house spoiled and petted him, their sunbeam,
+their source of joy.
+
+Indeed, none who saw him could help loving him! His long, fair hair
+gleamed like so many sunbeams, and in his eyes, which could twinkle so
+merrily and at other times gaze so dreamily, there lay depths of
+goodness and love. He attached himself fervently to his elder brother,
+who had so long neglected him; but the disparity in their ages--they
+were nearly nine years apart--did not allow of purely brotherly
+relations between them.
+
+Martin was already at the close of his boyhood; his serious, thoughtful
+mien and measured, old-fashioned speech made him appear older than he
+was. Besides, he was already destined to commence work in the following
+year. Under these circumstances it was only natural that he should
+assume a somewhat fatherly tone towards his younger brother, and though
+he was not ashamed to join in his childish games and to be driven as
+his patient horse with a "gee-up" and a "whoa," through the mill-yard
+and across the fields, there was even in this more of the smiling
+indulgence of a kindly tutor than of the spontaneous pleasure of an
+older playmate.
+
+The affectionate-natured boy, craving for love and sympathy, gave
+himself up heart and soul to his big brother. He recognized his
+boundless authority more even than that of his father and mother, who
+were further removed from his childish sphere--and when school-days
+commenced and Martin proved such a patient helper in word and deed
+whenever lessons were hard, then the younger boy's veneration for his
+elder brother knew no bounds. Old Rockhammer was the only one who was
+not pleased with the closeness of their friendship. They were too
+sweet; they "slobbered" each other too much, they had much better "live
+like cats and dogs together" as a proof that they were really "one's
+own flesh and blood." But their gentle mother was all the happier. Her
+prayer to the Almighty by day and night was to protect her children and
+nevermore to allow the flame of wrath to burst forth in Martin. And her
+supplication seemed to have been heard. Only once more was her soul
+filled with horror through an outburst of rage in her son.
+
+Johannes--then nine years old--had been playing with a whip near some
+carts standing in the yard ready to take away flour. Suddenly one of
+the horses took fright; and the driver, a coarse, drunken fellow, tore
+the whip out of the boy's hand, and gave him a cut with it across his
+face and neck.
+
+At the same instant Martin, lithe as a tiger, rushed out of the mill;
+the veins on his temples swollen, his fists clenched, got hold of the
+man and began to throttle him so that he was already black in the face.
+Then his mother threw herself with a loud scream of terror between the
+two. "Think of Fritz!" she cried, throwing up her arms in an agony of
+horror; and the infuriated boy let his hands drop as if paralyzed,
+tottered back and fell down sobbing on the threshold of the mill.
+
+Since then his temper seemed to have died out entirely, and even when
+he was once insulted and attacked on the highroad, he kept his knife,
+which the people of those parts are quick to use, quietly in his
+pocket.
+
+
+The years sped on. Shortly after Martin came of age, the old miller
+closed his eyes. His wife soon followed him. She did not recover after
+his death, and quietly and without complaining, she withered away. It
+was as if she could not exist without the scoldings which she had had
+to take daily from her husband for twenty-three years.
+
+The two brothers now dwelt alone in the orphaned mill. So it was no
+wonder that they clung to each other even more closely, and that each
+lived only for the other!
+
+And yet they were very different outwardly and inwardly. Martin,
+thick-set and short-necked, was awkward and silent in the presence of
+strangers. His bushy, lowering eyebrows gave his face a dark look, and
+his words came with difficulty and by fits and starts as if speaking
+were in itself torture--in fact one might have taken him for a hard
+misanthropist, if he had not had such an honest, hearty look in his
+eyes, and such a good-natured, almost childlike smile that it sometimes
+illumined his broad, coarsely-cut features like a ray of sunlight.
+
+How utterly different was Johannes! His eyes beamed into the world so
+frankly and cheerfully; the corners of his mouth seemed constantly
+twitching with fun and merriment; and over his whole lithe, pliant
+figure was cast the glamour of youth. The lassies all noticed it, and
+sent many a glance after him, and many a blush, many a warm squeeze of
+the hand told him plainly, "You could easily win my love." Johannes did
+not care much about these matters. He was not yet "ripe for love," and
+preferred a game of skittles to a dance, and would rather sit with his
+silent brother beside the lock than walk with Rose or Gretel.
+
+The two brothers had promised each other one still, solemn evening,
+that they would never part and that no third person should ever come
+between them in love or in hate.
+
+But they had made their reckoning without taking into account the Royal
+Recruiting Commission. The time came for Johannes to serve in the army.
+He had to go far, far away, to Berlin, to the Uhlans of the Guard. It
+was a hard trial for both of them. Martin kept his trouble to himself
+as usual, but impetuous Johannes behaved as if he were absolutely
+inconsolable, so that he was well teased at parting by his comrades.
+His grief was, however, not of long duration. The fatigues of service
+as a recruit, the novelty of it all, the lively bustle of the
+metropolis, left him little time for dreaming and only now and then, as
+he lay in the calm dawn on his camp bed, a great longing came over him;
+the homely mill gleamed through the darkness like a lost Paradise and
+the clatter of the wheels sounded in his ears like heavenly music. But
+as soon as he heard the trumpet call, the vision passed away.
+
+Martin fared worse at the mill, where he was now quite alone, for he
+could not reckon as companions the millhands, or old David, an
+inheritance from his father. Friends he had never had either in the
+village or elsewhere. Johannes sufficed him and took their place
+entirely. He slunk about brooding in silence, his mind ever gloomier,
+his thoughts ever darkened, and at last melancholy took such hold of
+him that the vision of his victim began to haunt him. He was sensible
+enough to know that he could not go on living like this, and forcibly
+sought to distract his thoughts--went on Sundays to the village dance
+and visited the neighboring hamlets under pretense of trade interests.
+But as for the result of all this--well, one fine day at the
+commencement of his second year of service, Johannes got a letter from
+his brother. It ran as follows:
+
+
+"My Dear Boy:
+
+"I shall have to write it some time, even though you will be angry with
+me. I could not bear my loneliness any longer and have made up my mind
+to enter into the matrimonial state. Her name is Gertrude Berling, and
+she is the daughter of a wind-miller in Lehnort, two miles from here.
+She is very young and I love her very much. The wedding is to be in six
+weeks. If you can, get leave of absence for it.
+
+"Dear brother, I beg of you, do not be vexed with me. You know
+you will always have a home at the mill whether there is a mistress
+there or not. Our fatherly inheritance belongs to us both, in any
+case. She sends you her kind regards. You once met each other at a
+shooting-match, and she liked you very much, but you took no notice of
+her, and she sends you word she was immensely offended with you.
+
+           "Farewell,
+
+                 "Your faithful brother,
+
+                                    "Martin."
+
+
+Johannes was a very spoiled creature. Martin's engagement appeared to
+him as high treason against their brotherly love. He felt as if his
+brother had deceived him and meanly deprived him of his due rights.
+Henceforth a stranger was to rule where hitherto he alone had been
+king, and his position at the mill was to depend on her favor and good
+will. Even the friendly message from the wind-miller's daughter did not
+calm or appease him. When the day of the wedding came, he took no
+leave, but only sent his love and good wishes by his old schoolfellow
+Franz Maas, who was just left off from military service.
+
+Six months later he himself was at liberty.
+
+How now, Johannes? We are so obstinate that on no account will we go
+home, and prefer to seek our fortune in foreign parts; we roam about,
+now to right, now to left, up hill and down hill and rub off our horns,
+and when, four weeks later, we come to the conclusion that in spite of
+the wind-miller's daughter there is no place in the world like the
+Rockhammer mill, we went our way homewards most cheerfully.
+
+One sunny day in May Johannes arrived in Marienfeld.
+
+Franz Mass, who had set up the autumn before as a worthy baker, was
+standing, with his legs apart, in front of his shop, looking up
+contentedly at the tin "Bretzel" swinging over his door in the gentle
+noon-day breeze, when he saw an Uhlan come swaggering down the village
+street with his cap cocked to one side and clinking his spurs. His
+brave ex-soldier's heart beat quicker under his white baker's apron as
+he took his pipe out of his mouth and shaded his eyes with his hand.
+
+"Well, I declare, it's Johannes!"
+
+"Hallo, old fellow!" And they were greeting each other with effusion.
+
+"Where do you hail from so late in the season? Have you had to do extra
+service?"
+
+"For shame!"
+
+Then they start questions and confessions. About the captain and the
+sergeant and old Knapphaus and the fair baker's daughter whom they used
+to call "Crumpet Mary," and who lived in the baker's shop close to the
+barracks--they all have their turn and not one is forgotten.
+
+"And what about yourself? Did they recognize you in the village?" asks
+Franz, transferring his insatiable thirst for knowledge to more homely
+ground.
+
+"Not a soul," laughs Johannes, complacently twirling his budding
+cavalry moustache which points heavenwards in two smart ends.
+
+"And at home?"
+
+Johannes makes a serious face and says he must go.
+
+"Oh, you're only on the way there now? Then I suppose it's bobbing
+about in there?" And he gives him a searching thump on his chest.
+
+Johannes laughs curtly and then suppresses a sigh as if to master his
+excitement.
+
+Franz lays his hand on his shoulder and says: "Well, you will find a
+sister-in-law--upon my word, she's a sister-in-law worth having!" He
+smacks his lips and winks his eye. It fills Johannes again with his
+former defiance and rage. He shrugs his shoulders contemptuously,
+shakes hands with his friend and goes off clinking his spurs.
+
+Three more minutes' walk; then he is through the village. There is the
+church! Poor old thing--it has got even a bit more tumble-down!
+
+But the black larches still rustle as of old, and theirs is the same
+sweet song of happy promise which they sang to him on the day of his
+confirmation. There on the left is the inn--by Jove, they have put
+up a massive new doorway, and at the window there stand immense
+liquor-flasks, filled with flaming red and viciously green fluids. Mine
+host of the "Crown" has been looking up! That side-path leads down to
+the river. And there is the mill, the goal of his dreams! How
+comfortable the old thatched roof looks across the alder bushes, how
+snowy white are the cherry blossoms in the garden, how cheerily the
+mill-wheels clatter: "Welcome, welcome!"
+
+How the dear old moss-grown weir seems to chant a blessing from afar!
+He pushes his cap a degree further back and pulls himself together
+resolutely, for he is determined to master his emotion.
+
+All the fields stretching on either side of the road belong to the
+mill. On the right is winter-rye, as of old; but on the left, where
+there used to be a potato-patch, there is now a kitchen garden--there
+are asparagus-plants and young beetroots arranged in prim and orderly
+rows.
+
+Between the long vegetable borders, about five paces from the fence, he
+sees the lithe, robust figure of a girl assiduously bending to her
+work.
+
+Who can that be? Does she belong to the mill? Perhaps a new maid!
+Hardly that, though, for she looks too smart, too neat; her shoes are
+too light, her apron too dainty, the white kerchief so picturesquely
+draped round her head is of too fine a texture. If only she would not
+so completely shade her face! Now she looks up! Good heavens, what a
+sweet girl! How her bonny cheeks glow, how her dark eyes gleam, how her
+pouting lips seem to invite a kiss!
+
+As she perceives him, she drops her hoe and stares at him.
+
+"Good-day," he says, and touches his cap somewhat awkwardly. "Do you
+know whether the miller is at home?"
+
+"Yes, he's at home," she says, and goes on staring at him.
+
+"I wonder what she means by it," he thinks, fighting against his
+embarrassment; and as, since his Berlin days, he has every reason to
+consider himself well-nigh irresistible, it is a point of honor with
+him now to step close up to the hedge and attempt a little flirtation
+with the girl.
+
+"Well, always busy?" he asks, just for the sake of asking, and in his
+confusion clutches at the ends of his moustache. Uhlan, beware! Take
+care!!
+
+"Yes, I'm always busy," she repeats mechanically, while she stares at
+his face unceasingly; and suddenly, raising her hand and spreading out
+all five fingers as if she would like to point at him with them all,
+she says, as she bursts out laughing:
+
+"Why, you're Johannes!"
+
+"Yes, tha-at's m-e," he stammers in astonishment; "and who are you?"
+
+"I'm his wife!"
+
+"What? You--his--Martin's?"
+
+"Hm!" And she nods at him with assumed dignity, while her eyes are full
+of roguishness.
+
+"But you look like a young girl!"
+
+"It isn't so very long since I was one," she laughs.
+
+They stand on opposite sides of the fence and look at each other.
+
+Collecting herself, she wipes her hands ostentatiously on her apron,
+and stretches them out to him through the lattice-work.
+
+"Welcome, brother-in-law!"
+
+He returns her hand-shake, but is silent.
+
+"Do you perhaps intend to be angry with me, brother-in-law?" she says,
+and looks up at him roguishly. He feels absolutely powerless before
+her, and can only laugh awkwardly and say: "I--angry? Oh, dear no!"
+
+"It looked rather like it!" she says, and lifting her finger
+threateningly, she adds: "Oh, I should only just have liked you to
+attempt such a thing!" Thereupon she sticks her chin into her collar
+and bursts into a soft chuckle.
+
+"Well, you are funny! he says, with a rather more easy laugh.
+
+"I funny?--never! You go along now; meanwhile I will run in through the
+garden and fetch Martin."
+
+And she starts to run away, then stops suddenly, puts her finger to her
+nose and says: "Wait a minute; I will come across to you."
+
+Before he has time to stretch out a helping hand, she had slipped, as
+nimble as a lizard, in between the boards of the fencing.
+
+"Well, here I am," she says, smoothing out her dress, while she lets
+the knotted kerchief fall loosely onto her neck, so that a mass of
+little brown curls escape round her forehead and neck and begin to
+dance in the wind as if delighted at their newly regained freedom.
+
+His gaze rests with astonishment on the fresh, girlish beauty of this
+young wife, who behaves like a wild unconstrained child.
+
+She notices the look, and slightly blushing, she passes her hand over
+the curly disorder which will not be fettered.
+
+For a while they walk beside each other in silence.
+
+She looks down and smiles as if she too had suddenly learned shyness.
+Conversation flags till they have got through the large entrance-gate.
+Johannes looks about and gives a cry of amazement. He cannot believe
+his eyes.
+
+Everything all around is changed, everything is beautified. The round
+court-yard, which in rainy weather used to be one immense pool of dirt
+and in dry weather one mass of dust-clouds, now is all covered with
+turf like some flowering meadow, the doors of the store-houses and
+stables are resplendent with bright red paint and bear white numbers.
+In the middle of the open space is an artistic pigeon-house, like a
+little Swiss chalet, and in front of the house is a newly built
+veranda, round whose shining windowpanes and dainty wood-carving some
+young creepers twine their budding tendrils. The mill lies before his
+ecstatic gaze like the very home of peace and innocence. He folds his
+hands in emotion and asks "Who has done all this?"
+
+She looks about without speaking.
+
+"You?" he asks, amazed.
+
+"I helped," she answers modestly.
+
+"But you originated it?"
+
+She smiles. This smile makes her appear older, and for a moment her
+child-like face is suffused with a shimmer of womanly grace.
+
+"Your hand is blessed," he says softly and shyly, more in earnest than
+is his wont.
+
+He cannot help thinking of his dead mother, who so often complained of
+the dreadful dust, and that in the whole space outside there was not a
+single place where she could sit down in comfort.
+
+"If only she could have lived to see this," he murmurs to himself.
+
+"Mother?" she asks him.
+
+He looks up astonished. That she should not say "your mother" startles
+him at first, then it gives him a feeling of intense pleasure such as
+he has never before in his life felt. A sort of happy glow enters into
+his heart and will not leave it. So there is now in the world a young,
+beautiful strange woman who speaks of his mother as if she had been
+hers too, as if she herself were his sister, the sister he had so often
+longed for in his foolish younger days, when his gaze used to rest with
+admiration on other girls.
+
+And now she softly repeats her question.
+
+"Yes, mother," he answers, and looks at her gratefully.
+
+She bears his look for a second; then drops her eyes and says in some
+confusion; "I wonder where Martin can be?"
+
+"In the mill, I suppose!"
+
+"Yes, in the mill, of course," she answers quickly; and with the words
+"I will fetch him," she hurries away. Almost without thinking he stares
+after the girlish figure bounding so lightly across the grass.
+
+Everything about her seems to be flying and fluttering--her skirts, her
+apron-strings, the kerchief about her neck, her untameable, entangled
+mass of curls.
+
+He remains for a time gazing after her as if spell-bound; then he
+laughingly shakes his head and walks to the veranda. There he notices a
+dainty work-table and on it a round wicker-work-basket. Across its edge
+hangs a piece of work commenced, a long, white strip embroidered with
+flowers and leaves such as women use for insertion. Without thinking he
+takes the piece of cambric in his hand and examines the cunning
+stitches till his sister-in-law's laughing voice reaches his ears.
+
+Like a surprised criminal he quickly lets the embroidery drop--there
+she is already, bending round the corner; and the flour-whitened,
+square-set figure she is so merrily dragging behind her and who is so
+awkwardly trying to divest himself of her little, clutching hands, and
+dispersing thick, white dust-clouds all round, that is, why, that is--
+
+"Martin, dear old Martin!" and he rushes out to embrace him.
+
+The awkward movements cease; the bushy eye-brows are drawn up--the
+good-natured, quiet smile grows stony--the whole figure is fixed--the
+man draws back--but next moment he rushes forward towards his
+newly-regained darling.
+
+In silence the brothers clasp each other.
+
+Then after a time Martin takes the head of the returned wanderer
+between his two hands and, knitting his brows darkly and gnawing at his
+under-lip he looks long and earnestly into his brother's beaming,
+laughing eyes. Thereupon he sits down on the seat in the veranda, rests
+his elbows on his knees and looks down.
+
+"Why are you so pensive, Martin?" Johannes asks softly, laying his hand
+on his brother's shoulder.
+
+"Well, why shouldn't I be pensive?" he answers, with a peculiar sort of
+low grunt which accompanies all his meager speeches. "Ah--you rascal!"
+he continues, and the good-natured grin which is his in happy moments
+spreads over his heavily-cut features. "You made up your mind to be
+angry--you, you?" Then he jumps up and takes his wife's hand. "Look at
+him, Trude; he wanted to be angry, the silly fellow! Come here, boy!
+Eh--here she is--look at her properly, well! Do you think you could be
+angry with _her_?"
+
+Then he drops clumsily onto his seat, so that a fresh cloud of white
+dust flies up, looks at Johannes, laughs to himself a little and says
+at last: "Trude, fetch a clothes brush!" Trude bursts out laughing and
+skips away singing. When she returns waving the desired object high in
+the air, he gives the order: "Now brush him!"
+
+"When a miller or a sweep grows affectionate, there's sure to be a
+misfortune," Johannes says, attempting a joke, and tries to take the
+brush out of her hand.
+
+"Please allow me, Mr. Johannes," she protests, hiding the brush under
+her apron.
+
+Martin hits the bench with his fist. "Mr. Johannes! Well, I
+never--what's the meaning of that? Haven't you made friends yet?--eh?"
+
+Johannes is silent and Trude brushes away at him with great vigor.
+
+"Then I suppose you haven't even given each other a kiss yet?"
+
+Trude lets the brush fall suddenly. Johannes says "H'm" and busies
+himself with rolling the wheel of one of his spurs along the scraper
+standing at the entrance.
+
+"It's the proper thing to do, however! Now then!"
+
+Johannes faces about and twirls his moustache, determined to get over
+his awkward predicament by playing the man of the world; but with all
+that he has not the courage to bend down to her. He stands there as
+stiff as a post and waits till she holds up her little mouth; then for
+a moment he presses his trembling lips upon hers, and feels how a
+slight shudder runs through her frame.
+
+A moment later it is all over. With a shy smile they stand next to one
+another--both blushing all over.--Martin slaps his knees with his hands
+and declares it has been as good as a side-splitting farce. Then he
+suddenly gets up and walks off. He must ponder over his happiness in
+solitude.
+
+
+In the afternoon the brothers go together into the mill. Trude stands
+at the window and looks after them, and, when Johannes turns around,
+she smiles and hides behind the curtain. On the threshold Johannes
+stands still and leans his head against the door-post, and deep emotion
+fills him as he gazes into the semi-darkness of the dear old place from
+which proceeds such a din of wheels that it nearly stuns him, while the
+draught drives into his face great whitish-grey clouds of flour,
+bran-dust and steam. Side by side the various "runs" open out before
+him. On the left, nearest the wall, the old "bolting-run," for the
+finest flour; then the "bruising-run," where the bran and flour remain
+together; then the "groats-run," where the barley is freed from its
+husks; and finally the "cylinder-run," one of the new kind only
+recently added.--They have also had a new spiral alley and a lift made.
+Fashion now-a-days requires all these innovations.
+
+Martin puts his hands in his pockets and saunters along with his pipe
+in his mouth in silent self-content. Then he takes hold of Johannes'
+hand and proceeds to explain the new invention--how the fine flour is
+caught up by the spiral and conveyed to the suspiral where small pails,
+running along a belting, raise it through two stories, almost to the
+roofing, and then empty it into the silken, cylinder-like funnels
+through the fine network of which it has to pass before becoming fit
+for use. Listening breathlessly, Johannes drinks in his brother's
+scant, slowly uttered words, and is surprised how ignorant one grows in
+the army; for all these things are sealed books to him.
+
+Business is flourishing. All the works are in full swing, and the
+'prentices have plenty to do with pouring the grain into the
+mill-hopper and watching the outflow of the flour and the bran.
+
+"I have three now," says Martin, pointing to the white-powdered
+fellows, one of whom is continually running up and down the stairs.
+
+"And is David here yet?" asks Johannes.
+
+"Why, of course," answers Martin; and makes a face as if the mere idea
+of David's being no longer at the mill had scared him.
+
+"Where has he hidden himself, the old fellow?" Johannes laughingly
+asks.
+
+"David! David!" shouts Martin's lusty voice above all the clatter of
+the wheels.
+
+Then from out the darkness, by the motor machine, which rises
+Cyclops-like from below the woodwork of the galleries, there emerges a
+long, lanky figure, dipped in flour--a face shows itself on which the
+indifference of old age has left nothing to be read--a slightly
+reddened nose, which almost meets the bristly chin, weak and sulky eyes
+hidden beneath bushy brows, and a mouth which seems to be continually
+chewing.
+
+"What do you want me for, master?" he asks, planting himself in front
+of the brothers without removing the clay pipe which hangs loosely
+between his lips.
+
+"Here's Johannes," says Martin, patting the old man's shoulder, while a
+good-natured smile crosses his countenance.
+
+"Don't you know me any more, David?" asks Johannes, holding out his
+hand in a friendly manner. The old man spits out a stream of brown
+juice from between his teeth, considers awhile and then mumbles:
+
+"Why shouldn't I know you?"
+
+"And how are you?"
+
+"How should I be?"--Then he begins fumbling about at a sack of flour,
+tying and untying the string with his bony fingers; then when he has
+made sure that he is no longer wanted, he withdraws once more into his
+dark corner.
+
+Martin's face beams. "There's a faithful soul for you, Johannes--28
+years of service, eh! And always industrious and conscientious."
+
+"By the bye, what does he do?"
+
+Martin looks confused. "Well--look here--eh--hard to say--position of
+trust--eh--faithful soul, faithful soul."
+
+"Does the faithful soul still occasionally prig something from the
+flour-sacks?" asks Johannes laughing.
+
+Martin shrugs his shoulders impatiently and mutters something about "28
+years of service," and closing an eye.
+
+"He seems still to owe me a grudge," says Johannes, "for having
+discovered the hiding place to which he had carried his hardly-stolen
+little hoard."
+
+"You will persist in being prejudiced against him," answers Martin,
+"just like Trude too--you are unjust towards him,--most unjust."
+
+Johannes laughingly shakes his head; then he points to a door leading
+to a newly erected partition.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+Martin moves about uneasily. "My office," he then stammers, and, as
+Johannes attempts to open the door, he runs up to him and catches him
+back by his coat-tails.
+
+"I beg of you," he mutters, "do not cross that threshold. Not
+to-day--nor any other day.--I have my reasons." Johannes looks at him
+in vexation. "Since when have you secrets from me," he feels impelled
+to ask, but his brother's trustful, pleading look closes his lips, and
+arm in arm they leave the mill together.
+
+Evening has come.--The great wheel is at rest, and with it the host of
+smaller ones.--Silence is over all the mill and only in the distance
+the rushing water of the weir sings its monotonous song. Here of
+course--in front of the house--the mill-brook is quiet and peaceful, as
+though it had nothing in the world to do but to carry water-lilies and
+to mirror the setting sun in its depths. Like a golden-red, dark-edged
+streamer it winds along between the straggling thicket of alders, in
+which a choir of nightingales are just clearing their throats and, all
+unconscious of their superior merit, are about to commence a singing
+competition with the frogs down there. The three human beings who are
+henceforth to pass their days together in this blossoming, song-laden
+solitude have already become lovingly intimate. They sit on the veranda
+around the white-spread supper-table, the food upon which has to-day
+found little appreciation, and their gaze is full of intense content.
+Martin rests his head on his hands and draws great clouds of smoke from
+his short pipe, from time to time emitting a sound which is something
+of a laugh, something of a growl.
+
+Johannes has quite buried himself in the mass of foliage and lets the
+tendrils of the wild vine play about his face. They tremble and flutter
+with his every breath.
+
+Trude has pushed her head deep into her collar and is looking furtively
+across at the two brothers, like a high-spirited child that would like
+to get into mischief but first wants to make quite sure that no one is
+watching. This silence is evidently not to her taste, but she is
+already too well schooled to break it. Meantime she amuses herself by
+making little pellets of bread and shooting them, unnoticed by either
+of the brothers, into the midst of the herd of sparrows hopping about
+the veranda, with greedy intent. There is one in particular, a little,
+dirty fellow, who beats all the others' cunning and alertness. As soon
+as a grain of food comes rolling along he spreads both wings, screams
+like mad, and while fighting he endeavors to get it away by beating his
+wings, so that he can take possession of it comfortably while the
+others are still wildly hacking at each other. This maneuver he repeats
+four or five times, and always successfully, till one of his comrades
+finds out his trick and does it still better.
+
+This gives Trude a fit of laughing which she tries to suppress by
+stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth and holding her breath till
+she gets quite blue in the face--Then when she finds it absolutely
+impossible to contain herself any longer, she jumps up to get away, but
+before she reaches the door, her laughter bursts forth and she
+disappears into the darkness of the passage, screaming loudly with
+delight.
+
+Both brothers are roused from their dreaming.
+
+"What's up?" asks Johannes, startled. Martin shakes his head as he
+looks after his young, foolish wife whose tricks he well knows; then
+after a time he takes his brother's hand and says, pointing to the
+door:
+
+"Well--does she look as if she would oust you?"
+
+"No, indeed," answers Johannes with a somewhat uneasy laugh.
+
+"Oh, my boy," growls Martin, scratching his bushy head, "what a lot of
+worry I have been through!--I tossed about in my bed a long night when
+I thought of you! I mean on account of the wrong I might be doing
+you."--Then after a time--"And yet when I look at her--she is so
+fair--so innocent--say yourself, my boy, could I possibly help loving
+her? When I saw her--ah--why it was all over with me.--In so many ways
+she reminded me of you--merry, and bright-eyed and full of mischief,
+just like you.--Of course she was a child and has remained one to the
+present day--Charmless and wild and playful as a child.--And I tell
+you--she wants holding in tighter--her spirits run away with her.--But
+that is just how I love her to be"--a tender look brightens his
+features--"and if I rightly think it over, I would not even miss one of
+her ridiculous doings. You know I always must have some one to watch
+over--formerly I had you, now she is the one."
+
+After relieving his feelings in this manner, he once more becomes
+silent.
+
+"And are you happy?" asks Johannes.
+
+Martin hides himself in a thick cloud of smoke, and from out of that he
+mutters after a time:
+
+"Well, that depends!"
+
+"On what?"
+
+"On your not being angry with her."
+
+"I angry with her?"
+
+"Well, well, you needn't make excuses!"
+
+Johannes does not reply. He will soon convince his brother of better
+things--and closing his eyes, he buries his head once more in the
+waving foliage. A gleam of light causes him to look up. Trude is
+standing on the threshold, holding a lamp and looking ashamed of
+herself. Her charming, childlike face is bathed in a red glow and the
+drooping lashes cast long, semi-circling shadows on her full cheeks.
+
+"What a ridiculous creature you are!" says Martin, stroking her ruffled
+hair tenderly.
+
+"Won't you go to rest, Johannes?" she asks with great seriousness,
+though there is still the sound of suppressed laughter in her voice.
+
+"Good-night, brother!"
+
+"Wait, I am coming too!"
+
+Johannes shakes hands with his sister-in-law, while she turns her face
+aside with a furtive smile.
+
+Martin takes the lamp from her and precedes his brother up the stairs.
+At the top he takes his hand and gazes silently and deeply into his
+eyes, like one who cannot yet contain his happiness; then he softly
+closes the door.
+
+Johannes sighs and stretches himself, pressing both hands to his
+breast. His heart is heavy for very joy. He feels as if he must go
+after his brother and relieve his feelings by a few loving, grateful
+words, but already he hears his steps downstairs in the entrance. It is
+too late. But his mind must be calmer before he can attempt to sleep.
+
+He puts out the lamp and pushes open a window. The night air cools his
+brow.--How soothing it is--how it wafts peace!
+
+He bends over the window-ledge, whistles a song to himself and looks
+out into the night. The apple-tree beneath him is in full bloom--a
+waving sea of blossoms. How often as a child he has climbed up there,
+how often, tired with play, he has leant, dreaming, against its trunk,
+while its rustling leaves told him fairy stories. And when in autumn a
+gust of wind swept through the branches, it brought down a shower of
+rosy-cheeked apples, which fell almost into his lap.--What ecstasy that
+was! How many things enter one's thoughts as one whistles! Each note
+awakens a new song, each melody conjures up new reminiscences. And with
+the old songs there returns the old longing and flies on butterfly's
+wings through a vast empire between the moon and the morning sun!--
+
+And as he looks down upon the earth melting into darkness, he sees how
+a window is softly opened and an upturned face bends far out. From out
+of a pale, gleaming oval, framed in a background of shadowy hair, two
+dark eyes glanced up at him, slyly and mischievously.
+
+Abruptly he stops whistling; then a teasing laugh greets his ears, and
+his sister-in-law's merry voice cries: "Go on, Johannes!"
+
+And when he will not do her bidding, she points her own lips and
+attempts a few very imperfect notes.
+
+Then Martin's deep bass voice becomes audible in the house, saying in a
+tone of paternal reproof:
+
+"None of your nonsense, Trude! Let him sleep!"
+
+"But he doesn't sleep," she answers, pouting like a scolded child. Then
+the window is shut. The voices die away.
+
+Johannes laughingly shakes his head and goes to bed, but he cannot
+sleep. Those flowers prevent him which Trude has placed at his
+bed-side, and the leaves of which hang right over the edge of the bed.
+Pale bluish bunches of lilac and the nebulous white stars of narcissi
+are mingled together. He turns round, kneels up in bed and buries his
+face in the flowery depths. Fondly the leaflets kiss his eye-lids and
+his lips.
+
+Suddenly he listens. From underneath the floor, as it were from the
+bowels of the earth, comes a quiet laugh. It is soft as a breath of
+wind passing over the grass, but so merry, so full of happiness.
+
+He listens, hoping to hear it again, but all is still. "Crazy little
+body, you," he says amused, then falls back upon his pillow and drops
+to sleep smiling.
+
+Next day Johannes fetches down his working-clothes. They are a bit
+tight across the shoulders. But then, one gets broader.
+
+The sun is already high in the heavens. As if it could shine so
+brightly, right into one's heart, anywhere else!--The sun of home is a
+wonderful thing. What it looks upon, it gilds, and when it touches
+one's lips, they begin to sing.
+
+"It is lovely at home--hurrah!"
+
+"Now I have a nest of merry birds in the house," laughs Martin, coming
+to greet him. "Go on singing. I am used to that from Trude--but what
+are you doing in that white coat?"
+
+"I suppose you think I am going to be idle here?"
+
+"At least just for a day!"
+
+"Not for an hour! My lazy times are over!"
+
+Martin has meanwhile noticed the flowers at the bed-side and says with
+a grumbling laugh: "Now there's a little witch for you! I have
+forbidden it for myself, and now she begins the same nonsense with
+others. That's why you look so pale this morning.
+
+"I, pale? Not in the least!"
+
+"Don't say a word! I'll cure her of her tricks."
+
+With that they go downstairs.
+
+Trude is nowhere to be seen.
+
+"She has been in the garden since five o'clock," says Martin with a
+pleased smile. "Everything goes like clock-work since she's at the head
+of affairs. As quick as a weasel, up at peep of day and always merry,
+always ready with a song and a laugh."
+
+On their way to the mill a young turnip whizzes past the brothers',
+heads. Martin turns round and laughingly threatens with his finger.
+
+"Who was that?" asks Johannes, peering in bewilderment round the empty
+yard.
+
+"Who but she?"
+
+"But can you see her anywhere?"
+
+"Not a trace of her! Oh, she's a teasing elf who can become invisible
+at will." And with a beaming face he follows his brother to the mill.
+
+The hours pass by. Johannes wants to show what he can do and works with
+twofold energy.
+
+While he is superintending the storing of the grain on the gallery,
+some one from below gently pulls his coat-tail. He looks down;--Trude,
+with sun-heated face and sparkling eyes, stands on the steps and
+invites him to come to breakfast. "In a minute," he says, finishes his
+task and jumps down.
+
+"Brr!" she says, shaking herself, "how you look!
+
+"What's the matter?
+
+"Well--yesterday I liked you better." Then she gives him her hand with a
+"good-morning," and trips down the stairs in front of him, strewing the
+flour about for fun as she goes.
+
+When they get to the door of the partition that Martin called his
+office, she pulls a mysterious face and raises her hand silently as if
+to lay a ghost.
+
+Then after a moment she asks: "I say, what has he got in there!"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Mayn't you go in either?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Thank goodness! Then I am not the only one who's kept in the dark. In
+there he sits, and every stranger is allowed to go in to him, only not
+I. If I want him, I have to ring.--Say yourself whether that's nice of
+him? Surely I am no longer such a child that he should--well, I won't
+say anything,--one oughtn't to speak ill of one's husband--but you are
+his own brother--do put in a good word for me, so that he tells me what
+is in there. For I am dying to know."
+
+"Do you suppose he has told me?"
+
+"Well, then we must comfort each other. Come along."--And in one jump
+she flies up the three steps leading to the entrance.
+
+During breakfast she suddenly puts on a serious air and speaks grandly
+of her weighty household cares. Of course, she says, she had to be
+independent at home already, for her poor little mother died many years
+past, and she had to superintend her father's household long before she
+was confirmed; but it was only a small one, for her father had to
+manage with one apprentice and almost worked himself to death--poor
+father!
+
+Her eyes are full of tears. She is ashamed and turns away. Then she
+jumps up and asks: "Have you had enough?" And when he says "Yes," she
+continues: "Come along into the garden. There's an arbor which is
+splendid for a chat."
+
+"That one at the end of the long path?--that is my favorite place too."
+
+Side by side they stroll through the mazy garden walks, all bathed in
+glowing sunlight, and both feel relieved when they reach the cool shade
+of the leafy recess.
+
+She throws herself down carelessly on the grassy bank and puts her
+plump, sun-burnt arms under her head. Through the dense foliage stray
+gleams of sunlight break, painting her dress with golden patches,
+playing on her neck and face, and passing over her head till they make
+her curly brown hair all aglow.
+
+Johannes sits down opposite her and gazes at her with undisguised
+admiration. He is convinced that never before in his life has he seen
+so much loveliness as there in the half-reclining figure of his
+charming young sister-in-law, and he thinks of his brother's saying:
+"Was it possible for me not to love her?"
+
+"I don't know why I feel so inclined to talk about myself to-day," she
+says with her sympathetic smile, while she shifts her head to a more
+comfortable position. "Do you care to listen?" He nods his head.
+
+"I am glad of that, Johannes! Well, you may imagine that at home bread
+was not over plentiful--not to speak of the butter which by rights
+belongs to it--and if I had not had my little garden, the produce of
+which we could sell in the town, we should not have managed at all.
+'Why does everyone take all their grain to the Rockhammer mill, without
+thinking that the poor wind-miller wants to live too?' That is what we
+often thought, and we positively hated your place. Then all of a sudden
+comes Martin--says he wants to be neighborly--and is kind and good to
+father and kind and good to me--and brings toffee and sugar-candy for
+the boys, so that we are all mad on him. And in the end he informs
+father that he absolutely must have me for his wife. 'But she hasn't a
+penny,' says my father, and fancy--he took me without a farthing!
+You may imagine how glad I was, for father had often said to me:
+'Now-a-days men only marry for money; you are a poor girl, Trude, so
+make up your mind to be an old maid. And now I was engaged before my
+17th birthday.--And then, you know, I had liked Martin very much for a
+long time already--for even if he is rather shy and quiet I could see
+by his eyes what a kind heart he has! Only he can't let himself go, as
+he would perhaps like to. I know how good he is, and even if he growls
+ever so much and scolds me, I shall be fond of him all my life!" She is
+silent for a moment and passes her hand across her face as if to wipe
+away the sunbeam which is gilding her lashes and making her eyes
+glisten. "And fancy how good he is to my family," she then resumes
+eagerly, as if she could not find enough love to heap on Martin's head.
+"He absolutely wanted to give them a yearly allowance--I don't know how
+much--but I would not allow that--for I did not wish to induce my
+father in his old days to take alms, even though it was from his
+son-in-law. But one thing I asked for--for permission to continue
+the gardening as I had done at home and to use the proceeds as
+pocket-money. What I do with it is my own business." She smiles across
+at him slyly and then continues: "They really do want it though, at
+home, for you see, there are three boys who all want to be fed and
+clothed, and they have to keep a servant too now, since I left home."
+
+"Have you no sisters?" he asks.
+
+She shakes her head; then she says, suddenly bursting out laughing.
+"It's really too bad. Not even one for a wife for you."
+
+He joins in her laughter and observes: "I don't seem to want a wife so
+much now."
+
+"As what?"
+
+"As a sister."
+
+"Well, she is here," says she, jumping up and stepping up to him; then,
+as if ashamed of her impetuosity, she drops down again on to the grass,
+blushing.
+
+"Yes, will you be that?" he says with beaming eyes.
+
+She pulls a little face and observes carelessly. "That's nothing much
+to be! Sister-in-law is in itself already as much as half a sister."
+Then, smilingly looking him up and down, she remarks: "I think one
+might put up with you as a brother."
+
+"Five foot ten--been Uhlan of the Guard--does that suffice?"
+
+"And you might even turn out a good playfellow."
+
+"Do you require one?"
+
+"Yes, very badly! It is so quiet and solemn here. There's not a soul to
+romp about with as I used to with my brothers at home. Sometimes I felt
+half inclined to collar one of the mill-hands, but dignity and respect
+forbade such a thing."
+
+"Well, I am here now," he laughs.
+
+And she: "I set great hopes on you!"--
+
+"Then collar me!"
+
+"You are too floury for me."
+
+"A fine miller's wife to be afraid of flour," he teases.
+
+"Never mind," she interrupts, "I shall soon put your playing powers to
+the test."
+
+In the gloaming, when they are once more sitting together on the
+veranda, and Johannes, like his brother, sits dreaming with his head
+hidden in the foliage, he suddenly feels a round, indefinable something
+hit his head and then drop to the ground. "Perhaps it was a cock-chafer,"
+he thinks to himself, but the attack is renewed two or three times.
+
+Then he begins to suspect Trude, who sits like a perfect picture of
+innocence, humming quite dolefully to herself, "In Yonder Verdant
+Valley," while she works little bread pellets which evidently serve as
+her missiles.
+
+He suppresses a merry laugh, secretly gets hold of a branch of the vine
+on which a few of last year's dried-up berries are still hanging, and
+when she lets fly a new volley at him, he promptly dispatches his reply
+at her little nose.
+
+She flinches, looks at him quite amazed for a moment, and when he bends
+towards her with the most serious face in the world, she bursts into a
+loud, joyful laugh.
+
+"What's the matter again now?" asks Martin, startled from his dreaming.
+
+"He has withstood the test," she laughs, putting her arm around her
+husband's neck.
+
+"What test?"
+
+"If I tell you, you will grumble, so I had better be silent."
+
+Martin looks at Johannes questioningly.
+
+"Oh, it's nothing," says he smiling; "it was only nonsense. We
+were--bombarding each other."
+
+"That's right, children--you bombard one another," Martin says, and
+goes on smoking in silence. Johannes is ashamed of himself, while Trude
+challenges her playfellow with mischievous glances. "Full of play,"
+yes, that was it; that was what Martin Rockhammer had called his wife.
+
+Henceforth there are to be no more of those peaceful silent hours in
+the gloaming which Martin loves so well.
+
+The quiet paths of the garden resound with song and laughter, across
+the lawn figures dart, as quick as the wind, in pursuit of each
+other;--they let loose the dogs and race with them;--they hunt the wild
+cats that frequent the mill-yard--they play hide-and-seek behind the
+haystacks and hedges.
+
+Martin looks on at all these doings with kindly, fatherly indulgence.
+
+At the bottom of his heart he would prefer to have his former quiet
+restored, but they are both so happy in their youth and harmlessness;
+their eyes sparkle so, their cheeks are so rosy: it would be a shame to
+spoil their pleasure through grumbling and interference. Why, they are
+but children! And are there not quieter hours? When Trude says, "Hans,
+let us sing," they sit down demurely side by side on the veranda or
+saunter slowly along the river, and when Martin has lighted his pipe
+and is ready to listen, they warble forth their songs into the
+gloaming. These are delightful, solemn moments. The birds in the trees
+twitter in their slumber, a soft breeze wafts through the branches and
+the mill-weir with its dull rushing sings the accompaniment. How
+quickly their mood changes! They have begun so merrily, but the
+melodies grow sadder and sadder, and the sound of their voices more and
+more mournful. A few minutes ago they were planning nonsense, now they
+have solemnly folded their hands and are gazing dreamily towards the
+sunset. Johannes' clear tenor tones well with her full deep contralto,
+and his ear never fails him when he is singing seconds in some new
+song.
+
+It is strange that they cannot sing when they are alone together. If
+Martin happens to be called away on business during their song, their
+voices at once begin to waver, they look at each other and smile, turn
+away and smile again; then generally one of them makes a mistake and
+they stop singing. If Martin is not at home in the evening, or if, as
+is his wont once or twice a week, he has locked himself up in his
+"office," they are both silent as if by a mutual understanding, and
+neither of them would dare to invite the other to sing. Instead of
+singing they have other more fascinating occupations which are only
+possible when they are sure no third person is listening. While serving
+in the army Johannes had acquired an "Album of Lyrics," in which he had
+made a collection of everything in the way of merry or sentimental
+songs that took his fancy. The sentimental kind, however, greatly
+predominate. Love ditties, dirges, ballads about child murderers or
+innocently convicted criminals, side by side with poetical meditations
+on the vanity of life in general--and the gem of the whole collection
+is Kotzebue's "Outburst of Despair," that sentimental effusion which
+was for half a century the most popular of all German poems. This
+collection just suits Trude's taste in poetry, and as soon as she is
+alone with Johannes she whispers entreatingly, "Fetch the Lyrics!" Then
+they crouch in some quiet corner, put their heads together--for Trude
+insists on looking into the book too--and enjoy the delicious feeling
+of awe which thrills them as they read.
+
+There is that wonderful "Count Von Sackingen to his Bride:--"
+
+
+      "Farewell! The lonely sorrows of my heart
+      In sweetest melody are all enshrined
+      Lest thou shouldst guess how hard it is to part"
+
+
+and that popular old romance:--
+
+
+      "Henry slept and at his side
+      Was his richly-dowered bride.
+
+      "At midnight hour the curtain wide
+      By cold, white hands was pushed aside,
+      And Wilhelmine he did see,
+      For from the grave had risen she."
+
+
+Then Trude starts and gazes into the dusk with large, terrified eyes,
+but she enjoys it intensely.
+
+The holy of holies in the album is a part bearing the title "The Lovely
+Miller-Maid."
+
+"Where did you get that from?" asks Trude, who feels that the title
+might apply to her.
+
+"A friend of mine, a musician, had these songs in a big volume of
+music, out of which I copied them. The man who wrote them is said to
+have been called Miller and to have been a miller himself."
+
+"Read, read quickly," cries Trude.
+
+But Johannes refuses. "They are too sad," he says, closing the book;
+"some other time."
+
+And so matters rest. But Trude so persecutes him, pouting and
+imploring, that he has to give way to her after all.
+
+"Come this evening to the weir," he says--"I have to close up the
+sluices. Then we shall be undisturbed and I can read to you--of course
+only if--"
+
+He winked across at the "office." Trude nods. They understand each
+other admirably. After supper Martin withdraws to his retreat, pursued
+by Trude's impatient looks, for she is dying to hear what secrets are
+contained in the "Lovely Miller-Maid." Arm in arm they walk across the
+meadow to the weir. The grass is damp with the evening dew. The sky
+glows red and all a-flame. The dark pine wood which forms a sombre
+frame round the picture is clearly silhouetted against the fiery
+background. Louder and louder the waters rush towards them.
+
+In the tumbling waves the glowing sunset is reflected and every drop of
+frothy spray becomes a dancing spark. On the other side of the weir the
+river lies like a dark mirror and the alders lay their black shadows
+upon it and dip their image into its clouded depths.
+
+Silently the two go to the weir. A narrow plank which in the center
+carries a drawbridge, runs alongside the main beam. From this point the
+sluices of the lock, six in number, and supported by solid pillars or
+props, can be opened or closed at will by the miller. Now in the gentle
+month of June the weir gives little trouble, but in early spring or
+autumn at high water or during the drifting of the ice, when all the
+sluices have to be opened wide and some of the supports to be removed,
+so that the volume of water as well as the lumps of ice may pour down
+unhindered, then one has to watch and put forth one's strength, or
+there is danger of being dragged down along with the wood-work by the
+seething mass. Johannes opens two of the sluices. That suffices for the
+present. Then he throws the lever to one side and rests his elbow on
+the rail of the drawbridge. Trude, who has so far watched him in
+silence, hoists herself up on to the big beam which runs from shore to
+shore on a level with the rail.
+
+"You will get dizzy, Trude," says Johannes, anxiously looking down onto
+the "fall," where over sloping planks the water shoots down in wild
+haste and then rushes foaming into the depths below.
+
+Trude gives a short laugh and declares she has often sat here for hours
+and looked down without experiencing the least giddiness, and, if the
+worst came to the worst, why he would be there. Full of suspense she
+looks towards his pocket, and when he pulls out the book of poems she
+sighs rapturously, in anticipation of delights to come, and clasps her
+hands like a child ready to listen to fairy stories. The tender words
+of the inspired poet flow like music from his lips.
+
+"The miller's heart delights to roam"--Trude gives a cry of delight
+and beats time with her feet against the wooden posts. "I heard a
+mill-stream rushing."--Trude listens expectantly. "I saw the mill
+a-gleaming."--Trude clasps her hands with pleasure and points to the
+mill. With "Didst thou mean this, thou rippling stream?" the lovely
+miller-maid comes upon the scene and Trude grows serious. "Had I a
+thousand arms to stir." Trude gives slight signs of impatience. "No
+flowret I will question, nor yet the shining stars." Trude smiles to
+herself contentedly, "Would I might carve it upon every tree!" Trude
+sighs deeply and closes her eyes; and now proceed the passionate
+fancies of the young, love-frenzied miller, till they reach the cry of
+joy which penetrates above the rippling of the brook, the rushing of
+the mill-wheels, the song of the birds:
+
+"The loved miller-maid is mine!" Trude spreads out both arms, a
+smile of quiet happiness flits across her face, she shakes her head
+as if to say, "What in the world can come after this?"--Then suddenly
+commences the miller-maid's mysterious liking for green, the
+hunting-horn echoes through the wood, the jaunty huntsman appears.
+Trude grows uneasy, "What does the fellow want?" she mutters and hits
+the beam with her fist. The miller, the poor young miller, soon begins
+to understand.--"Would I could wander far away, yea, far away from
+home; if only there were not always green wherever the eye doth roam."
+Thus the burden of his mournful strain. Trude puts out her hands in
+suspense and hope; why, it cannot be, things must come right again in
+the end. And then:
+
+
+            "Ye tiny flowrets that she gave.
+            Come rest with me in my lonely grave."
+
+
+Trude's eyes grow moist, but still she hopes that the hunter may go,
+and the miller-maid think better of it; it cannot, it must not be
+otherwise. The miller and the brook begin their sad duologue--the
+mill-brook tries to console him, but for the miller there remains but
+one comfort, _one_ rest:
+
+
+      "Ah! brooklet, little brooklet, thou wouldst comfort my pain,
+      Ah! brooklet, canst thou make my lost love return again?"
+
+
+Trude nods hastily. "What has the silly brooklet to do with it? What
+does it know of love or pain?"
+
+And then--there comes the mysterious lullaby sung by the waters. Surely
+the young miller must have fallen asleep on the brink of the rivulet--a
+kiss will waken him and when he opens his eyes the miller-maid will be
+bending over him and saying. "Forgive me, I love you as much as ever."
+
+But nay--what is the meaning of those words about the small, blue
+crystal chamber? Why must he sleep till the ocean shall have drunk up
+the brook? And if the cruel maiden is to throw her kerchief into the
+brook that his eyes may be covered, why, then the sleeper cannot be
+lying on the water's brink, then he must be lying deep down--Trude
+covers her face with her hands and bursts into loud, convulsive sobs,
+and when Johannes still persists in reading to the end, she cries out
+"Stop, stop!"
+
+"Trude, whatever is the matter?"
+
+She beckons him to leave her alone; her weeping becomes more and more
+violent; her whole body sways, it seeks a support, it bends backwards.
+
+Johannes gives a terrified scream and springs forward, catching her in
+his arms. "For heaven's sake, Trude!" he gasps, breathing heavily.
+Beads of cold perspiration stand on his brow--but she bows her little
+head on his breast, flings her arms round his neck and cries her heart
+out.--
+
+Next day Trude says: "I behaved very childishly yesterday, Hans, and I
+believe I only just missed falling down."
+
+"You were already sinking," he says, and a shudder passes through him
+at thought of that terrible moment. A sentimental smile crosses her
+face. "Then there would have been an end once and for all," she
+observes with a deep sigh, but forthwith laughs at herself for her
+silliness.
+
+The days pass by. Johannes has fulfilled Trude's keenest expectations
+as a play-fellow. The two have become inseparable; and Martin, the
+third of the party, can do nothing but look on silently and with a
+good-natured grumble say "Yea" and "Amen" to all their pranks.
+
+It is a pleasure to see them whizzing past, racing each other across
+the mill-yard as if they had wings to their feet. Trude flies along so
+that her feet hardly touch the ground, but in spite of that Johannes is
+the quicker of the two. Even if it takes time, she gets caught in the
+end. As soon as she finds that she cannot escape she cowers like a
+little frightened chicken; then when his arms encircle her
+triumphantly, her lithe body trembles as if his touch shook its very
+foundations.
+
+David, the old servant, very attentively watches these doings from a
+dormer window in the attic, which he makes his customary stand; there
+he begins scratching his head and mumbling all sorts of unintelligible
+things to himself.
+
+Trude notices him one day and laughingly points him out to Johannes.
+
+"We must play some trick on that old sneak," she whispers to him.
+
+Johannes tells her the amusing tale of how, years ago, he discovered
+the corner where the old fellow was in the habit of stowing away the
+flour he pilfered. "Perhaps we could do the same thing again?" he
+laughs.
+
+"Well, we must hunt," says Trude. No sooner said than done. The
+following Sunday when the mill stands still and no servants or
+apprentices are about, Johannes takes the bunch of keys and beckons to
+Trude to follow him.
+
+"Where are you off to?" asks Martin, looking up from the book he is
+reading.
+
+"One of the hens lays its eggs astray," said Trude quickly. "We want to
+hunt for them." And she does not even blush. They ransack the stables
+and barns, the storehouses and haystacks and especially the mill,--they
+tear upstairs and downstairs, clamber up steep ladders and rummage in
+the rubbish of the lumber attics.
+
+About two hours have gone by in fruitless search, when Trude, who
+has never lost courage, announces that in the furthest corner of the
+store-house she has found what she was seeking. Beneath some rotten
+shafts and worn-out cog-wheels, covered by the débris of the last ten
+years, stand a few large bushel-sacks, filled with flour and barley;
+besides which there are all sorts of useful trifles, such as hammers,
+pincers, brushes and table-knives. Loudly rejoicing, her eyes
+glistening, her face all dirty, her hair full of cobwebs, she emerges
+from the cavity, and after Johannes has convinced himself that she has
+seen aright, they hold council of war. Shall Martin be drawn into the
+secret? No, he would be vexed and perhaps spoil their fun. Johannes
+hits upon the right thing to do. He pours the contents of the sacks
+into their proper receptacles and then fills them with sand and gravel,
+but on the top puts a layer of lamp-black, such as the coachman uses
+for blacking his leather trappings. After having, on the way, quickly
+arranged everything as before, he considers his work completed. Both
+depart from the mill filled with intense delight, wash their hands
+and faces at the pump, help each other to get their clothes clean and
+do their best to keep a straight face on entering the room. But Martin
+at once notices the treacherous twitching of their mouths; he
+threatens them smilingly with his finger, though he asks no further
+questions....
+
+Two--three days go by during which they are consumed with
+impatience;--then one morning when Trude is in the garden Johannes
+comes rushing down, breathless and red in the face with suppressed
+laughter. She forthwith throws down her hoe and follows him then and
+there to the yard. In front of the pump stands old David, helpless and
+enraged, half white and half as black as a sweep. His face and hands
+are coal black and his clothes are full of huge tar stains. From all
+the windows of the mill the laughing faces of the mill-hands peep out;
+and Martin walks excitedly to and fro in front of the house.
+
+The scene is surpassingly comic. Johannes and Trude feel fit to die of
+laughing. David, who very rightly suspects where he must look for his
+foes, casts a vicious look at the two and makes a fresh attempt to
+clean himself. But the tell-tale black sticks to everything as if grown
+fast upon it. At last Martin takes pity on the poor devil, lets him
+come inside the common-room and orders Trude, who is laughing very
+tears, to find him an old suit of clothes.
+
+At dinner-time the two tell him about their successful prank. He shakes
+his head disapprovingly and thinks it would have been better to have
+told him of their find. Then he mutters something about "28 years of
+service" and "babyish tricks," and gets up from the table.
+
+Trude and Johannes exchange meaning looks which say "spoil-sport!" The
+affair affords them ground for amusement for three whole days.
+
+On the following Sunday Martin makes an excursion across country to get
+some old debts cashed. He will not be likely to return before evening.
+The mill-hands have gone to the inn. The mill stands empty.
+
+"Now I shall send the maids off too," says Trude to Johannes; "then we
+shall be absolutely alone in the place and can undertake something."
+
+"But what?"
+
+"That remains to be seen," she laughs and goes out into the kitchen.
+
+After half an hour she returns and says: "There, now they have gone,
+now we can begin." Then they sit down opposite each other and
+deliberate.
+
+"We shall never again manage to have such a lark as last Sunday," sighs
+Trude, and then after a while: "I say, Johannes!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You really are a great boon to me!"
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"Since you came I have been three times as happy. You see--he is ever
+so kind and you know--I am fond of him, very fond, but--he is always so
+serious, so condescending, as if I were a silly, senseless child--and
+don't you think I am hardworking and take care of his household as well
+as any one older? Surely it's not my fault that I was born so full of
+fun and it isn't, after all, a crime to be like that--but under his
+eyes, when he looks at one so solemnly and reproachfully, why it spoils
+all one's pleasure in any nonsense.... And when one has to sit there
+quite still, it's sometimes so awfully full and so ..."
+
+She stops and considers. She would like to pour out her grievances to
+him, but hardly knows what they are?
+
+"With you it is quite different," she continues, "you are a dear, good
+fellow, and never say 'no' to anything. With you one can do as one
+likes!--And besides, you haven't got his irritating smile which he puts
+on when I tell him anything, as much as to say: 'I don't mind listening
+to you, but of course you are only talking rubbish.' Then the words
+seem to stick in my throat--whereas with you ... well, one can tell you
+anything that comes into one's head."
+
+She pensively rests her head on her two hands and moves her elbows
+about on her knees.
+
+"Well, and what is coming into your head now?" he asks.
+
+She blushes and jumps up. "Catch me," she cries and barricades herself
+behind the table; but when he attempts to pursue her she walks calmly
+towards him and says; "leave that! We were going to undertake
+something, you know.--Keep the keys handy; in any case--perhaps we
+shall think of something on the way."
+
+He takes the great bunch of keys from its peg and follows her out into
+the yard, on which the hot midday sun is glaring.
+
+"Unlock the mill," she says, "it is cool in there." He does as he
+is bid, and with one wild leap she jumps down the steps into the
+half-dark space which lies before them in Sabbath quiet.
+
+"I should be frightened to be here alone," she says, looking round at
+him, then she points to the door of the office, the light wood of which
+gleams through the semi-obscurity, spreads open her fingers and
+shudders.
+
+"Has he never yet told you anything?" she whispers after a little
+while, bending towards his ear.
+
+He shakes his head. He grows somewhat oppressed in this close,
+dimly-lighted place--he breathes heavily--he longs for light and fresh
+air.--But Trude feels all the more comfortable in this vapor-laden
+atmosphere, in this mysterious twilight, where through the closed
+shutters stray slanting sunbeams glide like golden streamers onto the
+floor, and form a play-ground for myriads of little dancing particles
+of dust. The tremor which fills her is just to her liking;--she
+crouches down, then stealthily creeps up the stairs as if on the
+lookout for ghosts. When she reaches the gallery she gives a loud
+scream, and when Johannes anxiously asks what ails her, she says she
+only felt she must give vent to her feelings.
+
+She climbs up to a mill-hopper, clambers over the balustrade and slides
+down again on the banisters. Then she disappears in the darkness among
+the machinery, where the huge wheels tower above each other in gigantic
+masses. Johannes lets her do just as she likes; to-day there is no
+danger, to-day everything is at a standstill.
+
+A few seconds later she re-appears. She nestles up to Johannes' side,
+looks about with startled eyes, then pulls from her pocket a small key,
+hanging on a black ribbon. "What is this?" she asks softly.
+
+Johannes throws a rapid glance towards the office door and looks at her
+enquiringly. She nods.
+
+"Put it back," he cries, alarmed.
+
+She balances the key in her hand and gazes longingly at the shining
+metal. "I once saw by chance where he hid it," she whispers.
+
+"Put it back," he says once more.
+
+She knits her brows, then she suggests with a short laugh: "That would
+be something for us to undertake." With that she casts a timorous
+side-glance at his face to try and explore his mood.
+
+His heart beats audibly. In his soul there dawns the presentiment of
+approaching guilt.
+
+"It would remain between us two, you know, Hans," she says coaxingly.
+He closes his eyes. How delightful it would be to have a secret with
+her! "And after all, what is there in it?" she continues. "Why should
+he be so mysterious about it, especially to us two, who are his next of
+kin in the world?"
+
+"That's just why we ought not to deceive him!" he replies.
+
+She stamps her foot on the ground.
+
+"Deceive indeed! It's a shame to use such a nasty expression!" Then she
+says, pouting: "Well, then don't!" and prepares to return the key to
+its hiding-place. But she turns it about in her fingers three or four
+times, and finally remarks, laughing, "Perhaps it isn't the right one
+after all."
+
+She goes up to the door and with a shake of her head compares the
+keyhole and the shape of the key--but,--then, with a sudden jerk, she
+pushes the key into the lock.
+
+"It fits, after all," she says, and looks with apparent disappointment
+back over her shoulder at Johannes, who is standing behind her,
+anxiously watching the movements of her hands.
+
+"Turn it!" she says in jest, and steps back from the door.
+
+A tremor passes through his body. Ah, Eve, thou temptress!
+
+"Turn it and let me put my head in," she laughs, "you needn't look at
+anything yourself."
+
+Then a sudden rage takes hold of him; he lets the key fly back
+with a jerk and pushes the door wide open, so that a bright stream of
+light from the window floods towards them. Trude makes a disappointed
+face. All they see is a plain, business-like room with bare,
+whitewashed wooden walls. In the middle stands a large, roughly painted
+writing-table on which lie samples of grain and ledgers. On one wall
+hangs a bundle of old clothes, and on the opposite one a wooden shelf
+with some blue exercise-books and a few plainly bound volumes upon it.
+Johannes casts a few timid glances around, then steps up to the
+book-shelf and begins turning over the title-pages. What an uncanny
+collection! There are medical works on brain diseases, fractures of the
+skull and the like, philosophical treatises on the heredity of passion,
+a "History of Passion and its Terrible Consequences." "Method for
+Self-Restraint," and Kant's "Art of Overcoming Morbid Feeling by Pure
+Force of Will." There are literary works, too, but they nearly all
+treat of fratricide as their subject. Side by side with such thrilling
+romances as "The Tragic Fate of a Whole Family at Elsterwerda," are
+Schiller's "Bride of Messina," and Leisowitz's "Julius of Tarent." Even
+theology is represented by a number of little tracts on the deadly sins
+and their remission. Besides these, the blue exercise-books contain
+carefully made extracts and dissertations and morbid reflections upon
+things experienced and mused over.
+
+Johannes lets his hands drop. "My poor, poor brother!" he murmurs with
+a deep sigh. Then he feels Trude's hand on his shoulder. She points to
+a tablet hanging above the door, and asks in an anxious whisper: "What
+does that signify?"
+
+In large gold letters these words are there inscribed:
+
+                            Think of Fritz!
+
+Johannes does not answer. He throws himself into a chair, buries his
+face in his hands and weeps bitterly.
+
+Trude trembles in every limb. She calls him by name, puts her arm round
+his neck, tries to remove his hands from his face, and, when all this
+avails nothing, she bursts into tears herself. When he hears her
+sobbing, he raises his head and looks about in a dazed sort of way. His
+gaze rests on the clothes hanging upon the wall, boy's clothes of many
+years ago. He knows them well. His mother used to keep them as relics
+at the bottom of her linen-press, and once showed them to him with the
+words: "These were worn by your little dead brother." Since her death
+the clothes had disappeared. Nor had he ever thought of them again. A
+shudder runs through his frame.
+
+"Come," he says to Trade, who is still crying to herself, and they both
+leave the office. Trade wants to get out of the mill forthwith.
+
+"First take the key back," he says.
+
+Together they descend the stairs leading down to the machinery, and,
+when the key hangs in its old place, they both rush out into the open
+air as if pursued by furies.
+
+
+With this hour their intercourse has lost its old harmlessness. They
+have become participants in guilt. The feeling of guilt rests with
+terrible weight on their youthful souls. They pity each other, for each
+reads the story of his own conscience in the other's silent depression,
+suppressed sighs and ill-concealed absent-mindedness--but neither can
+help the other.
+
+How gladly they would confess their fault to Martin.--But it would not
+do to go to him together and say, "Forgive us--we have sinned"--it
+would really look too theatrical--and if one of them takes the
+confession upon himself, he gains no mean advantage over the other.
+They are both equally closely connected with Martin and whoever is the
+first to break silence must perforce appear to him as the more upright
+and less guilty one. Besides, they have vowed absolute secrecy to each
+other and feel all the less inclined to break their word, as they are
+afraid to converse openly on the subject.
+
+Thus more and more a sort of clandestine understanding is nurtured
+between them; every harmless word spoken at table has for them a
+special, deep significance; every look they exchange becomes an emblem
+of secret agreement.
+
+Martin notices nothing of all this; only now and again it strikes him
+that "his two children" have lost a good deal of their old cheerfulness
+and that they no longer sing so merrily. He makes no remark, however,
+for he thinks they may have quarreled and are still sulking with one
+another.
+
+
+The following week, when Martin has once again shut himself up in his
+office, Trude takes heart and says: "I say, Hans, it is nonsense for us
+to fret ourselves. We will let the stupid affair rest."
+
+He makes a melancholy face and says: "If only it were possible!"
+
+She bursts out laughing and he laughs with her; it is "possible," of
+course, but the love of concealment to which they have pandered will
+not be shaken off. Every foolish joke gains piquancy by the fact that
+Martin "on no account" must get to know about it, and when they are
+whispering with their heads together, they start asunder at the least
+noise as if they were planning conspiracy.
+
+As yet no word has been spoken, no look exchanged, hardly a thought
+awakened which need shun the light, but the bloom of innocence has been
+swept off their souls. In this wise the feast of St. John has come
+round.
+
+The wind blows sultry. The earth lies as if intoxicated--buried beneath
+blossoms, reveling in a superabundance of fragrance. The jasmine and
+guelder-rose bushes appear as though covered with white foam; the
+spring roses open their chalices, and the limes are putting forth their
+buds already.
+
+Trude sits on the veranda, has let her work drop into her lap and is
+a-dreaming. The fragrance of the flowers and the sun's hot glow have
+confused her senses, but she heeds not that. The flowers' fragrance and
+the sun's hot breath, she would love to drain all the flower-cups--if
+only they contained something to drink.
+
+In the mill they have ceased working earlier than usual, for the
+apprentices want to go to the village to the midsummer night's fźte.
+There is to be dancing and firing of tar-barrels and everyone will
+enjoy himself to the best of his ability.
+
+Trude sighs. Ah, for a chance of going there too! Martin may stay at
+home, but Johannes, Johannes of course would have to accompany her
+there. There he stands at the entrance and nods across at her. Then he
+throws himself down on the bench opposite--he is tired and hot. He has
+been working hard.
+
+A few minutes later he jumps up again. "I can't stay here," he says.
+"It is suffocatingly hot."
+
+"Where else do you want to go?"
+
+"Down to the weir. Will you come too?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+And she throws down her work and takes his arm.
+
+"They are going to dance down in the village to-day," says she.
+
+"I suppose that's where you would like to go too, you puss?"
+
+She wrings her hands and groans, so as to give the most drastic
+expression to her longing.
+
+"But I cannot have my way; For at home I've got to stay," he hums.
+
+"It's a regular shame," she grumbles, "that I have never yet in my
+life danced with you.--And I should like to immensely, for you dance
+well--very well!"
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"What a question!" she says with feigned indignation. "Think of that
+rifle fźte three years ago. All the girls told wonders of how well you
+held them during the dance--not too loose and not too tight;--and that
+you were tall and good-looking I could see for myself--but what good
+was all that to me? You overlooked me as utterly as if I were nothing
+but empty air."
+
+"How old were you at that time?"
+
+She hesitates a little, then says dejectedly: "Fourteen and a half."
+
+"Well, that's the explanation," he laughs. "But I was then already tall
+and--and--full grown," she answers eagerly. "It wouldn't have hurt you
+to have whirled me round the room a few times."
+
+"Well, we can make up for it in a fortnight at the rifle fźte."
+
+"Yes, can we?" she asks with beaming eyes.
+
+"Martin is one of the patrons of the shooters' company. That is in
+itself a reason for his being present."
+
+Trude gives vent loudly to her delight; then in sudden perplexity she
+says: "But I have no dancing shoes."
+
+"Have some made for yourself."
+
+"Oh, our village cobbler is such a clumsy worker."
+
+"Then I will order you a pair from town. You need only give me your
+measure."
+
+"Will you really? Oh, you dear, darling Hans!" And then she suddenly
+withdraws her arm, runs forward a few steps, calls out "catch me," and
+whisks away. Johannes starts in pursuit,--but he is tired--he cannot
+overtake her. Across the drawbridge of the weir the chase proceeds
+across on to the vast grass plain, stretching as far as the distant
+pine wood. Trude dodges him cleverly,--runs past him--and before he can
+follow, she is once more on this side of the river. Breathlessly she
+makes a dash for the chain by which the drawbridge is regulated; from
+on shore--she tears at it with all her might; the wood-work moves
+creaking on its hinges--and jerks upwards--at the very moment when
+Johannes springs on to the foot-plank. He staggers, he cries out,--and
+clutching hold of the main beam, he manages by sheer force to stem its
+movement just as the gap is opening. Trude has turned as white as a
+sheet, she stares speechlessly at him, as, gasping for breath, he gazes
+down into the dark abyss.
+
+"I didn't--think of that, Hans," she stammers with a look which very
+eloquently pleads forgiveness.
+
+He laughs out loud. A wild, devil-may-care feeling of happiness has
+come over him.
+
+"Oh you--you!" he cries, opening out his arms. "I shall have you yet."
+And with a fool-hardy leap he jumps on to the narrow main-beam, which,
+with its two slanting, roof-shaped sides, spans the river.
+
+"Hans--for God's sake--Hans!"
+
+He does not hear--beneath him is the foaming abyss--he has hard work to
+keep his balance--he moves forward--he trembles he sways--three
+more--two more steps only one more daring leap--he is over.
+
+"Now run!" he cries, with a wild shout of glee.
+
+But Trude does not stir. She stares in his direction, paralyzed with
+terror. Like a tiger he springs towards her--he encircles her with
+his arms--he presses her to him--she closes her eyes and breathes
+heavily--then he bends down and lays his hot and thirsting lips upon
+hers. She gives a loud moan--her body trembles feverishly in his
+embrace. Then he lets her glide down--his affrighted gaze travels
+around--has no one seen it? "No, no one!" And what if they have? May
+Martin's brother not kiss Martin's wife? Did not he himself once
+require it of him?
+
+She opens her eyes as though awakening from a deep dream. Her eyes
+avoid his.
+
+"That was not nice of you, Hans," she says softly, "you must never do
+that to me again!"
+
+He does not answer and stoops to pick up the rose which has fallen from
+her bosom.
+
+"Let me go home," she says, casting a frightened look around.
+
+They walk along side by side for a while in silence; she gazes into
+space; he smells the rose he has found.
+
+"Do you like roses?" he continues. She looks at him. "As if you did not
+know that," her look says.
+
+"By the bye," he goes on gaily, "why do you no longer put flowers at my
+bed-side now?"
+
+"He has forbidden me," she stammers.
+
+"That alters the case," he replies, crestfallen. Then their
+conversation comes to a standstill altogether.
+
+On the veranda Martin receives them with a good-natured scolding. He
+declares he is ravenously hungry, and supper is not yet served.
+
+Trude hurries to the kitchen to give a helping hand herself.... The
+meal is consumed in silence. The two do not raise their eyes from their
+plates. An atmosphere of unbearable sultriness oppresses the earth. The
+hot wind whirls up small dust clouds and bluish grey veils of mist
+settle down slowly.
+
+Johannes leans his head against the glass of the veranda window, but
+that is as hot as if it had been all day in a fiery furnace. Then Trude
+suddenly jumps up.
+
+"Where are you going to?" asks Martin.
+
+"Into the garden," she replies.
+
+After a while they hear her mounting the stairs that lead to the turret
+room. When she comes out again she gives Johannes a quick, timid look,
+then takes her seat with downcast eyes.
+
+From the village green come sounds of merry-making and screams of
+enjoyment, mingled with the squeak of the fiddle and the drone of the
+double-bass.
+
+"I suppose you'd like to go there, children?" They are both silent and
+he takes their silence for consent. "Well, then come along," he says,
+getting up. Trude stretches out her arms in silent anguish, looks
+across wistfully at Johannes, then with a shake of her head she says,
+"Don't care about it!"
+
+"Why, what's up?" cried Martin, quite taken aback. "Since when do you
+get out of the way of dance music? I suppose you two have been
+squabbling again, eh?"
+
+Johannes laughs curtly and Trude turns away. Suddenly she gets up, says
+laconically, "Good-night," and disappears.
+
+A little later the brothers, too, part company.
+
+With heavy limbs Johannes mounts the stairs--he opens the door of his
+room--an intoxicating fragrance of flowers wells towards him. He draws
+a deep breath and utters a sigh of satisfaction. Then this was the
+reason for going at such a late hour into the garden! By the side of
+his pillow stands a huge bunch of rose and jasmine. He drops into bed
+as if he would like to bury himself beneath this mass of blossoms. For
+a while he lies a-dreaming quietly to himself, but his breathing
+becomes more and more labored, his senses grow dim,--at every pulsation
+a poignant pain darts through his temples,--he feels as though he must
+succumb beneath this overpowering fragrance.
+
+Exerting all his force of will, he pulls himself up and pushes open a
+window. But even this brings no calm, no relief. A very chaos of
+fragrance wafts up to him from the garden--the wind breathes hotly upon
+him, lukewarm, tingling drops of rain beat upon his face. Down in the
+village the fires from the tar-barrels shoot fitfully through the
+nebulous clouds of mist veiling the distance.
+
+Johannes looks down. He is waiting. His heart is beating audibly. His
+longing appears to him almighty--he will force that window below to
+open and ... hark! Softly the latch is pushed back, one sash is thrown
+open, and there, leaning far out, framed by waving unbound tresses,
+Trude's face appears, straining upwards to him with mute yearning.
+
+One moment--then it has vanished. He knows not--shall he exult, or
+shall he weep?--Now he may sink into sweet unconsciousness--What can
+the fragrance harm him now?
+
+He undresses and goes to bed; but before he drops to sleep he once more
+raises himself up, gropes with a trembling hand for the vase, and
+buries his face in the flowers.
+
+How like it all is to that first evening, and yet how different! Then
+he was peaceful and happy; now ...
+
+A suddenly awakened memory makes him start; his fingers clutch the
+handle of the vase more tightly--he listens and listens--he feels as if
+that merry laugh which then so softly sounded through the floor, must
+at this moment again greet his ears--he listens with increasing fear
+till his whole brain is humming and buzzing--an ugly feeling of hatred
+and jealousy suddenly uprises within him; and, bursting into a wild
+laugh, he hurls the vase far away into the middle of the room, where it
+shatters with a crash.
+
+Next morning Johannes is ashamed of himself. It all seems as if it had
+been a bad dream. He collects the fragments of the vase, fits them
+together and resolves to get some cement from the chemist and mend it.
+Much as he considers the matter, he cannot explain the feeling which
+prompted him to this act of apparent school-boy folly; he only knows
+that it was something wicked and loathsome.
+
+He presses his brother's hand more heartily than at other times and
+gazes silently into his eyes as if to plead forgiveness for some grave
+crime.
+
+Trude looks pale and as if she had not slept. Her eyes avoid his, and
+the cup of coffee which she hands him rattles in her trembling hand.
+
+As he can find no better subject, he begins to talk about the dancing
+shoes, wishing at the same time to sound Martin. He is quite agreeable.
+Trude is to have her measure taken at once and when she objects to
+taking off her shoes in Johannes' presence, he angrily calls her an
+"affected little prude," She is offended, begins to cry and leaves the
+room. Then towards evening she bashfully appears with her measure and
+Johannes sends off his letter. The broken vase still weighs heavily on
+his conscience. When he is alone with her he confesses.
+
+"I say, I've done a clumsy thing."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I have smashed a vase."
+
+"Indeed! was that simply clumsiness?"
+
+"What else should it be?"
+
+"I thought you had done it on purpose," she says, with apparent utter
+indifference. He gives no answer, and she quietly nods a few times to
+herself as much as to say, "It seems I was right after all!"
+
+
+The days pass by. Relations between Johannes and Trude are cooler than
+they were. They do not avoid each other, they even talk together, but
+their former happy-go-lucky mode of intercourse is irretrievably lost.
+
+"She is offended because I kissed her," thinks Johannes, but it does
+not strike him that he too has changed his behavior towards her.
+
+"Children, what's up with you?" says Martin one evening grumblingly.
+"Have your throats grown rusty, as you never sing now?"
+
+For a few seconds both are silent, then Trude says, half turning
+towards Johannes, "Will you?" He nods; but as she has not been looking
+at him she thinks she has had no answer and says, turning towards
+Martin, "You see, he doesn't want to!"
+
+"Don't I though!" laughs Johannes.
+
+"Then why can't you say so at once?" she answers with a timid attempt
+at responding to his cheerful tone.
+
+Then she puts herself in position, folds her hands in her lap as she is
+wont to do when singing, and fixes her eyes on the pigeon-house yonder.
+
+"What shall we sing?" she asks.
+
+"Must we part, beloved maid?"--he suggests.
+
+She shakes her head. "Nothing about love," she says rather pointedly,
+"that's all so stupid."
+
+He looks at her astonished and after some deliberation she starts a
+hunting song. He joins in lustily and their voices blend and unite like
+two waves in the ocean. They themselves marvel at such harmony; they
+have never sung so well. But they soon come to an end. The Germans have
+not many folk-songs which are not at the same time love ditties. And
+finally she has to submit.
+
+
+            "Rose-bush and elder-tree,
+            When my love comes to me!"
+
+
+she begins, tacking on a "Jodler." He smiles and looks at her, she
+blushes and turns away.--She has let herself be caught now.
+
+The two voices grow full of wonderful animation, as though their
+hearts' pulsation were throbbing through the notes. They swell
+heavenwards as though impelled by waves of passion, they die down as
+though the bourne of life were stagnant through intensity of hidden
+woe.
+
+            "No words can e'er express my love,
+            In silent longing I adore.
+            Question my eyes, for they will speak;
+            I love thee now and evermore!"
+
+
+Why do their eyes suddenly meet? What occasion is there for them both
+to tremble as though an electric current were passing through their
+bodies?...
+
+
+            "There is never an hour in my sleeping
+            When my thoughts are not waking.
+            Their flight to thee taking,
+            To thank thee for placing forever
+            Thy heart in my keeping!"
+
+
+What intoxicating passion vibrates through the notes!
+
+How the two voices seek each other as if to embrace!
+
+
+            "O'er the mill-stream bends the willow,
+            In the valley lies the snow,
+            Sweetest love, 'tis time we parted,
+            I must leave thee, broken-hearted.
+            Parting, love, is full of woe!"
+
+
+The voices die away in tremulous whispers. It is over--longing and
+hope, the pain of parting and the agony of death, all resounded in
+these treacherous, swelling chords.
+
+Trude's lips twitch as with suppressed weeping, but her eyes glitter,
+and suddenly, standing bolt upright, she begins the old, sad
+miller-song about the golden house that stands "over on yonder hill."
+
+Johannes starts, and his voice falls in tremulously. They sing through
+the first verse and begin the second:
+
+
+            "Down there in yonder valley,
+            The mill-wheel grinds away,
+            'Tis love that it is grinding
+            By night and all the day.
+            The mill-wheel now is broken--"
+
+
+Suddenly--a scream--a fall--Trude has dropped down in front of the
+bench and is sobbing convulsively in the corner with her head pressed
+against the wood-work.
+
+Both brothers jump up--Martin takes her head between both his hands,
+and, quite upset, he stammers disconnected, confused words--but she
+only sobs more violently. He stamps his foot on the ground in despair
+and, turning towards Johannes, who is deathly pale, he cries; "What
+ails the child?"
+
+Then Trude flings both her arms around his neck, raises herself up by
+him and hides her tear-stained face upon his breast, as if seeking
+refuge. He strokes her dishevelled hair caressingly and tries to calm
+her; but he does not understand the art of comforting, poor Martin;
+each one of his half-mumbled words sounds like suppressed scoldings.
+She lets her head sink back towards the wall of foliage, her lips move,
+and, as if she were continuing the song, she murmurs, still half choked
+with sobs:
+
+
+            "The mill-wheel--now--is broken!"
+
+
+"No, my child, it is not broken," his eyes filling with tears, "it
+will not be broken--not _ours_--it will go on turning--as long as we
+live."--
+
+She shakes her head passionately and closes her eyes, as though
+beholding visions.
+
+"And what makes such things enter your head?" he continues. "Has not
+everything turned out better than we thought? Isn't Johannes with us
+too?--Don't we live together in happiness and content?--and work from
+morn till night?--and--and--aren't your people comfortable too? And
+don't we take care that your father has a good income--and"--
+
+He groans and wipes the perspiration from his brow. He can think of
+nothing more--and now appeals to Johannes, who is standing with his
+face turned away and his head resting against the pillar at the
+entrance of the veranda.
+
+"Why will you always sing such sad songs?" he growls at him. "I myself
+got to feel quite--I don't know what--when you began with them--and
+she--she is only a weak woman."
+
+Trude shakes her head as if to say, "Don't scold!" Then she raises
+herself, murmurs, without looking up, a soft "Good-night," and goes
+into the house.
+
+Martin follows her.
+
+Johannes buries his head in his arms and dreams to himself. He sees
+her again as she raises herself to her full height with her eyes all
+a-gleam,--then suddenly sank down as if struck by lightning. Then he
+reproaches himself that he did not hasten to her side sooner, to
+prevent her from falling, for he was nearest to her, and not only as
+regards space!
+
+Not only as regards space! As by a lurid flame--horrible,
+bloody-red--his brain is suddenly illumined! Now he understands what
+feelings inspired him on that midsummer night--why he flung the vase to
+the ground--he makes a movement as if he would shatter it a second
+time!--It is only for one moment--a moment of hellish torture--then the
+flame is suddenly extinguished, there is darkness once more--intense,
+pain-penetrated darkness!--He passes his hand over his brow, as if to
+fire the flame anew, but all remains dark,--and dark and mysterious
+remains to him what he has just experienced. He feels as though he must
+cry out, as if he must confide to the night this unintelligible agony
+in which he is wrestling. He drops on to his knees, on the very same
+spot where Trude sank down, rests his head on the edge of the bench and
+moans softly to himself.
+
+Suddenly a door in the house slams. His brother's steps resound in the
+entrance.
+
+He jumps up and sits down on the bench. Martin's figure, darkly
+outlined, appears on the veranda.
+
+"Brother, brother!" Johannes calls out to him.
+
+"Are you there, my boy?" the latter answers and throws himself with a
+deep sigh on to the bench. "Well, things are nearly all right again
+now--she has cried herself to sleep and now she is lying there quite
+calmly and her breath too comes quietly and regularly. I stood for a
+while at her bedside and looked at her. I am quite at a loss! Her
+child-like mind used to lie before me as clear as a mirror--and now all
+at once--what can it be? However much I think about it, I don't seem to
+get on to the right track. Perhaps she troubles because as yet there is
+no prospect of--of--yes, probably that's it. But I have always kept my
+longing quite to myself--didn't want to hurt her feelings--for of
+course, she can't alter the matter. And really, if one thinks about it,
+she is but a child herself and much too young to fulfil maternal
+duties. Why, one must have patience!" Thus he tries to talk away his
+soul's secret sorrow. Johannes remains silent. His heart is so full, so
+full. He wants to give his brother some proof of his affection and
+knows not how? He too has his own pain which he wants to work off, and,
+grasping Martin's hand, he says from the depths of his soul: "Oh,
+everything, everything will come right again!"
+
+"Of course, why shouldn't it?" Martin stammers in consternation. He
+shakes his head, looks down thoughtfully for a while, then says, with
+an uneasy laugh: "Go to bed, Johannes.--That broken mill-wheel is
+haunting your imagination."
+
+Next day Trude is lying ill in bed. She will see no one--even Martin as
+little as possible. Johannes slinks about unable to settle down to
+anything. Their meals are taken in monotonous silence. The shadows
+close down more and more round the Rockhammer mill.
+
+But the sun breaks forth once more. On the fourth day Trude is half-way
+convalescent again, and Johannes may go into her room for a talk with
+her.
+
+He finds her sitting at the window, with a white dress lying across her
+lap. She is pale and weak yet, but her features are glorified by an
+expression of peaceful melancholy such as convalescents are apt to
+wear.
+
+Smiling, she puts out her hand to Johannes.
+
+"How are you now?" he asks softly.
+
+"Well--as you see," she replies, pointing to the white dress; "my
+thoughts are already occupied with the ball."
+
+"What ball?" he asks, astonished.
+
+"What a bad memory you have!" she says with an attempt at a joke. "Why,
+next Sunday is the rifle-fźte."
+
+"Yes, so it is."
+
+"Perhaps you're not even looking forward to dancing with me?"
+
+"Indeed I am!"
+
+"Very much?--Tell me! Very much?"
+
+"Very much!"
+
+A child-like smile of pleasure flits across her pale, delicate face;
+she fingers the laces and frills, with undisguised delight at the
+white, airy texture.
+
+This physical exhaustion seems to have restored to her mind its former,
+child-like harmlessness, and with a certain degree of anxiety she
+begins to enquire about her dancing shoes. She is once more, to all
+appearance, just the same girlishly thoughtless creature who once put
+out her hand with such unconstrained simple-heartedness to bid Johannes
+welcome.
+
+He sits down opposite to her, lets the texture of the ball-dress glide
+through his fingers, and listens to her prattling with a quiet smile.
+
+And everything she tells him is replete with sunshine and the very joy
+of existence. This had been her wedding dress which she had made and
+trimmed herself, for she could do that as well as anybody. She would
+have liked to wear silk, as befitted the bride of the rich miller
+Rockhammer, but she could not scrape together sufficient money, and as
+for letting her intended give her her wedding dress--well, her pride
+would not permit that. To-day she felt almost sorry to undo the seams,
+for how many foolish hopes and dreams were not sewn into them?--But
+what else could she do?--she had got so much stouter since she was a
+married woman.
+
+Then the conversation flies off at a tangent to the approaching
+rifle-fźte, touches on her new acquaintances in the village and
+occasionally wanders off to the shoemaker's place in the town; but ever
+and again she comes back to the time of her engagement and tarries over
+the moods and events of those blissful days.
+
+She seems to feel just like a young girl again. The smile that plays so
+dreamily and full of presage about her lips, is like the smile of a
+bride--as if the fete to which she is looking forward were her wedding.
+
+All her thoughts henceforth tend towards the ball. While she is
+entirely recovering, while her eyes grow clear, and the color returns
+to her cheeks, she is meditating by day and by night how she shall
+adorn herself; she is dreaming of the bliss which in those looked-for
+hours is to dawn upon her, as though it were something totally new and
+beyond all comprehension.
+
+Trumpets sound; clarionets shriek; the big drum joins in with its dull,
+droning thud.
+
+Midst clinking and clanking, midst skipping and tripping, the guild
+march along the street in solemn procession. On in front ride two
+heralds on horseback--Franz Maas and Johannes Rockhammer, the two
+Uhlans of the Guard. Nothing would induce them to give up their
+privilege--even did it mean rack and ruin to the guild.
+
+Franz's countenance is beaming, but Johannes looks serious--indifferent
+almost; what does he care about all these people from whom he has
+become estranged? He salutes no one, his gaze rests on none; but he is
+searching, he is mustering the lines of people,--and now, suddenly--his
+features glow with pride and happiness-he bows, he lowers his sword in
+salute:--over there at the street corner, with rosy-red cheeks, with
+beaming eyes, waving her handkerchief, stands she whom he seeks--his
+brother's wife.
+
+She is laughing--she is beckoning--she pulls herself up by the railing,
+she jumps on to the curb-stone--she wants to watch him till he
+disappears in the whirling clouds of dust. With all this she nearly,
+very nearly, forgets Martin, who is walking along close to the banner.
+But then, why does he go marching on so quietly and stiffly, why does
+he stick his head so far into his collar?--Over there in the distance
+Johannes is beckoning just once more with his sword.
+
+The rifle-range, the goal of the procession, is situated close to the
+fir-copse--which, seen from the weir, frames the meadow landscape,--and
+hardly a thousand paces straight across from the Rockhammer mill, which
+seems to beckon from over the alder bushes by the river. If those
+stupid rifle people did not make such a deafening noise one might
+easily hear the rushing of the waters....
+
+"If only this hocus-pocus were already over," observed Johannes,
+and casts a longing look towards the "ball-room," a huge square
+tent-erection, whose canvas roof rises high above the mass of smaller
+stalls and tents grouped around. Not till afternoon, when the "King"
+has been solemnly proclaimed, may the members' friends enter the
+festival ground. The hours pass by; shots resound at intervals along
+the boundary of the wood. At noon comes Johannes' turn. He shoots--at
+random--in spite of the flowers which Trude stuck into his gun.
+"Flowers for luck," she had said, and Martin had stood by and smiled,
+as one smiles at childish play. ... As soon as his duties as a rifleman
+are fulfilled, he turns his back on the ranges and betakes himself into
+the wood, where nothing is to be heard of all the shouting and
+chattering and there is no sound but the echo of the shooting softly
+dying away into the air.... He throws himself down upon the mossy
+ground and stares up at the branches of the fir-trees, whose slender
+needles glisten and gleam in the rays of the midday sun, like brightly
+polished little knives. Then he closes his eyes and dreams. How strange
+the whole world has become to him! And how far removed everything seems
+which he ever lived through before! Not indeed that he has lived
+through much--women and care have played no great part in his life
+hitherto: and yet how rich, how full of glowing color it has always
+appeared to him! Now an abyss has swallowed up everything, and over the
+abyss rose-colored mists are undulating....
+
+Two hours may have elapsed, when he hears distant trumpet blasts
+proclaim the election of a new king. He jumps up. Only half an hour
+more; then Trude will be coming.
+
+At the shooting-stand he learns that the dignity of "king" has been
+allotted to his friend Franz Maas. He hears it as if in a dream; what
+does it concern him? His gaze wanders incessantly towards the highroad,
+where, through the dust and the glaring sun, crowds of gaily dressed
+female figures are approaching on foot and in carriages.
+
+"Are you looking out for Trude?" asks Martin's voice suddenly, close
+behind him.
+
+He looks up startled from his brooding. "Good gracious, boy, what's up
+with you?" asks Martin laughingly. "Have you taken your bad shot so
+much to heart, or are you sleeping in broad daylight?"
+
+Martin has one of his good days to-day. Meeting all these people--he is
+one of the chief dignitaries of the guild--has roused him from his
+usual moodiness,--his eyes glisten and a jovial smile plays about his
+broad mouth. If only he did not look so awkward in his Sunday clothes!
+His hat sits right on his forehead, leaving full play to a bunch of
+bristly hair sticking up curiously over the brim, and below that there
+appear the white tapes of his shirt-front, which have worked out from
+under his coat collar.
+
+"There she comes, there she comes," he suddenly shouts, waving his hat.
+
+The flashing carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid Lithuanian bays, is
+the Rockhammer state coach, which Martin had had built for his wedding.
+Sitting within it--that white figure reclining with such proud dignity
+in one corner, and looking about with such distant seriousness--that is
+she, "the rich mistress of Rockhammer," as the people all round are
+whispering to each other.
+
+"Look--Trude is giving herself airs," says Martin softly, pulling
+Johannes' sleeve.
+
+At the same moment she discovers the brothers, and, throwing her
+affected bearing to the winds, she jumps up in the carriage, waves her
+sunshade in one hand, her kerchief in the other, and laughs and gives
+vent to her delight and prods the coachman with the point of her
+parasol to make him drive faster. Then, when the carriage stops, she
+gives herself no time to wait till the door is opened, but jumps onto
+the splash-board and from there straight into Martin's arms. She is in
+a state of feverish excitement; her breath comes hot; her lips move to
+speak, but her voice fails her.
+
+"Quietly, child, quietly," says Martin, and strokes her hair, which
+to-day falls upon her bare neck in a mass of little ringlets. Johannes
+stands motionless, lost in contemplation of her.
+
+How lovely she is!
+
+The white, gauzy dress floats round her exquisite figure like an airy
+veil! And that white neck!--and those little dimples at her bosom!--and
+those glorious plump arms on which there trembles a light, silvery
+fluff!--and this plastic bust, which rises and falls like a marble
+wave!... She appears unapproachably beautiful, every inch a woman yet
+every inch majesty, for in his innocent mind the ideas "woman" and
+"majesty" are synonymous, and mean for him an indefinable something
+which fills him with bliss and with fear. His eyes are suddenly opened
+and are dazzled as yet with gazing at this regal type of female
+loveliness, beside which he has hitherto walked as one blind. How
+lovely she is! How lovely is woman! And now a torrent of confused
+words streams from her unfettered lips. She had nearly died of
+impatience.--And that stupid big clock,--and her lonely dinner,--and
+those silly dancing shoes which would not fit! They are too tight; they
+pinch frightfully--"but they look lovely, don't they?"
+
+And she lifts up the hem of her skirt a little to show the works of
+art, light blue, high-heeled little shoes, tied across the instep with
+blue silk bows.
+
+"They seem too short!" Martin remarks, with a doubtful shake of his
+head.
+
+"That's just what they _are_," she laughs, "my toes burn as if they were
+on fire! But I shall dance all the better for it--what do _you_ say,
+Johannes?" And she closes her eyes for a moment as though to recall
+vanished dreams. Then she hooks her arm in Martin's, and asks to be
+taken to her tent. The most notable families of the district have
+provided themselves with private dwellings--light huts or canvas tents
+which afford them night shelter, for the fźte commonly drags on till
+early day. Trude had been herself the day before on the festival ground
+to superintend the erection of her tent; she had also had furniture
+brought in and wreathed the entrance gaily with leafy garlands. She may
+well be proud of her handiwork, for the Rockhammer tent is the finest
+of the whole collection.
+
+While Martin seeks to wedge his way through the crowd, she turns to
+Johannes and says quickly and softly:
+
+"Are you satisfied, Hans? Am I to your liking?"
+
+He nods.
+
+"Very much. Tell me--very much?"
+
+"Very much."
+
+She draws a deep breath, then laughs to herself in silent satisfaction.
+
+The miller's lovely wife makes a sensation among the crowd. The strange
+farmers and land-proprietors stand and stare at her--the burghers'
+wives secretly nudge each other with their elbows; the young fellows
+from the village awkwardly pull off their hats; a whispering and
+murmuring passes through the throng wherever she appears. With serious
+mien and affecting a certain dignity, she walks along, leaning on
+Martin's arm, from time to time shaking back the curls which wave over
+her shoulders,--and when, in so doing, she throws back her head, she
+looks like a queen, or rather like a spirited child which is playing
+the part of a queen in a fairy tale, and hardly feels comfortable in
+the rōle.
+
+When an hour later the first notes of the fiddles are heard, she calls
+out with a cry of delight! "Hans, now I belong to you."
+
+Martin warns her to beware of cold and other evils, but in the midst of
+his speeches they are off and away. Then he resigns himself, pours
+himself out a good glass of Hungarian wine, and stretches himself on
+the sofa to take some rest.
+
+All sorts of pleasant thoughts flit through his head. Hasn't everything
+arranged itself happily and satisfactorily since Johannes came to live
+at the mill? Have not even his own bad hours of tragic presentiment and
+haunting terror become less and less frequent? Is he not visibly
+reviving, infected by the harmless merriment of those two? Is
+not this very day the best proof that his antipathy to strange
+people has disappeared, that he has learnt to be merry when others are
+merry-making?--And Trude--how happy she is at his side!--That evening
+certainly!--Well, what of that! Women are frail creatures, subject to a
+thousand varying moods! And how quickly things have come right again!
+The words which Johannes spoke to him that night, come back to him; he
+clinks his full glass against the two empty ones which the youngsters
+have left behind them: "Good luck to you both! May our happy triple
+alliance continue to our lives' end!"--Meanwhile Trude and Johannes
+have squeezed themselves through the closely packed crowd, as far as
+the entrance to the dancing-room. Sounding waves of music swell towards
+them; like a hot human breath the air from within is wafted in their
+direction. In the semi-obscurity of the tent the couples are whirling
+along in one dense crowd, and flit past them like shadowy forms.
+
+Johnannes walks as one a-dreaming. He hardly dares to let his gaze rest
+upon Trude; for even yet that mysterious awe has complete possession of
+him and seems to bind him round with iron fetters.
+
+"You are so quiet to-day, Hans," she whispers, nestling with her face
+against his sleeve. He is silent.
+
+"Have I done anything to displease you!"
+
+"Nothing--no indeed!" he stammers.
+
+"Then come, let us dance!"
+
+At the moment when he lays his hand upon her she gives a start; then
+with a deep sigh she lets herself sink into his arms. And now they are
+whirling along. She leans her face with a deep-drawn breath upon his
+breast. Just in front of her left eye there flutters the rosette which
+he wears to-day as a member of the rifle-guild; the white silk ribbon
+trembles close to her eyelashes. She moves her head a little to one
+side and looks up at him.
+
+"Do you know how I feel?" she murmurs.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"As if you were carrying me through the clouds."
+
+And then, when they have to stop, she says: "Come out quickly, so that
+I need not dance with anyone else!"
+
+She clutches hold of his hand, while he makes a passage for her through
+the crowd of people. Outside, she takes his arm, and walks at his side
+proudly and happily with glowing cheeks and dancing eyes. She laughs,
+she chatters, she jests, and he keeps pace with her to the best of his
+ability.--In the heat of the dance his bashfulness has entirely melted
+away. A wild gladness fires his veins. To-day she is his with every
+thought and feeling, his only, as he can feel by the trembling of her
+arm, which rests upon his more firmly with secret, sweet pressure; he
+can see it in the most gleaming glamour of her eyes as she raises them
+to his.
+
+After a time she asks, somewhat reluctantly: "I say, mustn't we have a
+look what Martin is doing?"
+
+"Yes, you are right," he replies eagerly. But nothing comes of this
+good resolution. Every time they happen to pass the tent something
+remarkable is sure to be taking place in the opposite direction, which
+gives them an opportunity of forgetting their intention.
+
+Then all of a sudden, Martin himself comes towards them, beaming with
+pleasure and surrounded by a number of village inhabitants whom he is
+taking along with him to stand them treat. "Hallo, children!" he says,
+"I am just going to remove my general headquarters to the 'Crown'
+Innkeeper's booth; if you want a drink, come along with me."
+
+Trude and Johannes exchange a rapid glance of understanding and
+simultaneously beg to be excused.
+
+"Good-bye then, children, and enjoy yourselves thoroughly!" With that
+he goes off.
+
+"I have never seen him in such good spirits," remarks Trude, laughing.
+"Indeed, no one could grudge them to him," says Johannes in a gentle
+voice, looking affectionately after his brother. He wants to kill the
+gnawing which has awakened within him at sight of Martin.
+
+
+Evening has come on. The festive crowd is bathed in purple light. The
+wood and the meadow are ruddy red.
+
+In a lonely nook at the meadow's edge, Trude stops and looks with
+dazzled gaze towards the faintly glowing sun.
+
+"Ah, if only it would not set for us today!" she cries, stretching
+forth her arms.
+
+"Well, command it not to!" says Johannes.
+
+"Sun, I command thee to stay with us!"
+
+And as the red ball sinks lower and lower, she suddenly shivers and
+says: "Do you know what idea just came into my head? That we should
+never see it rise again!" Then she laughs aloud. "I know it is all
+nonsense! Come and dance."
+
+And they return to the dancing-tent. A new dance has just commenced.
+Fired by longing, entranced by contemplation of each other, they whirl
+along and disappear in a dark little corner near the musicians'
+platform, which they have chosen in order to avoid the searching gaze
+of the other dancers, who are all dying to make the acquaintance of the
+miller's lovely wife.
+
+Trude's hair has loosed itself and is fluttering about unbound; in her
+eyes is a faint glow, as of intoxication: her whole being seems
+pervaded by the ecstasy of the moment.
+
+"If only my foot did not burn like very hell-fire," she says once as
+Johannes takes her back to her place.
+
+"Then rest awhile."
+
+She laughs aloud, and when at the same moment Franz Maas comes to claim
+the dance of honor in his capacity of "rifle-king," she throws herself
+into his arms and whirls away.
+
+Johannes puts his hand to his burning brow, and looks after the couple,
+but the lights and the figures melt away before his eyes into one
+heaving chaos: everything seems to be turning round and round--he
+staggers--he has to clutch hold of a pillar to prevent himself from
+falling; and when at that moment Franz Maas returns with Trude, he begs
+him to take charge of his sister-in-law for half an hour; he must go
+out for a whiff of fresh air.
+
+He steps out of the hot, close tent, in which two candelabra filled
+with tallow candles diffuse an unbearable smoke--out into the clear,
+cool night. But here too are noise and fiddling! In the shooting booths
+the bolts of the air-guns are rattling, from the gaming tables comes
+the hoarse screaming of their owners, trying to allure people, and the
+merry-go-round spins along in the darkness, laden with all its
+glittering tawdriness and accompanied by shouting and clanging.
+
+In between everything sways the black, surging crowd.
+
+Behind the crests of the pine wood, which silently and gloomily towers
+above all the tumult, the sky is all aflame with glorious yellow light.
+Half an hour more and the moon will be pouring its smiling beams over
+the scene. Johannes walks along slowly between the tents.--In front of
+the "Crown" host's booth he stops and looks in through the window. But
+when he sees Martin sitting with a deeply flushed face amidst a swarm
+of rollicking carousers, he creeps back into the darkness, as if he
+were afraid to meet him.
+
+From the adjacent tent comes the sound of noisy singing. He hesitates
+for a moment, then enters, for his tongue cleaves to the roof of
+his mouth. He is received with a loud shout of delight. At a long
+beer-bedabbled table sits a host of his former schoolfellows, rowdy
+fellows, some of them, whom as a rule he seeks to avoid. They surround
+him; they drink to him; they press him to join their circle. "Why do
+you make yourself so scarce, Johannes?" one of them screams from the
+opposite end of the table, "and where do you stick of an evening?"
+
+"He dangles at the apron-strings of his lovely sister-in-law," sneers
+another. "Leave my sister-in-law out of the game," cries Johannes with
+knitted brows. These proceedings sicken him; this hoarse screaming
+offends his ear; these coarse jests hurt him. He pours down a few
+glasses of cool beer and goes outside, with great difficulty succeeding
+in shaking off the importunate fellows.
+
+He saunters toward the boundary of the wood and stares into its
+obscurity, already beginning to be animated by pale lunar reflections;
+then he proceeds for some distance beneath the trees, deeply inhaling
+the soft, aromatic fragrance of the pines. He is determined that by
+main force he will master this mysterious intoxication which seems to
+fever his whole being; but the further he betakes himself away from the
+festival ground the more does his unrest increase. Just as he is about
+to enter the dancing-room he sees Franz Maas hurrying towards him in
+breathless excitement. A vague presentiment of disaster dawns within
+him.
+
+"What has happened?" he calls out to him.
+
+"It's a good thing I've found you. Your sister-in-law has been taken
+ill."
+
+"For heaven's sake! Where have you taken her?"
+
+"Martin led her to your tent."
+
+"How did it happen? How did it happen?"
+
+"Some time before, I noticed that she had become pale and quiet, and
+when I asked her what was the matter, she said her foot hurt her. But
+in spite of that she would not sit still, and, while I was dancing with
+her, she suddenly broke down in the middle of the room."
+
+"And then? What then?"
+
+"I raised her up and drew her as quickly as possible to her chair,
+while I sent some one off to fetch Martin."
+
+"Why didn't you send for me, man?"
+
+"Firstly I didn't know where you were, and then, of course, it was the
+proper thing to send word first to her husband."
+
+Johannes breaks into a shrill laugh. "Very proper, but what then?"
+
+"She opened her eyes even before Martin arrived. The first thing she
+did was to send away the women who were crowding round her! then she
+whispered to me, 'Don't tell him that I fainted;' and then when he came
+hurrying in, looking quite pale, she went to meet him apparently quite
+cheerfully and said, 'My shoe hurts me; it is nothing else.'"
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Then he took her outside. But I just happened to see how she burst out
+sobbing and hid her face on his shoulder. Then I thought to myself,
+'God knows what else may be hurting her.'" Johannes hears no further.
+Without a word of thanks to his friend he rushes off.
+
+The canvas which covers the entrance to the Rockhammer tent is let down
+low. Johannes listens for a moment. Soft weeping mingled with Martin's
+soothing voice is audible from the interior, he tries to tear the
+curtain open, but it does not give way; it is evidently fastened down
+with a peg, "Who is there?" calls Martin's voice from the other side.
+
+"I--Johannes!"
+
+"Stay outside."
+
+Johannes winces. This "stay outside" has given him a very stab at his
+heart. When there is a chance of being at her side to help her in her
+trouble,--of giving her peace and comfort, he is to "stay outside." He
+grates his teeth and stares with hungry eyes at the curtain, through
+the apertures of which a faint red gleam pierces.
+
+"Johannes!" Martin's voice is heard anew.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Go and see if our carriage is here."
+
+He does as he is bid. He is just good enough to go errands! He inspects
+the rows of conveyances, and, when he does not find what he is seeking,
+he returns to the tent.
+
+Now the curtain is drawn aside. There she stands--a little transparent
+shawl about her shoulders, looking pale and so beautiful.
+
+"Just as I expected," says Martin, when he reports to him--"the
+carriage wasn't ordered till daybreak."
+
+"But what now? Does Trude want to go?" he asks anxiously.
+
+"Trude must!" says she, giving him a look out of her tear-stained eyes,
+which are already trying to smile again.
+
+"Resign yourself to it, my child," answers Martin, stroking her hair.
+"If it were only the foot, it would not matter. But your crying just
+now--all this excitement--I think your illness is still hanging about
+you and rest will do you good. If only it did not take so long to fetch
+the carriage! I believe it would be best if you could walk the short
+distance across the fields--of course, only if you have no more pain.
+Can you manage it?"
+
+Trude gives Johannes a look; then nods eagerly.
+
+"The air is warm, the grass is dry," Martin continues, "and Johannes
+can accompany you."
+
+Trude gives a start, and he feels his blood mount in a hot wave to his
+head. His eyes seek hers, but she avoids his glance.
+
+"You can easily be here again in half an hour, my dear boy," says
+Martin, who takes Johannes' silence to mean vexation. He shakes his
+head, and declares, with a look at Trude, that he too has had enough of
+it now.
+
+"Well then, good speed to you, children," says Martin, "and, when I
+have disbanded my party, I will follow!"
+
+Johannes sends a look into the distance; the plain which lies before
+him, swathed in silver veils of moonlight, appears to him like an abyss
+over which mists are brewing; he feels as if the arm which is just
+being pushed so gently and caressingly through his were dragging him
+down--down into the deepest depths.
+
+"Good-night," he murmurs, half turned away from his brother.
+
+"Aren't you even going to shake hands?" asked Martin, with playful
+reproach, and, when Johannes hesitatingly extends his right hand, he
+gives it a hearty shake. What pain such a shake of the hand can
+inflict!
+
+
+The din of the fźte more and more dies away into the distance. The
+many-voiced tumult becomes a dull roaring in which only the shrill
+tinkle of the merry-go-round is distinguishable, and when the
+dance-music, which has been silent so long, commences anew, it drowns
+everything else with its piercing trumpet-blasts.
+
+But even that grows more and more indistinct, and the big drum alone,
+which hitherto has played only a modest part, now gains ascendancy over
+the other instruments, for its dull, droning beat travels furthest into
+the distance. Silently they walk beside each other--neither ventures to
+address the other. Trude's arm trembles in his; her eyes rest upon the
+mists which rise up in the greenish light from the meadows.
+
+She steps along bravely, though she limps a little and from time to
+time gives vent to a low moan.
+
+They have perhaps been walking for about five minutes when she turns
+around and points with outstretched hand towards the twinkling lights
+of the festival ground, that glisten against the black back-ground of
+the pine-wood. The merry-go-round is spinning its glittering hoop
+round, and the canvas partition of the dancing-room sparkles like a
+curtain of woven flames.
+
+"Look, how lovely!" she whispers timidly.
+
+He nods.
+
+"Johannes!"
+
+"What is it, Trade?"
+
+"Don't be cross with me!"
+
+"Why--should I?"
+
+"Why did you go away from the dancing?"
+
+"Because it was too hot for me in the room."
+
+"Not because I danced with some one else?"
+
+"Oh! dear no!"
+
+"You know, Hans, I suddenly felt so lonely and forsaken that it was all
+I could do to keep from crying. He might have said he didn't want me to
+dance with anyone else, I said to myself--for whom else did I go to the
+fźte but for him? For whom did I adorn myself but for him? And my foot
+hurt me a thousand times worse than before; and then suddenly--well,
+you know yourself what happened."
+
+He sets his teeth; his arms twitch, as if he must press her to him. Her
+head leans softly against his shoulder; her shining eyes beam up at
+him--when suddenly she gives a loud cry: her injured foot which she can
+only just drag along the ground, has hit against a pointed stone. She
+tries to keep up, but her arm slips away from his, and overcome by
+pain, she lets herself drop on to the grass.
+
+"Just for a moment I should like to lie here," she says, and wipes the
+cold perspiration from her brow; then she throws herself down on her
+face and lies there for a while motionless. He grows frightened when he
+sees her thus. "Come on," he exhorts her, "you will catch cold here."
+
+She stretches out her right hand to him with her face turned away and
+says, "Help me up," but when she attempts to walk, she breaks down once
+more. "You see, it won't do," she says with a faint smile.
+
+"Then I will carry you," he cries, opening out his arms wide.
+
+A sound, half of pain, half of joy, escapes her lips; next moment her
+body lies upraised in his arms. She sighs deeply, and, closing her
+eyes, leans her head against his cheek--her bosom heaves upon his
+breast; her waving hair ripples over his neck; her warming breath
+caresses his glowing countenance. More firmly does he press her
+trembling body to him. Away, away further, ever further away, even
+though his strength fail! Away, to the ends of the earth! His breath
+becomes labored, acute pains dart through his side, before his eyes
+there floats a red mist--he feels as though he were about to drop down
+and give up his ghost--but he must go on--further, further.--
+
+Over there the river beckons; the weir's hollow roaring comes through
+the silent night; the splashing drops of water sparkle in the
+moonbeams.
+
+She lets her head fall back upon his arm; a melancholy yet blissful
+smile plays about her half-opened lips; and now she opens her eyes, in
+whose somber depths the reflection of the moon is floating.
+
+"Where are we?" she murmurs.
+
+"At the river's edge," he gasps.
+
+"Put me down."
+
+"I must--I cannot."
+
+Close to the water's edge he lays her down; then he stretches himself
+full length on the grass, and presses his hand to his heart and
+struggles for breath. His temples are throbbing, he is in a fair way to
+lose consciousness; but, pulling himself together with an effort, he
+bends his body towards the river, ladles out a handful of water and
+bathes his forehead with it.
+
+That restores him to consciousness. He turns to Trude. She has buried
+her face in her hands and is moaning softly to herself.
+
+"Does it hurt very much?" he asks.
+
+"It burns!"
+
+"Dip your foot in the water. That will cool it."
+
+She drops her hands and looks at him in surprise.
+
+"It has done me good," he says, pointing to his forehead, from which
+single drops of water are still trickling down. Then she bends forward
+and tries to pull off her shoe, but her hand trembles, and she grows
+faint with the effort. "Let me help you," he says. One pull--her shoe
+flies to one side; her stocking follows, and, pushing herself forward
+to the very edge of the bank, she dips her bare foot up to the ankle in
+the cooling stream.
+
+"Oh, how refreshing it is!" she murmurs with a deep breath; then,
+turning to right and to left, she seeks a support for her body.
+
+"Lean against me," he says. Then she lets her head drop upon his
+shoulder. His arm twitches, but he does not dare to twine it round her
+waist; he hardly dares to move. His breath comes heavily; his eyes
+stare on to the stream, through the crystal waters of which Trude's
+white foot gleams like a mother-o'-pearl shell resting in its depths.
+
+They sit there in silence. Just in front of them, at the weir, the
+water's rush and roar. The spray forms a silver bridge from bank to
+bank, and the waves break at their feet. From time to time the soft
+night-breeze wafts hushed music towards them, and the monotonous
+droning of the big drum comes to them mingled with the dull note of the
+bittern.
+
+Suddenly a shudder passes through her frame.
+
+"What is the matter with you?"
+
+"I am shivering."
+
+"Take your foot out of the water at once." She does as she is bid, then
+draws from her pocket the dainty little cambric handkerchief which she
+had for the ball. "That is no good," he says, and with a trembling hand
+pulls out his own coarser handkerchief. "Let me dry you!" Silently,
+with a dumb, pleading look, she submits, and when he feels the soft,
+cool foot between his hands, everything seems to whirl before him; a
+sort of fiery madness comes over him, and, bending down to the ground,
+he presses his fevered brow upon it.
+
+"What are you doing?" she cries out.
+
+He starts up. In wild ecstasy their eyes meet--one wild, exuberant cry,
+and they lie in each other's arms. His kisses burn hot upon her lips.
+She laughs and cries and takes his head between her hands and strokes
+his hair and leans her cheek against his cheek and kisses his forehead
+and both his eyes.
+
+"Oh, my darling, my darling! How I love you!"
+
+"Are you my very own?"
+
+"Yes, yes!"
+
+"Shall you always love me?"
+
+"Always! Always! And you--you will never again leave me alone like
+to-day so that Martin--"
+
+Abruptly she stops short. Silence weighs upon them! What terrible
+silence! The big drum drones in the distance. The waters roar.
+
+Two deathly pale faces gaze at each other.
+
+And now she screams aloud. "Oh Lord, my God!" is the cry which resounds
+through the night.
+
+Loudly moaning, he covers his face with his hands. Tearless sobs
+shake his frame. Before his eyes everything is aflame--aflame with a
+blood-red light as if the whole world were set on fire. Now it is all
+suddenly made clear as day to him! What dawned mysteriously within him
+in yonder midsummer night, what flashed like lightning through his
+brain on that evening when Trude broke down sobbing in the middle of
+her song--all now arises before him like a glowing ball of fire. Every
+flame speaks of hate; every ray flashes with torturing jealousy through
+his soul, every gleam pierces his heart with fear and guilty
+consciousness.
+
+Trude has thrown herself face downwards upon the ground, and is
+weeping--weeping bitterly.
+
+With bowed head and folded hands he gazes upon her fair form, lying
+before him in an agony of woe.
+
+"Come home," he says tonelessly. She lifts her head and plants her arms
+firmly upon the ground; but when he attempts to help her up, she
+screams out: "Do not touch me!" Twice, thrice, she endeavors to stand
+upright, but again and again she breaks down. Then without a word she
+stretches forth her arms, and suffers herself to be drawn up by him. In
+silence he guides her feeble steps to the mill. Her tears are dried up.
+The rigidness of despair has settled upon her deathly pale features.
+She keeps her face averted and resistingly allows him to drag her
+along. Before the threshold of the veranda she loosens her arm from
+his, and, with what little strength is left to her, she darts away from
+him towards the house-door. Her figure disappears among the dark
+foliage.
+
+The knocker gives forth its dull beats. Once--twice, then shuffling
+footsteps become audible in the entrancehall; the key is turned; a dark
+yellow ray of light beams out into the moonlight night.
+
+"For heaven's sake, madam, how pale you look!" the maid ejaculates in a
+terrified voice.... The door closes with a bang.
+
+For a long time Johannes keeps on staring at the place where she has
+disappeared.--A cold shiver which runs through him from head to foot
+rouses him at length. Absentmindedly he slinks across the moonlit
+yard,--strokes the dogs that with joyous barking drag at their
+chains,--casts an indifferent glance towards the motionless mill-wheel,
+beneath the shadows of which the waters glide along like glittering
+snakes. Some indefinable impulse drives him forward and away. The
+ground of the mill-yard burns beneath his feet. He wanders across the
+meadows, back to the weir--to the spot where he was sitting with Trude.
+On the grass there gleams her blue silk shoe, and not far from it lies
+her long, fine stocking. So she must have limped home with her bare
+foot and probably is not even conscious of the fact! He breaks into a
+shrill laugh, takes up both and flings them far into the foaming
+waters.
+
+Whither shall he turn now? The mill has closed its portals upon him
+forevermore. Whither can he go now? Shall he lay himself down to rest
+under some haystack? He cannot sleep even if he does. Stay! He knows of
+a jolly set of fellows--though he despised them a little while ago,
+they will just suit him now.
+
+When, at two o'clock in the morning, Martin Rockhammer has shaken
+himself free of his drinking companions and is stepping, in the
+happiest of moods, out on to the festival ground, when the bluish-gray
+light of dawning day is beginning to illumine the doings of these
+night-birds, he is met by a band of drunken louts, who, singing obscene
+songs, break in single file through the ranks of the promenading
+couples. They are headed by the locksmith Garmann, a fellow of bad
+repute who practices poaching by night and in whose train now follow
+other good-for-nothing scamps. Intending to turn them out of the place
+forthwith, Martin steps towards them. But suddenly he stops as if
+turned to stone; his arms drop down at his sides: there in the midst of
+this crew, with glassy eyes and drunken gestures staggers his brother
+Johannes.
+
+"Johannes!" he cries out, horrified.
+
+He starts back; his drink-inflamed face grows ashy pale; a frightened
+gleam flickers in his eyes--he trembles--he stretches forth his arm as
+if to ward him off--and staggers back--two--three paces. Martin feels
+his anger disappear. This picture of misery arouses his pity. He
+follows after Johannes, and, taking him by the arm, he says in loving
+tones: "Come, brother; it is late, let us go home." But Johannes
+shrinks back in horror at the touch of his hand, and fixing his gaze
+upon him in mortal agony, he says in a hoarse voice: "Leave me--I do
+not wish to--I do not wish to have anything more to do with you--I am
+no longer your brother." Martin starts up, clutches with his two hands
+at the slab of the table near him and then drops down upon the nearest
+bench as if felled by the stroke of an axe.
+
+Johannes, however, rushes away. The forest closes in upon him.
+
+
+Henceforth come sad days for the Rockhammer mill.
+
+When Martin reached home on that morning, when he found the whole house
+quiet, as quiet as a mouse, he took the key of the mill from the wall
+and slunk off to that melancholy place which he had built up as the
+temple of his guilt. There his people found him at midday, pale as the
+whitewashed walls, his head bowed upon his hands, muttering to himself
+incessantly: "Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!" The
+phantom, the old terrible phantom, which he had thought was laid for
+evermore, has cast itself upon him anew and is twining its strangling
+claw about his neck.
+
+The men had to drag him almost by force from his den. With weary,
+halting steps he staggered out of the mill. His wife he found crouching
+in a corner, with hollow cheeks and gaunt, terrified eyes. Then he took
+her face between his two hands, looked for a while with stern looks at
+the trembling woman, and once more murmured the mournful refrain:
+"Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!"
+
+When she heard his ominous words, a cold shiver ran through her frame.
+"Does he know? Does he not know? Has Johannes confessed to him! Has he
+found out by chance? Does he perhaps only suspect?" Since that time her
+soul is fretting itself away; her body repines in fear of this man and
+in yearning for that other, whom love of her has driven away. She grows
+pale and thin; her cheeks fade. She steals about like a somnambulist.
+Round her eyes bluish grooves are outlined, and grow broader and
+broader, and about her mouth is graven a tiny wrinkle which keeps on
+twitching and moving like a dancing will-o'-the-wisp.
+
+Martin remarks nothing of all this. His whole being is absorbed in
+sorrow for his lost brother. During the first few days, he has hoped
+from hour to hour for his return--hoped that he was possibly quite
+unconscious of the words he spoke in the madness of intoxication. As
+for him--he would verily be the very last to remind him of them. But
+when day after day passes without any news of Johannes, his fear grows
+more and more terrible, he begins to search for the lost one;--at first
+with little result, for the intercourse between one village and the
+next is very slight. But gradually one report after another reaches the
+mill. To-day he has been seen here, yesterday, there--erring restlessly
+from place to place but always surrounded by a band of merry-makers.
+The people call him "Madcap Hans," and, wherever he appears, the
+public-house is sure to be full--corks fly and glasses clink, and
+sometimes, when things become specially lively, the window-panes clink
+too, for the bottles go flying out through them into the street. Keep
+it up! "Madcap Hans" will pay up for the whole lot. He will stand treat
+to any one he happens to come across, and there are boisterous songs
+and comic anecdotes fit to make one's sides split with laughing. Yes,
+he's a fine bottle-companion, is "Madcap Hans."
+
+Soon, too, various very doubtful personages appear at the door of the
+Rockhammer mill, people with whom one does not like to come into
+contact; such as the corn-usurer. Lob Levi from Beelitzhof, and the
+common butcher Hoffman from Gruenehalde; they present yellow, greasy
+little papers which bear his brother's signature and turn out to be
+promissory notes with such and such interest for so many days.
+
+Martin stares for a long time at the unsteady hand-writing; where the
+strokes are all tumbling over as if drunk, then he goes to his safe
+and, without a word, pays the debts as well as the usurious interest.
+How gladly he would give the half of his fortune, could he buy his
+brother's return therewith!
+
+At length he has the horses put to the carriage and himself sets out in
+quest. He drives miles away; he is about whole nights through, but
+never does he succeed in getting hold of his brother. The information
+he receives from the inn-keepers is scanty and confused--some answer
+him with awkward prevarication, others with sly attempts at
+concealment--they all seem to guess that their rich profits will go to
+the devil as soon as the owner of the Rockhammer mill once more gets
+possession of his scape-grace brother. When Martin begins to notice
+that he is being taken in, he loses heart. He has the carriage put up
+in the coach-house and locks himself in for several days in his
+"office." During that time he is gravely considering whether it would
+be advisable to secure the service of the Marienfeld gendarmes. For
+him, of course, by virtue of his official authority, it would be an
+easy matter to extort the truth from these people. Yet no!--it would
+hardly be compatible with the honor of the Rockhammer family to have
+his brother hunted for by the police--why it would make his old father
+turn in his grave!
+
+A cold, brought on by his nocturnal expeditions, throws him upon the
+sickbed. Through two terrible weeks Trude sits by day and by night at
+his bedside, tortured by his delirious ravings in which his two
+brothers, the dead and the living one, now singly, now together,
+transformed to one horrible two-headed monster, haunt and encircle him.
+
+As soon as he is halfway convalescent, he has the carriage got ready.
+_Some_ time he must find him!
+
+And he does find him.
+
+Late one evening at the beginning of September, his road happens to
+pass through B----, a village two miles north of Marienfeld.
+
+Through the closed shutters of the tavern boisterous noises reach his
+ears--stamping of feet, brawling and drunken singing. Slowly he gets
+out of the carriage, and ties up his horse at the entrance to the inn.
+The lantern flickers dimly in the night wind--heavy drops of rain come
+pelting down. The handle of the taproom door rattles in his hand; one
+push--it flies open wide. Thick, bluish-yellow tobacco fumes assail him
+as he enters, mixed with the odor of stale beer and foul-smelling
+spirits.
+
+And there, at the top end of the long, roughly-hewn table, with flabby
+cheeks, with his eyes all red and swollen, with that glassy stare
+habitual to drunkards, with matted, unkempt hair, with a dirty
+shirt-collar and slovenly coat to which hang blades of straw--perhaps
+the reminders of his last night quarters--there that picture of
+precocious vice and hopeless ruin, that, that is all that remains to
+him of his darling, of his all in all ...
+
+"Johannes!" he cries, and the driver's whip which he holds in his hand
+falls clattering to the ground.
+
+A dead silence comes over the densely crowded room, as the tipplers
+gaze openmouthed at this intruder. The wretched man has started up from
+his seat, his face petrified with nameless fear, a hollow groan breaks
+from his lips; with one desperate leap he springs upon the table; with
+a second one he endeavors to reach the door over the heads of those
+sitting nearest to him.
+
+No good! His brother's iron fist is planted upon his chest.
+
+"Stay here!" he hears close to his ear in angry, muffled accents;
+thereupon he feels himself being pushed with superhuman strength
+towards the fire-corner, where he sinks down helplessly.
+
+Then Martin opens the door as far as ever its hinges will allow, points
+with the butt-end of his whip towards the dark entry and plants himself
+in the middle of the taproom.
+
+"Out with you!" he cries in a voice which makes the glasses on the
+table vibrate. The tipplers, most of them green youths, retreat in
+terror before him, and hastily don their caps; only here and there some
+suppressed grumbling is heard.
+
+"Out with you!" he cried once more and makes a gesture as if about to
+take one of the nearest grumblers by the throat. Two minutes later the
+taproom is swept clear ... only the innkeeper remains, standing half
+petrified with fear behind the bar; now, when Martin fixes his gloomy
+gaze upon him, he begins to complain in a whining tone of this
+disturbance to his business.
+
+Martin puts his hand in his pocket, throws him a handful of florins and
+says: "I wish to be alone with him."
+
+When he has bolted the door after the humbly bowing innkeeper, he walks
+with slow steps towards Johannes, who is crouching motionless in his
+corner, with his face buried in his hands. He places his hand gently
+upon his shoulder and says in a voice in which infinite love and
+infinite pain tremble: "Rise up, my boy; let us talk to one another."
+
+Johannes does not stir.
+
+"Will you not tell me what grievance you have against me? It will do
+you good to speak out, my boy! Relieve your feelings, my boy!"
+
+Johannes drops his hands and laughs hoarsely: "Relieve my feelings!
+Ha-ha-ha!" That secret terror that distorted his features before as
+with a cramp has now changed to dull, obstinate stubbornness.
+
+Wavering between horror and pity, Martin looks upon this countenance
+in which deep furrows have left nothing, not a trace of his former
+open-faced, good-natured Johannes. Every evil passion must have worked
+therein to disfigure it so wretchedly within six short weeks. Now he
+raises himself up and casts a searching look towards the door. "It
+seems you have locked me in," he says with a fresh outburst of laughter
+that cuts Martin to the quick.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I suppose you intend dragging me with you like a criminal?"
+
+"Johannes!"
+
+"Go on. I know you are the stronger! But one thing let me tell you: I
+am not yet so wretched but that I should resist. I would rather fling
+myself from the carriage and dash my head against a curbstone than come
+back with you."
+
+"Have pity, merciful God!" cries Martin. "My boy, my boy, what have
+they made of you?"
+
+Johannes paces the room with heavy tread and snaps open the lids of the
+beer-mugs as he passes.
+
+"Cut it short," he then says, standing still. "What do you want with me
+that you imprison me here?"
+
+Martin goes silently to the door and lets the bolt fly back; then he
+places himself close in front of his brother. His bosom heaves as if he
+were laboring to raise the words he is about to speak from the
+uttermost depths of his soul. But what good is it? They stick fast in
+his throat. He has never been a fluent talker--poor, shy fellow that he
+is, and how is he to find tongues of flame now with which to talk this
+madman out of his delusions? All he can stammer forth is that one
+question:
+
+"What have I done to you? What have I done to you?"
+
+He says the words twice, thrice, and over and over again. What better
+can he find to say? All his love, all his misery, are contained in
+these.
+
+Johannes answers not a word. He has seated himself on a bench, and is
+running the fingers of both his hands through his unkempt hair. About
+his lips there lurks a smile--a terrible smile, void of comfort or
+hope.
+
+At length he interrupts his helpless brother who keeps on repeating his
+formula as if to conjure therewith. "Let that be," he says, "you have
+nothing to say to me; nor can you have anything to say to me. I have
+done with myself, with you, with the whole world. What I have been
+through in these last six weeks--I tell you, since I left the mill, I
+have slept under no roof, for I felt sure it must fall down upon me."
+
+"But for heaven's sake, what ...?"
+
+"Do not ask me.... It is no good, for you won't get to know, not
+through me.... Let all talking alone, for it is to no purpose ... and
+if you were to entreat me by the memory of our parents...."
+
+"Yes, our parents!" stammers Martin joyfully. Why did he not think of
+that sooner?
+
+"Let them rest quietly in their graves," says Johannes with an ugly
+laugh. "Even that won't catch on with me. They can't prevent me from
+going to the dogs nor from hating you!"
+
+Martin groans aloud and drops down as if struck.
+
+"It is just because I _did_ always think of them, because I tried again
+and again to remember that Martin Rockhammer is my brother, that things
+have turned out like this and not differently. It has cost me a heavy
+sacrifice,--you may believe me that! I have behaved quite fairly
+towards you, ha-ha-ha, brother--quite fairly!"
+
+Martin inquires no further. The solution of this riddle is perfectly
+clear to him. Old blood-guilt has risen from the grave to claim its
+penalty.... He folds his hands and mutters softly:
+
+"Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!"
+
+"For one reason, however, you are quite right to remind me of our
+parents; I must not bring shame upon their name, upon the name of
+Rockhammer! That is the one thing which has been worrying me all
+along--even though it did not alter matters; for surely a man must
+enjoy himself somehow ... ha-ha-ha! After all I am quite glad to have
+met you, for we can talk things over quietly ... I intend going to
+America!"
+
+Martin looks for a while into his glowing, bloated face; then he says
+softly, "Go, in God's name!" and lets his hand drop heavily upon the
+table slab.
+
+"And soon, too, what's more," Johannes continues. "I have already made
+enquiries. On the first of October the ship sails from Bremen--next
+week I shall have to leave here,--you know what part of our inheritance
+is owing to me--I dare say, by the bye, that I have got through a good
+bit of it already; give me as much as you happen to have handy in cash
+and send it to Franz Maas; I will fetch it from him."
+
+"And won't you come just once more to the--to the--"
+
+"To the mill? Never!" cries Johannes starting up, while a restless
+gleam, full of terror and of longing, comes into his eyes.
+
+"And you expect me to--I am to bid you good-bye here--here in this
+disgusting hole--good-bye forever? good-bye forever?"
+
+"I suppose that is what it will be," says Johannes, bowing his head.
+
+Then Martin falls all in a heap and once more murmurs, "Retribution for
+Fritz!"
+
+With burning eyes Johannes stares at his brother, crouching there
+before him as if broken, body and soul.... He is quite determined never
+to see him again ... but he must give a hand at parting!
+
+"Farewell, brother," he says, approaching him, as he sits there
+motionless. "Keep well and happy!" Then, suddenly, a warm, gentle
+sensation comes over him. His brain reels. A thousand scenes seem
+simultaneously to be evoked. He sees himself as a child, petted and
+spoilt by his elder brother, he sees himself as a youth proudly walking
+at his side, he sees himself with him at their parent's death-bed, he
+sees himself hand in hand with him at that solemn moment when they
+vowed never to part, nor to let any third person come between them.
+
+And now!--And now!
+
+"Brother!" he cries aloud--and loudly sobbing he falls at his feet.
+
+"My boy--my dear boy." He sobs and cries with joy, and catches hold of
+him with both hands and presses him to him as if he nevermore would let
+him go.
+
+"Now I have got you ... oh, thank heaven--now I have got you! Now
+everything will come right again--won't it? Tell me it was all only a
+dream--only madness! You did not know what you were doing--eh? You
+don't remember anything of it--eh? I bet you haven't any notion of it
+all--eh? Now you have woke up, haven't you--you have woke up again
+now?"
+
+Johannes digs his teeth into his lips till they smart and leans his
+face upon his breast. Then suddenly a thought takes possession of him
+and weighs him down and buzzes in his ears--a thought like a vampire,
+cold and damp, and beating the air with bat's wings.... In these arms
+Trude has rested this very day--this very day....
+
+He jumps up abruptly.
+
+Away from this place, away from this atmosphere--else madness will
+really assail him!
+
+He rushes towards the door. One creak of its hinges, one click of the
+lock: he has disappeared.
+
+Martin looks after him, mute with consternation; then he says, as if to
+quell his rising fear:
+
+"He is too excited; he wants some fresh air. He will come back!"
+
+His glance falls upon the wooden clothes=pegs on the opposite wall. He
+smiles, now quite reassured, and says "He has left his cap here; it is
+raining outside, the wind blows cold; he will come back." Thereupon he
+calls the innkeeper, orders his horse to be put up and has some hot
+grog mixed for his brother, and a bed prepared for him. "For," he says
+with a blissful smile, "he will come back again."
+
+When everything is made ready he sits down on the bench and becomes
+lost in brooding. From time to time he murmurs as if to resuscitate his
+sinking courage:
+
+"He will come back!"
+
+Outside the rain beats against the windowpanes, autumn blasts are
+soughing around the housetop, and every gust of wind, every drop of
+rain, seems to proclaim:
+
+"He will come back! He will come back!" The how's pass; the lamp goes
+out.... Martin has fallen asleep over his waiting and is dreaming of
+his brother's return.
+
+
+In the morning the people of the inn wake him. Haggard and shivering he
+looks about him. His glance falls upon the empty bed in which his
+brother was to have slept. The first bed since six weeks!--Sadly he
+stands there in front of it and stares at it. Then he has his
+conveyance brought round and drives off.
+
+
+This year autumn has come early. Since a week there has been a rough
+north wind which cuts through one's body as if it were November. Gusts
+of rain beat against the window-panes and the ground is already covered
+with a layer of yellowish-brown half-decayed leaves off the lime-trees.
+And how soon it grows dark! In the bakery a light burns in the swinging
+lamp long before supper-time. Beneath its globe sits Franz Maas,
+eagerly reckoning up and counting. On the baker's table before him
+where as a rule the little white round heaps of dough are ranged,
+to-day there are little white round heaps of florins, and instead of
+the crisp "Bretzels" to-day the paper of bank-notes is crackling.
+
+This is the treasure which Martin Rockhammer entrusted to him the
+Sunday before, with instructions to hand it over to Johannes. He also
+left a letter in which the various items of the inheritance are set
+down to a penny.
+
+Every morning since then he has knocked at the door, and each time
+asked the selfsame question, "Has he been?" Then when Franz Maas shook
+his head, has silently departed again.
+
+To-day the same. To-day is Friday; today he must come if he wants to be
+in time for the Bremen ship. Noiselessly he has opened the door and is
+standing behind him, just as he is about to lock the money away. "I
+suppose that is all for me," he asks, laying his hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Thank heaven I you have come," cries Franz, agreeably startled. Then
+he casts a critical glance over his friend's figure. Martin must have
+been exaggerating when, with tears in his eyes, he described his
+dilapidated appearance. He looks decent and respectable, is wearing a
+brand new waterproof, beneath the turned-back flaps of which a neat
+gray suit is visible. His hair is smoothly brushed--he is even shaved.
+But of course his dark, dulled gaze, the bagginess under his eyes, the
+ugly red of his cheeks, are sad witnesses in this face, eretime so
+youthfully joyous.
+
+And then he grasps both his hands and says:
+
+"Johannes, Johannes, what has come over you?"
+
+"Patience; you shall hear all!" he replies, "I must confide in one
+living soul, or it will eat my very heart out over there."
+
+"Then you really mean it? You intend--"
+
+"I am off to-night by the mail-coach. My seat is already booked. Before
+I came to you, I went once more through the village. It was already
+dark, so I could venture--and I took leave of everything. I went to our
+parents' grave, and as far as the church door, and to the host of the
+'Crown,' to whom I owed a trifle."
+
+"And you forgot the mill?"
+
+Johannes bites his lips and chews at his moustache; then he mutters:
+"That is still to come."
+
+"Oh, how glad Martin will be," cries Franz Maas, quite red with
+pleasure himself.
+
+"Did I say I was going to see Martin?" asks Johannes between his teeth,
+while his chest heaves, as if it had a load of embarrassment to throw
+off.
+
+"What? You intend slinking about on your father's inheritance like a
+thief,--avoiding a meeting with any one?"
+
+"Not that either. I have to bid good-bye to some one, but not to
+Martin!"
+
+"To whom else then?--To whom else, man?" cries Franz Maas, in whom a
+horrible suspicion dawns.
+
+"Lock the door and sit down here," says Johannes,--"now I will tell
+you."
+
+The hours pass by; the storm rattles at the shutters. The oil in the
+lamp begins to splutter. The two friends sit with their heads together,
+their looks occasionally meeting. Johannes confesses--conceals nothing.
+He begins with that first meeting with Trude, up to the moment when
+horror drove him forth from Martin's embrace--out into the stormy
+night.
+
+"What came after that," he concludes, "can be told in a few words. I
+ran without knowing whither, until the cold and wet restored me to
+consciousness. Then the post-chaise from Marienfeld just happened to
+come along. I stopped it--at last I got under cover by this means. Thus
+I came to the town, where I have been putting up till now. Lob Levi had
+just given me a hundred thalers. With these I rigged myself out afresh,
+for I did not want to face Trude in the dilapidated state I was in."
+
+"Miserable wretch--are you going to ...?"
+
+"Don't kick up a row," he says roughly. "It is all arranged, already. I
+gave a note for her to a little boy I met in the street, and waited
+till he came back. She took it from him in the kitchen without even a
+servant noticing anything. At eleven o'clock she will be at the weir,
+and I--ha-ha-ha- ... I too!"
+
+"Johannes, I beg and implore you, don't do it," cries Franz in sheer
+terror. "There's sure to be a misfortune." Johannes' reply is a hoarse
+laugh, and, with burning eyes, his mouth put close to his friend's ear,
+he hisses: "Do you really think, man, that I could manage to live and
+to die in a strange country if I did not see her just once more? Do you
+imagine I should have courage to stare for four weeks at the sea
+without throwing myself into it--if I did not see her once more? The
+very air for breathing would fail me, my meat and drink would stick in
+my throat, I should rot away alive if I did not see her just once
+more!"
+
+When Franz hears all this he refrains from further discussion.
+
+Johannes' restless glance wanders towards the clock. "It is time," he
+says, and takes his cap. "At midnight the mail-coach comes through the
+village. Expect me at the post office and bring me two hundred-thaler
+notes; that will be enough for my passage. The rest you can give back
+to him; I shan't want it! Good-bye till then!" At the door he turns
+round and asks: "I say, does my breath smell of brandy?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He breaks into a coarse laugh; then he says: "Give me a few coffee
+beans to chew. I don't want Trude to get a horror of me in this last
+hour."
+
+And when Franz has given him what he wants he disappears into the
+darkness.
+
+It is high water to-day. With a great hissing and roaring the waters
+shoot down the declivity, then sink down into their foaming grave with
+dull, plaintive rumblings, while the glistening spray breaks over them
+in one high-vaulted arch.
+
+The howling of the storm mingles with the tumult of these volumes of
+water. The old alders alongside the river bow and bend to each other
+like shadowy giants come forth in their numbers to dance a reel in one
+long line. The heavens are obscured by heavy rain-clouds,--everything
+is dark and black except the snowy froth, which seems to throw out an
+uncertain light against which the outlines of the wood planking are
+dimly visible. Above that projects the rail of the little drawbridge,
+in appearance like the phantom form of a cat, creeping with
+outstretched legs across a roof.
+
+On the drawbridge the two meet. Trude, her head covered by a dark
+shawl, has been standing for a long time beneath the alders, seeking
+shelter from the rain, and has hurried to meet him as she saw the
+outline of his figure appear on yonder side of the weir.
+
+"Trude, is it you?" he asks hurriedly, looking searchingly into her
+face. She is silent and clings to the rail. The foam is dancing before
+her eyes, in blue and yellow colors.
+
+"Trude," he says, while he tries to catch hold of her hand, "I have
+come to bid you farewell for life. Are you going to let me go forth to
+a strange land without one word?"
+
+"And I have come for the peace of my soul," says she, shrinking back
+from his groping hand. "Hans, I have borne much for your sake; I have
+grown older by half a lifetime; I am weak and ill. Therefore take pity
+on me: do not touch me--I do not want to return again guilt-laden to
+your brother's house!"
+
+"Trude--did you come here to torture me?"
+
+"Softly, Hans, softly--do not pain me! Let us part from one another with
+clean and honest hearts, and take peace and courage with us--for all
+our lives.... We must surely not rail at each other--not in love and
+not in hatred," She stops exhausted; her breath comes heavily; then,
+pulling herself together with an effort, she continues: "You see, I
+always knew that you would come long before I got your note to-day;
+and, a thousand times over I thought out every word--that I was going
+to say to you. But of course--you must not unsettle me so."
+
+His eyes glow through the darkness; his breath comes hot; and with a
+shrill laugh he says:
+
+"Don't make a halo round us. It is no good--we are both accursed anyway
+in heaven and on earth! Then let us at least--"
+
+He stops abruptly, listening.
+
+"Hush! I thought--I heard--there in the meadow!"
+
+He holds his breath and hearkens. Nothing to be heard or seen. Whatever
+it was, the storm and the darkness have engulfed it.
+
+"Come down to the river's edge," he says, "our figures are so clearly
+defined up here."
+
+She leads the way; he follows. But on the slippery woodwork she loses
+her footing. Then he catches her in his arms and carries her down to
+the river. Unresisting, she hangs upon his neck.
+
+"How light you have got since that day," he says softly, while he lets
+her glide down, then raises her up.
+
+"Oh, you would hardly recognize me if you saw me," she replies equally
+softly.
+
+"I would give anything if only I could!" he says, and tries to draw
+away the shawl from about her face. A pale oval, two dark, round
+shadows in it where the eyes are--the darkness reveals no more.
+
+"I feel like a blind man," he says, and his trembling hand glides over
+her forehead, down to her cheeks, as if by touch to distinguish the
+loved features. She resists no longer. Her head drops upon his
+shoulder.
+
+"How much I wanted to say to you!" she whispers. "And now I no longer
+can think of anything--not of anything at all."
+
+He twines his arms more closely around her. They stand there silent and
+motionless while the storm tugs and tears at them, and the rain beats
+down upon their heads.
+
+Then from the village come the cracked notes of the post-horn, half
+drowned by the blast.
+
+"Our time is up," he says, shivering. "I must go."
+
+"Now--the night?" she stammers voicelessly.
+
+He nods.
+
+"And I shall never see you again?"
+
+A wild scream rends the storm.
+
+"Johannes, have pity, I cannot let you go. I cannot live without you!"
+Her fingers dig themselves into his shoulders. "You shall not--I will
+not let you."
+
+He tries to free himself by main force.
+
+"Ah, well--you are going--oh--you--you--you are wicked! You know that I
+must die if you go, I cannot--Take me with you! Take me with you!"
+
+"Are you out of your senses, woman?" He covers his face with his hands
+and groans aloud.
+
+"So--this is what you call being out of one's senses! Does not even a
+lamb struggle--when led to the slaughter? And you are capable of----Ah,
+is this all your love for me? Is this all? Is this all?"
+
+"Don't you think of Martin?"
+
+"He is your brother. That is all I know about him. But I know that I
+must die if I stay with him any longer. It makes me shudder to think of
+him! Take me with you, my husband! Take me with you!"
+
+He grasps both her wrists, and shaking her to and fro, he whispers with
+half-choked utterance:
+
+"And do you know besides that I am ruined and disgraced--an outcast, a
+drunkard, no good at all in the world? If you could see me, you would
+have a horror of me, good people shun me and loathe me--do you think I
+should be good to you? I shall never forgive you for coming between me
+and Martin--never forgive you for making me sin against him as I have
+done for your sake. He will be between us as long as we live. I shall
+insult you--I shall beat you when I am drunk. You will find it hell at
+my side. Well? What do you say now?"
+
+She bows her head demurely, folds her hands and says: "Take me with
+you!" A scream of exultant joy escapes his lips. "Then come--but come
+quickly. The coach stops for a quarter of an hour. No one will see us
+except Franz Maas--the only one he will not betray us. In the town you
+can get clothes and then.... Stop! What does this mean?"
+
+The mill has awakened to life. A yellow light streams out into the
+darkness from the wide-opened door. A lantern sways across the yard
+then, thrown to one side, flies in a gleaming curve through the air
+like a shooting star.
+
+Martin lies in bed asleep. Suddenly there is a tap at the window-pane.
+
+"Who is there?"
+
+"I--David!"
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Open the door, Master! I have something important to tell you."
+
+Martin jumps out of bed, strikes a light and hurries on his clothes. A
+casual glance falls upon Trude's empty bed. Evidently she has dozed off
+on the sitting-room over her sewing, for it is a long time since she
+has known sound, healthy sleep.
+
+"What is the matter?" he asks David, who steps into the entrance
+dripping like a drowned cat.
+
+"Master," he says, blinking from under the peak of his cap, "it is now
+more than twenty-eight years since I first came to the mill--and your
+late father already used to be good to me always...."
+
+"And you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to tell me
+_that_?"
+
+"Yes, for to-night when I woke up and heard the rain pelting down, I
+suddenly remembered with a start that the sluices of the lock were not
+opened.... Perhaps the water might get blocked up and we could not
+grind to-morrow."
+
+"Haven't I told you fellows hundreds of times that the sluices need
+only be opened when the ice is drifting? At high water it only means
+unnecessary labor."
+
+"Well, I didn't touch them," observes David.
+
+"Then what do you want?"
+
+"Because, when I got to the weir I saw two lovers standing on the
+drawbridge!"
+
+"And that's why?..."
+
+"Then I thought it was a regular disgrace and a crying shame, and no
+longer--"
+
+"Let them love each other, in the devil's name!"
+
+"And I thought it my duty to tell you. Master, when Master Johannes and
+our lady--"
+
+He gets no further, for his master's fingers are at his throat.
+
+What has come over Martin, wretched man? His face becomes livid and
+swollen; the veins on his forehead stand out; his nostrils quiver, his
+eyes seem to start from their sockets--white foam is at his mouth.
+
+Then he gives vent to a sound like the howl of a jackal, and, loosening
+his grip of David, with one wrench he tears the shirt at his throat
+asunder.
+
+Two or three deep breaths, like a man who is achoking; then he roars
+aloud in suddenly unfettered rage: "Where are they? They shall account
+to me for this. They have been acting a farce! They have deceived me!
+Where are they? I'll do for them! I'll do for them, then and there!"
+
+He tears the lantern out of terrified David's hand and rushes out. He
+disappears into the wheel-house; a second later he reappears. High
+above his head there gleams an axe. Then he swings the lantern thrice
+in a circle and flings it far away from him into the water. He storms
+along in the direction of the weir.
+
+"There's some one coming," whispers Trude, nestling closer up to
+Johannes.
+
+"Probably they have something to do at the sluices," he whispers back.
+"Don't stir and be of good courage."
+
+Nearer and nearer hastens the dark figure. A beastlike roaring pierces
+through the night, above the fury of the storm. "It is Martin," says
+Johannes, staggering back three paces.
+
+But he collects himself quickly, clutches Trude and drags her with him
+close up to the woodwork at the weir, in the darkest shadow of which
+they both crouch down.
+
+Close to their heads the infuriated man races along. The axe, lifted on
+high, glints in the half-light of the foam. On the other side of the
+weir he stops. He seems to be gazing searchingly across the wide
+meadow, which spreads before him in monotonous darkness without tree or
+shrub.
+
+"You keep watch at the hither sluice, David," his voice thunders out in
+the direction of the mill. "They must be in the field. I shall catch
+them there!"
+
+A cry of horror starts from Johannes' lips. He has divined his
+brother's intention. He is going to pull up the drawbridge and trap
+them both on the island. And close behind Trude's neck hangs the chain
+which must be pulled to make the bridge move back. His first thought
+is: "Protect the woman!" He tears himself out of Trude's arms, and
+springs up the slope of the river-bank to offer himself as a sacrifice
+to his brother's fury.
+
+Trude utters a piercing shriek. Johannes in mortal danger; over there
+the infuriated man, the axe gleaming bright; but behind her there is
+that chain, that iron ring which is almost tearing her head open. With
+trembling hands she grasps hold of it; she tugs at it with all her
+might. At the very moment when Martin is about to climb upon the
+foot-plank, the drawbridge swings back.
+
+Johannes sees nothing of it; he only sees the shadow over there, and
+the gleaming axe. A few paces further, and death will descend swiftly
+upon him. Then suddenly, in the moment of direst distress, he thinks of
+his mother and what she once said to the enraged boy.
+
+"Think of Fritz!" he cries out to his brother. And behold! The axe
+drops from his hand; he staggers; he falls--one dull thud--one splash:
+he has disappeared. Johannes rushes forward; his foot hits against the
+draw-up bridge. Close before him yawns a black hole. "Brother,
+brother!" he cries in frenzied terror. He has no thought, no feeling
+left, only one sensation: "Save your brother!" whirls through his
+brain. With one jerk he throws off his cloak--a leap--a dull blow as if
+against some sharp edge.
+
+
+Trude, who is half unconsciously clutching at the chain, sees a long
+dark mass shoot down the incline into the white waters, and disappear
+into the foaming whirlpool, a second later another follows.
+
+Like two shadows they flew past her. She turns her gaze upwards towards
+the woodwork. Up there all is quiet; it is all empty. The storm howls;
+the waters roar. Fainting, she sinks down at the river's edge.
+
+
+Next day the bodies of the two brothers were pulled out of the river.
+Side by side they were floating on the waters; side by side they were
+buried.
+
+Trude was as if petrified with grief. In tearless despair she brooded
+to herself--she refuses to see any of her relations, even her own
+father. Franz Maas alone she suffers near her. Faithfully he takes
+charge of her, kept strangers away from her threshold and attends to
+all formalities.
+
+There was some rumor of a legal investigation to be held against the
+wretched woman, on the ground of David's dark insinuations. But even
+though the statements of the old servant were too incomplete and
+confused to build up a lawsuit upon them, they still sufficed to brand
+Trude Rockhammer as a criminal in the eyes of the world. The more she
+shrinks from all intercourse, the more anxiously she closes the mill to
+all strangers, the more extravagant grow the rumors that were spread
+about her.
+
+"The miller-witch," people come to call her, and the legends that
+surrounded her were handed down from one generation to the next. The
+mill now becomes the "Silent Mill," as the popular voice christened
+it. The walls crumble away; the wheels grow rotten; the bright, clear
+stream becomes choked with weeds, and when the State planned a canal
+which conducted the water into the main stream above Marienfeld--then
+it degenerated into a marsh.
+
+And Trude herself became entirely isolated, for soon she would not even
+allow her one friend to approach her, and closed her doors to him.
+
+Before her own conscience she was a murderess. Her terrors drove her to
+a father confessor and into the arms of the Catholic Church. She was to
+be seen crawling at the foot of a crucifix or kneeling at church doors,
+telling her beads and beating her head against the stones till it bled.
+
+She is expiating the great crime which is known as "youth."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
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+<head>
+<title>The Silent Mill.</title>
+<meta name="Author" content="Hermann Sudermann">
+<meta name="Publisher" content="Brentano's">
+<meta name="Date" content="1919">
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Silent Mill
+
+Author: Hermann Sudermann
+
+Release Date: November 22, 2010 [EBook #34407]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT MILL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Note:<br>
+1. Page scan source:
+http://www.archive.org/details/silentmill01sudegoog</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>THE SILENT MILL</h2>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>THE</h2>
+<h1>SILENT MILL</h1>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4>BY</h4>
+<h3>HERMANN SUDERMANN</h3>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h5>NEW YORK</h5>
+<h3>BRENTANO'S</h3>
+<h4>PUBLISHERS</h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4><span class="sc2">Copyright, 1919, by</span><br>
+BRENTANO'S</h4>
+<hr class="W10">
+
+
+<h4><span class="sc2">Copyright, 1917, by</span><br>
+<span class="sc2">Story Press Corporation</span></h4>
+
+<hr class="W10">
+
+<h4><i>All rights reserved</i></h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>THE SILENT MILL</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="continue">No one can tell how many years ago it is was since the
+&quot;Silent Mill&quot;
+first received its name. As long as I can remember it has been an old,
+tumble-down structure, an ancient relic of long-forgotten times.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Old, and weather-beaten, and roofless, its crumbling walls stretch
+upwards toward the sky, giving free access to every gust of wind. Two
+large, round stones that once, maybe, bravely fulfilled their task,
+have broken through the rotten wood-work and, obeying the natural law
+of gravitation, have wedged themselves deep into the ground.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The large mill-wheel hangs awry between its moulding supports. The
+paddles are broken off, and only the spokes stick up into the air, like
+arms stretched forth to implore the &quot;coup de grāce.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Moss and lichen have clothed all in green, and here and there some
+water-cress puts forth its sickly green, sodden growth. From a
+half-broken pipe the water runs slowly down, trickles in sleepy
+monotony onto the spokes and breaks there, filling the surrounding air
+with fine, drizzling spray. Under a gray thicket of alders the
+little rivulet lies hidden in malodorous slothfulness, washed full of
+water-weeds and frog-spawn, choked up with mare's tail and flowering
+rushes. Only in the middle there trickles still a tiny stream of thick,
+black water, in which the little palegreen leaves of the duck-weed
+lazily drift along.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But those long years ago the mill-stream flowed right gayly and
+jauntily; snow-white foam gleamed at the weir; the merry chatter of the
+wheels resounded as far as the village; in long rows the carts drove in
+and out of the mill-yard; and far into the distance there echoed the
+mighty voice of the old miller.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Rockhammer was his name, and all who saw him felt that he did honor to
+it, too. What a man he was! He had it in him to blast rocks. Of course
+there was no such thing as trying to bully or contradict him, for it
+only served to make him perfectly wild with rage: he would clench his
+fists; the veins on his temples would swell up like thick thongs; and
+when he started swearing into the bargain, every being trembled before
+him, and the very dogs fled in terror to their kennels. His wife was a
+meek, gentle, yielding creature. How could it be otherwise? Not
+for twenty-four hours would he have endured at his side a more
+sturdy-natured being, who might have attempted to preserve even the
+shadow of an independent will. As it was, the two lived together fairly
+well, happily one might almost have said, had it not been for his fatal
+temper, which broke forth wildly at the slightest provocation and
+caused the quiet woman many a tearful hour.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But she shed most tears when misfortune's hand fell heavily upon her
+children. Three had been born to them--bonny, healthy, sturdy boys.
+They had clear, blue eyes, flaxen hair and, above all, &quot;a pair of
+promising fists,&quot; as their father was wont to declare with pride,
+though the youngest, who was still in his cradle, could as yet only
+make use of his to suck at them. The two elder boys, however, were
+already splendid fellows. How defiantly they looked about them, how
+haughtily they took up their stand! With their heads thrown back and
+their hands in their trousers pockets, each seemed to assert: &quot;I am my
+father's son. Who'll dare me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They fought each other all day long and it was their father himself who
+always goaded them on. And if their mother in her terror intervened and
+begged them to be at peace with one another, she got laughed at into
+the bargain for her fears. The poor woman lived in constant anxiety
+about her wild boys, for she saw to her terror that both had inherited
+their father's violent temper. Once already she had only just arrived
+in the nick of time, when Fritz, then eight years old, was about to
+attack his brother, two years older than himself, with a large kitchen
+knife; and a half a year later the day really dawned on which her dark
+presentiments were realized.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two boys had been fighting in the yard, and Martin, the elder one,
+wild with rage because Fritz had beaten him, had hurled a stone at him
+and hit him so unfortunately at the back of his head that he fell down
+bleeding and immediately lost the power of speech. They could stanch
+the blood, and the wound healed up, but his speech did not return.
+Indifferent to all around, the boy sat there and let them feed him: he
+had become an idiot.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was a hard blow for the miller's family. The mother wept whole
+nights through, and even he, the energetic hard-working man, went about
+for a long time as if in a dream.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But the perpetrator of the disastrous deed was the one most impressed
+by it. The defiant, boisterously happy boy was hardly recognizable. His
+exuberance of spirits had disappeared; he spent his days in silent
+brooding, obeyed his mother to the letter and, whenever possible,
+avoided joining in the games of his school-fellows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His love for his unfortunate brother was touching. When he was at home,
+he never stirred from his side. With superhuman patience he accustomed
+himself to the brutalized habits of the idiot, learned to understand
+his inarticulate sounds, fulfilled his every wish, and looked on
+smilingly when he destroyed his dearest toy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The invalid boy got so used to his companionship that he would not be
+without him. When Martin was at school, he cried incessantly and
+preferred to go hungry rather than take food and drink from anyone
+else.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For three years he dragged on this miserable existence; then he began
+to ail and died.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Though his death certainly came as a relief to the whole household, all
+mourned his loss sincerely, and Martin especially was inconsolable.
+During the first months he wandered out daily to the cemetery and often
+had to be torn by force away from the grave. Only very gradually he
+grew calmer, chiefly through intercourse with the youngest boy,
+Johannes, to whom he now appeared to transfer the intense love which he
+had lavished upon his dead brother.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As long as the invalid lived, he had taken little notice of Johannes,
+for he seemed to think it almost sinful to give even the merest
+fraction of his affection to any one else. Now that death had robbed
+him of the poor unfortunate, an invincible longing drew him towards his
+younger brother--as if by his love for him he might fill the agonizing
+void which the loss of his victim had left in him as if he might atone
+toward the living for what he had inflicted on the dead.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes was at that time a fine lad of five, already quite a little
+man, who was to have his first pair of stout boots at next fair-time.
+He seemed to have inherited nothing of his father's harsh, defiant
+nature; he took much more after his gentle, quiet mother, to whom he
+clung specially as her pet, and whose very idol he was. Not hers alone,
+though, for all in the house spoiled and petted him, their sunbeam,
+their source of joy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Indeed, none who saw him could help loving him! His long, fair hair
+gleamed like so many sunbeams, and in his eyes, which could twinkle so
+merrily and at other times gaze so dreamily, there lay depths of
+goodness and love. He attached himself fervently to his elder brother,
+who had so long neglected him; but the disparity in their ages--they
+were nearly nine years apart--did not allow of purely brotherly
+relations between them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin was already at the close of his boyhood; his serious, thoughtful
+mien and measured, old-fashioned speech made him appear older than he
+was. Besides, he was already destined to commence work in the following
+year. Under these circumstances it was only natural that he should
+assume a somewhat fatherly tone towards his younger brother, and though
+he was not ashamed to join in his childish games and to be driven as
+his patient horse with a &quot;gee-up&quot; and a &quot;whoa,&quot; through the mill-yard
+and across the fields, there was even in this more of the smiling
+indulgence of a kindly tutor than of the spontaneous pleasure of an
+older playmate.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The affectionate-natured boy, craving for love and sympathy, gave
+himself up heart and soul to his big brother. He recognized his
+boundless authority more even than that of his father and mother, who
+were further removed from his childish sphere--and when school-days
+commenced and Martin proved such a patient helper in word and deed
+whenever lessons were hard, then the younger boy's veneration for his
+elder brother knew no bounds. Old Rockhammer was the only one who was
+not pleased with the closeness of their friendship. They were too
+sweet; they &quot;slobbered&quot; each other too much, they had much better &quot;live
+like cats and dogs together&quot; as a proof that they were really &quot;one's
+own flesh and blood.&quot; But their gentle mother was all the happier. Her
+prayer to the Almighty by day and night was to protect her children and
+nevermore to allow the flame of wrath to burst forth in Martin. And her
+supplication seemed to have been heard. Only once more was her soul
+filled with horror through an outburst of rage in her son.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes--then nine years old--had been playing with a whip near some
+carts standing in the yard ready to take away flour. Suddenly one of
+the horses took fright; and the driver, a coarse, drunken fellow, tore
+the whip out of the boy's hand, and gave him a cut with it across his
+face and neck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the same instant Martin, lithe as a tiger, rushed out of the mill;
+the veins on his temples swollen, his fists clenched, got hold of the
+man and began to throttle him so that he was already black in the face.
+Then his mother threw herself with a loud scream of terror between the
+two. &quot;Think of Fritz!&quot; she cried, throwing up her arms in an agony of
+horror; and the infuriated boy let his hands drop as if paralyzed,
+tottered back and fell down sobbing on the threshold of the mill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Since then his temper seemed to have died out entirely, and even when
+he was once insulted and attacked on the highroad, he kept his knife,
+which the people of those parts are quick to use, quietly in his
+pocket.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">The years sped on. Shortly after Martin came of age, the old
+miller
+closed his eyes. His wife soon followed him. She did not recover after
+his death, and quietly and without complaining, she withered away. It
+was as if she could not exist without the scoldings which she had had
+to take daily from her husband for twenty-three years.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two brothers now dwelt alone in the orphaned mill. So it was no
+wonder that they clung to each other even more closely, and that each
+lived only for the other!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And yet they were very different outwardly and inwardly. Martin,
+thick-set and short-necked, was awkward and silent in the presence of
+strangers. His bushy, lowering eyebrows gave his face a dark look, and
+his words came with difficulty and by fits and starts as if speaking
+were in itself torture--in fact one might have taken him for a hard
+misanthropist, if he had not had such an honest, hearty look in his
+eyes, and such a good-natured, almost childlike smile that it sometimes
+illumined his broad, coarsely-cut features like a ray of sunlight.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How utterly different was Johannes! His eyes beamed into the world so
+frankly and cheerfully; the corners of his mouth seemed constantly
+twitching with fun and merriment; and over his whole lithe, pliant
+figure was cast the glamour of youth. The lassies all noticed it, and
+sent many a glance after him, and many a blush, many a warm squeeze of
+the hand told him plainly, &quot;You could easily win my love.&quot; Johannes did
+not care much about these matters. He was not yet &quot;ripe for love,&quot; and
+preferred a game of skittles to a dance, and would rather sit with his
+silent brother beside the lock than walk with Rose or Gretel.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two brothers had promised each other one still, solemn evening,
+that they would never part and that no third person should ever come
+between them in love or in hate.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But they had made their reckoning without taking into account the Royal
+Recruiting Commission. The time came for Johannes to serve in the army.
+He had to go far, far away, to Berlin, to the Uhlans of the Guard. It
+was a hard trial for both of them. Martin kept his trouble to himself
+as usual, but impetuous Johannes behaved as if he were absolutely
+inconsolable, so that he was well teased at parting by his comrades.
+His grief was, however, not of long duration. The fatigues of service
+as a recruit, the novelty of it all, the lively bustle of the
+metropolis, left him little time for dreaming and only now and then, as
+he lay in the calm dawn on his camp bed, a great longing came over him;
+the homely mill gleamed through the darkness like a lost Paradise and
+the clatter of the wheels sounded in his ears like heavenly music. But
+as soon as he heard the trumpet call, the vision passed away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin fared worse at the mill, where he was now quite alone, for he
+could not reckon as companions the millhands, or old David, an
+inheritance from his father. Friends he had never had either in the
+village or elsewhere. Johannes sufficed him and took their place
+entirely. He slunk about brooding in silence, his mind ever gloomier,
+his thoughts ever darkened, and at last melancholy took such hold of
+him that the vision of his victim began to haunt him. He was sensible
+enough to know that he could not go on living like this, and forcibly
+sought to distract his thoughts--went on Sundays to the village dance
+and visited the neighboring hamlets under pretense of trade interests.
+But as for the result of all this--well, one fine day at the
+commencement of his second year of service, Johannes got a letter from
+his brother. It ran as follows:</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="continue">&quot;<span class="sc2">My Dear Boy</span>:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I shall have to write it some time, even though you will be
+angry with
+me. I could not bear my loneliness any longer and have made up my mind
+to enter into the matrimonial state. Her name is Gertrude Berling, and
+she is the daughter of a wind-miller in Lehnort, two miles from here.
+She is very young and I love her very much. The wedding is to be in six
+weeks. If you can, get leave of absence for it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Dear brother, I beg of you, do not be vexed with me. You know
+you will always have a home at the mill whether there is a mistress
+there or not. Our fatherly inheritance belongs to us both, in any
+case. She sends you her kind regards. You once met each other at a
+shooting-match, and she liked you very much, but you took no notice of
+her, and she sends you word she was immensely offended with you.</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:20%">&quot;Farewell,</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:30%">&quot;Your faithful brother,</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:45%">&quot;<span class="sc2">Martin</span>.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes was a very spoiled creature. Martin's engagement
+appeared to
+him as high treason against their brotherly love. He felt as if his
+brother had deceived him and meanly deprived him of his due rights.
+Henceforth a stranger was to rule where hitherto he alone had been
+king, and his position at the mill was to depend on her favor and good
+will. Even the friendly message from the wind-miller's daughter did not
+calm or appease him. When the day of the wedding came, he took no
+leave, but only sent his love and good wishes by his old schoolfellow
+Franz Maas, who was just left off from military service.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Six months later he himself was at liberty.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How now, Johannes? We are so obstinate that on no account will we go
+home, and prefer to seek our fortune in foreign parts; we roam about,
+now to right, now to left, up hill and down hill and rub off our horns,
+and when, four weeks later, we come to the conclusion that in spite of
+the wind-miller's daughter there is no place in the world like the
+Rockhammer mill, we went our way homewards most cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One sunny day in May Johannes arrived in Marienfeld.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Franz Mass, who had set up the autumn before as a worthy baker, was
+standing, with his legs apart, in front of his shop, looking up
+contentedly at the tin &quot;Bretzel&quot; swinging over his door in the gentle
+noon-day breeze, when he saw an Uhlan come swaggering down the village
+street with his cap cocked to one side and clinking his spurs. His
+brave ex-soldier's heart beat quicker under his white baker's apron as
+he took his pipe out of his mouth and shaded his eyes with his hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, I declare, it's Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hallo, old fellow!&quot; And they were greeting each other with effusion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where do you hail from so late in the season? Have you had to do extra
+service?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For shame!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then they start questions and confessions. About the captain and the
+sergeant and old Knapphaus and the fair baker's daughter whom they used
+to call &quot;Crumpet Mary,&quot; and who lived in the baker's shop close to the
+barracks--they all have their turn and not one is forgotten.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And what about yourself? Did they recognize you in the village?&quot; asks
+Franz, transferring his insatiable thirst for knowledge to more homely
+ground.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not a soul,&quot; laughs Johannes, complacently twirling his budding
+cavalry moustache which points heavenwards in two smart ends.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And at home?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes makes a serious face and says he must go.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, you're only on the way there now? Then I suppose it's bobbing
+about in there?&quot; And he gives him a searching thump on his chest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes laughs curtly and then suppresses a sigh as if to master his
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Franz lays his hand on his shoulder and says: &quot;Well, you will find a
+sister-in-law--upon my word, she's a sister-in-law worth having!&quot; He
+smacks his lips and winks his eye. It fills Johannes again with his
+former defiance and rage. He shrugs his shoulders contemptuously,
+shakes hands with his friend and goes off clinking his spurs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Three more minutes' walk; then he is through the village. There is the
+church! Poor old thing--it has got even a bit more tumble-down!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But the black larches still rustle as of old, and theirs is the same
+sweet song of happy promise which they sang to him on the day of his
+confirmation. There on the left is the inn--by Jove, they have put
+up a massive new doorway, and at the window there stand immense
+liquor-flasks, filled with flaming red and viciously green fluids. Mine
+host of the &quot;Crown&quot; has been looking up! That side-path leads down to
+the river. And there is the mill, the goal of his dreams! How
+comfortable the old thatched roof looks across the alder bushes, how
+snowy white are the cherry blossoms in the garden, how cheerily the
+mill-wheels clatter: &quot;Welcome, welcome!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How the dear old moss-grown weir seems to chant a blessing from afar!
+He pushes his cap a degree further back and pulls himself together
+resolutely, for he is determined to master his emotion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All the fields stretching on either side of the road belong to the
+mill. On the right is winter-rye, as of old; but on the left, where
+there used to be a potato-patch, there is now a kitchen garden--there
+are asparagus-plants and young beetroots arranged in prim and orderly
+rows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Between the long vegetable borders, about five paces from the fence, he
+sees the lithe, robust figure of a girl assiduously bending to her
+work.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Who can that be? Does she belong to the mill? Perhaps a new maid!
+Hardly that, though, for she looks too smart, too neat; her shoes are
+too light, her apron too dainty, the white kerchief so picturesquely
+draped round her head is of too fine a texture. If only she would not
+so completely shade her face! Now she looks up! Good heavens, what a
+sweet girl! How her bonny cheeks glow, how her dark eyes gleam, how her
+pouting lips seem to invite a kiss!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As she perceives him, she drops her hoe and stares at him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good-day,&quot; he says, and touches his cap somewhat awkwardly. &quot;Do you
+know whether the miller is at home?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, he's at home,&quot; she says, and goes on staring at him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I wonder what she means by it,&quot; he thinks, fighting against his
+embarrassment; and as, since his Berlin days, he has every reason to
+consider himself well-nigh irresistible, it is a point of honor with
+him now to step close up to the hedge and attempt a little flirtation
+with the girl.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, always busy?&quot; he asks, just for the sake of asking, and in his
+confusion clutches at the ends of his moustache. Uhlan, beware! Take
+care!!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, I'm always busy,&quot; she repeats mechanically, while she stares at
+his face unceasingly; and suddenly, raising her hand and spreading out
+all five fingers as if she would like to point at him with them all,
+she says, as she bursts out laughing:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why, you're Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, tha-at's m-e,&quot; he stammers in astonishment; &quot;and who are you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'm his wife!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What? You--his--Martin's?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hm!&quot; And she nods at him with assumed dignity, while her eyes are full
+of roguishness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But you look like a young girl!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It isn't so very long since I was one,&quot; she laughs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They stand on opposite sides of the fence and look at each other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Collecting herself, she wipes her hands ostentatiously on her apron,
+and stretches them out to him through the lattice-work.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Welcome, brother-in-law!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He returns her hand-shake, but is silent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you perhaps intend to be angry with me, brother-in-law?&quot; she says,
+and looks up at him roguishly. He feels absolutely powerless before
+her, and can only laugh awkwardly and say: &quot;I--angry? Oh, dear no!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It looked rather like it!&quot; she says, and lifting her finger
+threateningly, she adds: &quot;Oh, I should only just have liked you to
+attempt such a thing!&quot; Thereupon she sticks her chin into her collar
+and bursts into a soft chuckle.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, you are funny! he says, with a rather more easy laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I funny?--never! You go along now; meanwhile I will run in through the
+garden and fetch Martin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And she starts to run away, then stops suddenly, puts her finger to her
+nose and says: &quot;Wait a minute; I will come across to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before he has time to stretch out a helping hand, she had slipped, as
+nimble as a lizard, in between the boards of the fencing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, here I am,&quot; she says, smoothing out her dress, while she lets
+the knotted kerchief fall loosely onto her neck, so that a mass of
+little brown curls escape round her forehead and neck and begin to
+dance in the wind as if delighted at their newly regained freedom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His gaze rests with astonishment on the fresh, girlish beauty of this
+young wife, who behaves like a wild unconstrained child.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She notices the look, and slightly blushing, she passes her hand over
+the curly disorder which will not be fettered.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a while they walk beside each other in silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looks down and smiles as if she too had suddenly learned shyness.
+Conversation flags till they have got through the large entrance-gate.
+Johannes looks about and gives a cry of amazement. He cannot believe
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Everything all around is changed, everything is beautified. The round
+court-yard, which in rainy weather used to be one immense pool of dirt
+and in dry weather one mass of dust-clouds, now is all covered with
+turf like some flowering meadow, the doors of the store-houses and
+stables are resplendent with bright red paint and bear white numbers.
+In the middle of the open space is an artistic pigeon-house, like a
+little Swiss chalet, and in front of the house is a newly built
+veranda, round whose shining windowpanes and dainty wood-carving some
+young creepers twine their budding tendrils. The mill lies before his
+ecstatic gaze like the very home of peace and innocence. He folds his
+hands in emotion and asks &quot;Who has done all this?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looks about without speaking.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You?&quot; he asks, amazed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I helped,&quot; she answers modestly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But you originated it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She smiles. This smile makes her appear older, and for a moment her
+child-like face is suffused with a shimmer of womanly grace.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Your hand is blessed,&quot; he says softly and shyly, more in earnest than
+is his wont.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He cannot help thinking of his dead mother, who so often complained of
+the dreadful dust, and that in the whole space outside there was not a
+single place where she could sit down in comfort.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If only she could have lived to see this,&quot; he murmurs to himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mother?&quot; she asks him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looks up astonished. That she should not say &quot;your mother&quot; startles
+him at first, then it gives him a feeling of intense pleasure such as
+he has never before in his life felt. A sort of happy glow enters into
+his heart and will not leave it. So there is now in the world a young,
+beautiful strange woman who speaks of his mother as if she had been
+hers too, as if she herself were his sister, the sister he had so often
+longed for in his foolish younger days, when his gaze used to rest with
+admiration on other girls.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now she softly repeats her question.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, mother,&quot; he answers, and looks at her gratefully.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bears his look for a second; then drops her eyes and says in some
+confusion; &quot;I wonder where Martin can be?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In the mill, I suppose!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, in the mill, of course,&quot; she answers quickly; and with the words
+&quot;I will fetch him,&quot; she hurries away. Almost without thinking he stares
+after the girlish figure bounding so lightly across the grass.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Everything about her seems to be flying and fluttering--her skirts, her
+apron-strings, the kerchief about her neck, her untameable, entangled
+mass of curls.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He remains for a time gazing after her as if spell-bound; then he
+laughingly shakes his head and walks to the veranda. There he notices a
+dainty work-table and on it a round wicker-work-basket. Across its edge
+hangs a piece of work commenced, a long, white strip embroidered with
+flowers and leaves such as women use for insertion. Without thinking he
+takes the piece of cambric in his hand and examines the cunning
+stitches till his sister-in-law's laughing voice reaches his ears.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Like a surprised criminal he quickly lets the embroidery drop--there
+she is already, bending round the corner; and the flour-whitened,
+square-set figure she is so merrily dragging behind her and who is so
+awkwardly trying to divest himself of her little, clutching hands, and
+dispersing thick, white dust-clouds all round, that is, why, that is--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Martin, dear old Martin!&quot; and he rushes out to embrace him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The awkward movements cease; the bushy eye-brows are drawn up--the
+good-natured, quiet smile grows stony--the whole figure is fixed--the
+man draws back--but next moment he rushes forward towards his
+newly-regained darling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In silence the brothers clasp each other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then after a time Martin takes the head of the returned wanderer
+between his two hands and, knitting his brows darkly and gnawing at his
+under-lip he looks long and earnestly into his brother's beaming,
+laughing eyes. Thereupon he sits down on the seat in the veranda, rests
+his elbows on his knees and looks down.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why are you so pensive, Martin?&quot; Johannes asks softly, laying his hand
+on his brother's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, why shouldn't I be pensive?&quot; he answers, with a peculiar sort of
+low grunt which accompanies all his meager speeches. &quot;Ah--you rascal!&quot;
+he continues, and the good-natured grin which is his in happy moments
+spreads over his heavily-cut features. &quot;You made up your mind to be
+angry--you, you?&quot; Then he jumps up and takes his wife's hand. &quot;Look at
+him, Trude; he wanted to be angry, the silly fellow! Come here, boy!
+Eh--here she is--look at her properly, well! Do you think you could be
+angry with <i>her</i>?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he drops clumsily onto his seat, so that a fresh cloud of white
+dust flies up, looks at Johannes, laughs to himself a little and says
+at last: &quot;Trude, fetch a clothes brush!&quot; Trude bursts out laughing and
+skips away singing. When she returns waving the desired object high in
+the air, he gives the order: &quot;Now brush him!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;When a miller or a sweep grows affectionate, there's sure to be a
+misfortune,&quot; Johannes says, attempting a joke, and tries to take the
+brush out of her hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Please allow me, Mr. Johannes,&quot; she protests, hiding the brush under
+her apron.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin hits the bench with his fist. &quot;Mr. Johannes! Well, I
+never--what's the meaning of that? Haven't you made friends yet?--eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes is silent and Trude brushes away at him with great vigor.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then I suppose you haven't even given each other a kiss yet?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude lets the brush fall suddenly. Johannes says &quot;H'm&quot; and busies
+himself with rolling the wheel of one of his spurs along the scraper
+standing at the entrance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's the proper thing to do, however! Now then!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes faces about and twirls his moustache, determined to get over
+his awkward predicament by playing the man of the world; but with all
+that he has not the courage to bend down to her. He stands there as
+stiff as a post and waits till she holds up her little mouth; then for
+a moment he presses his trembling lips upon hers, and feels how a
+slight shudder runs through her frame.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A moment later it is all over. With a shy smile they stand next to one
+another--both blushing all over.--Martin slaps his knees with his hands
+and declares it has been as good as a side-splitting farce. Then he
+suddenly gets up and walks off. He must ponder over his happiness in
+solitude.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">In the afternoon the brothers go together into the mill. Trude stands
+at the window and looks after them, and, when Johannes turns around,
+she smiles and hides behind the curtain. On the threshold Johannes
+stands still and leans his head against the door-post, and deep emotion
+fills him as he gazes into the semi-darkness of the dear old place from
+which proceeds such a din of wheels that it nearly stuns him, while the
+draught drives into his face great whitish-grey clouds of flour,
+bran-dust and steam. Side by side the various &quot;runs&quot; open out before
+him. On the left, nearest the wall, the old &quot;bolting-run,&quot; for the
+finest flour; then the &quot;bruising-run,&quot; where the bran and flour remain
+together; then the &quot;groats-run,&quot; where the barley is freed from its
+husks; and finally the &quot;cylinder-run,&quot; one of the new kind only
+recently added.--They have also had a new spiral alley and a lift made.
+Fashion now-a-days requires all these innovations.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin puts his hands in his pockets and saunters along with his pipe
+in his mouth in silent self-content. Then he takes hold of Johannes'
+hand and proceeds to explain the new invention--how the fine flour is
+caught up by the spiral and conveyed to the suspiral where small pails,
+running along a belting, raise it through two stories, almost to the
+roofing, and then empty it into the silken, cylinder-like funnels
+through the fine network of which it has to pass before becoming fit
+for use. Listening breathlessly, Johannes drinks in his brother's
+scant, slowly uttered words, and is surprised how ignorant one grows in
+the army; for all these things are sealed books to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Business is flourishing. All the works are in full swing, and the
+'prentices have plenty to do with pouring the grain into the
+mill-hopper and watching the outflow of the flour and the bran.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have three now,&quot; says Martin, pointing to the white-powdered
+fellows, one of whom is continually running up and down the stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And is David here yet?&quot; asks Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why, of course,&quot; answers Martin; and makes a face as if the mere idea
+of David's being no longer at the mill had scared him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where has he hidden himself, the old fellow?&quot; Johannes laughingly
+asks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;David! David!&quot; shouts Martin's lusty voice above all the clatter of
+the wheels.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then from out the darkness, by the motor machine, which rises
+Cyclops-like from below the woodwork of the galleries, there emerges a
+long, lanky figure, dipped in flour--a face shows itself on which the
+indifference of old age has left nothing to be read--a slightly
+reddened nose, which almost meets the bristly chin, weak and sulky eyes
+hidden beneath bushy brows, and a mouth which seems to be continually
+chewing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What do you want me for, master?&quot; he asks, planting himself in front
+of the brothers without removing the clay pipe which hangs loosely
+between his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Here's Johannes,&quot; says Martin, patting the old man's shoulder, while a
+good-natured smile crosses his countenance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't you know me any more, David?&quot; asks Johannes, holding out his
+hand in a friendly manner. The old man spits out a stream of brown
+juice from between his teeth, considers awhile and then mumbles:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why shouldn't I know you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And how are you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How should I be?&quot;--Then he begins fumbling about at a sack of flour,
+tying and untying the string with his bony fingers; then when he has
+made sure that he is no longer wanted, he withdraws once more into his
+dark corner.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin's face beams. &quot;There's a faithful soul for you, Johannes--28
+years of service, eh! And always industrious and conscientious.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;By the bye, what does he do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin looks confused. &quot;Well--look here--eh--hard to say--position of
+trust--eh--faithful soul, faithful soul.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Does the faithful soul still occasionally prig something from the
+flour-sacks?&quot; asks Johannes laughing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin shrugs his shoulders impatiently and mutters something about &quot;28
+years of service,&quot; and closing an eye.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He seems still to owe me a grudge,&quot; says Johannes, &quot;for having
+discovered the hiding place to which he had carried his hardly-stolen
+little hoard.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will persist in being prejudiced against him,&quot; answers Martin,
+&quot;just like Trude too--you are unjust towards him,--most unjust.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes laughingly shakes his head; then he points to a door leading
+to a newly erected partition.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What's that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin moves about uneasily. &quot;My office,&quot; he then stammers, and, as
+Johannes attempts to open the door, he runs up to him and catches him
+back by his coat-tails.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I beg of you,&quot; he mutters, &quot;do not cross that threshold. Not
+to-day--nor any other day.--I have my reasons.&quot; Johannes looks at him
+in vexation. &quot;Since when have you secrets from me,&quot; he feels impelled
+to ask, but his brother's trustful, pleading look closes his lips, and
+arm in arm they leave the mill together.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Evening has come.--The great wheel is at rest, and with it the host of
+smaller ones.--Silence is over all the mill and only in the distance
+the rushing water of the weir sings its monotonous song. Here of
+course--in front of the house--the mill-brook is quiet and peaceful, as
+though it had nothing in the world to do but to carry water-lilies and
+to mirror the setting sun in its depths. Like a golden-red, dark-edged
+streamer it winds along between the straggling thicket of alders, in
+which a choir of nightingales are just clearing their throats and, all
+unconscious of their superior merit, are about to commence a singing
+competition with the frogs down there. The three human beings who are
+henceforth to pass their days together in this blossoming, song-laden
+solitude have already become lovingly intimate. They sit on the veranda
+around the white-spread supper-table, the food upon which has to-day
+found little appreciation, and their gaze is full of intense content.
+Martin rests his head on his hands and draws great clouds of smoke from
+his short pipe, from time to time emitting a sound which is something
+of a laugh, something of a growl.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes has quite buried himself in the mass of foliage and lets the
+tendrils of the wild vine play about his face. They tremble and flutter
+with his every breath.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude has pushed her head deep into her collar and is looking furtively
+across at the two brothers, like a high-spirited child that would like
+to get into mischief but first wants to make quite sure that no one is
+watching. This silence is evidently not to her taste, but she is
+already too well schooled to break it. Meantime she amuses herself by
+making little pellets of bread and shooting them, unnoticed by either
+of the brothers, into the midst of the herd of sparrows hopping about
+the veranda, with greedy intent. There is one in particular, a little,
+dirty fellow, who beats all the others' cunning and alertness. As soon
+as a grain of food comes rolling along he spreads both wings, screams
+like mad, and while fighting he endeavors to get it away by beating his
+wings, so that he can take possession of it comfortably while the
+others are still wildly hacking at each other. This maneuver he repeats
+four or five times, and always successfully, till one of his comrades
+finds out his trick and does it still better.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This gives Trude a fit of laughing which she tries to suppress by
+stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth and holding her breath till
+she gets quite blue in the face--Then when she finds it absolutely
+impossible to contain herself any longer, she jumps up to get away, but
+before she reaches the door, her laughter bursts forth and she
+disappears into the darkness of the passage, screaming loudly with
+delight.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Both brothers are roused from their dreaming.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What's up?&quot; asks Johannes, startled. Martin shakes his head as he
+looks after his young, foolish wife whose tricks he well knows; then
+after a time he takes his brother's hand and says, pointing to the
+door:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well--does she look as if she would oust you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, indeed,&quot; answers Johannes with a somewhat uneasy laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, my boy,&quot; growls Martin, scratching his bushy head, &quot;what a lot of
+worry I have been through!--I tossed about in my bed a long night when
+I thought of you! I mean on account of the wrong I might be doing
+you.&quot;--Then after a time--&quot;And yet when I look at her--she is so
+fair--so innocent--say yourself, my boy, could I possibly help loving
+her? When I saw her--ah--why it was all over with me.--In so many ways
+she reminded me of you--merry, and bright-eyed and full of mischief,
+just like you.--Of course she was a child and has remained one to the
+present day--Charmless and wild and playful as a child.--And I tell
+you--she wants holding in tighter--her spirits run away with her.--But
+that is just how I love her to be&quot;--a tender look brightens his
+features--&quot;and if I rightly think it over, I would not even miss one of
+her ridiculous doings. You know I always must have some one to watch
+over--formerly I had you, now she is the one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After relieving his feelings in this manner, he once more becomes
+silent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And are you happy?&quot; asks Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin hides himself in a thick cloud of smoke, and from out of that he
+mutters after a time:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, that depends!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;On what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;On your not being angry with her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I angry with her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, well, you needn't make excuses!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes does not reply. He will soon convince his brother of better
+things--and closing his eyes, he buries his head once more in the
+waving foliage. A gleam of light causes him to look up. Trude is
+standing on the threshold, holding a lamp and looking ashamed of
+herself. Her charming, childlike face is bathed in a red glow and the
+drooping lashes cast long, semi-circling shadows on her full cheeks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What a ridiculous creature you are!&quot; says Martin, stroking her ruffled
+hair tenderly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Won't you go to rest, Johannes?&quot; she asks with great seriousness,
+though there is still the sound of suppressed laughter in her voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good-night, brother!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Wait, I am coming too!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes shakes hands with his sister-in-law, while she turns her face
+aside with a furtive smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin takes the lamp from her and precedes his brother up the stairs.
+At the top he takes his hand and gazes silently and deeply into his
+eyes, like one who cannot yet contain his happiness; then he softly
+closes the door.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes sighs and stretches himself, pressing both hands to his
+breast. His heart is heavy for very joy. He feels as if he must go
+after his brother and relieve his feelings by a few loving, grateful
+words, but already he hears his steps downstairs in the entrance. It is
+too late. But his mind must be calmer before he can attempt to sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He puts out the lamp and pushes open a window. The night air cools his
+brow.--How soothing it is--how it wafts peace!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He bends over the window-ledge, whistles a song to himself and looks
+out into the night. The apple-tree beneath him is in full bloom--a
+waving sea of blossoms. How often as a child he has climbed up there,
+how often, tired with play, he has leant, dreaming, against its trunk,
+while its rustling leaves told him fairy stories. And when in autumn a
+gust of wind swept through the branches, it brought down a shower of
+rosy-cheeked apples, which fell almost into his lap.--What ecstasy that
+was! How many things enter one's thoughts as one whistles! Each note
+awakens a new song, each melody conjures up new reminiscences. And with
+the old songs there returns the old longing and flies on butterfly's
+wings through a vast empire between the moon and the morning sun!--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And as he looks down upon the earth melting into darkness, he sees how
+a window is softly opened and an upturned face bends far out. From out
+of a pale, gleaming oval, framed in a background of shadowy hair, two
+dark eyes glanced up at him, slyly and mischievously.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Abruptly he stops whistling; then a teasing laugh greets his ears, and
+his sister-in-law's merry voice cries: &quot;Go on, Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And when he will not do her bidding, she points her own lips and
+attempts a few very imperfect notes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then Martin's deep bass voice becomes audible in the house, saying in a
+tone of paternal reproof:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;None of your nonsense, Trude! Let him sleep!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But he doesn't sleep,&quot; she answers, pouting like a scolded child. Then
+the window is shut. The voices die away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes laughingly shakes his head and goes to bed, but he cannot
+sleep. Those flowers prevent him which Trude has placed at his
+bed-side, and the leaves of which hang right over the edge of the bed.
+Pale bluish bunches of lilac and the nebulous white stars of narcissi
+are mingled together. He turns round, kneels up in bed and buries his
+face in the flowery depths. Fondly the leaflets kiss his eye-lids and
+his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly he listens. From underneath the floor, as it were from the
+bowels of the earth, comes a quiet laugh. It is soft as a breath of
+wind passing over the grass, but so merry, so full of happiness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He listens, hoping to hear it again, but all is still. &quot;Crazy little
+body, you,&quot; he says amused, then falls back upon his pillow and drops
+to sleep smiling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day Johannes fetches down his working-clothes. They are a bit
+tight across the shoulders. But then, one gets broader.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The sun is already high in the heavens. As if it could shine so
+brightly, right into one's heart, anywhere else!--The sun of home is a
+wonderful thing. What it looks upon, it gilds, and when it touches
+one's lips, they begin to sing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is lovely at home--hurrah!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now I have a nest of merry birds in the house,&quot; laughs Martin, coming
+to greet him. &quot;Go on singing. I am used to that from Trude--but what
+are you doing in that white coat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose you think I am going to be idle here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At least just for a day!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not for an hour! My lazy times are over!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin has meanwhile noticed the flowers at the bed-side and says with
+a grumbling laugh: &quot;Now there's a little witch for you! I have
+forbidden it for myself, and now she begins the same nonsense with
+others. That's why you look so pale this morning.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I, pale? Not in the least!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't say a word! I'll cure her of her tricks.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With that they go downstairs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude is nowhere to be seen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She has been in the garden since five o'clock,&quot; says Martin with a
+pleased smile. &quot;Everything goes like clock-work since she's at the head
+of affairs. As quick as a weasel, up at peep of day and always merry,
+always ready with a song and a laugh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On their way to the mill a young turnip whizzes past the brothers',
+heads. Martin turns round and laughingly threatens with his finger.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who was that?&quot; asks Johannes, peering in bewilderment round the empty
+yard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who but she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But can you see her anywhere?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not a trace of her! Oh, she's a teasing elf who can become invisible
+at will.&quot; And with a beaming face he follows his brother to the mill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The hours pass by. Johannes wants to show what he can do and works with
+twofold energy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While he is superintending the storing of the grain on the gallery,
+some one from below gently pulls his coat-tail. He looks down;--Trude,
+with sun-heated face and sparkling eyes, stands on the steps and
+invites him to come to breakfast. &quot;In a minute,&quot; he says, finishes his
+task and jumps down.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Brr!&quot; she says, shaking herself, &quot;how you look!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What's the matter?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well--yesterday I liked you better.&quot; Then she gives him her hand with a
+&quot;good-morning,&quot; and trips down the stairs in front of him, strewing the
+flour about for fun as she goes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they get to the door of the partition that Martin called his
+office, she pulls a mysterious face and raises her hand silently as if
+to lay a ghost.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then after a moment she asks: &quot;I say, what has he got in there!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mayn't you go in either?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank goodness! Then I am not the only one who's kept in the dark. In
+there he sits, and every stranger is allowed to go in to him, only not
+I. If I want him, I have to ring.--Say yourself whether that's nice of
+him? Surely I am no longer such a child that he should--well, I won't
+say anything,--one oughtn't to speak ill of one's husband--but you are
+his own brother--do put in a good word for me, so that he tells me what
+is in there. For I am dying to know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you suppose he has told me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, then we must comfort each other. Come along.&quot;--And in one jump
+she flies up the three steps leading to the entrance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">During breakfast she suddenly puts on a serious air and speaks grandly
+of her weighty household cares. Of course, she says, she had to be
+independent at home already, for her poor little mother died many years
+past, and she had to superintend her father's household long before she
+was confirmed; but it was only a small one, for her father had to
+manage with one apprentice and almost worked himself to death--poor
+father!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her eyes are full of tears. She is ashamed and turns away. Then she
+jumps up and asks: &quot;Have you had enough?&quot; And when he says &quot;Yes,&quot; she
+continues: &quot;Come along into the garden. There's an arbor which is
+splendid for a chat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That one at the end of the long path?--that is my favorite place too.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Side by side they stroll through the mazy garden walks, all bathed in
+glowing sunlight, and both feel relieved when they reach the cool shade
+of the leafy recess.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She throws herself down carelessly on the grassy bank and puts her
+plump, sun-burnt arms under her head. Through the dense foliage stray
+gleams of sunlight break, painting her dress with golden patches,
+playing on her neck and face, and passing over her head till they make
+her curly brown hair all aglow.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes sits down opposite her and gazes at her with undisguised
+admiration. He is convinced that never before in his life has he seen
+so much loveliness as there in the half-reclining figure of his
+charming young sister-in-law, and he thinks of his brother's saying:
+&quot;Was it possible for me not to love her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't know why I feel so inclined to talk about myself to-day,&quot; she
+says with her sympathetic smile, while she shifts her head to a more
+comfortable position. &quot;Do you care to listen?&quot; He nods his head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am glad of that, Johannes! Well, you may imagine that at home bread
+was not over plentiful--not to speak of the butter which by rights
+belongs to it--and if I had not had my little garden, the produce of
+which we could sell in the town, we should not have managed at all.
+'Why does everyone take all their grain to the Rockhammer mill, without
+thinking that the poor wind-miller wants to live too?' That is what we
+often thought, and we positively hated your place. Then all of a sudden
+comes Martin--says he wants to be neighborly--and is kind and good to
+father and kind and good to me--and brings toffee and sugar-candy for
+the boys, so that we are all mad on him. And in the end he informs
+father that he absolutely must have me for his wife. 'But she hasn't a
+penny,' says my father, and fancy--he took me without a farthing!
+You may imagine how glad I was, for father had often said to me:
+'Now-a-days men only marry for money; you are a poor girl, Trude, so
+make up your mind to be an old maid. And now I was engaged before my
+17th birthday.--And then, you know, I had liked Martin very much for a
+long time already--for even if he is rather shy and quiet I could see
+by his eyes what a kind heart he has! Only he can't let himself go, as
+he would perhaps like to. I know how good he is, and even if he growls
+ever so much and scolds me, I shall be fond of him all my life!&quot; She is
+silent for a moment and passes her hand across her face as if to wipe
+away the sunbeam which is gilding her lashes and making her eyes
+glisten. &quot;And fancy how good he is to my family,&quot; she then resumes
+eagerly, as if she could not find enough love to heap on Martin's head.
+&quot;He absolutely wanted to give them a yearly allowance--I don't know how
+much--but I would not allow that--for I did not wish to induce my
+father in his old days to take alms, even though it was from his
+son-in-law. But one thing I asked for--for permission to continue
+the gardening as I had done at home and to use the proceeds as
+pocket-money. What I do with it is my own business.&quot; She smiles across
+at him slyly and then continues: &quot;They really do want it though, at
+home, for you see, there are three boys who all want to be fed and
+clothed, and they have to keep a servant too now, since I left home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have you no sisters?&quot; he asks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shakes her head; then she says, suddenly bursting out laughing.
+&quot;It's really too bad. Not even one for a wife for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He joins in her laughter and observes: &quot;I don't seem to want a wife so
+much now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As a sister.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, she is here,&quot; says she, jumping up and stepping up to him; then,
+as if ashamed of her impetuosity, she drops down again on to the grass,
+blushing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, will you be that?&quot; he says with beaming eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She pulls a little face and observes carelessly. &quot;That's nothing much
+to be! Sister-in-law is in itself already as much as half a sister.&quot;
+Then, smilingly looking him up and down, she remarks: &quot;I think one
+might put up with you as a brother.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Five foot ten--been Uhlan of the Guard--does that suffice?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you might even turn out a good playfellow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you require one?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, very badly! It is so quiet and solemn here. There's not a soul to
+romp about with as I used to with my brothers at home. Sometimes I felt
+half inclined to collar one of the mill-hands, but dignity and respect
+forbade such a thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, I am here now,&quot; he laughs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And she: &quot;I set great hopes on you!&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then collar me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are too floury for me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A fine miller's wife to be afraid of flour,&quot; he teases.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Never mind,&quot; she interrupts, &quot;I shall soon put your playing powers to
+the test.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the gloaming, when they are once more sitting together on the
+veranda, and Johannes, like his brother, sits dreaming with his head
+hidden in the foliage, he suddenly feels a round, indefinable something
+hit his head and then drop to the ground. &quot;Perhaps it was a cock-chafer,&quot;
+he thinks to himself, but the attack is renewed two or three times.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he begins to suspect Trude, who sits like a perfect picture of
+innocence, humming quite dolefully to herself, &quot;In Yonder Verdant
+Valley,&quot; while she works little bread pellets which evidently serve as
+her missiles.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He suppresses a merry laugh, secretly gets hold of a branch of the vine
+on which a few of last year's dried-up berries are still hanging, and
+when she lets fly a new volley at him, he promptly dispatches his reply
+at her little nose.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She flinches, looks at him quite amazed for a moment, and when he bends
+towards her with the most serious face in the world, she bursts into a
+loud, joyful laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What's the matter again now?&quot; asks Martin, startled from his dreaming.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He has withstood the test,&quot; she laughs, putting her arm around her
+husband's neck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What test?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If I tell you, you will grumble, so I had better be silent.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin looks at Johannes questioningly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, it's nothing,&quot; says he smiling; &quot;it was only nonsense. We
+were--bombarding each other.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's right, children--you bombard one another,&quot; Martin says, and
+goes on smoking in silence. Johannes is ashamed of himself, while Trude
+challenges her playfellow with mischievous glances. &quot;Full of play,&quot;
+yes, that was it; that was what Martin Rockhammer had called his wife.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Henceforth there are to be no more of those peaceful silent hours in
+the gloaming which Martin loves so well.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The quiet paths of the garden resound with song and laughter, across
+the lawn figures dart, as quick as the wind, in pursuit of each
+other;--they let loose the dogs and race with them;--they hunt the wild
+cats that frequent the mill-yard--they play hide-and-seek behind the
+haystacks and hedges.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin looks on at all these doings with kindly, fatherly indulgence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the bottom of his heart he would prefer to have his former quiet
+restored, but they are both so happy in their youth and harmlessness;
+their eyes sparkle so, their cheeks are so rosy: it would be a shame to
+spoil their pleasure through grumbling and interference. Why, they are
+but children! And are there not quieter hours? When Trude says, &quot;Hans,
+let us sing,&quot; they sit down demurely side by side on the veranda or
+saunter slowly along the river, and when Martin has lighted his pipe
+and is ready to listen, they warble forth their songs into the
+gloaming. These are delightful, solemn moments. The birds in the trees
+twitter in their slumber, a soft breeze wafts through the branches and
+the mill-weir with its dull rushing sings the accompaniment. How
+quickly their mood changes! They have begun so merrily, but the
+melodies grow sadder and sadder, and the sound of their voices more and
+more mournful. A few minutes ago they were planning nonsense, now they
+have solemnly folded their hands and are gazing dreamily towards the
+sunset. Johannes' clear tenor tones well with her full deep contralto,
+and his ear never fails him when he is singing seconds in some new
+song.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It is strange that they cannot sing when they are alone together. If
+Martin happens to be called away on business during their song, their
+voices at once begin to waver, they look at each other and smile, turn
+away and smile again; then generally one of them makes a mistake and
+they stop singing. If Martin is not at home in the evening, or if, as
+is his wont once or twice a week, he has locked himself up in his
+&quot;office,&quot; they are both silent as if by a mutual understanding, and
+neither of them would dare to invite the other to sing. Instead of
+singing they have other more fascinating occupations which are only
+possible when they are sure no third person is listening. While serving
+in the army Johannes had acquired an &quot;Album of Lyrics,&quot; in which he had
+made a collection of everything in the way of merry or sentimental
+songs that took his fancy. The sentimental kind, however, greatly
+predominate. Love ditties, dirges, ballads about child murderers or
+innocently convicted criminals, side by side with poetical meditations
+on the vanity of life in general--and the gem of the whole collection
+is Kotzebue's &quot;Outburst of Despair,&quot; that sentimental effusion which
+was for half a century the most popular of all German poems. This
+collection just suits Trude's taste in poetry, and as soon as she is
+alone with Johannes she whispers entreatingly, &quot;Fetch the Lyrics!&quot; Then
+they crouch in some quiet corner, put their heads together--for Trude
+insists on looking into the book too--and enjoy the delicious feeling
+of awe which thrills them as they read.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There is that wonderful &quot;Count Von Sackingen to his Bride:--&quot;</p>
+
+<div style="font-size:90%; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt">
+<p class="continue">&quot;Farewell! The lonely sorrows of my heart<br>
+In sweetest melody are all enshrined<br>
+Lest thou shouldst guess how hard it is to part&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="continue">and that popular old romance:--</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">
+&quot;Henry slept and at his side<br>
+Was his richly-dowered bride.</p>
+<p class="t4"></p>
+<p class="t4">&quot;At midnight hour the curtain wide<br>
+By cold, white hands was pushed aside,<br>
+And Wilhelmine he did see,<br>
+For from the grave had risen she.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">Then Trude starts and gazes into the dusk with large, terrified eyes,
+but she enjoys it intensely.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The holy of holies in the album is a part bearing the title &quot;The Lovely
+Miller-Maid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where did you get that from?&quot; asks Trude, who feels that the title
+might apply to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A friend of mine, a musician, had these songs in a big volume of
+music, out of which I copied them. The man who wrote them is said to
+have been called Miller and to have been a miller himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Read, read quickly,&quot; cries Trude.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But Johannes refuses. &quot;They are too sad,&quot; he says, closing the book;
+&quot;some other time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And so matters rest. But Trude so persecutes him, pouting and
+imploring, that he has to give way to her after all.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Come this evening to the weir,&quot; he says--&quot;I have to close up the
+sluices. Then we shall be undisturbed and I can read to you--of course
+only if--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He winked across at the &quot;office.&quot; Trude nods. They understand each
+other admirably. After supper Martin withdraws to his retreat, pursued
+by Trude's impatient looks, for she is dying to hear what secrets are
+contained in the &quot;Lovely Miller-Maid.&quot; Arm in arm they walk across the
+meadow to the weir. The grass is damp with the evening dew. The sky
+glows red and all a-flame. The dark pine wood which forms a sombre
+frame round the picture is clearly silhouetted against the fiery
+background. Louder and louder the waters rush towards them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the tumbling waves the glowing sunset is reflected and every drop of
+frothy spray becomes a dancing spark. On the other side of the weir the
+river lies like a dark mirror and the alders lay their black shadows
+upon it and dip their image into its clouded depths.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Silently the two go to the weir. A narrow plank which in the center
+carries a drawbridge, runs alongside the main beam. From this point the
+sluices of the lock, six in number, and supported by solid pillars or
+props, can be opened or closed at will by the miller. Now in the gentle
+month of June the weir gives little trouble, but in early spring or
+autumn at high water or during the drifting of the ice, when all the
+sluices have to be opened wide and some of the supports to be removed,
+so that the volume of water as well as the lumps of ice may pour down
+unhindered, then one has to watch and put forth one's strength, or
+there is danger of being dragged down along with the wood-work by the
+seething mass. Johannes opens two of the sluices. That suffices for the
+present. Then he throws the lever to one side and rests his elbow on
+the rail of the drawbridge. Trude, who has so far watched him in
+silence, hoists herself up on to the big beam which runs from shore to
+shore on a level with the rail.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will get dizzy, Trude,&quot; says Johannes, anxiously looking down onto
+the &quot;fall,&quot; where over sloping planks the water shoots down in wild
+haste and then rushes foaming into the depths below.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude gives a short laugh and declares she has often sat here for hours
+and looked down without experiencing the least giddiness, and, if the
+worst came to the worst, why he would be there. Full of suspense she
+looks towards his pocket, and when he pulls out the book of poems she
+sighs rapturously, in anticipation of delights to come, and clasps her
+hands like a child ready to listen to fairy stories. The tender words
+of the inspired poet flow like music from his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The miller's heart delights to roam&quot;--Trude gives a cry of delight
+and beats time with her feet against the wooden posts. &quot;I heard a
+mill-stream rushing.&quot;--Trude listens expectantly. &quot;I saw the mill
+a-gleaming.&quot;--Trude clasps her hands with pleasure and points to the
+mill. With &quot;Didst thou mean this, thou rippling stream?&quot; the lovely
+miller-maid comes upon the scene and Trude grows serious. &quot;Had I a
+thousand arms to stir.&quot; Trude gives slight signs of impatience. &quot;No
+flowret I will question, nor yet the shining stars.&quot; Trude smiles to
+herself contentedly, &quot;Would I might carve it upon every tree!&quot; Trude
+sighs deeply and closes her eyes; and now proceed the passionate
+fancies of the young, love-frenzied miller, till they reach the cry of
+joy which penetrates above the rippling of the brook, the rushing of
+the mill-wheels, the song of the birds:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The loved miller-maid is mine!&quot; Trude spreads out both arms, a
+smile of quiet happiness flits across her face, she shakes her head
+as if to say, &quot;What in the world can come after this?&quot;--Then suddenly
+commences the miller-maid's mysterious liking for green, the
+hunting-horn echoes through the wood, the jaunty huntsman appears.
+Trude grows uneasy, &quot;What does the fellow want?&quot; she mutters and hits
+the beam with her fist. The miller, the poor young miller, soon begins
+to understand.--&quot;Would I could wander far away, yea, far away from
+home; if only there were not always green wherever the eye doth roam.&quot;
+Thus the burden of his mournful strain. Trude puts out her hands in
+suspense and hope; why, it cannot be, things must come right again in
+the end. And then:</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">
+&quot;Ye tiny flowrets that she gave.<br>
+Come rest with me in my lonely grave.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude's eyes grow moist, but still she hopes that the hunter may go,
+and the miller-maid think better of it; it cannot, it must not be
+otherwise. The miller and the brook begin their sad duologue--the
+mill-brook tries to console him, but for the miller there remains but
+one comfort, <i>one</i> rest:</p>
+<div style="margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; font-size:90%">
+<p class="hang1" style="margin-bottom:0px">
+&quot;Ah! brooklet, little brooklet, thou wouldst comfort my pain,</p>
+<p class="hang1" style="margin-top:0px">Ah! brooklet, canst thou make my lost love return again?&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude nods hastily. &quot;What has the silly brooklet to do with it? What
+does it know of love or pain?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And then--there comes the mysterious lullaby sung by the waters. Surely
+the young miller must have fallen asleep on the brink of the rivulet--a
+kiss will waken him and when he opens his eyes the miller-maid will be
+bending over him and saying. &quot;Forgive me, I love you as much as ever.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But nay--what is the meaning of those words about the small, blue
+crystal chamber? Why must he sleep till the ocean shall have drunk up
+the brook? And if the cruel maiden is to throw her kerchief into the
+brook that his eyes may be covered, why, then the sleeper cannot be
+lying on the water's brink, then he must be lying deep down--Trude
+covers her face with her hands and bursts into loud, convulsive sobs,
+and when Johannes still persists in reading to the end, she cries out
+&quot;Stop, stop!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trude, whatever is the matter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She beckons him to leave her alone; her weeping becomes more and more
+violent; her whole body sways, it seeks a support, it bends backwards.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes gives a terrified scream and springs forward, catching her in
+his arms. &quot;For heaven's sake, Trude!&quot; he gasps, breathing heavily.
+Beads of cold perspiration stand on his brow--but she bows her little
+head on his breast, flings her arms round his neck and cries her heart
+out.--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day Trude says: &quot;I behaved very childishly yesterday, Hans, and I
+believe I only just missed falling down.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You were already sinking,&quot; he says, and a shudder passes through him
+at thought of that terrible moment. A sentimental smile crosses her
+face. &quot;Then there would have been an end once and for all,&quot; she
+observes with a deep sigh, but forthwith laughs at herself for her
+silliness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The days pass by. Johannes has fulfilled Trude's keenest expectations
+as a play-fellow. The two have become inseparable; and Martin, the
+third of the party, can do nothing but look on silently and with a
+good-natured grumble say &quot;Yea&quot; and &quot;Amen&quot; to all their pranks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It is a pleasure to see them whizzing past, racing each other across
+the mill-yard as if they had wings to their feet. Trude flies along so
+that her feet hardly touch the ground, but in spite of that Johannes is
+the quicker of the two. Even if it takes time, she gets caught in the
+end. As soon as she finds that she cannot escape she cowers like a
+little frightened chicken; then when his arms encircle her
+triumphantly, her lithe body trembles as if his touch shook its very
+foundations.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">David, the old servant, very attentively watches these doings from a
+dormer window in the attic, which he makes his customary stand; there
+he begins scratching his head and mumbling all sorts of unintelligible
+things to himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude notices him one day and laughingly points him out to Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We must play some trick on that old sneak,&quot; she whispers to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes tells her the amusing tale of how, years ago, he discovered
+the corner where the old fellow was in the habit of stowing away the
+flour he pilfered. &quot;Perhaps we could do the same thing again?&quot; he
+laughs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, we must hunt,&quot; says Trude. No sooner said than done. The
+following Sunday when the mill stands still and no servants or
+apprentices are about, Johannes takes the bunch of keys and beckons to
+Trude to follow him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where are you off to?&quot; asks Martin, looking up from the book he is
+reading.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;One of the hens lays its eggs astray,&quot; said Trude quickly. &quot;We want to
+hunt for them.&quot; And she does not even blush. They ransack the stables
+and barns, the storehouses and haystacks and especially the mill,--they
+tear upstairs and downstairs, clamber up steep ladders and rummage in
+the rubbish of the lumber attics.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">About two hours have gone by in fruitless search, when Trude, who
+has never lost courage, announces that in the furthest corner of the
+store-house she has found what she was seeking. Beneath some rotten
+shafts and worn-out cog-wheels, covered by the débris of the last ten
+years, stand a few large bushel-sacks, filled with flour and barley;
+besides which there are all sorts of useful trifles, such as hammers,
+pincers, brushes and table-knives. Loudly rejoicing, her eyes
+glistening, her face all dirty, her hair full of cobwebs, she emerges
+from the cavity, and after Johannes has convinced himself that she has
+seen aright, they hold council of war. Shall Martin be drawn into the
+secret? No, he would be vexed and perhaps spoil their fun. Johannes
+hits upon the right thing to do. He pours the contents of the sacks
+into their proper receptacles and then fills them with sand and gravel,
+but on the top puts a layer of lamp-black, such as the coachman uses
+for blacking his leather trappings. After having, on the way, quickly
+arranged everything as before, he considers his work completed. Both
+depart from the mill filled with intense delight, wash their hands
+and faces at the pump, help each other to get their clothes clean and
+do their best to keep a straight face on entering the room. But Martin
+at once notices the treacherous twitching of their mouths; he
+threatens them smilingly with his finger, though he asks no further
+questions....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Two--three days go by during which they are consumed with
+impatience;--then one morning when Trude is in the garden Johannes
+comes rushing down, breathless and red in the face with suppressed
+laughter. She forthwith throws down her hoe and follows him then and
+there to the yard. In front of the pump stands old David, helpless and
+enraged, half white and half as black as a sweep. His face and hands
+are coal black and his clothes are full of huge tar stains. From all
+the windows of the mill the laughing faces of the mill-hands peep out;
+and Martin walks excitedly to and fro in front of the house.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The scene is surpassingly comic. Johannes and Trude feel fit to die of
+laughing. David, who very rightly suspects where he must look for his
+foes, casts a vicious look at the two and makes a fresh attempt to
+clean himself. But the tell-tale black sticks to everything as if grown
+fast upon it. At last Martin takes pity on the poor devil, lets him
+come inside the common-room and orders Trude, who is laughing very
+tears, to find him an old suit of clothes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At dinner-time the two tell him about their successful prank. He shakes
+his head disapprovingly and thinks it would have been better to have
+told him of their find. Then he mutters something about &quot;28 years of
+service&quot; and &quot;babyish tricks,&quot; and gets up from the table.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude and Johannes exchange meaning looks which say &quot;spoil-sport!&quot; The
+affair affords them ground for amusement for three whole days.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On the following Sunday Martin makes an excursion across country to get
+some old debts cashed. He will not be likely to return before evening.
+The mill-hands have gone to the inn. The mill stands empty.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now I shall send the maids off too,&quot; says Trude to Johannes; &quot;then we
+shall be absolutely alone in the place and can undertake something.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That remains to be seen,&quot; she laughs and goes out into the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After half an hour she returns and says: &quot;There, now they have gone,
+now we can begin.&quot; Then they sit down opposite each other and
+deliberate.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We shall never again manage to have such a lark as last Sunday,&quot; sighs
+Trude, and then after a while: &quot;I say, Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You really are a great boon to me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In what way?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Since you came I have been three times as happy. You see--he is ever
+so kind and you know--I am fond of him, very fond, but--he is always so
+serious, so condescending, as if I were a silly, senseless child--and
+don't you think I am hardworking and take care of his household as well
+as any one older? Surely it's not my fault that I was born so full of
+fun and it isn't, after all, a crime to be like that--but under his
+eyes, when he looks at one so solemnly and reproachfully, why it spoils
+all one's pleasure in any nonsense.... And when one has to sit there
+quite still, it's sometimes so awfully full and so ...&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She stops and considers. She would like to pour out her grievances to
+him, but hardly knows what they are?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;With you it is quite different,&quot; she continues, &quot;you are a dear, good
+fellow, and never say 'no' to anything. With you one can do as one
+likes!--And besides, you haven't got his irritating smile which he puts
+on when I tell him anything, as much as to say: 'I don't mind listening
+to you, but of course you are only talking rubbish.' Then the words
+seem to stick in my throat--whereas with you ... well, one can tell you
+anything that comes into one's head.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She pensively rests her head on her two hands and moves her elbows
+about on her knees.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, and what is coming into your head now?&quot; he asks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She blushes and jumps up. &quot;Catch me,&quot; she cries and barricades herself
+behind the table; but when he attempts to pursue her she walks calmly
+towards him and says; &quot;leave that! We were going to undertake
+something, you know.--Keep the keys handy; in any case--perhaps we
+shall think of something on the way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He takes the great bunch of keys from its peg and follows her out into
+the yard, on which the hot midday sun is glaring.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Unlock the mill,&quot; she says, &quot;it is cool in there.&quot; He does as he
+is bid, and with one wild leap she jumps down the steps into the
+half-dark space which lies before them in Sabbath quiet.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I should be frightened to be here alone,&quot; she says, looking round at
+him, then she points to the door of the office, the light wood of which
+gleams through the semi-obscurity, spreads open her fingers and
+shudders.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Has he never yet told you anything?&quot; she whispers after a little
+while, bending towards his ear.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He shakes his head. He grows somewhat oppressed in this close,
+dimly-lighted place--he breathes heavily--he longs for light and fresh
+air.--But Trude feels all the more comfortable in this vapor-laden
+atmosphere, in this mysterious twilight, where through the closed
+shutters stray slanting sunbeams glide like golden streamers onto the
+floor, and form a play-ground for myriads of little dancing particles
+of dust. The tremor which fills her is just to her liking;--she
+crouches down, then stealthily creeps up the stairs as if on the
+lookout for ghosts. When she reaches the gallery she gives a loud
+scream, and when Johannes anxiously asks what ails her, she says she
+only felt she must give vent to her feelings.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She climbs up to a mill-hopper, clambers over the balustrade and slides
+down again on the banisters. Then she disappears in the darkness among
+the machinery, where the huge wheels tower above each other in gigantic
+masses. Johannes lets her do just as she likes; to-day there is no
+danger, to-day everything is at a standstill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few seconds later she re-appears. She nestles up to Johannes' side,
+looks about with startled eyes, then pulls from her pocket a small key,
+hanging on a black ribbon. &quot;What is this?&quot; she asks softly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes throws a rapid glance towards the office door and looks at her
+enquiringly. She nods.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Put it back,&quot; he cries, alarmed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She balances the key in her hand and gazes longingly at the shining
+metal. &quot;I once saw by chance where he hid it,&quot; she whispers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Put it back,&quot; he says once more.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She knits her brows, then she suggests with a short laugh: &quot;That would
+be something for us to undertake.&quot; With that she casts a timorous
+side-glance at his face to try and explore his mood.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His heart beats audibly. In his soul there dawns the presentiment of
+approaching guilt.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It would remain between us two, you know, Hans,&quot; she says coaxingly.
+He closes his eyes. How delightful it would be to have a secret with
+her! &quot;And after all, what is there in it?&quot; she continues. &quot;Why should
+he be so mysterious about it, especially to us two, who are his next of
+kin in the world?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's just why we ought not to deceive him!&quot; he replies.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She stamps her foot on the ground.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Deceive indeed! It's a shame to use such a nasty expression!&quot; Then she
+says, pouting: &quot;Well, then don't!&quot; and prepares to return the key to
+its hiding-place. But she turns it about in her fingers three or four
+times, and finally remarks, laughing, &quot;Perhaps it isn't the right one
+after all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She goes up to the door and with a shake of her head compares the
+keyhole and the shape of the key--but,--then, with a sudden jerk, she
+pushes the key into the lock.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It fits, after all,&quot; she says, and looks with apparent disappointment
+back over her shoulder at Johannes, who is standing behind her,
+anxiously watching the movements of her hands.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Turn it!&quot; she says in jest, and steps back from the door.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A tremor passes through his body. Ah, Eve, thou temptress!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Turn it and let me put my head in,&quot; she laughs, &quot;you needn't look at
+anything yourself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then a sudden rage takes hold of him; he lets the key fly back
+with a jerk and pushes the door wide open, so that a bright stream of
+light from the window floods towards them. Trude makes a disappointed
+face. All they see is a plain, business-like room with bare,
+whitewashed wooden walls. In the middle stands a large, roughly painted
+writing-table on which lie samples of grain and ledgers. On one wall
+hangs a bundle of old clothes, and on the opposite one a wooden shelf
+with some blue exercise-books and a few plainly bound volumes upon it.
+Johannes casts a few timid glances around, then steps up to the
+book-shelf and begins turning over the title-pages. What an uncanny
+collection! There are medical works on brain diseases, fractures of the
+skull and the like, philosophical treatises on the heredity of passion,
+a &quot;History of Passion and its Terrible Consequences.&quot; &quot;Method for
+Self-Restraint,&quot; and Kant's &quot;Art of Overcoming Morbid Feeling by Pure
+Force of Will.&quot; There are literary works, too, but they nearly all
+treat of fratricide as their subject. Side by side with such thrilling
+romances as &quot;The Tragic Fate of a Whole Family at Elsterwerda,&quot; are
+Schiller's &quot;Bride of Messina,&quot; and Leisowitz's &quot;Julius of Tarent.&quot; Even
+theology is represented by a number of little tracts on the deadly sins
+and their remission. Besides these, the blue exercise-books contain
+carefully made extracts and dissertations and morbid reflections upon
+things experienced and mused over.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes lets his hands drop. &quot;My poor, poor brother!&quot; he murmurs with
+a deep sigh. Then he feels Trude's hand on his shoulder. She points to
+a tablet hanging above the door, and asks in an anxious whisper: &quot;What
+does that signify?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In large gold letters these words are there inscribed:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Think of Fritz!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes does not answer. He throws himself into a chair, buries his
+face in his hands and weeps bitterly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude trembles in every limb. She calls him by name, puts her arm round
+his neck, tries to remove his hands from his face, and, when all this
+avails nothing, she bursts into tears herself. When he hears her
+sobbing, he raises his head and looks about in a dazed sort of way. His
+gaze rests on the clothes hanging upon the wall, boy's clothes of many
+years ago. He knows them well. His mother used to keep them as relics
+at the bottom of her linen-press, and once showed them to him with the
+words: &quot;These were worn by your little dead brother.&quot; Since her death
+the clothes had disappeared. Nor had he ever thought of them again. A
+shudder runs through his frame.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Come,&quot; he says to Trade, who is still crying to herself, and they both
+leave the office. Trade wants to get out of the mill forthwith.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;First take the key back,&quot; he says.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Together they descend the stairs leading down to the machinery, and,
+when the key hangs in its old place, they both rush out into the open
+air as if pursued by furies.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">With this hour their intercourse has lost its old harmlessness. They
+have become participants in guilt. The feeling of guilt rests with
+terrible weight on their youthful souls. They pity each other, for each
+reads the story of his own conscience in the other's silent depression,
+suppressed sighs and ill-concealed absent-mindedness--but neither can
+help the other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How gladly they would confess their fault to Martin.--But it would not
+do to go to him together and say, &quot;Forgive us--we have sinned&quot;--it
+would really look too theatrical--and if one of them takes the
+confession upon himself, he gains no mean advantage over the other.
+They are both equally closely connected with Martin and whoever is the
+first to break silence must perforce appear to him as the more upright
+and less guilty one. Besides, they have vowed absolute secrecy to each
+other and feel all the less inclined to break their word, as they are
+afraid to converse openly on the subject.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thus more and more a sort of clandestine understanding is nurtured
+between them; every harmless word spoken at table has for them a
+special, deep significance; every look they exchange becomes an emblem
+of secret agreement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin notices nothing of all this; only now and again it strikes him
+that &quot;his two children&quot; have lost a good deal of their old cheerfulness
+and that they no longer sing so merrily. He makes no remark, however,
+for he thinks they may have quarreled and are still sulking with one
+another.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">The following week, when Martin has once again shut himself up in his
+office, Trude takes heart and says: &quot;I say, Hans, it is nonsense for us
+to fret ourselves. We will let the stupid affair rest.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He makes a melancholy face and says: &quot;If only it were possible!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bursts out laughing and he laughs with her; it is &quot;possible,&quot; of
+course, but the love of concealment to which they have pandered will
+not be shaken off. Every foolish joke gains piquancy by the fact that
+Martin &quot;on no account&quot; must get to know about it, and when they are
+whispering with their heads together, they start asunder at the least
+noise as if they were planning conspiracy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As yet no word has been spoken, no look exchanged, hardly a thought
+awakened which need shun the light, but the bloom of innocence has been
+swept off their souls. In this wise the feast of St. John has come
+round.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The wind blows sultry. The earth lies as if intoxicated--buried beneath
+blossoms, reveling in a superabundance of fragrance. The jasmine and
+guelder-rose bushes appear as though covered with white foam; the
+spring roses open their chalices, and the limes are putting forth their
+buds already.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude sits on the veranda, has let her work drop into her lap and is
+a-dreaming. The fragrance of the flowers and the sun's hot glow have
+confused her senses, but she heeds not that. The flowers' fragrance and
+the sun's hot breath, she would love to drain all the flower-cups--if
+only they contained something to drink.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the mill they have ceased working earlier than usual, for the
+apprentices want to go to the village to the midsummer night's fźte.
+There is to be dancing and firing of tar-barrels and everyone will
+enjoy himself to the best of his ability.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude sighs. Ah, for a chance of going there too! Martin may stay at
+home, but Johannes, Johannes of course would have to accompany her
+there. There he stands at the entrance and nods across at her. Then he
+throws himself down on the bench opposite--he is tired and hot. He has
+been working hard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few minutes later he jumps up again. &quot;I can't stay here,&quot; he says.
+&quot;It is suffocatingly hot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where else do you want to go?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Down to the weir. Will you come too?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And she throws down her work and takes his arm.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;They are going to dance down in the village to-day,&quot; says she.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose that's where you would like to go too, you puss?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She wrings her hands and groans, so as to give the most drastic
+expression to her longing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But I cannot have my way; For at home I've got to stay,&quot; he hums.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's a regular shame,&quot; she grumbles, &quot;that I have never yet in my
+life danced with you.--And I should like to immensely, for you dance
+well--very well!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How do you know that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What a question!&quot; she says with feigned indignation. &quot;Think of that
+rifle fźte three years ago. All the girls told wonders of how well you
+held them during the dance--not too loose and not too tight;--and that
+you were tall and good-looking I could see for myself--but what good
+was all that to me? You overlooked me as utterly as if I were nothing
+but empty air.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How old were you at that time?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She hesitates a little, then says dejectedly: &quot;Fourteen and a half.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, that's the explanation,&quot; he laughs. &quot;But I was then already tall
+and--and--full grown,&quot; she answers eagerly. &quot;It wouldn't have hurt you
+to have whirled me round the room a few times.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, we can make up for it in a fortnight at the rifle fźte.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, can we?&quot; she asks with beaming eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Martin is one of the patrons of the shooters' company. That is in
+itself a reason for his being present.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude gives vent loudly to her delight; then in sudden perplexity she
+says: &quot;But I have no dancing shoes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have some made for yourself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, our village cobbler is such a clumsy worker.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then I will order you a pair from town. You need only give me your
+measure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you really? Oh, you dear, darling Hans!&quot; And then she suddenly
+withdraws her arm, runs forward a few steps, calls out &quot;catch me,&quot; and
+whisks away. Johannes starts in pursuit,--but he is tired--he cannot
+overtake her. Across the drawbridge of the weir the chase proceeds
+across on to the vast grass plain, stretching as far as the distant
+pine wood. Trude dodges him cleverly,--runs past him--and before he can
+follow, she is once more on this side of the river. Breathlessly she
+makes a dash for the chain by which the drawbridge is regulated; from
+on shore--she tears at it with all her might; the wood-work moves
+creaking on its hinges--and jerks upwards--at the very moment when
+Johannes springs on to the foot-plank. He staggers, he cries out,--and
+clutching hold of the main beam, he manages by sheer force to stem its
+movement just as the gap is opening. Trude has turned as white as a
+sheet, she stares speechlessly at him, as, gasping for breath, he gazes
+down into the dark abyss.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I didn't--think of that, Hans,&quot; she stammers with a look which very
+eloquently pleads forgiveness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He laughs out loud. A wild, devil-may-care feeling of happiness has
+come over him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh you--you!&quot; he cries, opening out his arms. &quot;I shall have you yet.&quot;
+And with a fool-hardy leap he jumps on to the narrow main-beam, which,
+with its two slanting, roof-shaped sides, spans the river.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hans--for God's sake--Hans!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He does not hear--beneath him is the foaming abyss--he has hard work to
+keep his balance--he moves forward--he trembles he sways--three
+more--two more steps only one more daring leap--he is over.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now run!&quot; he cries, with a wild shout of glee.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But Trude does not stir. She stares in his direction, paralyzed with
+terror. Like a tiger he springs towards her--he encircles her with
+his arms--he presses her to him--she closes her eyes and breathes
+heavily--then he bends down and lays his hot and thirsting lips upon
+hers. She gives a loud moan--her body trembles feverishly in his
+embrace. Then he lets her glide down--his affrighted gaze travels
+around--has no one seen it? &quot;No, no one!&quot; And what if they have? May
+Martin's brother not kiss Martin's wife? Did not he himself once
+require it of him?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She opens her eyes as though awakening from a deep dream. Her eyes
+avoid his.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That was not nice of you, Hans,&quot; she says softly, &quot;you must never do
+that to me again!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He does not answer and stoops to pick up the rose which has fallen from
+her bosom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Let me go home,&quot; she says, casting a frightened look around.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They walk along side by side for a while in silence; she gazes into
+space; he smells the rose he has found.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you like roses?&quot; he continues. She looks at him. &quot;As if you did not
+know that,&quot; her look says.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;By the bye,&quot; he goes on gaily, &quot;why do you no longer put flowers at my
+bed-side now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He has forbidden me,&quot; she stammers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That alters the case,&quot; he replies, crestfallen. Then their
+conversation comes to a standstill altogether.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On the veranda Martin receives them with a good-natured scolding. He
+declares he is ravenously hungry, and supper is not yet served.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude hurries to the kitchen to give a helping hand herself.... The
+meal is consumed in silence. The two do not raise their eyes from their
+plates. An atmosphere of unbearable sultriness oppresses the earth. The
+hot wind whirls up small dust clouds and bluish grey veils of mist
+settle down slowly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes leans his head against the glass of the veranda window, but
+that is as hot as if it had been all day in a fiery furnace. Then Trude
+suddenly jumps up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where are you going to?&quot; asks Martin.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Into the garden,&quot; she replies.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After a while they hear her mounting the stairs that lead to the turret
+room. When she comes out again she gives Johannes a quick, timid look,
+then takes her seat with downcast eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">From the village green come sounds of merry-making and screams of
+enjoyment, mingled with the squeak of the fiddle and the drone of the
+double-bass.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose you'd like to go there, children?&quot; They are both silent and
+he takes their silence for consent. &quot;Well, then come along,&quot; he says,
+getting up. Trude stretches out her arms in silent anguish, looks
+across wistfully at Johannes, then with a shake of her head she says,
+&quot;Don't care about it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why, what's up?&quot; cried Martin, quite taken aback. &quot;Since when do you
+get out of the way of dance music? I suppose you two have been
+squabbling again, eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes laughs curtly and Trude turns away. Suddenly she gets up, says
+laconically, &quot;Good-night,&quot; and disappears.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A little later the brothers, too, part company.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With heavy limbs Johannes mounts the stairs--he opens the door of his
+room--an intoxicating fragrance of flowers wells towards him. He draws
+a deep breath and utters a sigh of satisfaction. Then this was the
+reason for going at such a late hour into the garden! By the side of
+his pillow stands a huge bunch of rose and jasmine. He drops into bed
+as if he would like to bury himself beneath this mass of blossoms. For
+a while he lies a-dreaming quietly to himself, but his breathing
+becomes more and more labored, his senses grow dim,--at every pulsation
+a poignant pain darts through his temples,--he feels as though he must
+succumb beneath this overpowering fragrance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Exerting all his force of will, he pulls himself up and pushes open a
+window. But even this brings no calm, no relief. A very chaos of
+fragrance wafts up to him from the garden--the wind breathes hotly upon
+him, lukewarm, tingling drops of rain beat upon his face. Down in the
+village the fires from the tar-barrels shoot fitfully through the
+nebulous clouds of mist veiling the distance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes looks down. He is waiting. His heart is beating audibly. His
+longing appears to him almighty--he will force that window below to
+open and ... hark! Softly the latch is pushed back, one sash is thrown
+open, and there, leaning far out, framed by waving unbound tresses,
+Trude's face appears, straining upwards to him with mute yearning.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One moment--then it has vanished. He knows not--shall he exult, or
+shall he weep?--Now he may sink into sweet unconsciousness--What can
+the fragrance harm him now?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He undresses and goes to bed; but before he drops to sleep he once more
+raises himself up, gropes with a trembling hand for the vase, and
+buries his face in the flowers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How like it all is to that first evening, and yet how different! Then
+he was peaceful and happy; now ...</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A suddenly awakened memory makes him start; his fingers clutch the
+handle of the vase more tightly--he listens and listens--he feels as if
+that merry laugh which then so softly sounded through the floor, must
+at this moment again greet his ears--he listens with increasing fear
+till his whole brain is humming and buzzing--an ugly feeling of hatred
+and jealousy suddenly uprises within him; and, bursting into a wild
+laugh, he hurls the vase far away into the middle of the room, where it
+shatters with a crash.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next morning Johannes is ashamed of himself. It all seems as if it had
+been a bad dream. He collects the fragments of the vase, fits them
+together and resolves to get some cement from the chemist and mend it.
+Much as he considers the matter, he cannot explain the feeling which
+prompted him to this act of apparent school-boy folly; he only knows
+that it was something wicked and loathsome.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He presses his brother's hand more heartily than at other times and
+gazes silently into his eyes as if to plead forgiveness for some grave
+crime.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude looks pale and as if she had not slept. Her eyes avoid his, and
+the cup of coffee which she hands him rattles in her trembling hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As he can find no better subject, he begins to talk about the dancing
+shoes, wishing at the same time to sound Martin. He is quite agreeable.
+Trude is to have her measure taken at once and when she objects to
+taking off her shoes in Johannes' presence, he angrily calls her an
+&quot;affected little prude,&quot; She is offended, begins to cry and leaves the
+room. Then towards evening she bashfully appears with her measure and
+Johannes sends off his letter. The broken vase still weighs heavily on
+his conscience. When he is alone with her he confesses.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I say, I've done a clumsy thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have smashed a vase.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Indeed! was that simply clumsiness?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What else should it be?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I thought you had done it on purpose,&quot; she says, with apparent utter
+indifference. He gives no answer, and she quietly nods a few times to
+herself as much as to say, &quot;It seems I was right after all!&quot;</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">The days pass by. Relations between Johannes and Trude are cooler than
+they were. They do not avoid each other, they even talk together, but
+their former happy-go-lucky mode of intercourse is irretrievably lost.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She is offended because I kissed her,&quot; thinks Johannes, but it does
+not strike him that he too has changed his behavior towards her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Children, what's up with you?&quot; says Martin one evening grumblingly.
+&quot;Have your throats grown rusty, as you never sing now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a few seconds both are silent, then Trude says, half turning
+towards Johannes, &quot;Will you?&quot; He nods; but as she has not been looking
+at him she thinks she has had no answer and says, turning towards
+Martin, &quot;You see, he doesn't want to!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't I though!&quot; laughs Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then why can't you say so at once?&quot; she answers with a timid attempt
+at responding to his cheerful tone.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then she puts herself in position, folds her hands in her lap as she is
+wont to do when singing, and fixes her eyes on the pigeon-house yonder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What shall we sing?&quot; she asks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Must we part, beloved maid?&quot;--he suggests.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shakes her head. &quot;Nothing about love,&quot; she says rather pointedly,
+&quot;that's all so stupid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looks at her astonished and after some deliberation she starts a
+hunting song. He joins in lustily and their voices blend and unite like
+two waves in the ocean. They themselves marvel at such harmony; they
+have never sung so well. But they soon come to an end. The Germans have
+not many folk-songs which are not at the same time love ditties. And
+finally she has to submit.</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">&quot;Rose-bush and elder-tree,<br>
+When my love comes to me!&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="continue">she begins, tacking on a &quot;Jodler.&quot; He smiles and looks at her, she
+blushes and turns away.--She has let herself be caught now.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two voices grow full of wonderful animation, as though their
+hearts' pulsation were throbbing through the notes. They swell
+heavenwards as though impelled by waves of passion, they die down as
+though the bourne of life were stagnant through intensity of hidden
+woe.</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">
+&quot;No words can e'er express my love,<br>
+In silent longing I adore.<br>
+Question my eyes, for they will speak;<br>
+I love thee now and evermore!&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">Why do their eyes suddenly meet? What occasion is there for them both
+to tremble as though an electric current were passing through their
+bodies?...</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">&quot;There is never an hour in my sleeping<br>
+When my thoughts are not waking.<br>
+Their flight to thee taking,<br>
+To thank thee for placing forever<br>
+Thy heart in my keeping!&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">What intoxicating passion vibrates through the notes!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How the two voices seek each other as if to embrace!</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">&quot;O'er the mill-stream bends the willow,<br>
+In the valley lies the snow,<br>
+Sweetest love, 'tis time we parted,<br>
+I must leave thee, broken-hearted.<br>
+Parting, love, is full of woe!&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">The voices die away in tremulous whispers. It is over--longing and
+hope, the pain of parting and the agony of death, all resounded in
+these treacherous, swelling chords.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude's lips twitch as with suppressed weeping, but her eyes glitter,
+and suddenly, standing bolt upright, she begins the old, sad
+miller-song about the golden house that stands &quot;over on yonder hill.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes starts, and his voice falls in tremulously. They sing through
+the first verse and begin the second:</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">
+&quot;Down there in yonder valley,<br>
+The mill-wheel grinds away,<br>
+'Tis love that it is grinding<br>
+By night and all the day.<br>
+The mill-wheel now is broken--&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly--a scream--a fall--Trude has dropped down in front of the
+bench and is sobbing convulsively in the corner with her head pressed
+against the wood-work.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Both brothers jump up--Martin takes her head between both his hands,
+and, quite upset, he stammers disconnected, confused words--but she
+only sobs more violently. He stamps his foot on the ground in despair
+and, turning towards Johannes, who is deathly pale, he cries; &quot;What
+ails the child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then Trude flings both her arms around his neck, raises herself up by
+him and hides her tear-stained face upon his breast, as if seeking
+refuge. He strokes her dishevelled hair caressingly and tries to calm
+her; but he does not understand the art of comforting, poor Martin;
+each one of his half-mumbled words sounds like suppressed scoldings.
+She lets her head sink back towards the wall of foliage, her lips move,
+and, as if she were continuing the song, she murmurs, still half choked
+with sobs:</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t4">
+&quot;The mill-wheel--now--is broken!&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, my child, it is not broken,&quot; his eyes filling with tears, &quot;it
+will not be broken--not <i>ours</i>--it will go on turning--as long as we
+live.&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shakes her head passionately and closes her eyes, as though
+beholding visions.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And what makes such things enter your head?&quot; he continues. &quot;Has not
+everything turned out better than we thought? Isn't Johannes with us
+too?--Don't we live together in happiness and content?--and work from
+morn till night?--and--and--aren't your people comfortable too? And
+don't we take care that your father has a good income--and&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He groans and wipes the perspiration from his brow. He can think of
+nothing more--and now appeals to Johannes, who is standing with his
+face turned away and his head resting against the pillar at the
+entrance of the veranda.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why will you always sing such sad songs?&quot; he growls at him. &quot;I myself
+got to feel quite--I don't know what--when you began with them--and
+she--she is only a weak woman.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude shakes her head as if to say, &quot;Don't scold!&quot; Then she raises
+herself, murmurs, without looking up, a soft &quot;Good-night,&quot; and goes
+into the house.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin follows her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes buries his head in his arms and dreams to himself. He sees
+her again as she raises herself to her full height with her eyes all
+a-gleam,--then suddenly sank down as if struck by lightning. Then he
+reproaches himself that he did not hasten to her side sooner, to
+prevent her from falling, for he was nearest to her, and not only as
+regards space!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Not only as regards space! As by a lurid flame--horrible,
+bloody-red--his brain is suddenly illumined! Now he understands what
+feelings inspired him on that midsummer night--why he flung the vase to
+the ground--he makes a movement as if he would shatter it a second
+time!--It is only for one moment--a moment of hellish torture--then the
+flame is suddenly extinguished, there is darkness once more--intense,
+pain-penetrated darkness!--He passes his hand over his brow, as if to
+fire the flame anew, but all remains dark,--and dark and mysterious
+remains to him what he has just experienced. He feels as though he must
+cry out, as if he must confide to the night this unintelligible agony
+in which he is wrestling. He drops on to his knees, on the very same
+spot where Trude sank down, rests his head on the edge of the bench and
+moans softly to himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly a door in the house slams. His brother's steps resound in the
+entrance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He jumps up and sits down on the bench. Martin's figure, darkly
+outlined, appears on the veranda.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Brother, brother!&quot; Johannes calls out to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you there, my boy?&quot; the latter answers and throws himself with a
+deep sigh on to the bench. &quot;Well, things are nearly all right again
+now--she has cried herself to sleep and now she is lying there quite
+calmly and her breath too comes quietly and regularly. I stood for a
+while at her bedside and looked at her. I am quite at a loss! Her
+child-like mind used to lie before me as clear as a mirror--and now all
+at once--what can it be? However much I think about it, I don't seem to
+get on to the right track. Perhaps she troubles because as yet there is
+no prospect of--of--yes, probably that's it. But I have always kept my
+longing quite to myself--didn't want to hurt her feelings--for of
+course, she can't alter the matter. And really, if one thinks about it,
+she is but a child herself and much too young to fulfil maternal
+duties. Why, one must have patience!&quot; Thus he tries to talk away his
+soul's secret sorrow. Johannes remains silent. His heart is so full, so
+full. He wants to give his brother some proof of his affection and
+knows not how? He too has his own pain which he wants to work off, and,
+grasping Martin's hand, he says from the depths of his soul: &quot;Oh,
+everything, everything will come right again!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Of course, why shouldn't it?&quot; Martin stammers in consternation. He
+shakes his head, looks down thoughtfully for a while, then says, with
+an uneasy laugh: &quot;Go to bed, Johannes.--That broken mill-wheel is
+haunting your imagination.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day Trude is lying ill in bed. She will see no one--even Martin as
+little as possible. Johannes slinks about unable to settle down to
+anything. Their meals are taken in monotonous silence. The shadows
+close down more and more round the Rockhammer mill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But the sun breaks forth once more. On the fourth day Trude is half-way
+convalescent again, and Johannes may go into her room for a talk with
+her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He finds her sitting at the window, with a white dress lying across her
+lap. She is pale and weak yet, but her features are glorified by an
+expression of peaceful melancholy such as convalescents are apt to
+wear.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Smiling, she puts out her hand to Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How are you now?&quot; he asks softly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well--as you see,&quot; she replies, pointing to the white dress; &quot;my
+thoughts are already occupied with the ball.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What ball?&quot; he asks, astonished.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What a bad memory you have!&quot; she says with an attempt at a joke. &quot;Why,
+next Sunday is the rifle-fźte.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, so it is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Perhaps you're not even looking forward to dancing with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Indeed I am!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very much?--Tell me! Very much?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very much!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A child-like smile of pleasure flits across her pale, delicate face;
+she fingers the laces and frills, with undisguised delight at the
+white, airy texture.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This physical exhaustion seems to have restored to her mind its former,
+child-like harmlessness, and with a certain degree of anxiety she
+begins to enquire about her dancing shoes. She is once more, to all
+appearance, just the same girlishly thoughtless creature who once put
+out her hand with such unconstrained simple-heartedness to bid Johannes
+welcome.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He sits down opposite to her, lets the texture of the ball-dress glide
+through his fingers, and listens to her prattling with a quiet smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And everything she tells him is replete with sunshine and the very joy
+of existence. This had been her wedding dress which she had made and
+trimmed herself, for she could do that as well as anybody. She would
+have liked to wear silk, as befitted the bride of the rich miller
+Rockhammer, but she could not scrape together sufficient money, and as
+for letting her intended give her her wedding dress--well, her pride
+would not permit that. To-day she felt almost sorry to undo the seams,
+for how many foolish hopes and dreams were not sewn into them?--But
+what else could she do?--she had got so much stouter since she was a
+married woman.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then the conversation flies off at a tangent to the approaching
+rifle-fźte, touches on her new acquaintances in the village and
+occasionally wanders off to the shoemaker's place in the town; but ever
+and again she comes back to the time of her engagement and tarries over
+the moods and events of those blissful days.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She seems to feel just like a young girl again. The smile that plays so
+dreamily and full of presage about her lips, is like the smile of a
+bride--as if the fete to which she is looking forward were her wedding.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All her thoughts henceforth tend towards the ball. While she is
+entirely recovering, while her eyes grow clear, and the color returns
+to her cheeks, she is meditating by day and by night how she shall
+adorn herself; she is dreaming of the bliss which in those looked-for
+hours is to dawn upon her, as though it were something totally new and
+beyond all comprehension.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trumpets sound; clarionets shriek; the big drum joins in with its dull,
+droning thud.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Midst clinking and clanking, midst skipping and tripping, the guild
+march along the street in solemn procession. On in front ride two
+heralds on horseback--Franz Maas and Johannes Rockhammer, the two
+Uhlans of the Guard. Nothing would induce them to give up their
+privilege--even did it mean rack and ruin to the guild.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Franz's countenance is beaming, but Johannes looks serious--indifferent
+almost; what does he care about all these people from whom he has
+become estranged? He salutes no one, his gaze rests on none; but he is
+searching, he is mustering the lines of people,--and now, suddenly--his
+features glow with pride and happiness-he bows, he lowers his sword in
+salute:--over there at the street corner, with rosy-red cheeks, with
+beaming eyes, waving her handkerchief, stands she whom he seeks--his
+brother's wife.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She is laughing--she is beckoning--she pulls herself up by the railing,
+she jumps on to the curb-stone--she wants to watch him till he
+disappears in the whirling clouds of dust. With all this she nearly,
+very nearly, forgets Martin, who is walking along close to the banner.
+But then, why does he go marching on so quietly and stiffly, why does
+he stick his head so far into his collar?--Over there in the distance
+Johannes is beckoning just once more with his sword.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The rifle-range, the goal of the procession, is situated close to the
+fir-copse--which, seen from the weir, frames the meadow landscape,--and
+hardly a thousand paces straight across from the Rockhammer mill, which
+seems to beckon from over the alder bushes by the river. If those
+stupid rifle people did not make such a deafening noise one might
+easily hear the rushing of the waters....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If only this hocus-pocus were already over,&quot; observed Johannes,
+and casts a longing look towards the &quot;ball-room,&quot; a huge square
+tent-erection, whose canvas roof rises high above the mass of smaller
+stalls and tents grouped around. Not till afternoon, when the &quot;King&quot;
+has been solemnly proclaimed, may the members' friends enter the
+festival ground. The hours pass by; shots resound at intervals along
+the boundary of the wood. At noon comes Johannes' turn. He shoots--at
+random--in spite of the flowers which Trude stuck into his gun.
+&quot;Flowers for luck,&quot; she had said, and Martin had stood by and smiled,
+as one smiles at childish play. ... As soon as his duties as a rifleman
+are fulfilled, he turns his back on the ranges and betakes himself into
+the wood, where nothing is to be heard of all the shouting and
+chattering and there is no sound but the echo of the shooting softly
+dying away into the air.... He throws himself down upon the mossy
+ground and stares up at the branches of the fir-trees, whose slender
+needles glisten and gleam in the rays of the midday sun, like brightly
+polished little knives. Then he closes his eyes and dreams. How strange
+the whole world has become to him! And how far removed everything seems
+which he ever lived through before! Not indeed that he has lived
+through much--women and care have played no great part in his life
+hitherto: and yet how rich, how full of glowing color it has always
+appeared to him! Now an abyss has swallowed up everything, and over the
+abyss rose-colored mists are undulating....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Two hours may have elapsed, when he hears distant trumpet blasts
+proclaim the election of a new king. He jumps up. Only half an hour
+more; then Trude will be coming.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the shooting-stand he learns that the dignity of &quot;king&quot; has been
+allotted to his friend Franz Maas. He hears it as if in a dream; what
+does it concern him? His gaze wanders incessantly towards the highroad,
+where, through the dust and the glaring sun, crowds of gaily dressed
+female figures are approaching on foot and in carriages.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you looking out for Trude?&quot; asks Martin's voice suddenly, close
+behind him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looks up startled from his brooding. &quot;Good gracious, boy, what's up
+with you?&quot; asks Martin laughingly. &quot;Have you taken your bad shot so
+much to heart, or are you sleeping in broad daylight?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin has one of his good days to-day. Meeting all these people--he is
+one of the chief dignitaries of the guild--has roused him from his
+usual moodiness,--his eyes glisten and a jovial smile plays about his
+broad mouth. If only he did not look so awkward in his Sunday clothes!
+His hat sits right on his forehead, leaving full play to a bunch of
+bristly hair sticking up curiously over the brim, and below that there
+appear the white tapes of his shirt-front, which have worked out from
+under his coat collar.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There she comes, there she comes,&quot; he suddenly shouts, waving his hat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The flashing carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid Lithuanian bays, is
+the Rockhammer state coach, which Martin had had built for his wedding.
+Sitting within it--that white figure reclining with such proud dignity
+in one corner, and looking about with such distant seriousness--that is
+she, &quot;the rich mistress of Rockhammer,&quot; as the people all round are
+whispering to each other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Look--Trude is giving herself airs,&quot; says Martin softly, pulling
+Johannes' sleeve.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the same moment she discovers the brothers, and, throwing her
+affected bearing to the winds, she jumps up in the carriage, waves her
+sunshade in one hand, her kerchief in the other, and laughs and gives
+vent to her delight and prods the coachman with the point of her
+parasol to make him drive faster. Then, when the carriage stops, she
+gives herself no time to wait till the door is opened, but jumps onto
+the splash-board and from there straight into Martin's arms. She is in
+a state of feverish excitement; her breath comes hot; her lips move to
+speak, but her voice fails her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Quietly, child, quietly,&quot; says Martin, and strokes her hair, which
+to-day falls upon her bare neck in a mass of little ringlets. Johannes
+stands motionless, lost in contemplation of her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How lovely she is!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The white, gauzy dress floats round her exquisite figure like an airy
+veil! And that white neck!--and those little dimples at her bosom!--and
+those glorious plump arms on which there trembles a light, silvery
+fluff!--and this plastic bust, which rises and falls like a marble
+wave!... She appears unapproachably beautiful, every inch a woman yet
+every inch majesty, for in his innocent mind the ideas &quot;woman&quot; and
+&quot;majesty&quot; are synonymous, and mean for him an indefinable something
+which fills him with bliss and with fear. His eyes are suddenly opened
+and are dazzled as yet with gazing at this regal type of female
+loveliness, beside which he has hitherto walked as one blind. How
+lovely she is! How lovely is woman! And now a torrent of confused
+words streams from her unfettered lips. She had nearly died of
+impatience.--And that stupid big clock,--and her lonely dinner,--and
+those silly dancing shoes which would not fit! They are too tight; they
+pinch frightfully--&quot;but they look lovely, don't they?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And she lifts up the hem of her skirt a little to show the works of
+art, light blue, high-heeled little shoes, tied across the instep with
+blue silk bows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;They seem too short!&quot; Martin remarks, with a doubtful shake of his
+head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's just what they <i>are</i>,&quot; she laughs, &quot;my toes burn as if they were
+on fire! But I shall dance all the better for it--what do <i>you</i> say,
+Johannes?&quot; And she closes her eyes for a moment as though to recall
+vanished dreams. Then she hooks her arm in Martin's, and asks to be
+taken to her tent. The most notable families of the district have
+provided themselves with private dwellings--light huts or canvas tents
+which afford them night shelter, for the fźte commonly drags on till
+early day. Trude had been herself the day before on the festival ground
+to superintend the erection of her tent; she had also had furniture
+brought in and wreathed the entrance gaily with leafy garlands. She may
+well be proud of her handiwork, for the Rockhammer tent is the finest
+of the whole collection.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While Martin seeks to wedge his way through the crowd, she turns to
+Johannes and says quickly and softly:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you satisfied, Hans? Am I to your liking?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He nods.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very much. Tell me--very much?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very much.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She draws a deep breath, then laughs to herself in silent satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The miller's lovely wife makes a sensation among the crowd. The strange
+farmers and land-proprietors stand and stare at her--the burghers'
+wives secretly nudge each other with their elbows; the young fellows
+from the village awkwardly pull off their hats; a whispering and
+murmuring passes through the throng wherever she appears. With serious
+mien and affecting a certain dignity, she walks along, leaning on
+Martin's arm, from time to time shaking back the curls which wave over
+her shoulders,--and when, in so doing, she throws back her head, she
+looks like a queen, or rather like a spirited child which is playing
+the part of a queen in a fairy tale, and hardly feels comfortable in
+the rōle.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When an hour later the first notes of the fiddles are heard, she calls
+out with a cry of delight! &quot;Hans, now I belong to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin warns her to beware of cold and other evils, but in the midst of
+his speeches they are off and away. Then he resigns himself, pours
+himself out a good glass of Hungarian wine, and stretches himself on
+the sofa to take some rest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All sorts of pleasant thoughts flit through his head. Hasn't everything
+arranged itself happily and satisfactorily since Johannes came to live
+at the mill? Have not even his own bad hours of tragic presentiment and
+haunting terror become less and less frequent? Is he not visibly
+reviving, infected by the harmless merriment of those two? Is
+not this very day the best proof that his antipathy to strange
+people has disappeared, that he has learnt to be merry when others are
+merry-making?--And Trude--how happy she is at his side!--That evening
+certainly!--Well, what of that! Women are frail creatures, subject to a
+thousand varying moods! And how quickly things have come right again!
+The words which Johannes spoke to him that night, come back to him; he
+clinks his full glass against the two empty ones which the youngsters
+have left behind them: &quot;Good luck to you both! May our happy triple
+alliance continue to our lives' end!&quot;--Meanwhile Trude and Johannes
+have squeezed themselves through the closely packed crowd, as far as
+the entrance to the dancing-room. Sounding waves of music swell towards
+them; like a hot human breath the air from within is wafted in their
+direction. In the semi-obscurity of the tent the couples are whirling
+along in one dense crowd, and flit past them like shadowy forms.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johnannes walks as one a-dreaming. He hardly dares to let his gaze rest
+upon Trude; for even yet that mysterious awe has complete possession of
+him and seems to bind him round with iron fetters.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are so quiet to-day, Hans,&quot; she whispers, nestling with her face
+against his sleeve. He is silent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have I done anything to displease you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing--no indeed!&quot; he stammers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then come, let us dance!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the moment when he lays his hand upon her she gives a start; then
+with a deep sigh she lets herself sink into his arms. And now they are
+whirling along. She leans her face with a deep-drawn breath upon his
+breast. Just in front of her left eye there flutters the rosette which
+he wears to-day as a member of the rifle-guild; the white silk ribbon
+trembles close to her eyelashes. She moves her head a little to one
+side and looks up at him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know how I feel?&quot; she murmurs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As if you were carrying me through the clouds.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And then, when they have to stop, she says: &quot;Come out quickly, so that
+I need not dance with anyone else!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She clutches hold of his hand, while he makes a passage for her through
+the crowd of people. Outside, she takes his arm, and walks at his side
+proudly and happily with glowing cheeks and dancing eyes. She laughs,
+she chatters, she jests, and he keeps pace with her to the best of his
+ability.--In the heat of the dance his bashfulness has entirely melted
+away. A wild gladness fires his veins. To-day she is his with every
+thought and feeling, his only, as he can feel by the trembling of her
+arm, which rests upon his more firmly with secret, sweet pressure; he
+can see it in the most gleaming glamour of her eyes as she raises them
+to his.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After a time she asks, somewhat reluctantly: &quot;I say, mustn't we have a
+look what Martin is doing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, you are right,&quot; he replies eagerly. But nothing comes of this
+good resolution. Every time they happen to pass the tent something
+remarkable is sure to be taking place in the opposite direction, which
+gives them an opportunity of forgetting their intention.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then all of a sudden, Martin himself comes towards them, beaming with
+pleasure and surrounded by a number of village inhabitants whom he is
+taking along with him to stand them treat. &quot;Hallo, children!&quot; he says,
+&quot;I am just going to remove my general headquarters to the 'Crown'
+Innkeeper's booth; if you want a drink, come along with me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude and Johannes exchange a rapid glance of understanding and
+simultaneously beg to be excused.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good-bye then, children, and enjoy yourselves thoroughly!&quot; With that
+he goes off.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have never seen him in such good spirits,&quot; remarks Trude, laughing.
+&quot;Indeed, no one could grudge them to him,&quot; says Johannes in a gentle
+voice, looking affectionately after his brother. He wants to kill the
+gnawing which has awakened within him at sight of Martin.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Evening has come on. The festive crowd is bathed in purple light. The
+wood and the meadow are ruddy red.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In a lonely nook at the meadow's edge, Trude stops and looks with
+dazzled gaze towards the faintly glowing sun.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah, if only it would not set for us today!&quot; she cries, stretching
+forth her arms.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, command it not to!&quot; says Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Sun, I command thee to stay with us!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And as the red ball sinks lower and lower, she suddenly shivers and
+says: &quot;Do you know what idea just came into my head? That we should
+never see it rise again!&quot; Then she laughs aloud. &quot;I know it is all
+nonsense! Come and dance.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And they return to the dancing-tent. A new dance has just commenced.
+Fired by longing, entranced by contemplation of each other, they whirl
+along and disappear in a dark little corner near the musicians'
+platform, which they have chosen in order to avoid the searching gaze
+of the other dancers, who are all dying to make the acquaintance of the
+miller's lovely wife.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude's hair has loosed itself and is fluttering about unbound; in her
+eyes is a faint glow, as of intoxication: her whole being seems
+pervaded by the ecstasy of the moment.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If only my foot did not burn like very hell-fire,&quot; she says once as
+Johannes takes her back to her place.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then rest awhile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She laughs aloud, and when at the same moment Franz Maas comes to claim
+the dance of honor in his capacity of &quot;rifle-king,&quot; she throws herself
+into his arms and whirls away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes puts his hand to his burning brow, and looks after the couple,
+but the lights and the figures melt away before his eyes into one
+heaving chaos: everything seems to be turning round and round--he
+staggers--he has to clutch hold of a pillar to prevent himself from
+falling; and when at that moment Franz Maas returns with Trude, he begs
+him to take charge of his sister-in-law for half an hour; he must go
+out for a whiff of fresh air.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He steps out of the hot, close tent, in which two candelabra filled
+with tallow candles diffuse an unbearable smoke--out into the clear,
+cool night. But here too are noise and fiddling! In the shooting booths
+the bolts of the air-guns are rattling, from the gaming tables comes
+the hoarse screaming of their owners, trying to allure people, and the
+merry-go-round spins along in the darkness, laden with all its
+glittering tawdriness and accompanied by shouting and clanging.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In between everything sways the black, surging crowd.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Behind the crests of the pine wood, which silently and gloomily towers
+above all the tumult, the sky is all aflame with glorious yellow light.
+Half an hour more and the moon will be pouring its smiling beams over
+the scene. Johannes walks along slowly between the tents.--In front of
+the &quot;Crown&quot; host's booth he stops and looks in through the window. But
+when he sees Martin sitting with a deeply flushed face amidst a swarm
+of rollicking carousers, he creeps back into the darkness, as if he
+were afraid to meet him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">From the adjacent tent comes the sound of noisy singing. He hesitates
+for a moment, then enters, for his tongue cleaves to the roof of
+his mouth. He is received with a loud shout of delight. At a long
+beer-bedabbled table sits a host of his former schoolfellows, rowdy
+fellows, some of them, whom as a rule he seeks to avoid. They surround
+him; they drink to him; they press him to join their circle. &quot;Why do
+you make yourself so scarce, Johannes?&quot; one of them screams from the
+opposite end of the table, &quot;and where do you stick of an evening?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He dangles at the apron-strings of his lovely sister-in-law,&quot; sneers
+another. &quot;Leave my sister-in-law out of the game,&quot; cries Johannes with
+knitted brows. These proceedings sicken him; this hoarse screaming
+offends his ear; these coarse jests hurt him. He pours down a few
+glasses of cool beer and goes outside, with great difficulty succeeding
+in shaking off the importunate fellows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He saunters toward the boundary of the wood and stares into its
+obscurity, already beginning to be animated by pale lunar reflections;
+then he proceeds for some distance beneath the trees, deeply inhaling
+the soft, aromatic fragrance of the pines. He is determined that by
+main force he will master this mysterious intoxication which seems to
+fever his whole being; but the further he betakes himself away from the
+festival ground the more does his unrest increase. Just as he is about
+to enter the dancing-room he sees Franz Maas hurrying towards him in
+breathless excitement. A vague presentiment of disaster dawns within
+him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What has happened?&quot; he calls out to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's a good thing I've found you. Your sister-in-law has been taken
+ill.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For heaven's sake! Where have you taken her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Martin led her to your tent.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How did it happen? How did it happen?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Some time before, I noticed that she had become pale and quiet, and
+when I asked her what was the matter, she said her foot hurt her. But
+in spite of that she would not sit still, and, while I was dancing with
+her, she suddenly broke down in the middle of the room.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And then? What then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I raised her up and drew her as quickly as possible to her chair,
+while I sent some one off to fetch Martin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why didn't you send for me, man?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Firstly I didn't know where you were, and then, of course, it was the
+proper thing to send word first to her husband.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes breaks into a shrill laugh. &quot;Very proper, but what then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She opened her eyes even before Martin arrived. The first thing she
+did was to send away the women who were crowding round her! then she
+whispered to me, 'Don't tell him that I fainted;' and then when he came
+hurrying in, looking quite pale, she went to meet him apparently quite
+cheerfully and said, 'My shoe hurts me; it is nothing else.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then he took her outside. But I just happened to see how she burst out
+sobbing and hid her face on his shoulder. Then I thought to myself,
+'God knows what else may be hurting her.'&quot; Johannes hears no further.
+Without a word of thanks to his friend he rushes off.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The canvas which covers the entrance to the Rockhammer tent is let down
+low. Johannes listens for a moment. Soft weeping mingled with Martin's
+soothing voice is audible from the interior, he tries to tear the
+curtain open, but it does not give way; it is evidently fastened down
+with a peg, &quot;Who is there?&quot; calls Martin's voice from the other side.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I--Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Stay outside.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes winces. This &quot;stay outside&quot; has given him a very stab at his
+heart. When there is a chance of being at her side to help her in her
+trouble,--of giving her peace and comfort, he is to &quot;stay outside.&quot; He
+grates his teeth and stares with hungry eyes at the curtain, through
+the apertures of which a faint red gleam pierces.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes!&quot; Martin's voice is heard anew.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What do you want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go and see if our carriage is here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He does as he is bid. He is just good enough to go errands! He inspects
+the rows of conveyances, and, when he does not find what he is seeking,
+he returns to the tent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Now the curtain is drawn aside. There she stands--a little transparent
+shawl about her shoulders, looking pale and so beautiful.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Just as I expected,&quot; says Martin, when he reports to him--&quot;the
+carriage wasn't ordered till daybreak.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But what now? Does Trude want to go?&quot; he asks anxiously.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trude must!&quot; says she, giving him a look out of her tear-stained eyes,
+which are already trying to smile again.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Resign yourself to it, my child,&quot; answers Martin, stroking her hair.
+&quot;If it were only the foot, it would not matter. But your crying just
+now--all this excitement--I think your illness is still hanging about
+you and rest will do you good. If only it did not take so long to fetch
+the carriage! I believe it would be best if you could walk the short
+distance across the fields--of course, only if you have no more pain.
+Can you manage it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude gives Johannes a look; then nods eagerly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The air is warm, the grass is dry,&quot; Martin continues, &quot;and Johannes
+can accompany you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude gives a start, and he feels his blood mount in a hot wave to his
+head. His eyes seek hers, but she avoids his glance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You can easily be here again in half an hour, my dear boy,&quot; says
+Martin, who takes Johannes' silence to mean vexation. He shakes his
+head, and declares, with a look at Trude, that he too has had enough of
+it now.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well then, good speed to you, children,&quot; says Martin, &quot;and, when I
+have disbanded my party, I will follow!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes sends a look into the distance; the plain which lies before
+him, swathed in silver veils of moonlight, appears to him like an abyss
+over which mists are brewing; he feels as if the arm which is just
+being pushed so gently and caressingly through his were dragging him
+down--down into the deepest depths.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good-night,&quot; he murmurs, half turned away from his brother.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Aren't you even going to shake hands?&quot; asked Martin, with playful
+reproach, and, when Johannes hesitatingly extends his right hand, he
+gives it a hearty shake. What pain such a shake of the hand can
+inflict!</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">The din of the fźte more and more dies away into the distance. The
+many-voiced tumult becomes a dull roaring in which only the shrill
+tinkle of the merry-go-round is distinguishable, and when the
+dance-music, which has been silent so long, commences anew, it drowns
+everything else with its piercing trumpet-blasts.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But even that grows more and more indistinct, and the big drum alone,
+which hitherto has played only a modest part, now gains ascendancy over
+the other instruments, for its dull, droning beat travels furthest into
+the distance. Silently they walk beside each other--neither ventures to
+address the other. Trude's arm trembles in his; her eyes rest upon the
+mists which rise up in the greenish light from the meadows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She steps along bravely, though she limps a little and from time to
+time gives vent to a low moan.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They have perhaps been walking for about five minutes when she turns
+around and points with outstretched hand towards the twinkling lights
+of the festival ground, that glisten against the black back-ground of
+the pine-wood. The merry-go-round is spinning its glittering hoop
+round, and the canvas partition of the dancing-room sparkles like a
+curtain of woven flames.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Look, how lovely!&quot; she whispers timidly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He nods.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is it, Trade?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't be cross with me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why--should I?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why did you go away from the dancing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Because it was too hot for me in the room.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not because I danced with some one else?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh! dear no!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You know, Hans, I suddenly felt so lonely and forsaken that it was all
+I could do to keep from crying. He might have said he didn't want me to
+dance with anyone else, I said to myself--for whom else did I go to the
+fźte but for him? For whom did I adorn myself but for him? And my foot
+hurt me a thousand times worse than before; and then suddenly--well,
+you know yourself what happened.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He sets his teeth; his arms twitch, as if he must press her to him. Her
+head leans softly against his shoulder; her shining eyes beam up at
+him--when suddenly she gives a loud cry: her injured foot which she can
+only just drag along the ground, has hit against a pointed stone. She
+tries to keep up, but her arm slips away from his, and overcome by
+pain, she lets herself drop on to the grass.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Just for a moment I should like to lie here,&quot; she says, and wipes the
+cold perspiration from her brow; then she throws herself down on her
+face and lies there for a while motionless. He grows frightened when he
+sees her thus. &quot;Come on,&quot; he exhorts her, &quot;you will catch cold here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She stretches out her right hand to him with her face turned away and
+says, &quot;Help me up,&quot; but when she attempts to walk, she breaks down once
+more. &quot;You see, it won't do,&quot; she says with a faint smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then I will carry you,&quot; he cries, opening out his arms wide.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A sound, half of pain, half of joy, escapes her lips; next moment her
+body lies upraised in his arms. She sighs deeply, and, closing her
+eyes, leans her head against his cheek--her bosom heaves upon his
+breast; her waving hair ripples over his neck; her warming breath
+caresses his glowing countenance. More firmly does he press her
+trembling body to him. Away, away further, ever further away, even
+though his strength fail! Away, to the ends of the earth! His breath
+becomes labored, acute pains dart through his side, before his eyes
+there floats a red mist--he feels as though he were about to drop down
+and give up his ghost--but he must go on--further, further.--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Over there the river beckons; the weir's hollow roaring comes through
+the silent night; the splashing drops of water sparkle in the
+moonbeams.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She lets her head fall back upon his arm; a melancholy yet blissful
+smile plays about her half-opened lips; and now she opens her eyes, in
+whose somber depths the reflection of the moon is floating.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where are we?&quot; she murmurs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At the river's edge,&quot; he gasps.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Put me down.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I must--I cannot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Close to the water's edge he lays her down; then he stretches himself
+full length on the grass, and presses his hand to his heart and
+struggles for breath. His temples are throbbing, he is in a fair way to
+lose consciousness; but, pulling himself together with an effort, he
+bends his body towards the river, ladles out a handful of water and
+bathes his forehead with it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">That restores him to consciousness. He turns to Trude. She has buried
+her face in her hands and is moaning softly to herself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Does it hurt very much?&quot; he asks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It burns!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Dip your foot in the water. That will cool it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She drops her hands and looks at him in surprise.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It has done me good,&quot; he says, pointing to his forehead, from which
+single drops of water are still trickling down. Then she bends forward
+and tries to pull off her shoe, but her hand trembles, and she grows
+faint with the effort. &quot;Let me help you,&quot; he says. One pull--her shoe
+flies to one side; her stocking follows, and, pushing herself forward
+to the very edge of the bank, she dips her bare foot up to the ankle in
+the cooling stream.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, how refreshing it is!&quot; she murmurs with a deep breath; then,
+turning to right and to left, she seeks a support for her body.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Lean against me,&quot; he says. Then she lets her head drop upon his
+shoulder. His arm twitches, but he does not dare to twine it round her
+waist; he hardly dares to move. His breath comes heavily; his eyes
+stare on to the stream, through the crystal waters of which Trude's
+white foot gleams like a mother-o'-pearl shell resting in its depths.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They sit there in silence. Just in front of them, at the weir, the
+water's rush and roar. The spray forms a silver bridge from bank to
+bank, and the waves break at their feet. From time to time the soft
+night-breeze wafts hushed music towards them, and the monotonous
+droning of the big drum comes to them mingled with the dull note of the
+bittern.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly a shudder passes through her frame.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is the matter with you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am shivering.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Take your foot out of the water at once.&quot; She does as she is bid, then
+draws from her pocket the dainty little cambric handkerchief which she
+had for the ball. &quot;That is no good,&quot; he says, and with a trembling hand
+pulls out his own coarser handkerchief. &quot;Let me dry you!&quot; Silently,
+with a dumb, pleading look, she submits, and when he feels the soft,
+cool foot between his hands, everything seems to whirl before him; a
+sort of fiery madness comes over him, and, bending down to the ground,
+he presses his fevered brow upon it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What are you doing?&quot; she cries out.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He starts up. In wild ecstasy their eyes meet--one wild, exuberant cry,
+and they lie in each other's arms. His kisses burn hot upon her lips.
+She laughs and cries and takes his head between her hands and strokes
+his hair and leans her cheek against his cheek and kisses his forehead
+and both his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, my darling, my darling! How I love you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you my very own?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, yes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Shall you always love me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Always! Always! And you--you will never again leave me alone like
+to-day so that Martin--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Abruptly she stops short. Silence weighs upon them! What terrible
+silence! The big drum drones in the distance. The waters roar.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Two deathly pale faces gaze at each other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now she screams aloud. &quot;Oh Lord, my God!&quot; is the cry which resounds
+through the night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Loudly moaning, he covers his face with his hands. Tearless sobs
+shake his frame. Before his eyes everything is aflame--aflame with a
+blood-red light as if the whole world were set on fire. Now it is all
+suddenly made clear as day to him! What dawned mysteriously within him
+in yonder midsummer night, what flashed like lightning through his
+brain on that evening when Trude broke down sobbing in the middle of
+her song--all now arises before him like a glowing ball of fire. Every
+flame speaks of hate; every ray flashes with torturing jealousy through
+his soul, every gleam pierces his heart with fear and guilty
+consciousness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude has thrown herself face downwards upon the ground, and is
+weeping--weeping bitterly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With bowed head and folded hands he gazes upon her fair form, lying
+before him in an agony of woe.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Come home,&quot; he says tonelessly. She lifts her head and plants her arms
+firmly upon the ground; but when he attempts to help her up, she
+screams out: &quot;Do not touch me!&quot; Twice, thrice, she endeavors to stand
+upright, but again and again she breaks down. Then without a word she
+stretches forth her arms, and suffers herself to be drawn up by him. In
+silence he guides her feeble steps to the mill. Her tears are dried up.
+The rigidness of despair has settled upon her deathly pale features.
+She keeps her face averted and resistingly allows him to drag her
+along. Before the threshold of the veranda she loosens her arm from
+his, and, with what little strength is left to her, she darts away from
+him towards the house-door. Her figure disappears among the dark
+foliage.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The knocker gives forth its dull beats. Once--twice, then shuffling
+footsteps become audible in the entrancehall; the key is turned; a dark
+yellow ray of light beams out into the moonlight night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For heaven's sake, madam, how pale you look!&quot; the maid ejaculates in a
+terrified voice.... The door closes with a bang.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a long time Johannes keeps on staring at the place where she has
+disappeared.--A cold shiver which runs through him from head to foot
+rouses him at length. Absentmindedly he slinks across the moonlit
+yard,--strokes the dogs that with joyous barking drag at their
+chains,--casts an indifferent glance towards the motionless mill-wheel,
+beneath the shadows of which the waters glide along like glittering
+snakes. Some indefinable impulse drives him forward and away. The
+ground of the mill-yard burns beneath his feet. He wanders across the
+meadows, back to the weir--to the spot where he was sitting with Trude.
+On the grass there gleams her blue silk shoe, and not far from it lies
+her long, fine stocking. So she must have limped home with her bare
+foot and probably is not even conscious of the fact! He breaks into a
+shrill laugh, takes up both and flings them far into the foaming
+waters.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Whither shall he turn now? The mill has closed its portals upon him
+forevermore. Whither can he go now? Shall he lay himself down to rest
+under some haystack? He cannot sleep even if he does. Stay! He knows of
+a jolly set of fellows--though he despised them a little while ago,
+they will just suit him now.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When, at two o'clock in the morning, Martin Rockhammer has shaken
+himself free of his drinking companions and is stepping, in the
+happiest of moods, out on to the festival ground, when the bluish-gray
+light of dawning day is beginning to illumine the doings of these
+night-birds, he is met by a band of drunken louts, who, singing obscene
+songs, break in single file through the ranks of the promenading
+couples. They are headed by the locksmith Garmann, a fellow of bad
+repute who practices poaching by night and in whose train now follow
+other good-for-nothing scamps. Intending to turn them out of the place
+forthwith, Martin steps towards them. But suddenly he stops as if
+turned to stone; his arms drop down at his sides: there in the midst of
+this crew, with glassy eyes and drunken gestures staggers his brother
+Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes!&quot; he cries out, horrified.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He starts back; his drink-inflamed face grows ashy pale; a frightened
+gleam flickers in his eyes--he trembles--he stretches forth his arm as
+if to ward him off--and staggers back--two--three paces. Martin feels
+his anger disappear. This picture of misery arouses his pity. He
+follows after Johannes, and, taking him by the arm, he says in loving
+tones: &quot;Come, brother; it is late, let us go home.&quot; But Johannes
+shrinks back in horror at the touch of his hand, and fixing his gaze
+upon him in mortal agony, he says in a hoarse voice: &quot;Leave me--I do
+not wish to--I do not wish to have anything more to do with you--I am
+no longer your brother.&quot; Martin starts up, clutches with his two hands
+at the slab of the table near him and then drops down upon the nearest
+bench as if felled by the stroke of an axe.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes, however, rushes away. The forest closes in upon him.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Henceforth come sad days for the Rockhammer mill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When Martin reached home on that morning, when he found the whole house
+quiet, as quiet as a mouse, he took the key of the mill from the wall
+and slunk off to that melancholy place which he had built up as the
+temple of his guilt. There his people found him at midday, pale as the
+whitewashed walls, his head bowed upon his hands, muttering to himself
+incessantly: &quot;Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!&quot; The
+phantom, the old terrible phantom, which he had thought was laid for
+evermore, has cast itself upon him anew and is twining its strangling
+claw about his neck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The men had to drag him almost by force from his den. With weary,
+halting steps he staggered out of the mill. His wife he found crouching
+in a corner, with hollow cheeks and gaunt, terrified eyes. Then he took
+her face between his two hands, looked for a while with stern looks at
+the trembling woman, and once more murmured the mournful refrain:
+&quot;Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When she heard his ominous words, a cold shiver ran through her frame.
+&quot;Does he know? Does he not know? Has Johannes confessed to him! Has he
+found out by chance? Does he perhaps only suspect?&quot; Since that time her
+soul is fretting itself away; her body repines in fear of this man and
+in yearning for that other, whom love of her has driven away. She grows
+pale and thin; her cheeks fade. She steals about like a somnambulist.
+Round her eyes bluish grooves are outlined, and grow broader and
+broader, and about her mouth is graven a tiny wrinkle which keeps on
+twitching and moving like a dancing will-o'-the-wisp.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin remarks nothing of all this. His whole being is absorbed in
+sorrow for his lost brother. During the first few days, he has hoped
+from hour to hour for his return--hoped that he was possibly quite
+unconscious of the words he spoke in the madness of intoxication. As
+for him--he would verily be the very last to remind him of them. But
+when day after day passes without any news of Johannes, his fear grows
+more and more terrible, he begins to search for the lost one;--at first
+with little result, for the intercourse between one village and the
+next is very slight. But gradually one report after another reaches the
+mill. To-day he has been seen here, yesterday, there--erring restlessly
+from place to place but always surrounded by a band of merry-makers.
+The people call him &quot;Madcap Hans,&quot; and, wherever he appears, the
+public-house is sure to be full--corks fly and glasses clink, and
+sometimes, when things become specially lively, the window-panes clink
+too, for the bottles go flying out through them into the street. Keep
+it up! &quot;Madcap Hans&quot; will pay up for the whole lot. He will stand treat
+to any one he happens to come across, and there are boisterous songs
+and comic anecdotes fit to make one's sides split with laughing. Yes,
+he's a fine bottle-companion, is &quot;Madcap Hans.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Soon, too, various very doubtful personages appear at the door of the
+Rockhammer mill, people with whom one does not like to come into
+contact; such as the corn-usurer. Lob Levi from Beelitzhof, and the
+common butcher Hoffman from Gruenehalde; they present yellow, greasy
+little papers which bear his brother's signature and turn out to be
+promissory notes with such and such interest for so many days.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin stares for a long time at the unsteady hand-writing; where the
+strokes are all tumbling over as if drunk, then he goes to his safe
+and, without a word, pays the debts as well as the usurious interest.
+How gladly he would give the half of his fortune, could he buy his
+brother's return therewith!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At length he has the horses put to the carriage and himself sets out in
+quest. He drives miles away; he is about whole nights through, but
+never does he succeed in getting hold of his brother. The information
+he receives from the inn-keepers is scanty and confused--some answer
+him with awkward prevarication, others with sly attempts at
+concealment--they all seem to guess that their rich profits will go to
+the devil as soon as the owner of the Rockhammer mill once more gets
+possession of his scape-grace brother. When Martin begins to notice
+that he is being taken in, he loses heart. He has the carriage put up
+in the coach-house and locks himself in for several days in his
+&quot;office.&quot; During that time he is gravely considering whether it would
+be advisable to secure the service of the Marienfeld gendarmes. For
+him, of course, by virtue of his official authority, it would be an
+easy matter to extort the truth from these people. Yet no!--it would
+hardly be compatible with the honor of the Rockhammer family to have
+his brother hunted for by the police--why it would make his old father
+turn in his grave!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A cold, brought on by his nocturnal expeditions, throws him upon the
+sickbed. Through two terrible weeks Trude sits by day and by night at
+his bedside, tortured by his delirious ravings in which his two
+brothers, the dead and the living one, now singly, now together,
+transformed to one horrible two-headed monster, haunt and encircle him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As soon as he is halfway convalescent, he has the carriage got ready.
+<i>Some</i> time he must find him!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And he does find him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Late one evening at the beginning of September, his road happens to
+pass through B----, a village two miles north of Marienfeld.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Through the closed shutters of the tavern boisterous noises reach his
+ears--stamping of feet, brawling and drunken singing. Slowly he gets
+out of the carriage, and ties up his horse at the entrance to the inn.
+The lantern flickers dimly in the night wind--heavy drops of rain come
+pelting down. The handle of the taproom door rattles in his hand; one
+push--it flies open wide. Thick, bluish-yellow tobacco fumes assail him
+as he enters, mixed with the odor of stale beer and foul-smelling
+spirits.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And there, at the top end of the long, roughly-hewn table, with flabby
+cheeks, with his eyes all red and swollen, with that glassy stare
+habitual to drunkards, with matted, unkempt hair, with a dirty
+shirt-collar and slovenly coat to which hang blades of straw--perhaps
+the reminders of his last night quarters--there that picture of
+precocious vice and hopeless ruin, that, that is all that remains to
+him of his darling, of his all in all ...</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes!&quot; he cries, and the driver's whip which he holds in his hand
+falls clattering to the ground.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A dead silence comes over the densely crowded room, as the tipplers
+gaze openmouthed at this intruder. The wretched man has started up from
+his seat, his face petrified with nameless fear, a hollow groan breaks
+from his lips; with one desperate leap he springs upon the table; with
+a second one he endeavors to reach the door over the heads of those
+sitting nearest to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No good! His brother's iron fist is planted upon his chest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Stay here!&quot; he hears close to his ear in angry, muffled accents;
+thereupon he feels himself being pushed with superhuman strength
+towards the fire-corner, where he sinks down helplessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then Martin opens the door as far as ever its hinges will allow, points
+with the butt-end of his whip towards the dark entry and plants himself
+in the middle of the taproom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Out with you!&quot; he cries in a voice which makes the glasses on the
+table vibrate. The tipplers, most of them green youths, retreat in
+terror before him, and hastily don their caps; only here and there some
+suppressed grumbling is heard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Out with you!&quot; he cried once more and makes a gesture as if about to
+take one of the nearest grumblers by the throat. Two minutes later the
+taproom is swept clear ... only the innkeeper remains, standing half
+petrified with fear behind the bar; now, when Martin fixes his gloomy
+gaze upon him, he begins to complain in a whining tone of this
+disturbance to his business.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin puts his hand in his pocket, throws him a handful of florins and
+says: &quot;I wish to be alone with him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When he has bolted the door after the humbly bowing innkeeper, he walks
+with slow steps towards Johannes, who is crouching motionless in his
+corner, with his face buried in his hands. He places his hand gently
+upon his shoulder and says in a voice in which infinite love and
+infinite pain tremble: &quot;Rise up, my boy; let us talk to one another.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes does not stir.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you not tell me what grievance you have against me? It will do
+you good to speak out, my boy! Relieve your feelings, my boy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes drops his hands and laughs hoarsely: &quot;Relieve my feelings!
+Ha-ha-ha!&quot; That secret terror that distorted his features before as
+with a cramp has now changed to dull, obstinate stubbornness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Wavering between horror and pity, Martin looks upon this countenance
+in which deep furrows have left nothing, not a trace of his former
+open-faced, good-natured Johannes. Every evil passion must have worked
+therein to disfigure it so wretchedly within six short weeks. Now he
+raises himself up and casts a searching look towards the door. &quot;It
+seems you have locked me in,&quot; he says with a fresh outburst of laughter
+that cuts Martin to the quick.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose you intend dragging me with you like a criminal?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go on. I know you are the stronger! But one thing let me tell you: I
+am not yet so wretched but that I should resist. I would rather fling
+myself from the carriage and dash my head against a curbstone than come
+back with you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have pity, merciful God!&quot; cries Martin. &quot;My boy, my boy, what have
+they made of you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes paces the room with heavy tread and snaps open the lids of the
+beer-mugs as he passes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Cut it short,&quot; he then says, standing still. &quot;What do you want with me
+that you imprison me here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin goes silently to the door and lets the bolt fly back; then he
+places himself close in front of his brother. His bosom heaves as if he
+were laboring to raise the words he is about to speak from the
+uttermost depths of his soul. But what good is it? They stick fast in
+his throat. He has never been a fluent talker--poor, shy fellow that he
+is, and how is he to find tongues of flame now with which to talk this
+madman out of his delusions? All he can stammer forth is that one
+question:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What have I done to you? What have I done to you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He says the words twice, thrice, and over and over again. What better
+can he find to say? All his love, all his misery, are contained in
+these.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes answers not a word. He has seated himself on a bench, and is
+running the fingers of both his hands through his unkempt hair. About
+his lips there lurks a smile--a terrible smile, void of comfort or
+hope.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At length he interrupts his helpless brother who keeps on repeating his
+formula as if to conjure therewith. &quot;Let that be,&quot; he says, &quot;you have
+nothing to say to me; nor can you have anything to say to me. I have
+done with myself, with you, with the whole world. What I have been
+through in these last six weeks--I tell you, since I left the mill, I
+have slept under no roof, for I felt sure it must fall down upon me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But for heaven's sake, what ...?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do not ask me.... It is no good, for you won't get to know, not
+through me.... Let all talking alone, for it is to no purpose ... and
+if you were to entreat me by the memory of our parents....&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, our parents!&quot; stammers Martin joyfully. Why did he not think of
+that sooner?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Let them rest quietly in their graves,&quot; says Johannes with an ugly
+laugh. &quot;Even that won't catch on with me. They can't prevent me from
+going to the dogs nor from hating you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin groans aloud and drops down as if struck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is just because I <i>did</i> always think of them, because I tried again
+and again to remember that Martin Rockhammer is my brother, that things
+have turned out like this and not differently. It has cost me a heavy
+sacrifice,--you may believe me that! I have behaved quite fairly
+towards you, ha-ha-ha, brother--quite fairly!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin inquires no further. The solution of this riddle is perfectly
+clear to him. Old blood-guilt has risen from the grave to claim its
+penalty.... He folds his hands and mutters softly:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For one reason, however, you are quite right to remind me of our
+parents; I must not bring shame upon their name, upon the name of
+Rockhammer! That is the one thing which has been worrying me all
+along--even though it did not alter matters; for surely a man must
+enjoy himself somehow ... ha-ha-ha! After all I am quite glad to have
+met you, for we can talk things over quietly ... I intend going to
+America!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin looks for a while into his glowing, bloated face; then he says
+softly, &quot;Go, in God's name!&quot; and lets his hand drop heavily upon the
+table slab.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And soon, too, what's more,&quot; Johannes continues. &quot;I have already made
+enquiries. On the first of October the ship sails from Bremen--next
+week I shall have to leave here,--you know what part of our inheritance
+is owing to me--I dare say, by the bye, that I have got through a good
+bit of it already; give me as much as you happen to have handy in cash
+and send it to Franz Maas; I will fetch it from him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And won't you come just once more to the--to the--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To the mill? Never!&quot; cries Johannes starting up, while a restless
+gleam, full of terror and of longing, comes into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you expect me to--I am to bid you good-bye here--here in this
+disgusting hole--good-bye forever? good-bye forever?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose that is what it will be,&quot; says Johannes, bowing his head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then Martin falls all in a heap and once more murmurs, &quot;Retribution for
+Fritz!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With burning eyes Johannes stares at his brother, crouching there
+before him as if broken, body and soul.... He is quite determined never
+to see him again ... but he must give a hand at parting!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Farewell, brother,&quot; he says, approaching him, as he sits there
+motionless. &quot;Keep well and happy!&quot; Then, suddenly, a warm, gentle
+sensation comes over him. His brain reels. A thousand scenes seem
+simultaneously to be evoked. He sees himself as a child, petted and
+spoilt by his elder brother, he sees himself as a youth proudly walking
+at his side, he sees himself with him at their parent's death-bed, he
+sees himself hand in hand with him at that solemn moment when they
+vowed never to part, nor to let any third person come between them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now!--And now!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Brother!&quot; he cries aloud--and loudly sobbing he falls at his feet.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My boy--my dear boy.&quot; He sobs and cries with joy, and catches hold of
+him with both hands and presses him to him as if he nevermore would let
+him go.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now I have got you ... oh, thank heaven--now I have got you! Now
+everything will come right again--won't it? Tell me it was all only a
+dream--only madness! You did not know what you were doing--eh? You
+don't remember anything of it--eh? I bet you haven't any notion of it
+all--eh? Now you have woke up, haven't you--you have woke up again
+now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes digs his teeth into his lips till they smart and leans his
+face upon his breast. Then suddenly a thought takes possession of him
+and weighs him down and buzzes in his ears--a thought like a vampire,
+cold and damp, and beating the air with bat's wings.... In these arms
+Trude has rested this very day--this very day....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He jumps up abruptly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Away from this place, away from this atmosphere--else madness will
+really assail him!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He rushes towards the door. One creak of its hinges, one click of the
+lock: he has disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin looks after him, mute with consternation; then he says, as if to
+quell his rising fear:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He is too excited; he wants some fresh air. He will come back!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His glance falls upon the wooden clothes=pegs on the opposite wall. He
+smiles, now quite reassured, and says &quot;He has left his cap here; it is
+raining outside, the wind blows cold; he will come back.&quot; Thereupon he
+calls the innkeeper, orders his horse to be put up and has some hot
+grog mixed for his brother, and a bed prepared for him. &quot;For,&quot; he says
+with a blissful smile, &quot;he will come back again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When everything is made ready he sits down on the bench and becomes
+lost in brooding. From time to time he murmurs as if to resuscitate his
+sinking courage:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He will come back!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Outside the rain beats against the windowpanes, autumn blasts are
+soughing around the housetop, and every gust of wind, every drop of
+rain, seems to proclaim:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He will come back! He will come back!&quot; The how's pass; the lamp goes
+out.... Martin has fallen asleep over his waiting and is dreaming of
+his brother's return.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">In the morning the people of the inn wake him. Haggard and shivering he
+looks about him. His glance falls upon the empty bed in which his
+brother was to have slept. The first bed since six weeks!--Sadly he
+stands there in front of it and stares at it. Then he has his
+conveyance brought round and drives off.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">This year autumn has come early. Since a week there has been a rough
+north wind which cuts through one's body as if it were November. Gusts
+of rain beat against the window-panes and the ground is already covered
+with a layer of yellowish-brown half-decayed leaves off the lime-trees.
+And how soon it grows dark! In the bakery a light burns in the swinging
+lamp long before supper-time. Beneath its globe sits Franz Maas,
+eagerly reckoning up and counting. On the baker's table before him
+where as a rule the little white round heaps of dough are ranged,
+to-day there are little white round heaps of florins, and instead of
+the crisp &quot;Bretzels&quot; to-day the paper of bank-notes is crackling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This is the treasure which Martin Rockhammer entrusted to him the
+Sunday before, with instructions to hand it over to Johannes. He also
+left a letter in which the various items of the inheritance are set
+down to a penny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Every morning since then he has knocked at the door, and each time
+asked the selfsame question, &quot;Has he been?&quot; Then when Franz Maas shook
+his head, has silently departed again.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">To-day the same. To-day is Friday; today he must come if he wants to be
+in time for the Bremen ship. Noiselessly he has opened the door and is
+standing behind him, just as he is about to lock the money away. &quot;I
+suppose that is all for me,&quot; he asks, laying his hand on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank heaven I you have come,&quot; cries Franz, agreeably startled. Then
+he casts a critical glance over his friend's figure. Martin must have
+been exaggerating when, with tears in his eyes, he described his
+dilapidated appearance. He looks decent and respectable, is wearing a
+brand new waterproof, beneath the turned-back flaps of which a neat
+gray suit is visible. His hair is smoothly brushed--he is even shaved.
+But of course his dark, dulled gaze, the bagginess under his eyes, the
+ugly red of his cheeks, are sad witnesses in this face, eretime so
+youthfully joyous.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And then he grasps both his hands and says:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes, Johannes, what has come over you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Patience; you shall hear all!&quot; he replies, &quot;I must confide in one
+living soul, or it will eat my very heart out over there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then you really mean it? You intend--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am off to-night by the mail-coach. My seat is already booked. Before
+I came to you, I went once more through the village. It was already
+dark, so I could venture--and I took leave of everything. I went to our
+parents' grave, and as far as the church door, and to the host of the
+'Crown,' to whom I owed a trifle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you forgot the mill?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes bites his lips and chews at his moustache; then he mutters:
+&quot;That is still to come.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, how glad Martin will be,&quot; cries Franz Maas, quite red with
+pleasure himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Did I say I was going to see Martin?&quot; asks Johannes between his teeth,
+while his chest heaves, as if it had a load of embarrassment to throw
+off.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What? You intend slinking about on your father's inheritance like a
+thief,--avoiding a meeting with any one?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not that either. I have to bid good-bye to some one, but not to
+Martin!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To whom else then?--To whom else, man?&quot; cries Franz Maas, in whom a
+horrible suspicion dawns.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Lock the door and sit down here,&quot; says Johannes,--&quot;now I will tell
+you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The hours pass by; the storm rattles at the shutters. The oil in the
+lamp begins to splutter. The two friends sit with their heads together,
+their looks occasionally meeting. Johannes confesses--conceals nothing.
+He begins with that first meeting with Trude, up to the moment when
+horror drove him forth from Martin's embrace--out into the stormy
+night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What came after that,&quot; he concludes, &quot;can be told in a few words. I
+ran without knowing whither, until the cold and wet restored me to
+consciousness. Then the post-chaise from Marienfeld just happened to
+come along. I stopped it--at last I got under cover by this means. Thus
+I came to the town, where I have been putting up till now. Lob Levi had
+just given me a hundred thalers. With these I rigged myself out afresh,
+for I did not want to face Trude in the dilapidated state I was in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Miserable wretch--are you going to ...?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't kick up a row,&quot; he says roughly. &quot;It is all arranged, already. I
+gave a note for her to a little boy I met in the street, and waited
+till he came back. She took it from him in the kitchen without even a
+servant noticing anything. At eleven o'clock she will be at the weir,
+and I--ha-ha-ha- ... I too!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes, I beg and implore you, don't do it,&quot; cries Franz in sheer
+terror. &quot;There's sure to be a misfortune.&quot; Johannes' reply is a hoarse
+laugh, and, with burning eyes, his mouth put close to his friend's ear,
+he hisses: &quot;Do you really think, man, that I could manage to live and
+to die in a strange country if I did not see her just once more? Do you
+imagine I should have courage to stare for four weeks at the sea
+without throwing myself into it--if I did not see her once more? The
+very air for breathing would fail me, my meat and drink would stick in
+my throat, I should rot away alive if I did not see her just once
+more!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When Franz hears all this he refrains from further discussion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes' restless glance wanders towards the clock. &quot;It is time,&quot; he
+says, and takes his cap. &quot;At midnight the mail-coach comes through the
+village. Expect me at the post office and bring me two hundred-thaler
+notes; that will be enough for my passage. The rest you can give back
+to him; I shan't want it! Good-bye till then!&quot; At the door he turns
+round and asks: &quot;I say, does my breath smell of brandy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He breaks into a coarse laugh; then he says: &quot;Give me a few coffee
+beans to chew. I don't want Trude to get a horror of me in this last
+hour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And when Franz has given him what he wants he disappears into the
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It is high water to-day. With a great hissing and roaring the waters
+shoot down the declivity, then sink down into their foaming grave with
+dull, plaintive rumblings, while the glistening spray breaks over them
+in one high-vaulted arch.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The howling of the storm mingles with the tumult of these volumes of
+water. The old alders alongside the river bow and bend to each other
+like shadowy giants come forth in their numbers to dance a reel in one
+long line. The heavens are obscured by heavy rain-clouds,--everything
+is dark and black except the snowy froth, which seems to throw out an
+uncertain light against which the outlines of the wood planking are
+dimly visible. Above that projects the rail of the little drawbridge,
+in appearance like the phantom form of a cat, creeping with
+outstretched legs across a roof.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On the drawbridge the two meet. Trude, her head covered by a dark
+shawl, has been standing for a long time beneath the alders, seeking
+shelter from the rain, and has hurried to meet him as she saw the
+outline of his figure appear on yonder side of the weir.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trude, is it you?&quot; he asks hurriedly, looking searchingly into her
+face. She is silent and clings to the rail. The foam is dancing before
+her eyes, in blue and yellow colors.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trude,&quot; he says, while he tries to catch hold of her hand, &quot;I have
+come to bid you farewell for life. Are you going to let me go forth to
+a strange land without one word?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And I have come for the peace of my soul,&quot; says she, shrinking back
+from his groping hand. &quot;Hans, I have borne much for your sake; I have
+grown older by half a lifetime; I am weak and ill. Therefore take pity
+on me: do not touch me--I do not want to return again guilt-laden to
+your brother's house!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trude--did you come here to torture me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Softly, Hans, softly--do not pain me! Let us part from one another with
+clean and honest hearts, and take peace and courage with us--for all
+our lives.... We must surely not rail at each other--not in love and
+not in hatred,&quot; She stops exhausted; her breath comes heavily; then,
+pulling herself together with an effort, she continues: &quot;You see, I
+always knew that you would come long before I got your note to-day;
+and, a thousand times over I thought out every word--that I was going
+to say to you. But of course--you must not unsettle me so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His eyes glow through the darkness; his breath comes hot; and with a
+shrill laugh he says:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't make a halo round us. It is no good--we are both accursed anyway
+in heaven and on earth! Then let us at least--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He stops abruptly, listening.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hush! I thought--I heard--there in the meadow!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He holds his breath and hearkens. Nothing to be heard or seen. Whatever
+it was, the storm and the darkness have engulfed it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Come down to the river's edge,&quot; he says, &quot;our figures are so clearly
+defined up here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She leads the way; he follows. But on the slippery woodwork she loses
+her footing. Then he catches her in his arms and carries her down to
+the river. Unresisting, she hangs upon his neck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How light you have got since that day,&quot; he says softly, while he lets
+her glide down, then raises her up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, you would hardly recognize me if you saw me,&quot; she replies equally
+softly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I would give anything if only I could!&quot; he says, and tries to draw
+away the shawl from about her face. A pale oval, two dark, round
+shadows in it where the eyes are--the darkness reveals no more.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I feel like a blind man,&quot; he says, and his trembling hand glides over
+her forehead, down to her cheeks, as if by touch to distinguish the
+loved features. She resists no longer. Her head drops upon his
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How much I wanted to say to you!&quot; she whispers. &quot;And now I no longer
+can think of anything--not of anything at all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He twines his arms more closely around her. They stand there silent and
+motionless while the storm tugs and tears at them, and the rain beats
+down upon their heads.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then from the village come the cracked notes of the post-horn, half
+drowned by the blast.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Our time is up,&quot; he says, shivering. &quot;I must go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now--the night?&quot; she stammers voicelessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He nods.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And I shall never see you again?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A wild scream rends the storm.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Johannes, have pity, I cannot let you go. I cannot live without you!&quot;
+Her fingers dig themselves into his shoulders. &quot;You shall not--I will
+not let you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He tries to free himself by main force.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah, well--you are going--oh--you--you--you are wicked! You know that I
+must die if you go, I cannot--Take me with you! Take me with you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you out of your senses, woman?&quot; He covers his face with his hands
+and groans aloud.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So--this is what you call being out of one's senses! Does not even a
+lamb struggle--when led to the slaughter? And you are capable of----Ah,
+is this all your love for me? Is this all? Is this all?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't you think of Martin?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He is your brother. That is all I know about him. But I know that I
+must die if I stay with him any longer. It makes me shudder to think of
+him! Take me with you, my husband! Take me with you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He grasps both her wrists, and shaking her to and fro, he whispers with
+half-choked utterance:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And do you know besides that I am ruined and disgraced--an outcast, a
+drunkard, no good at all in the world? If you could see me, you would
+have a horror of me, good people shun me and loathe me--do you think I
+should be good to you? I shall never forgive you for coming between me
+and Martin--never forgive you for making me sin against him as I have
+done for your sake. He will be between us as long as we live. I shall
+insult you--I shall beat you when I am drunk. You will find it hell at
+my side. Well? What do you say now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bows her head demurely, folds her hands and says: &quot;Take me with
+you!&quot; A scream of exultant joy escapes his lips. &quot;Then come--but come
+quickly. The coach stops for a quarter of an hour. No one will see us
+except Franz Maas--the only one he will not betray us. In the town you
+can get clothes and then.... Stop! What does this mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The mill has awakened to life. A yellow light streams out into the
+darkness from the wide-opened door. A lantern sways across the yard
+then, thrown to one side, flies in a gleaming curve through the air
+like a shooting star.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin lies in bed asleep. Suddenly there is a tap at the window-pane.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who is there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I--David!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What do you want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Open the door, Master! I have something important to tell you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Martin jumps out of bed, strikes a light and hurries on his clothes. A
+casual glance falls upon Trude's empty bed. Evidently she has dozed off
+on the sitting-room over her sewing, for it is a long time since she
+has known sound, healthy sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is the matter?&quot; he asks David, who steps into the entrance
+dripping like a drowned cat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Master,&quot; he says, blinking from under the peak of his cap, &quot;it is now
+more than twenty-eight years since I first came to the mill--and your
+late father already used to be good to me always....&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to tell me
+<i>that</i>?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, for to-night when I woke up and heard the rain pelting down, I
+suddenly remembered with a start that the sluices of the lock were not
+opened.... Perhaps the water might get blocked up and we could not
+grind to-morrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Haven't I told you fellows hundreds of times that the sluices need
+only be opened when the ice is drifting? At high water it only means
+unnecessary labor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, I didn't touch them,&quot; observes David.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then what do you want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Because, when I got to the weir I saw two lovers standing on the
+drawbridge!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And that's why?...&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then I thought it was a regular disgrace and a crying shame, and no
+longer--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Let them love each other, in the devil's name!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And I thought it my duty to tell you. Master, when Master Johannes and
+our lady--&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He gets no further, for his master's fingers are at his throat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">What has come over Martin, wretched man? His face becomes livid and
+swollen; the veins on his forehead stand out; his nostrils quiver, his
+eyes seem to start from their sockets--white foam is at his mouth.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he gives vent to a sound like the howl of a jackal, and, loosening
+his grip of David, with one wrench he tears the shirt at his throat
+asunder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Two or three deep breaths, like a man who is achoking; then he roars
+aloud in suddenly unfettered rage: &quot;Where are they? They shall account
+to me for this. They have been acting a farce! They have deceived me!
+Where are they? I'll do for them! I'll do for them, then and there!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He tears the lantern out of terrified David's hand and rushes out. He
+disappears into the wheel-house; a second later he reappears. High
+above his head there gleams an axe. Then he swings the lantern thrice
+in a circle and flings it far away from him into the water. He storms
+along in the direction of the weir.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There's some one coming,&quot; whispers Trude, nestling closer up to
+Johannes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Probably they have something to do at the sluices,&quot; he whispers back.
+&quot;Don't stir and be of good courage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Nearer and nearer hastens the dark figure. A beastlike roaring pierces
+through the night, above the fury of the storm. &quot;It is Martin,&quot; says
+Johannes, staggering back three paces.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But he collects himself quickly, clutches Trude and drags her with him
+close up to the woodwork at the weir, in the darkest shadow of which
+they both crouch down.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Close to their heads the infuriated man races along. The axe, lifted on
+high, glints in the half-light of the foam. On the other side of the
+weir he stops. He seems to be gazing searchingly across the wide
+meadow, which spreads before him in monotonous darkness without tree or
+shrub.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You keep watch at the hither sluice, David,&quot; his voice thunders out in
+the direction of the mill. &quot;They must be in the field. I shall catch
+them there!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A cry of horror starts from Johannes' lips. He has divined his
+brother's intention. He is going to pull up the drawbridge and trap
+them both on the island. And close behind Trude's neck hangs the chain
+which must be pulled to make the bridge move back. His first thought
+is: &quot;Protect the woman!&quot; He tears himself out of Trude's arms, and
+springs up the slope of the river-bank to offer himself as a sacrifice
+to his brother's fury.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude utters a piercing shriek. Johannes in mortal danger; over there
+the infuriated man, the axe gleaming bright; but behind her there is
+that chain, that iron ring which is almost tearing her head open. With
+trembling hands she grasps hold of it; she tugs at it with all her
+might. At the very moment when Martin is about to climb upon the
+foot-plank, the drawbridge swings back.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Johannes sees nothing of it; he only sees the shadow over there, and
+the gleaming axe. A few paces further, and death will descend swiftly
+upon him. Then suddenly, in the moment of direst distress, he thinks of
+his mother and what she once said to the enraged boy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Think of Fritz!&quot; he cries out to his brother. And behold! The axe
+drops from his hand; he staggers; he falls--one dull thud--one splash:
+he has disappeared. Johannes rushes forward; his foot hits against the
+draw-up bridge. Close before him yawns a black hole. &quot;Brother,
+brother!&quot; he cries in frenzied terror. He has no thought, no feeling
+left, only one sensation: &quot;Save your brother!&quot; whirls through his
+brain. With one jerk he throws off his cloak--a leap--a dull blow as if
+against some sharp edge.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude, who is half unconsciously clutching at the chain, sees a long
+dark mass shoot down the incline into the white waters, and disappear
+into the foaming whirlpool, a second later another follows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Like two shadows they flew past her. She turns her gaze upwards towards
+the woodwork. Up there all is quiet; it is all empty. The storm howls;
+the waters roar. Fainting, she sinks down at the river's edge.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day the bodies of the two brothers were pulled out of the river.
+Side by side they were floating on the waters; side by side they were
+buried.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Trude was as if petrified with grief. In tearless despair she brooded
+to herself--she refuses to see any of her relations, even her own
+father. Franz Maas alone she suffers near her. Faithfully he takes
+charge of her, kept strangers away from her threshold and attends to
+all formalities.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was some rumor of a legal investigation to be held against the
+wretched woman, on the ground of David's dark insinuations. But even
+though the statements of the old servant were too incomplete and
+confused to build up a lawsuit upon them, they still sufficed to brand
+Trude Rockhammer as a criminal in the eyes of the world. The more she
+shrinks from all intercourse, the more anxiously she closes the mill to
+all strangers, the more extravagant grow the rumors that were spread
+about her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The miller-witch,&quot; people come to call her, and the legends that
+surrounded her were handed down from one generation to the next. The
+mill now becomes the &quot;Silent Mill,&quot; as the popular voice christened
+it. The walls crumble away; the wheels grow rotten; the bright, clear
+stream becomes choked with weeds, and when the State planned a canal
+which conducted the water into the main stream above Marienfeld--then
+it degenerated into a marsh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And Trude herself became entirely isolated, for soon she would not even
+allow her one friend to approach her, and closed her doors to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before her own conscience she was a murderess. Her terrors drove her to
+a father confessor and into the arms of the Catholic Church. She was to
+be seen crawling at the foot of a crucifix or kneeling at church doors,
+telling her beads and beating her head against the stones till it bled.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She is expiating the great crime which is known as &quot;youth.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
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+</html>
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+
diff --git a/34407.txt b/34407.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6d3dffb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/34407.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4219 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Silent Mill
+
+Author: Hermann Sudermann
+
+Release Date: November 22, 2010 [EBook #34407]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT MILL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+   1. Page scan source:
+      http://www.archive.org/details/silentmill01sudegoog
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE SILENT MILL
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                              SILENT MILL
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+                           HERMANN SUDERMANN
+
+
+
+
+
+                                NEW YORK
+                               BRENTANO'S
+                               PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          Copyright, 1919, by
+                               BRENTANO'S
+
+                               *   *   *
+
+                          Copyright, 1917, by
+                        Story Press Corporation
+
+                               *   *   *
+
+                         _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE SILENT MILL
+
+
+No one can tell how many years ago it is was since the "Silent Mill"
+first received its name. As long as I can remember it has been an old,
+tumble-down structure, an ancient relic of long-forgotten times.
+
+Old, and weather-beaten, and roofless, its crumbling walls stretch
+upwards toward the sky, giving free access to every gust of wind. Two
+large, round stones that once, maybe, bravely fulfilled their task,
+have broken through the rotten wood-work and, obeying the natural law
+of gravitation, have wedged themselves deep into the ground.
+
+The large mill-wheel hangs awry between its moulding supports. The
+paddles are broken off, and only the spokes stick up into the air, like
+arms stretched forth to implore the "coup de grace."
+
+Moss and lichen have clothed all in green, and here and there some
+water-cress puts forth its sickly green, sodden growth. From a
+half-broken pipe the water runs slowly down, trickles in sleepy
+monotony onto the spokes and breaks there, filling the surrounding air
+with fine, drizzling spray. Under a gray thicket of alders the
+little rivulet lies hidden in malodorous slothfulness, washed full of
+water-weeds and frog-spawn, choked up with mare's tail and flowering
+rushes. Only in the middle there trickles still a tiny stream of thick,
+black water, in which the little palegreen leaves of the duck-weed
+lazily drift along.
+
+But those long years ago the mill-stream flowed right gayly and
+jauntily; snow-white foam gleamed at the weir; the merry chatter of the
+wheels resounded as far as the village; in long rows the carts drove in
+and out of the mill-yard; and far into the distance there echoed the
+mighty voice of the old miller.
+
+Rockhammer was his name, and all who saw him felt that he did honor to
+it, too. What a man he was! He had it in him to blast rocks. Of course
+there was no such thing as trying to bully or contradict him, for it
+only served to make him perfectly wild with rage: he would clench his
+fists; the veins on his temples would swell up like thick thongs; and
+when he started swearing into the bargain, every being trembled before
+him, and the very dogs fled in terror to their kennels. His wife was a
+meek, gentle, yielding creature. How could it be otherwise? Not
+for twenty-four hours would he have endured at his side a more
+sturdy-natured being, who might have attempted to preserve even the
+shadow of an independent will. As it was, the two lived together fairly
+well, happily one might almost have said, had it not been for his fatal
+temper, which broke forth wildly at the slightest provocation and
+caused the quiet woman many a tearful hour.
+
+But she shed most tears when misfortune's hand fell heavily upon her
+children. Three had been born to them--bonny, healthy, sturdy boys.
+They had clear, blue eyes, flaxen hair and, above all, "a pair of
+promising fists," as their father was wont to declare with pride,
+though the youngest, who was still in his cradle, could as yet only
+make use of his to suck at them. The two elder boys, however, were
+already splendid fellows. How defiantly they looked about them, how
+haughtily they took up their stand! With their heads thrown back and
+their hands in their trousers pockets, each seemed to assert: "I am my
+father's son. Who'll dare me?"
+
+They fought each other all day long and it was their father himself who
+always goaded them on. And if their mother in her terror intervened and
+begged them to be at peace with one another, she got laughed at into
+the bargain for her fears. The poor woman lived in constant anxiety
+about her wild boys, for she saw to her terror that both had inherited
+their father's violent temper. Once already she had only just arrived
+in the nick of time, when Fritz, then eight years old, was about to
+attack his brother, two years older than himself, with a large kitchen
+knife; and a half a year later the day really dawned on which her dark
+presentiments were realized.
+
+The two boys had been fighting in the yard, and Martin, the elder one,
+wild with rage because Fritz had beaten him, had hurled a stone at him
+and hit him so unfortunately at the back of his head that he fell down
+bleeding and immediately lost the power of speech. They could stanch
+the blood, and the wound healed up, but his speech did not return.
+Indifferent to all around, the boy sat there and let them feed him: he
+had become an idiot.
+
+It was a hard blow for the miller's family. The mother wept whole
+nights through, and even he, the energetic hard-working man, went about
+for a long time as if in a dream.
+
+But the perpetrator of the disastrous deed was the one most impressed
+by it. The defiant, boisterously happy boy was hardly recognizable. His
+exuberance of spirits had disappeared; he spent his days in silent
+brooding, obeyed his mother to the letter and, whenever possible,
+avoided joining in the games of his school-fellows.
+
+His love for his unfortunate brother was touching. When he was at home,
+he never stirred from his side. With superhuman patience he accustomed
+himself to the brutalized habits of the idiot, learned to understand
+his inarticulate sounds, fulfilled his every wish, and looked on
+smilingly when he destroyed his dearest toy.
+
+The invalid boy got so used to his companionship that he would not be
+without him. When Martin was at school, he cried incessantly and
+preferred to go hungry rather than take food and drink from anyone
+else.
+
+For three years he dragged on this miserable existence; then he began
+to ail and died.
+
+Though his death certainly came as a relief to the whole household, all
+mourned his loss sincerely, and Martin especially was inconsolable.
+During the first months he wandered out daily to the cemetery and often
+had to be torn by force away from the grave. Only very gradually he
+grew calmer, chiefly through intercourse with the youngest boy,
+Johannes, to whom he now appeared to transfer the intense love which he
+had lavished upon his dead brother.
+
+As long as the invalid lived, he had taken little notice of Johannes,
+for he seemed to think it almost sinful to give even the merest
+fraction of his affection to any one else. Now that death had robbed
+him of the poor unfortunate, an invincible longing drew him towards his
+younger brother--as if by his love for him he might fill the agonizing
+void which the loss of his victim had left in him as if he might atone
+toward the living for what he had inflicted on the dead.
+
+Johannes was at that time a fine lad of five, already quite a little
+man, who was to have his first pair of stout boots at next fair-time.
+He seemed to have inherited nothing of his father's harsh, defiant
+nature; he took much more after his gentle, quiet mother, to whom he
+clung specially as her pet, and whose very idol he was. Not hers alone,
+though, for all in the house spoiled and petted him, their sunbeam,
+their source of joy.
+
+Indeed, none who saw him could help loving him! His long, fair hair
+gleamed like so many sunbeams, and in his eyes, which could twinkle so
+merrily and at other times gaze so dreamily, there lay depths of
+goodness and love. He attached himself fervently to his elder brother,
+who had so long neglected him; but the disparity in their ages--they
+were nearly nine years apart--did not allow of purely brotherly
+relations between them.
+
+Martin was already at the close of his boyhood; his serious, thoughtful
+mien and measured, old-fashioned speech made him appear older than he
+was. Besides, he was already destined to commence work in the following
+year. Under these circumstances it was only natural that he should
+assume a somewhat fatherly tone towards his younger brother, and though
+he was not ashamed to join in his childish games and to be driven as
+his patient horse with a "gee-up" and a "whoa," through the mill-yard
+and across the fields, there was even in this more of the smiling
+indulgence of a kindly tutor than of the spontaneous pleasure of an
+older playmate.
+
+The affectionate-natured boy, craving for love and sympathy, gave
+himself up heart and soul to his big brother. He recognized his
+boundless authority more even than that of his father and mother, who
+were further removed from his childish sphere--and when school-days
+commenced and Martin proved such a patient helper in word and deed
+whenever lessons were hard, then the younger boy's veneration for his
+elder brother knew no bounds. Old Rockhammer was the only one who was
+not pleased with the closeness of their friendship. They were too
+sweet; they "slobbered" each other too much, they had much better "live
+like cats and dogs together" as a proof that they were really "one's
+own flesh and blood." But their gentle mother was all the happier. Her
+prayer to the Almighty by day and night was to protect her children and
+nevermore to allow the flame of wrath to burst forth in Martin. And her
+supplication seemed to have been heard. Only once more was her soul
+filled with horror through an outburst of rage in her son.
+
+Johannes--then nine years old--had been playing with a whip near some
+carts standing in the yard ready to take away flour. Suddenly one of
+the horses took fright; and the driver, a coarse, drunken fellow, tore
+the whip out of the boy's hand, and gave him a cut with it across his
+face and neck.
+
+At the same instant Martin, lithe as a tiger, rushed out of the mill;
+the veins on his temples swollen, his fists clenched, got hold of the
+man and began to throttle him so that he was already black in the face.
+Then his mother threw herself with a loud scream of terror between the
+two. "Think of Fritz!" she cried, throwing up her arms in an agony of
+horror; and the infuriated boy let his hands drop as if paralyzed,
+tottered back and fell down sobbing on the threshold of the mill.
+
+Since then his temper seemed to have died out entirely, and even when
+he was once insulted and attacked on the highroad, he kept his knife,
+which the people of those parts are quick to use, quietly in his
+pocket.
+
+
+The years sped on. Shortly after Martin came of age, the old miller
+closed his eyes. His wife soon followed him. She did not recover after
+his death, and quietly and without complaining, she withered away. It
+was as if she could not exist without the scoldings which she had had
+to take daily from her husband for twenty-three years.
+
+The two brothers now dwelt alone in the orphaned mill. So it was no
+wonder that they clung to each other even more closely, and that each
+lived only for the other!
+
+And yet they were very different outwardly and inwardly. Martin,
+thick-set and short-necked, was awkward and silent in the presence of
+strangers. His bushy, lowering eyebrows gave his face a dark look, and
+his words came with difficulty and by fits and starts as if speaking
+were in itself torture--in fact one might have taken him for a hard
+misanthropist, if he had not had such an honest, hearty look in his
+eyes, and such a good-natured, almost childlike smile that it sometimes
+illumined his broad, coarsely-cut features like a ray of sunlight.
+
+How utterly different was Johannes! His eyes beamed into the world so
+frankly and cheerfully; the corners of his mouth seemed constantly
+twitching with fun and merriment; and over his whole lithe, pliant
+figure was cast the glamour of youth. The lassies all noticed it, and
+sent many a glance after him, and many a blush, many a warm squeeze of
+the hand told him plainly, "You could easily win my love." Johannes did
+not care much about these matters. He was not yet "ripe for love," and
+preferred a game of skittles to a dance, and would rather sit with his
+silent brother beside the lock than walk with Rose or Gretel.
+
+The two brothers had promised each other one still, solemn evening,
+that they would never part and that no third person should ever come
+between them in love or in hate.
+
+But they had made their reckoning without taking into account the Royal
+Recruiting Commission. The time came for Johannes to serve in the army.
+He had to go far, far away, to Berlin, to the Uhlans of the Guard. It
+was a hard trial for both of them. Martin kept his trouble to himself
+as usual, but impetuous Johannes behaved as if he were absolutely
+inconsolable, so that he was well teased at parting by his comrades.
+His grief was, however, not of long duration. The fatigues of service
+as a recruit, the novelty of it all, the lively bustle of the
+metropolis, left him little time for dreaming and only now and then, as
+he lay in the calm dawn on his camp bed, a great longing came over him;
+the homely mill gleamed through the darkness like a lost Paradise and
+the clatter of the wheels sounded in his ears like heavenly music. But
+as soon as he heard the trumpet call, the vision passed away.
+
+Martin fared worse at the mill, where he was now quite alone, for he
+could not reckon as companions the millhands, or old David, an
+inheritance from his father. Friends he had never had either in the
+village or elsewhere. Johannes sufficed him and took their place
+entirely. He slunk about brooding in silence, his mind ever gloomier,
+his thoughts ever darkened, and at last melancholy took such hold of
+him that the vision of his victim began to haunt him. He was sensible
+enough to know that he could not go on living like this, and forcibly
+sought to distract his thoughts--went on Sundays to the village dance
+and visited the neighboring hamlets under pretense of trade interests.
+But as for the result of all this--well, one fine day at the
+commencement of his second year of service, Johannes got a letter from
+his brother. It ran as follows:
+
+
+"My Dear Boy:
+
+"I shall have to write it some time, even though you will be angry with
+me. I could not bear my loneliness any longer and have made up my mind
+to enter into the matrimonial state. Her name is Gertrude Berling, and
+she is the daughter of a wind-miller in Lehnort, two miles from here.
+She is very young and I love her very much. The wedding is to be in six
+weeks. If you can, get leave of absence for it.
+
+"Dear brother, I beg of you, do not be vexed with me. You know
+you will always have a home at the mill whether there is a mistress
+there or not. Our fatherly inheritance belongs to us both, in any
+case. She sends you her kind regards. You once met each other at a
+shooting-match, and she liked you very much, but you took no notice of
+her, and she sends you word she was immensely offended with you.
+
+           "Farewell,
+
+                 "Your faithful brother,
+
+                                    "Martin."
+
+
+Johannes was a very spoiled creature. Martin's engagement appeared to
+him as high treason against their brotherly love. He felt as if his
+brother had deceived him and meanly deprived him of his due rights.
+Henceforth a stranger was to rule where hitherto he alone had been
+king, and his position at the mill was to depend on her favor and good
+will. Even the friendly message from the wind-miller's daughter did not
+calm or appease him. When the day of the wedding came, he took no
+leave, but only sent his love and good wishes by his old schoolfellow
+Franz Maas, who was just left off from military service.
+
+Six months later he himself was at liberty.
+
+How now, Johannes? We are so obstinate that on no account will we go
+home, and prefer to seek our fortune in foreign parts; we roam about,
+now to right, now to left, up hill and down hill and rub off our horns,
+and when, four weeks later, we come to the conclusion that in spite of
+the wind-miller's daughter there is no place in the world like the
+Rockhammer mill, we went our way homewards most cheerfully.
+
+One sunny day in May Johannes arrived in Marienfeld.
+
+Franz Mass, who had set up the autumn before as a worthy baker, was
+standing, with his legs apart, in front of his shop, looking up
+contentedly at the tin "Bretzel" swinging over his door in the gentle
+noon-day breeze, when he saw an Uhlan come swaggering down the village
+street with his cap cocked to one side and clinking his spurs. His
+brave ex-soldier's heart beat quicker under his white baker's apron as
+he took his pipe out of his mouth and shaded his eyes with his hand.
+
+"Well, I declare, it's Johannes!"
+
+"Hallo, old fellow!" And they were greeting each other with effusion.
+
+"Where do you hail from so late in the season? Have you had to do extra
+service?"
+
+"For shame!"
+
+Then they start questions and confessions. About the captain and the
+sergeant and old Knapphaus and the fair baker's daughter whom they used
+to call "Crumpet Mary," and who lived in the baker's shop close to the
+barracks--they all have their turn and not one is forgotten.
+
+"And what about yourself? Did they recognize you in the village?" asks
+Franz, transferring his insatiable thirst for knowledge to more homely
+ground.
+
+"Not a soul," laughs Johannes, complacently twirling his budding
+cavalry moustache which points heavenwards in two smart ends.
+
+"And at home?"
+
+Johannes makes a serious face and says he must go.
+
+"Oh, you're only on the way there now? Then I suppose it's bobbing
+about in there?" And he gives him a searching thump on his chest.
+
+Johannes laughs curtly and then suppresses a sigh as if to master his
+excitement.
+
+Franz lays his hand on his shoulder and says: "Well, you will find a
+sister-in-law--upon my word, she's a sister-in-law worth having!" He
+smacks his lips and winks his eye. It fills Johannes again with his
+former defiance and rage. He shrugs his shoulders contemptuously,
+shakes hands with his friend and goes off clinking his spurs.
+
+Three more minutes' walk; then he is through the village. There is the
+church! Poor old thing--it has got even a bit more tumble-down!
+
+But the black larches still rustle as of old, and theirs is the same
+sweet song of happy promise which they sang to him on the day of his
+confirmation. There on the left is the inn--by Jove, they have put
+up a massive new doorway, and at the window there stand immense
+liquor-flasks, filled with flaming red and viciously green fluids. Mine
+host of the "Crown" has been looking up! That side-path leads down to
+the river. And there is the mill, the goal of his dreams! How
+comfortable the old thatched roof looks across the alder bushes, how
+snowy white are the cherry blossoms in the garden, how cheerily the
+mill-wheels clatter: "Welcome, welcome!"
+
+How the dear old moss-grown weir seems to chant a blessing from afar!
+He pushes his cap a degree further back and pulls himself together
+resolutely, for he is determined to master his emotion.
+
+All the fields stretching on either side of the road belong to the
+mill. On the right is winter-rye, as of old; but on the left, where
+there used to be a potato-patch, there is now a kitchen garden--there
+are asparagus-plants and young beetroots arranged in prim and orderly
+rows.
+
+Between the long vegetable borders, about five paces from the fence, he
+sees the lithe, robust figure of a girl assiduously bending to her
+work.
+
+Who can that be? Does she belong to the mill? Perhaps a new maid!
+Hardly that, though, for she looks too smart, too neat; her shoes are
+too light, her apron too dainty, the white kerchief so picturesquely
+draped round her head is of too fine a texture. If only she would not
+so completely shade her face! Now she looks up! Good heavens, what a
+sweet girl! How her bonny cheeks glow, how her dark eyes gleam, how her
+pouting lips seem to invite a kiss!
+
+As she perceives him, she drops her hoe and stares at him.
+
+"Good-day," he says, and touches his cap somewhat awkwardly. "Do you
+know whether the miller is at home?"
+
+"Yes, he's at home," she says, and goes on staring at him.
+
+"I wonder what she means by it," he thinks, fighting against his
+embarrassment; and as, since his Berlin days, he has every reason to
+consider himself well-nigh irresistible, it is a point of honor with
+him now to step close up to the hedge and attempt a little flirtation
+with the girl.
+
+"Well, always busy?" he asks, just for the sake of asking, and in his
+confusion clutches at the ends of his moustache. Uhlan, beware! Take
+care!!
+
+"Yes, I'm always busy," she repeats mechanically, while she stares at
+his face unceasingly; and suddenly, raising her hand and spreading out
+all five fingers as if she would like to point at him with them all,
+she says, as she bursts out laughing:
+
+"Why, you're Johannes!"
+
+"Yes, tha-at's m-e," he stammers in astonishment; "and who are you?"
+
+"I'm his wife!"
+
+"What? You--his--Martin's?"
+
+"Hm!" And she nods at him with assumed dignity, while her eyes are full
+of roguishness.
+
+"But you look like a young girl!"
+
+"It isn't so very long since I was one," she laughs.
+
+They stand on opposite sides of the fence and look at each other.
+
+Collecting herself, she wipes her hands ostentatiously on her apron,
+and stretches them out to him through the lattice-work.
+
+"Welcome, brother-in-law!"
+
+He returns her hand-shake, but is silent.
+
+"Do you perhaps intend to be angry with me, brother-in-law?" she says,
+and looks up at him roguishly. He feels absolutely powerless before
+her, and can only laugh awkwardly and say: "I--angry? Oh, dear no!"
+
+"It looked rather like it!" she says, and lifting her finger
+threateningly, she adds: "Oh, I should only just have liked you to
+attempt such a thing!" Thereupon she sticks her chin into her collar
+and bursts into a soft chuckle.
+
+"Well, you are funny! he says, with a rather more easy laugh.
+
+"I funny?--never! You go along now; meanwhile I will run in through the
+garden and fetch Martin."
+
+And she starts to run away, then stops suddenly, puts her finger to her
+nose and says: "Wait a minute; I will come across to you."
+
+Before he has time to stretch out a helping hand, she had slipped, as
+nimble as a lizard, in between the boards of the fencing.
+
+"Well, here I am," she says, smoothing out her dress, while she lets
+the knotted kerchief fall loosely onto her neck, so that a mass of
+little brown curls escape round her forehead and neck and begin to
+dance in the wind as if delighted at their newly regained freedom.
+
+His gaze rests with astonishment on the fresh, girlish beauty of this
+young wife, who behaves like a wild unconstrained child.
+
+She notices the look, and slightly blushing, she passes her hand over
+the curly disorder which will not be fettered.
+
+For a while they walk beside each other in silence.
+
+She looks down and smiles as if she too had suddenly learned shyness.
+Conversation flags till they have got through the large entrance-gate.
+Johannes looks about and gives a cry of amazement. He cannot believe
+his eyes.
+
+Everything all around is changed, everything is beautified. The round
+court-yard, which in rainy weather used to be one immense pool of dirt
+and in dry weather one mass of dust-clouds, now is all covered with
+turf like some flowering meadow, the doors of the store-houses and
+stables are resplendent with bright red paint and bear white numbers.
+In the middle of the open space is an artistic pigeon-house, like a
+little Swiss chalet, and in front of the house is a newly built
+veranda, round whose shining windowpanes and dainty wood-carving some
+young creepers twine their budding tendrils. The mill lies before his
+ecstatic gaze like the very home of peace and innocence. He folds his
+hands in emotion and asks "Who has done all this?"
+
+She looks about without speaking.
+
+"You?" he asks, amazed.
+
+"I helped," she answers modestly.
+
+"But you originated it?"
+
+She smiles. This smile makes her appear older, and for a moment her
+child-like face is suffused with a shimmer of womanly grace.
+
+"Your hand is blessed," he says softly and shyly, more in earnest than
+is his wont.
+
+He cannot help thinking of his dead mother, who so often complained of
+the dreadful dust, and that in the whole space outside there was not a
+single place where she could sit down in comfort.
+
+"If only she could have lived to see this," he murmurs to himself.
+
+"Mother?" she asks him.
+
+He looks up astonished. That she should not say "your mother" startles
+him at first, then it gives him a feeling of intense pleasure such as
+he has never before in his life felt. A sort of happy glow enters into
+his heart and will not leave it. So there is now in the world a young,
+beautiful strange woman who speaks of his mother as if she had been
+hers too, as if she herself were his sister, the sister he had so often
+longed for in his foolish younger days, when his gaze used to rest with
+admiration on other girls.
+
+And now she softly repeats her question.
+
+"Yes, mother," he answers, and looks at her gratefully.
+
+She bears his look for a second; then drops her eyes and says in some
+confusion; "I wonder where Martin can be?"
+
+"In the mill, I suppose!"
+
+"Yes, in the mill, of course," she answers quickly; and with the words
+"I will fetch him," she hurries away. Almost without thinking he stares
+after the girlish figure bounding so lightly across the grass.
+
+Everything about her seems to be flying and fluttering--her skirts, her
+apron-strings, the kerchief about her neck, her untameable, entangled
+mass of curls.
+
+He remains for a time gazing after her as if spell-bound; then he
+laughingly shakes his head and walks to the veranda. There he notices a
+dainty work-table and on it a round wicker-work-basket. Across its edge
+hangs a piece of work commenced, a long, white strip embroidered with
+flowers and leaves such as women use for insertion. Without thinking he
+takes the piece of cambric in his hand and examines the cunning
+stitches till his sister-in-law's laughing voice reaches his ears.
+
+Like a surprised criminal he quickly lets the embroidery drop--there
+she is already, bending round the corner; and the flour-whitened,
+square-set figure she is so merrily dragging behind her and who is so
+awkwardly trying to divest himself of her little, clutching hands, and
+dispersing thick, white dust-clouds all round, that is, why, that is--
+
+"Martin, dear old Martin!" and he rushes out to embrace him.
+
+The awkward movements cease; the bushy eye-brows are drawn up--the
+good-natured, quiet smile grows stony--the whole figure is fixed--the
+man draws back--but next moment he rushes forward towards his
+newly-regained darling.
+
+In silence the brothers clasp each other.
+
+Then after a time Martin takes the head of the returned wanderer
+between his two hands and, knitting his brows darkly and gnawing at his
+under-lip he looks long and earnestly into his brother's beaming,
+laughing eyes. Thereupon he sits down on the seat in the veranda, rests
+his elbows on his knees and looks down.
+
+"Why are you so pensive, Martin?" Johannes asks softly, laying his hand
+on his brother's shoulder.
+
+"Well, why shouldn't I be pensive?" he answers, with a peculiar sort of
+low grunt which accompanies all his meager speeches. "Ah--you rascal!"
+he continues, and the good-natured grin which is his in happy moments
+spreads over his heavily-cut features. "You made up your mind to be
+angry--you, you?" Then he jumps up and takes his wife's hand. "Look at
+him, Trude; he wanted to be angry, the silly fellow! Come here, boy!
+Eh--here she is--look at her properly, well! Do you think you could be
+angry with _her_?"
+
+Then he drops clumsily onto his seat, so that a fresh cloud of white
+dust flies up, looks at Johannes, laughs to himself a little and says
+at last: "Trude, fetch a clothes brush!" Trude bursts out laughing and
+skips away singing. When she returns waving the desired object high in
+the air, he gives the order: "Now brush him!"
+
+"When a miller or a sweep grows affectionate, there's sure to be a
+misfortune," Johannes says, attempting a joke, and tries to take the
+brush out of her hand.
+
+"Please allow me, Mr. Johannes," she protests, hiding the brush under
+her apron.
+
+Martin hits the bench with his fist. "Mr. Johannes! Well, I
+never--what's the meaning of that? Haven't you made friends yet?--eh?"
+
+Johannes is silent and Trude brushes away at him with great vigor.
+
+"Then I suppose you haven't even given each other a kiss yet?"
+
+Trude lets the brush fall suddenly. Johannes says "H'm" and busies
+himself with rolling the wheel of one of his spurs along the scraper
+standing at the entrance.
+
+"It's the proper thing to do, however! Now then!"
+
+Johannes faces about and twirls his moustache, determined to get over
+his awkward predicament by playing the man of the world; but with all
+that he has not the courage to bend down to her. He stands there as
+stiff as a post and waits till she holds up her little mouth; then for
+a moment he presses his trembling lips upon hers, and feels how a
+slight shudder runs through her frame.
+
+A moment later it is all over. With a shy smile they stand next to one
+another--both blushing all over.--Martin slaps his knees with his hands
+and declares it has been as good as a side-splitting farce. Then he
+suddenly gets up and walks off. He must ponder over his happiness in
+solitude.
+
+
+In the afternoon the brothers go together into the mill. Trude stands
+at the window and looks after them, and, when Johannes turns around,
+she smiles and hides behind the curtain. On the threshold Johannes
+stands still and leans his head against the door-post, and deep emotion
+fills him as he gazes into the semi-darkness of the dear old place from
+which proceeds such a din of wheels that it nearly stuns him, while the
+draught drives into his face great whitish-grey clouds of flour,
+bran-dust and steam. Side by side the various "runs" open out before
+him. On the left, nearest the wall, the old "bolting-run," for the
+finest flour; then the "bruising-run," where the bran and flour remain
+together; then the "groats-run," where the barley is freed from its
+husks; and finally the "cylinder-run," one of the new kind only
+recently added.--They have also had a new spiral alley and a lift made.
+Fashion now-a-days requires all these innovations.
+
+Martin puts his hands in his pockets and saunters along with his pipe
+in his mouth in silent self-content. Then he takes hold of Johannes'
+hand and proceeds to explain the new invention--how the fine flour is
+caught up by the spiral and conveyed to the suspiral where small pails,
+running along a belting, raise it through two stories, almost to the
+roofing, and then empty it into the silken, cylinder-like funnels
+through the fine network of which it has to pass before becoming fit
+for use. Listening breathlessly, Johannes drinks in his brother's
+scant, slowly uttered words, and is surprised how ignorant one grows in
+the army; for all these things are sealed books to him.
+
+Business is flourishing. All the works are in full swing, and the
+'prentices have plenty to do with pouring the grain into the
+mill-hopper and watching the outflow of the flour and the bran.
+
+"I have three now," says Martin, pointing to the white-powdered
+fellows, one of whom is continually running up and down the stairs.
+
+"And is David here yet?" asks Johannes.
+
+"Why, of course," answers Martin; and makes a face as if the mere idea
+of David's being no longer at the mill had scared him.
+
+"Where has he hidden himself, the old fellow?" Johannes laughingly
+asks.
+
+"David! David!" shouts Martin's lusty voice above all the clatter of
+the wheels.
+
+Then from out the darkness, by the motor machine, which rises
+Cyclops-like from below the woodwork of the galleries, there emerges a
+long, lanky figure, dipped in flour--a face shows itself on which the
+indifference of old age has left nothing to be read--a slightly
+reddened nose, which almost meets the bristly chin, weak and sulky eyes
+hidden beneath bushy brows, and a mouth which seems to be continually
+chewing.
+
+"What do you want me for, master?" he asks, planting himself in front
+of the brothers without removing the clay pipe which hangs loosely
+between his lips.
+
+"Here's Johannes," says Martin, patting the old man's shoulder, while a
+good-natured smile crosses his countenance.
+
+"Don't you know me any more, David?" asks Johannes, holding out his
+hand in a friendly manner. The old man spits out a stream of brown
+juice from between his teeth, considers awhile and then mumbles:
+
+"Why shouldn't I know you?"
+
+"And how are you?"
+
+"How should I be?"--Then he begins fumbling about at a sack of flour,
+tying and untying the string with his bony fingers; then when he has
+made sure that he is no longer wanted, he withdraws once more into his
+dark corner.
+
+Martin's face beams. "There's a faithful soul for you, Johannes--28
+years of service, eh! And always industrious and conscientious."
+
+"By the bye, what does he do?"
+
+Martin looks confused. "Well--look here--eh--hard to say--position of
+trust--eh--faithful soul, faithful soul."
+
+"Does the faithful soul still occasionally prig something from the
+flour-sacks?" asks Johannes laughing.
+
+Martin shrugs his shoulders impatiently and mutters something about "28
+years of service," and closing an eye.
+
+"He seems still to owe me a grudge," says Johannes, "for having
+discovered the hiding place to which he had carried his hardly-stolen
+little hoard."
+
+"You will persist in being prejudiced against him," answers Martin,
+"just like Trude too--you are unjust towards him,--most unjust."
+
+Johannes laughingly shakes his head; then he points to a door leading
+to a newly erected partition.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+Martin moves about uneasily. "My office," he then stammers, and, as
+Johannes attempts to open the door, he runs up to him and catches him
+back by his coat-tails.
+
+"I beg of you," he mutters, "do not cross that threshold. Not
+to-day--nor any other day.--I have my reasons." Johannes looks at him
+in vexation. "Since when have you secrets from me," he feels impelled
+to ask, but his brother's trustful, pleading look closes his lips, and
+arm in arm they leave the mill together.
+
+Evening has come.--The great wheel is at rest, and with it the host of
+smaller ones.--Silence is over all the mill and only in the distance
+the rushing water of the weir sings its monotonous song. Here of
+course--in front of the house--the mill-brook is quiet and peaceful, as
+though it had nothing in the world to do but to carry water-lilies and
+to mirror the setting sun in its depths. Like a golden-red, dark-edged
+streamer it winds along between the straggling thicket of alders, in
+which a choir of nightingales are just clearing their throats and, all
+unconscious of their superior merit, are about to commence a singing
+competition with the frogs down there. The three human beings who are
+henceforth to pass their days together in this blossoming, song-laden
+solitude have already become lovingly intimate. They sit on the veranda
+around the white-spread supper-table, the food upon which has to-day
+found little appreciation, and their gaze is full of intense content.
+Martin rests his head on his hands and draws great clouds of smoke from
+his short pipe, from time to time emitting a sound which is something
+of a laugh, something of a growl.
+
+Johannes has quite buried himself in the mass of foliage and lets the
+tendrils of the wild vine play about his face. They tremble and flutter
+with his every breath.
+
+Trude has pushed her head deep into her collar and is looking furtively
+across at the two brothers, like a high-spirited child that would like
+to get into mischief but first wants to make quite sure that no one is
+watching. This silence is evidently not to her taste, but she is
+already too well schooled to break it. Meantime she amuses herself by
+making little pellets of bread and shooting them, unnoticed by either
+of the brothers, into the midst of the herd of sparrows hopping about
+the veranda, with greedy intent. There is one in particular, a little,
+dirty fellow, who beats all the others' cunning and alertness. As soon
+as a grain of food comes rolling along he spreads both wings, screams
+like mad, and while fighting he endeavors to get it away by beating his
+wings, so that he can take possession of it comfortably while the
+others are still wildly hacking at each other. This maneuver he repeats
+four or five times, and always successfully, till one of his comrades
+finds out his trick and does it still better.
+
+This gives Trude a fit of laughing which she tries to suppress by
+stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth and holding her breath till
+she gets quite blue in the face--Then when she finds it absolutely
+impossible to contain herself any longer, she jumps up to get away, but
+before she reaches the door, her laughter bursts forth and she
+disappears into the darkness of the passage, screaming loudly with
+delight.
+
+Both brothers are roused from their dreaming.
+
+"What's up?" asks Johannes, startled. Martin shakes his head as he
+looks after his young, foolish wife whose tricks he well knows; then
+after a time he takes his brother's hand and says, pointing to the
+door:
+
+"Well--does she look as if she would oust you?"
+
+"No, indeed," answers Johannes with a somewhat uneasy laugh.
+
+"Oh, my boy," growls Martin, scratching his bushy head, "what a lot of
+worry I have been through!--I tossed about in my bed a long night when
+I thought of you! I mean on account of the wrong I might be doing
+you."--Then after a time--"And yet when I look at her--she is so
+fair--so innocent--say yourself, my boy, could I possibly help loving
+her? When I saw her--ah--why it was all over with me.--In so many ways
+she reminded me of you--merry, and bright-eyed and full of mischief,
+just like you.--Of course she was a child and has remained one to the
+present day--Charmless and wild and playful as a child.--And I tell
+you--she wants holding in tighter--her spirits run away with her.--But
+that is just how I love her to be"--a tender look brightens his
+features--"and if I rightly think it over, I would not even miss one of
+her ridiculous doings. You know I always must have some one to watch
+over--formerly I had you, now she is the one."
+
+After relieving his feelings in this manner, he once more becomes
+silent.
+
+"And are you happy?" asks Johannes.
+
+Martin hides himself in a thick cloud of smoke, and from out of that he
+mutters after a time:
+
+"Well, that depends!"
+
+"On what?"
+
+"On your not being angry with her."
+
+"I angry with her?"
+
+"Well, well, you needn't make excuses!"
+
+Johannes does not reply. He will soon convince his brother of better
+things--and closing his eyes, he buries his head once more in the
+waving foliage. A gleam of light causes him to look up. Trude is
+standing on the threshold, holding a lamp and looking ashamed of
+herself. Her charming, childlike face is bathed in a red glow and the
+drooping lashes cast long, semi-circling shadows on her full cheeks.
+
+"What a ridiculous creature you are!" says Martin, stroking her ruffled
+hair tenderly.
+
+"Won't you go to rest, Johannes?" she asks with great seriousness,
+though there is still the sound of suppressed laughter in her voice.
+
+"Good-night, brother!"
+
+"Wait, I am coming too!"
+
+Johannes shakes hands with his sister-in-law, while she turns her face
+aside with a furtive smile.
+
+Martin takes the lamp from her and precedes his brother up the stairs.
+At the top he takes his hand and gazes silently and deeply into his
+eyes, like one who cannot yet contain his happiness; then he softly
+closes the door.
+
+Johannes sighs and stretches himself, pressing both hands to his
+breast. His heart is heavy for very joy. He feels as if he must go
+after his brother and relieve his feelings by a few loving, grateful
+words, but already he hears his steps downstairs in the entrance. It is
+too late. But his mind must be calmer before he can attempt to sleep.
+
+He puts out the lamp and pushes open a window. The night air cools his
+brow.--How soothing it is--how it wafts peace!
+
+He bends over the window-ledge, whistles a song to himself and looks
+out into the night. The apple-tree beneath him is in full bloom--a
+waving sea of blossoms. How often as a child he has climbed up there,
+how often, tired with play, he has leant, dreaming, against its trunk,
+while its rustling leaves told him fairy stories. And when in autumn a
+gust of wind swept through the branches, it brought down a shower of
+rosy-cheeked apples, which fell almost into his lap.--What ecstasy that
+was! How many things enter one's thoughts as one whistles! Each note
+awakens a new song, each melody conjures up new reminiscences. And with
+the old songs there returns the old longing and flies on butterfly's
+wings through a vast empire between the moon and the morning sun!--
+
+And as he looks down upon the earth melting into darkness, he sees how
+a window is softly opened and an upturned face bends far out. From out
+of a pale, gleaming oval, framed in a background of shadowy hair, two
+dark eyes glanced up at him, slyly and mischievously.
+
+Abruptly he stops whistling; then a teasing laugh greets his ears, and
+his sister-in-law's merry voice cries: "Go on, Johannes!"
+
+And when he will not do her bidding, she points her own lips and
+attempts a few very imperfect notes.
+
+Then Martin's deep bass voice becomes audible in the house, saying in a
+tone of paternal reproof:
+
+"None of your nonsense, Trude! Let him sleep!"
+
+"But he doesn't sleep," she answers, pouting like a scolded child. Then
+the window is shut. The voices die away.
+
+Johannes laughingly shakes his head and goes to bed, but he cannot
+sleep. Those flowers prevent him which Trude has placed at his
+bed-side, and the leaves of which hang right over the edge of the bed.
+Pale bluish bunches of lilac and the nebulous white stars of narcissi
+are mingled together. He turns round, kneels up in bed and buries his
+face in the flowery depths. Fondly the leaflets kiss his eye-lids and
+his lips.
+
+Suddenly he listens. From underneath the floor, as it were from the
+bowels of the earth, comes a quiet laugh. It is soft as a breath of
+wind passing over the grass, but so merry, so full of happiness.
+
+He listens, hoping to hear it again, but all is still. "Crazy little
+body, you," he says amused, then falls back upon his pillow and drops
+to sleep smiling.
+
+Next day Johannes fetches down his working-clothes. They are a bit
+tight across the shoulders. But then, one gets broader.
+
+The sun is already high in the heavens. As if it could shine so
+brightly, right into one's heart, anywhere else!--The sun of home is a
+wonderful thing. What it looks upon, it gilds, and when it touches
+one's lips, they begin to sing.
+
+"It is lovely at home--hurrah!"
+
+"Now I have a nest of merry birds in the house," laughs Martin, coming
+to greet him. "Go on singing. I am used to that from Trude--but what
+are you doing in that white coat?"
+
+"I suppose you think I am going to be idle here?"
+
+"At least just for a day!"
+
+"Not for an hour! My lazy times are over!"
+
+Martin has meanwhile noticed the flowers at the bed-side and says with
+a grumbling laugh: "Now there's a little witch for you! I have
+forbidden it for myself, and now she begins the same nonsense with
+others. That's why you look so pale this morning.
+
+"I, pale? Not in the least!"
+
+"Don't say a word! I'll cure her of her tricks."
+
+With that they go downstairs.
+
+Trude is nowhere to be seen.
+
+"She has been in the garden since five o'clock," says Martin with a
+pleased smile. "Everything goes like clock-work since she's at the head
+of affairs. As quick as a weasel, up at peep of day and always merry,
+always ready with a song and a laugh."
+
+On their way to the mill a young turnip whizzes past the brothers',
+heads. Martin turns round and laughingly threatens with his finger.
+
+"Who was that?" asks Johannes, peering in bewilderment round the empty
+yard.
+
+"Who but she?"
+
+"But can you see her anywhere?"
+
+"Not a trace of her! Oh, she's a teasing elf who can become invisible
+at will." And with a beaming face he follows his brother to the mill.
+
+The hours pass by. Johannes wants to show what he can do and works with
+twofold energy.
+
+While he is superintending the storing of the grain on the gallery,
+some one from below gently pulls his coat-tail. He looks down;--Trude,
+with sun-heated face and sparkling eyes, stands on the steps and
+invites him to come to breakfast. "In a minute," he says, finishes his
+task and jumps down.
+
+"Brr!" she says, shaking herself, "how you look!
+
+"What's the matter?
+
+"Well--yesterday I liked you better." Then she gives him her hand with a
+"good-morning," and trips down the stairs in front of him, strewing the
+flour about for fun as she goes.
+
+When they get to the door of the partition that Martin called his
+office, she pulls a mysterious face and raises her hand silently as if
+to lay a ghost.
+
+Then after a moment she asks: "I say, what has he got in there!"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Mayn't you go in either?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Thank goodness! Then I am not the only one who's kept in the dark. In
+there he sits, and every stranger is allowed to go in to him, only not
+I. If I want him, I have to ring.--Say yourself whether that's nice of
+him? Surely I am no longer such a child that he should--well, I won't
+say anything,--one oughtn't to speak ill of one's husband--but you are
+his own brother--do put in a good word for me, so that he tells me what
+is in there. For I am dying to know."
+
+"Do you suppose he has told me?"
+
+"Well, then we must comfort each other. Come along."--And in one jump
+she flies up the three steps leading to the entrance.
+
+During breakfast she suddenly puts on a serious air and speaks grandly
+of her weighty household cares. Of course, she says, she had to be
+independent at home already, for her poor little mother died many years
+past, and she had to superintend her father's household long before she
+was confirmed; but it was only a small one, for her father had to
+manage with one apprentice and almost worked himself to death--poor
+father!
+
+Her eyes are full of tears. She is ashamed and turns away. Then she
+jumps up and asks: "Have you had enough?" And when he says "Yes," she
+continues: "Come along into the garden. There's an arbor which is
+splendid for a chat."
+
+"That one at the end of the long path?--that is my favorite place too."
+
+Side by side they stroll through the mazy garden walks, all bathed in
+glowing sunlight, and both feel relieved when they reach the cool shade
+of the leafy recess.
+
+She throws herself down carelessly on the grassy bank and puts her
+plump, sun-burnt arms under her head. Through the dense foliage stray
+gleams of sunlight break, painting her dress with golden patches,
+playing on her neck and face, and passing over her head till they make
+her curly brown hair all aglow.
+
+Johannes sits down opposite her and gazes at her with undisguised
+admiration. He is convinced that never before in his life has he seen
+so much loveliness as there in the half-reclining figure of his
+charming young sister-in-law, and he thinks of his brother's saying:
+"Was it possible for me not to love her?"
+
+"I don't know why I feel so inclined to talk about myself to-day," she
+says with her sympathetic smile, while she shifts her head to a more
+comfortable position. "Do you care to listen?" He nods his head.
+
+"I am glad of that, Johannes! Well, you may imagine that at home bread
+was not over plentiful--not to speak of the butter which by rights
+belongs to it--and if I had not had my little garden, the produce of
+which we could sell in the town, we should not have managed at all.
+'Why does everyone take all their grain to the Rockhammer mill, without
+thinking that the poor wind-miller wants to live too?' That is what we
+often thought, and we positively hated your place. Then all of a sudden
+comes Martin--says he wants to be neighborly--and is kind and good to
+father and kind and good to me--and brings toffee and sugar-candy for
+the boys, so that we are all mad on him. And in the end he informs
+father that he absolutely must have me for his wife. 'But she hasn't a
+penny,' says my father, and fancy--he took me without a farthing!
+You may imagine how glad I was, for father had often said to me:
+'Now-a-days men only marry for money; you are a poor girl, Trude, so
+make up your mind to be an old maid. And now I was engaged before my
+17th birthday.--And then, you know, I had liked Martin very much for a
+long time already--for even if he is rather shy and quiet I could see
+by his eyes what a kind heart he has! Only he can't let himself go, as
+he would perhaps like to. I know how good he is, and even if he growls
+ever so much and scolds me, I shall be fond of him all my life!" She is
+silent for a moment and passes her hand across her face as if to wipe
+away the sunbeam which is gilding her lashes and making her eyes
+glisten. "And fancy how good he is to my family," she then resumes
+eagerly, as if she could not find enough love to heap on Martin's head.
+"He absolutely wanted to give them a yearly allowance--I don't know how
+much--but I would not allow that--for I did not wish to induce my
+father in his old days to take alms, even though it was from his
+son-in-law. But one thing I asked for--for permission to continue
+the gardening as I had done at home and to use the proceeds as
+pocket-money. What I do with it is my own business." She smiles across
+at him slyly and then continues: "They really do want it though, at
+home, for you see, there are three boys who all want to be fed and
+clothed, and they have to keep a servant too now, since I left home."
+
+"Have you no sisters?" he asks.
+
+She shakes her head; then she says, suddenly bursting out laughing.
+"It's really too bad. Not even one for a wife for you."
+
+He joins in her laughter and observes: "I don't seem to want a wife so
+much now."
+
+"As what?"
+
+"As a sister."
+
+"Well, she is here," says she, jumping up and stepping up to him; then,
+as if ashamed of her impetuosity, she drops down again on to the grass,
+blushing.
+
+"Yes, will you be that?" he says with beaming eyes.
+
+She pulls a little face and observes carelessly. "That's nothing much
+to be! Sister-in-law is in itself already as much as half a sister."
+Then, smilingly looking him up and down, she remarks: "I think one
+might put up with you as a brother."
+
+"Five foot ten--been Uhlan of the Guard--does that suffice?"
+
+"And you might even turn out a good playfellow."
+
+"Do you require one?"
+
+"Yes, very badly! It is so quiet and solemn here. There's not a soul to
+romp about with as I used to with my brothers at home. Sometimes I felt
+half inclined to collar one of the mill-hands, but dignity and respect
+forbade such a thing."
+
+"Well, I am here now," he laughs.
+
+And she: "I set great hopes on you!"--
+
+"Then collar me!"
+
+"You are too floury for me."
+
+"A fine miller's wife to be afraid of flour," he teases.
+
+"Never mind," she interrupts, "I shall soon put your playing powers to
+the test."
+
+In the gloaming, when they are once more sitting together on the
+veranda, and Johannes, like his brother, sits dreaming with his head
+hidden in the foliage, he suddenly feels a round, indefinable something
+hit his head and then drop to the ground. "Perhaps it was a cock-chafer,"
+he thinks to himself, but the attack is renewed two or three times.
+
+Then he begins to suspect Trude, who sits like a perfect picture of
+innocence, humming quite dolefully to herself, "In Yonder Verdant
+Valley," while she works little bread pellets which evidently serve as
+her missiles.
+
+He suppresses a merry laugh, secretly gets hold of a branch of the vine
+on which a few of last year's dried-up berries are still hanging, and
+when she lets fly a new volley at him, he promptly dispatches his reply
+at her little nose.
+
+She flinches, looks at him quite amazed for a moment, and when he bends
+towards her with the most serious face in the world, she bursts into a
+loud, joyful laugh.
+
+"What's the matter again now?" asks Martin, startled from his dreaming.
+
+"He has withstood the test," she laughs, putting her arm around her
+husband's neck.
+
+"What test?"
+
+"If I tell you, you will grumble, so I had better be silent."
+
+Martin looks at Johannes questioningly.
+
+"Oh, it's nothing," says he smiling; "it was only nonsense. We
+were--bombarding each other."
+
+"That's right, children--you bombard one another," Martin says, and
+goes on smoking in silence. Johannes is ashamed of himself, while Trude
+challenges her playfellow with mischievous glances. "Full of play,"
+yes, that was it; that was what Martin Rockhammer had called his wife.
+
+Henceforth there are to be no more of those peaceful silent hours in
+the gloaming which Martin loves so well.
+
+The quiet paths of the garden resound with song and laughter, across
+the lawn figures dart, as quick as the wind, in pursuit of each
+other;--they let loose the dogs and race with them;--they hunt the wild
+cats that frequent the mill-yard--they play hide-and-seek behind the
+haystacks and hedges.
+
+Martin looks on at all these doings with kindly, fatherly indulgence.
+
+At the bottom of his heart he would prefer to have his former quiet
+restored, but they are both so happy in their youth and harmlessness;
+their eyes sparkle so, their cheeks are so rosy: it would be a shame to
+spoil their pleasure through grumbling and interference. Why, they are
+but children! And are there not quieter hours? When Trude says, "Hans,
+let us sing," they sit down demurely side by side on the veranda or
+saunter slowly along the river, and when Martin has lighted his pipe
+and is ready to listen, they warble forth their songs into the
+gloaming. These are delightful, solemn moments. The birds in the trees
+twitter in their slumber, a soft breeze wafts through the branches and
+the mill-weir with its dull rushing sings the accompaniment. How
+quickly their mood changes! They have begun so merrily, but the
+melodies grow sadder and sadder, and the sound of their voices more and
+more mournful. A few minutes ago they were planning nonsense, now they
+have solemnly folded their hands and are gazing dreamily towards the
+sunset. Johannes' clear tenor tones well with her full deep contralto,
+and his ear never fails him when he is singing seconds in some new
+song.
+
+It is strange that they cannot sing when they are alone together. If
+Martin happens to be called away on business during their song, their
+voices at once begin to waver, they look at each other and smile, turn
+away and smile again; then generally one of them makes a mistake and
+they stop singing. If Martin is not at home in the evening, or if, as
+is his wont once or twice a week, he has locked himself up in his
+"office," they are both silent as if by a mutual understanding, and
+neither of them would dare to invite the other to sing. Instead of
+singing they have other more fascinating occupations which are only
+possible when they are sure no third person is listening. While serving
+in the army Johannes had acquired an "Album of Lyrics," in which he had
+made a collection of everything in the way of merry or sentimental
+songs that took his fancy. The sentimental kind, however, greatly
+predominate. Love ditties, dirges, ballads about child murderers or
+innocently convicted criminals, side by side with poetical meditations
+on the vanity of life in general--and the gem of the whole collection
+is Kotzebue's "Outburst of Despair," that sentimental effusion which
+was for half a century the most popular of all German poems. This
+collection just suits Trude's taste in poetry, and as soon as she is
+alone with Johannes she whispers entreatingly, "Fetch the Lyrics!" Then
+they crouch in some quiet corner, put their heads together--for Trude
+insists on looking into the book too--and enjoy the delicious feeling
+of awe which thrills them as they read.
+
+There is that wonderful "Count Von Sackingen to his Bride:--"
+
+
+      "Farewell! The lonely sorrows of my heart
+      In sweetest melody are all enshrined
+      Lest thou shouldst guess how hard it is to part"
+
+
+and that popular old romance:--
+
+
+      "Henry slept and at his side
+      Was his richly-dowered bride.
+
+      "At midnight hour the curtain wide
+      By cold, white hands was pushed aside,
+      And Wilhelmine he did see,
+      For from the grave had risen she."
+
+
+Then Trude starts and gazes into the dusk with large, terrified eyes,
+but she enjoys it intensely.
+
+The holy of holies in the album is a part bearing the title "The Lovely
+Miller-Maid."
+
+"Where did you get that from?" asks Trude, who feels that the title
+might apply to her.
+
+"A friend of mine, a musician, had these songs in a big volume of
+music, out of which I copied them. The man who wrote them is said to
+have been called Miller and to have been a miller himself."
+
+"Read, read quickly," cries Trude.
+
+But Johannes refuses. "They are too sad," he says, closing the book;
+"some other time."
+
+And so matters rest. But Trude so persecutes him, pouting and
+imploring, that he has to give way to her after all.
+
+"Come this evening to the weir," he says--"I have to close up the
+sluices. Then we shall be undisturbed and I can read to you--of course
+only if--"
+
+He winked across at the "office." Trude nods. They understand each
+other admirably. After supper Martin withdraws to his retreat, pursued
+by Trude's impatient looks, for she is dying to hear what secrets are
+contained in the "Lovely Miller-Maid." Arm in arm they walk across the
+meadow to the weir. The grass is damp with the evening dew. The sky
+glows red and all a-flame. The dark pine wood which forms a sombre
+frame round the picture is clearly silhouetted against the fiery
+background. Louder and louder the waters rush towards them.
+
+In the tumbling waves the glowing sunset is reflected and every drop of
+frothy spray becomes a dancing spark. On the other side of the weir the
+river lies like a dark mirror and the alders lay their black shadows
+upon it and dip their image into its clouded depths.
+
+Silently the two go to the weir. A narrow plank which in the center
+carries a drawbridge, runs alongside the main beam. From this point the
+sluices of the lock, six in number, and supported by solid pillars or
+props, can be opened or closed at will by the miller. Now in the gentle
+month of June the weir gives little trouble, but in early spring or
+autumn at high water or during the drifting of the ice, when all the
+sluices have to be opened wide and some of the supports to be removed,
+so that the volume of water as well as the lumps of ice may pour down
+unhindered, then one has to watch and put forth one's strength, or
+there is danger of being dragged down along with the wood-work by the
+seething mass. Johannes opens two of the sluices. That suffices for the
+present. Then he throws the lever to one side and rests his elbow on
+the rail of the drawbridge. Trude, who has so far watched him in
+silence, hoists herself up on to the big beam which runs from shore to
+shore on a level with the rail.
+
+"You will get dizzy, Trude," says Johannes, anxiously looking down onto
+the "fall," where over sloping planks the water shoots down in wild
+haste and then rushes foaming into the depths below.
+
+Trude gives a short laugh and declares she has often sat here for hours
+and looked down without experiencing the least giddiness, and, if the
+worst came to the worst, why he would be there. Full of suspense she
+looks towards his pocket, and when he pulls out the book of poems she
+sighs rapturously, in anticipation of delights to come, and clasps her
+hands like a child ready to listen to fairy stories. The tender words
+of the inspired poet flow like music from his lips.
+
+"The miller's heart delights to roam"--Trude gives a cry of delight
+and beats time with her feet against the wooden posts. "I heard a
+mill-stream rushing."--Trude listens expectantly. "I saw the mill
+a-gleaming."--Trude clasps her hands with pleasure and points to the
+mill. With "Didst thou mean this, thou rippling stream?" the lovely
+miller-maid comes upon the scene and Trude grows serious. "Had I a
+thousand arms to stir." Trude gives slight signs of impatience. "No
+flowret I will question, nor yet the shining stars." Trude smiles to
+herself contentedly, "Would I might carve it upon every tree!" Trude
+sighs deeply and closes her eyes; and now proceed the passionate
+fancies of the young, love-frenzied miller, till they reach the cry of
+joy which penetrates above the rippling of the brook, the rushing of
+the mill-wheels, the song of the birds:
+
+"The loved miller-maid is mine!" Trude spreads out both arms, a
+smile of quiet happiness flits across her face, she shakes her head
+as if to say, "What in the world can come after this?"--Then suddenly
+commences the miller-maid's mysterious liking for green, the
+hunting-horn echoes through the wood, the jaunty huntsman appears.
+Trude grows uneasy, "What does the fellow want?" she mutters and hits
+the beam with her fist. The miller, the poor young miller, soon begins
+to understand.--"Would I could wander far away, yea, far away from
+home; if only there were not always green wherever the eye doth roam."
+Thus the burden of his mournful strain. Trude puts out her hands in
+suspense and hope; why, it cannot be, things must come right again in
+the end. And then:
+
+
+            "Ye tiny flowrets that she gave.
+            Come rest with me in my lonely grave."
+
+
+Trude's eyes grow moist, but still she hopes that the hunter may go,
+and the miller-maid think better of it; it cannot, it must not be
+otherwise. The miller and the brook begin their sad duologue--the
+mill-brook tries to console him, but for the miller there remains but
+one comfort, _one_ rest:
+
+
+      "Ah! brooklet, little brooklet, thou wouldst comfort my pain,
+      Ah! brooklet, canst thou make my lost love return again?"
+
+
+Trude nods hastily. "What has the silly brooklet to do with it? What
+does it know of love or pain?"
+
+And then--there comes the mysterious lullaby sung by the waters. Surely
+the young miller must have fallen asleep on the brink of the rivulet--a
+kiss will waken him and when he opens his eyes the miller-maid will be
+bending over him and saying. "Forgive me, I love you as much as ever."
+
+But nay--what is the meaning of those words about the small, blue
+crystal chamber? Why must he sleep till the ocean shall have drunk up
+the brook? And if the cruel maiden is to throw her kerchief into the
+brook that his eyes may be covered, why, then the sleeper cannot be
+lying on the water's brink, then he must be lying deep down--Trude
+covers her face with her hands and bursts into loud, convulsive sobs,
+and when Johannes still persists in reading to the end, she cries out
+"Stop, stop!"
+
+"Trude, whatever is the matter?"
+
+She beckons him to leave her alone; her weeping becomes more and more
+violent; her whole body sways, it seeks a support, it bends backwards.
+
+Johannes gives a terrified scream and springs forward, catching her in
+his arms. "For heaven's sake, Trude!" he gasps, breathing heavily.
+Beads of cold perspiration stand on his brow--but she bows her little
+head on his breast, flings her arms round his neck and cries her heart
+out.--
+
+Next day Trude says: "I behaved very childishly yesterday, Hans, and I
+believe I only just missed falling down."
+
+"You were already sinking," he says, and a shudder passes through him
+at thought of that terrible moment. A sentimental smile crosses her
+face. "Then there would have been an end once and for all," she
+observes with a deep sigh, but forthwith laughs at herself for her
+silliness.
+
+The days pass by. Johannes has fulfilled Trude's keenest expectations
+as a play-fellow. The two have become inseparable; and Martin, the
+third of the party, can do nothing but look on silently and with a
+good-natured grumble say "Yea" and "Amen" to all their pranks.
+
+It is a pleasure to see them whizzing past, racing each other across
+the mill-yard as if they had wings to their feet. Trude flies along so
+that her feet hardly touch the ground, but in spite of that Johannes is
+the quicker of the two. Even if it takes time, she gets caught in the
+end. As soon as she finds that she cannot escape she cowers like a
+little frightened chicken; then when his arms encircle her
+triumphantly, her lithe body trembles as if his touch shook its very
+foundations.
+
+David, the old servant, very attentively watches these doings from a
+dormer window in the attic, which he makes his customary stand; there
+he begins scratching his head and mumbling all sorts of unintelligible
+things to himself.
+
+Trude notices him one day and laughingly points him out to Johannes.
+
+"We must play some trick on that old sneak," she whispers to him.
+
+Johannes tells her the amusing tale of how, years ago, he discovered
+the corner where the old fellow was in the habit of stowing away the
+flour he pilfered. "Perhaps we could do the same thing again?" he
+laughs.
+
+"Well, we must hunt," says Trude. No sooner said than done. The
+following Sunday when the mill stands still and no servants or
+apprentices are about, Johannes takes the bunch of keys and beckons to
+Trude to follow him.
+
+"Where are you off to?" asks Martin, looking up from the book he is
+reading.
+
+"One of the hens lays its eggs astray," said Trude quickly. "We want to
+hunt for them." And she does not even blush. They ransack the stables
+and barns, the storehouses and haystacks and especially the mill,--they
+tear upstairs and downstairs, clamber up steep ladders and rummage in
+the rubbish of the lumber attics.
+
+About two hours have gone by in fruitless search, when Trude, who
+has never lost courage, announces that in the furthest corner of the
+store-house she has found what she was seeking. Beneath some rotten
+shafts and worn-out cog-wheels, covered by the debris of the last ten
+years, stand a few large bushel-sacks, filled with flour and barley;
+besides which there are all sorts of useful trifles, such as hammers,
+pincers, brushes and table-knives. Loudly rejoicing, her eyes
+glistening, her face all dirty, her hair full of cobwebs, she emerges
+from the cavity, and after Johannes has convinced himself that she has
+seen aright, they hold council of war. Shall Martin be drawn into the
+secret? No, he would be vexed and perhaps spoil their fun. Johannes
+hits upon the right thing to do. He pours the contents of the sacks
+into their proper receptacles and then fills them with sand and gravel,
+but on the top puts a layer of lamp-black, such as the coachman uses
+for blacking his leather trappings. After having, on the way, quickly
+arranged everything as before, he considers his work completed. Both
+depart from the mill filled with intense delight, wash their hands
+and faces at the pump, help each other to get their clothes clean and
+do their best to keep a straight face on entering the room. But Martin
+at once notices the treacherous twitching of their mouths; he
+threatens them smilingly with his finger, though he asks no further
+questions....
+
+Two--three days go by during which they are consumed with
+impatience;--then one morning when Trude is in the garden Johannes
+comes rushing down, breathless and red in the face with suppressed
+laughter. She forthwith throws down her hoe and follows him then and
+there to the yard. In front of the pump stands old David, helpless and
+enraged, half white and half as black as a sweep. His face and hands
+are coal black and his clothes are full of huge tar stains. From all
+the windows of the mill the laughing faces of the mill-hands peep out;
+and Martin walks excitedly to and fro in front of the house.
+
+The scene is surpassingly comic. Johannes and Trude feel fit to die of
+laughing. David, who very rightly suspects where he must look for his
+foes, casts a vicious look at the two and makes a fresh attempt to
+clean himself. But the tell-tale black sticks to everything as if grown
+fast upon it. At last Martin takes pity on the poor devil, lets him
+come inside the common-room and orders Trude, who is laughing very
+tears, to find him an old suit of clothes.
+
+At dinner-time the two tell him about their successful prank. He shakes
+his head disapprovingly and thinks it would have been better to have
+told him of their find. Then he mutters something about "28 years of
+service" and "babyish tricks," and gets up from the table.
+
+Trude and Johannes exchange meaning looks which say "spoil-sport!" The
+affair affords them ground for amusement for three whole days.
+
+On the following Sunday Martin makes an excursion across country to get
+some old debts cashed. He will not be likely to return before evening.
+The mill-hands have gone to the inn. The mill stands empty.
+
+"Now I shall send the maids off too," says Trude to Johannes; "then we
+shall be absolutely alone in the place and can undertake something."
+
+"But what?"
+
+"That remains to be seen," she laughs and goes out into the kitchen.
+
+After half an hour she returns and says: "There, now they have gone,
+now we can begin." Then they sit down opposite each other and
+deliberate.
+
+"We shall never again manage to have such a lark as last Sunday," sighs
+Trude, and then after a while: "I say, Johannes!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You really are a great boon to me!"
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"Since you came I have been three times as happy. You see--he is ever
+so kind and you know--I am fond of him, very fond, but--he is always so
+serious, so condescending, as if I were a silly, senseless child--and
+don't you think I am hardworking and take care of his household as well
+as any one older? Surely it's not my fault that I was born so full of
+fun and it isn't, after all, a crime to be like that--but under his
+eyes, when he looks at one so solemnly and reproachfully, why it spoils
+all one's pleasure in any nonsense.... And when one has to sit there
+quite still, it's sometimes so awfully full and so ..."
+
+She stops and considers. She would like to pour out her grievances to
+him, but hardly knows what they are?
+
+"With you it is quite different," she continues, "you are a dear, good
+fellow, and never say 'no' to anything. With you one can do as one
+likes!--And besides, you haven't got his irritating smile which he puts
+on when I tell him anything, as much as to say: 'I don't mind listening
+to you, but of course you are only talking rubbish.' Then the words
+seem to stick in my throat--whereas with you ... well, one can tell you
+anything that comes into one's head."
+
+She pensively rests her head on her two hands and moves her elbows
+about on her knees.
+
+"Well, and what is coming into your head now?" he asks.
+
+She blushes and jumps up. "Catch me," she cries and barricades herself
+behind the table; but when he attempts to pursue her she walks calmly
+towards him and says; "leave that! We were going to undertake
+something, you know.--Keep the keys handy; in any case--perhaps we
+shall think of something on the way."
+
+He takes the great bunch of keys from its peg and follows her out into
+the yard, on which the hot midday sun is glaring.
+
+"Unlock the mill," she says, "it is cool in there." He does as he
+is bid, and with one wild leap she jumps down the steps into the
+half-dark space which lies before them in Sabbath quiet.
+
+"I should be frightened to be here alone," she says, looking round at
+him, then she points to the door of the office, the light wood of which
+gleams through the semi-obscurity, spreads open her fingers and
+shudders.
+
+"Has he never yet told you anything?" she whispers after a little
+while, bending towards his ear.
+
+He shakes his head. He grows somewhat oppressed in this close,
+dimly-lighted place--he breathes heavily--he longs for light and fresh
+air.--But Trude feels all the more comfortable in this vapor-laden
+atmosphere, in this mysterious twilight, where through the closed
+shutters stray slanting sunbeams glide like golden streamers onto the
+floor, and form a play-ground for myriads of little dancing particles
+of dust. The tremor which fills her is just to her liking;--she
+crouches down, then stealthily creeps up the stairs as if on the
+lookout for ghosts. When she reaches the gallery she gives a loud
+scream, and when Johannes anxiously asks what ails her, she says she
+only felt she must give vent to her feelings.
+
+She climbs up to a mill-hopper, clambers over the balustrade and slides
+down again on the banisters. Then she disappears in the darkness among
+the machinery, where the huge wheels tower above each other in gigantic
+masses. Johannes lets her do just as she likes; to-day there is no
+danger, to-day everything is at a standstill.
+
+A few seconds later she re-appears. She nestles up to Johannes' side,
+looks about with startled eyes, then pulls from her pocket a small key,
+hanging on a black ribbon. "What is this?" she asks softly.
+
+Johannes throws a rapid glance towards the office door and looks at her
+enquiringly. She nods.
+
+"Put it back," he cries, alarmed.
+
+She balances the key in her hand and gazes longingly at the shining
+metal. "I once saw by chance where he hid it," she whispers.
+
+"Put it back," he says once more.
+
+She knits her brows, then she suggests with a short laugh: "That would
+be something for us to undertake." With that she casts a timorous
+side-glance at his face to try and explore his mood.
+
+His heart beats audibly. In his soul there dawns the presentiment of
+approaching guilt.
+
+"It would remain between us two, you know, Hans," she says coaxingly.
+He closes his eyes. How delightful it would be to have a secret with
+her! "And after all, what is there in it?" she continues. "Why should
+he be so mysterious about it, especially to us two, who are his next of
+kin in the world?"
+
+"That's just why we ought not to deceive him!" he replies.
+
+She stamps her foot on the ground.
+
+"Deceive indeed! It's a shame to use such a nasty expression!" Then she
+says, pouting: "Well, then don't!" and prepares to return the key to
+its hiding-place. But she turns it about in her fingers three or four
+times, and finally remarks, laughing, "Perhaps it isn't the right one
+after all."
+
+She goes up to the door and with a shake of her head compares the
+keyhole and the shape of the key--but,--then, with a sudden jerk, she
+pushes the key into the lock.
+
+"It fits, after all," she says, and looks with apparent disappointment
+back over her shoulder at Johannes, who is standing behind her,
+anxiously watching the movements of her hands.
+
+"Turn it!" she says in jest, and steps back from the door.
+
+A tremor passes through his body. Ah, Eve, thou temptress!
+
+"Turn it and let me put my head in," she laughs, "you needn't look at
+anything yourself."
+
+Then a sudden rage takes hold of him; he lets the key fly back
+with a jerk and pushes the door wide open, so that a bright stream of
+light from the window floods towards them. Trude makes a disappointed
+face. All they see is a plain, business-like room with bare,
+whitewashed wooden walls. In the middle stands a large, roughly painted
+writing-table on which lie samples of grain and ledgers. On one wall
+hangs a bundle of old clothes, and on the opposite one a wooden shelf
+with some blue exercise-books and a few plainly bound volumes upon it.
+Johannes casts a few timid glances around, then steps up to the
+book-shelf and begins turning over the title-pages. What an uncanny
+collection! There are medical works on brain diseases, fractures of the
+skull and the like, philosophical treatises on the heredity of passion,
+a "History of Passion and its Terrible Consequences." "Method for
+Self-Restraint," and Kant's "Art of Overcoming Morbid Feeling by Pure
+Force of Will." There are literary works, too, but they nearly all
+treat of fratricide as their subject. Side by side with such thrilling
+romances as "The Tragic Fate of a Whole Family at Elsterwerda," are
+Schiller's "Bride of Messina," and Leisowitz's "Julius of Tarent." Even
+theology is represented by a number of little tracts on the deadly sins
+and their remission. Besides these, the blue exercise-books contain
+carefully made extracts and dissertations and morbid reflections upon
+things experienced and mused over.
+
+Johannes lets his hands drop. "My poor, poor brother!" he murmurs with
+a deep sigh. Then he feels Trude's hand on his shoulder. She points to
+a tablet hanging above the door, and asks in an anxious whisper: "What
+does that signify?"
+
+In large gold letters these words are there inscribed:
+
+                            Think of Fritz!
+
+Johannes does not answer. He throws himself into a chair, buries his
+face in his hands and weeps bitterly.
+
+Trude trembles in every limb. She calls him by name, puts her arm round
+his neck, tries to remove his hands from his face, and, when all this
+avails nothing, she bursts into tears herself. When he hears her
+sobbing, he raises his head and looks about in a dazed sort of way. His
+gaze rests on the clothes hanging upon the wall, boy's clothes of many
+years ago. He knows them well. His mother used to keep them as relics
+at the bottom of her linen-press, and once showed them to him with the
+words: "These were worn by your little dead brother." Since her death
+the clothes had disappeared. Nor had he ever thought of them again. A
+shudder runs through his frame.
+
+"Come," he says to Trade, who is still crying to herself, and they both
+leave the office. Trade wants to get out of the mill forthwith.
+
+"First take the key back," he says.
+
+Together they descend the stairs leading down to the machinery, and,
+when the key hangs in its old place, they both rush out into the open
+air as if pursued by furies.
+
+
+With this hour their intercourse has lost its old harmlessness. They
+have become participants in guilt. The feeling of guilt rests with
+terrible weight on their youthful souls. They pity each other, for each
+reads the story of his own conscience in the other's silent depression,
+suppressed sighs and ill-concealed absent-mindedness--but neither can
+help the other.
+
+How gladly they would confess their fault to Martin.--But it would not
+do to go to him together and say, "Forgive us--we have sinned"--it
+would really look too theatrical--and if one of them takes the
+confession upon himself, he gains no mean advantage over the other.
+They are both equally closely connected with Martin and whoever is the
+first to break silence must perforce appear to him as the more upright
+and less guilty one. Besides, they have vowed absolute secrecy to each
+other and feel all the less inclined to break their word, as they are
+afraid to converse openly on the subject.
+
+Thus more and more a sort of clandestine understanding is nurtured
+between them; every harmless word spoken at table has for them a
+special, deep significance; every look they exchange becomes an emblem
+of secret agreement.
+
+Martin notices nothing of all this; only now and again it strikes him
+that "his two children" have lost a good deal of their old cheerfulness
+and that they no longer sing so merrily. He makes no remark, however,
+for he thinks they may have quarreled and are still sulking with one
+another.
+
+
+The following week, when Martin has once again shut himself up in his
+office, Trude takes heart and says: "I say, Hans, it is nonsense for us
+to fret ourselves. We will let the stupid affair rest."
+
+He makes a melancholy face and says: "If only it were possible!"
+
+She bursts out laughing and he laughs with her; it is "possible," of
+course, but the love of concealment to which they have pandered will
+not be shaken off. Every foolish joke gains piquancy by the fact that
+Martin "on no account" must get to know about it, and when they are
+whispering with their heads together, they start asunder at the least
+noise as if they were planning conspiracy.
+
+As yet no word has been spoken, no look exchanged, hardly a thought
+awakened which need shun the light, but the bloom of innocence has been
+swept off their souls. In this wise the feast of St. John has come
+round.
+
+The wind blows sultry. The earth lies as if intoxicated--buried beneath
+blossoms, reveling in a superabundance of fragrance. The jasmine and
+guelder-rose bushes appear as though covered with white foam; the
+spring roses open their chalices, and the limes are putting forth their
+buds already.
+
+Trude sits on the veranda, has let her work drop into her lap and is
+a-dreaming. The fragrance of the flowers and the sun's hot glow have
+confused her senses, but she heeds not that. The flowers' fragrance and
+the sun's hot breath, she would love to drain all the flower-cups--if
+only they contained something to drink.
+
+In the mill they have ceased working earlier than usual, for the
+apprentices want to go to the village to the midsummer night's fete.
+There is to be dancing and firing of tar-barrels and everyone will
+enjoy himself to the best of his ability.
+
+Trude sighs. Ah, for a chance of going there too! Martin may stay at
+home, but Johannes, Johannes of course would have to accompany her
+there. There he stands at the entrance and nods across at her. Then he
+throws himself down on the bench opposite--he is tired and hot. He has
+been working hard.
+
+A few minutes later he jumps up again. "I can't stay here," he says.
+"It is suffocatingly hot."
+
+"Where else do you want to go?"
+
+"Down to the weir. Will you come too?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+And she throws down her work and takes his arm.
+
+"They are going to dance down in the village to-day," says she.
+
+"I suppose that's where you would like to go too, you puss?"
+
+She wrings her hands and groans, so as to give the most drastic
+expression to her longing.
+
+"But I cannot have my way; For at home I've got to stay," he hums.
+
+"It's a regular shame," she grumbles, "that I have never yet in my
+life danced with you.--And I should like to immensely, for you dance
+well--very well!"
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"What a question!" she says with feigned indignation. "Think of that
+rifle fete three years ago. All the girls told wonders of how well you
+held them during the dance--not too loose and not too tight;--and that
+you were tall and good-looking I could see for myself--but what good
+was all that to me? You overlooked me as utterly as if I were nothing
+but empty air."
+
+"How old were you at that time?"
+
+She hesitates a little, then says dejectedly: "Fourteen and a half."
+
+"Well, that's the explanation," he laughs. "But I was then already tall
+and--and--full grown," she answers eagerly. "It wouldn't have hurt you
+to have whirled me round the room a few times."
+
+"Well, we can make up for it in a fortnight at the rifle fete."
+
+"Yes, can we?" she asks with beaming eyes.
+
+"Martin is one of the patrons of the shooters' company. That is in
+itself a reason for his being present."
+
+Trude gives vent loudly to her delight; then in sudden perplexity she
+says: "But I have no dancing shoes."
+
+"Have some made for yourself."
+
+"Oh, our village cobbler is such a clumsy worker."
+
+"Then I will order you a pair from town. You need only give me your
+measure."
+
+"Will you really? Oh, you dear, darling Hans!" And then she suddenly
+withdraws her arm, runs forward a few steps, calls out "catch me," and
+whisks away. Johannes starts in pursuit,--but he is tired--he cannot
+overtake her. Across the drawbridge of the weir the chase proceeds
+across on to the vast grass plain, stretching as far as the distant
+pine wood. Trude dodges him cleverly,--runs past him--and before he can
+follow, she is once more on this side of the river. Breathlessly she
+makes a dash for the chain by which the drawbridge is regulated; from
+on shore--she tears at it with all her might; the wood-work moves
+creaking on its hinges--and jerks upwards--at the very moment when
+Johannes springs on to the foot-plank. He staggers, he cries out,--and
+clutching hold of the main beam, he manages by sheer force to stem its
+movement just as the gap is opening. Trude has turned as white as a
+sheet, she stares speechlessly at him, as, gasping for breath, he gazes
+down into the dark abyss.
+
+"I didn't--think of that, Hans," she stammers with a look which very
+eloquently pleads forgiveness.
+
+He laughs out loud. A wild, devil-may-care feeling of happiness has
+come over him.
+
+"Oh you--you!" he cries, opening out his arms. "I shall have you yet."
+And with a fool-hardy leap he jumps on to the narrow main-beam, which,
+with its two slanting, roof-shaped sides, spans the river.
+
+"Hans--for God's sake--Hans!"
+
+He does not hear--beneath him is the foaming abyss--he has hard work to
+keep his balance--he moves forward--he trembles he sways--three
+more--two more steps only one more daring leap--he is over.
+
+"Now run!" he cries, with a wild shout of glee.
+
+But Trude does not stir. She stares in his direction, paralyzed with
+terror. Like a tiger he springs towards her--he encircles her with
+his arms--he presses her to him--she closes her eyes and breathes
+heavily--then he bends down and lays his hot and thirsting lips upon
+hers. She gives a loud moan--her body trembles feverishly in his
+embrace. Then he lets her glide down--his affrighted gaze travels
+around--has no one seen it? "No, no one!" And what if they have? May
+Martin's brother not kiss Martin's wife? Did not he himself once
+require it of him?
+
+She opens her eyes as though awakening from a deep dream. Her eyes
+avoid his.
+
+"That was not nice of you, Hans," she says softly, "you must never do
+that to me again!"
+
+He does not answer and stoops to pick up the rose which has fallen from
+her bosom.
+
+"Let me go home," she says, casting a frightened look around.
+
+They walk along side by side for a while in silence; she gazes into
+space; he smells the rose he has found.
+
+"Do you like roses?" he continues. She looks at him. "As if you did not
+know that," her look says.
+
+"By the bye," he goes on gaily, "why do you no longer put flowers at my
+bed-side now?"
+
+"He has forbidden me," she stammers.
+
+"That alters the case," he replies, crestfallen. Then their
+conversation comes to a standstill altogether.
+
+On the veranda Martin receives them with a good-natured scolding. He
+declares he is ravenously hungry, and supper is not yet served.
+
+Trude hurries to the kitchen to give a helping hand herself.... The
+meal is consumed in silence. The two do not raise their eyes from their
+plates. An atmosphere of unbearable sultriness oppresses the earth. The
+hot wind whirls up small dust clouds and bluish grey veils of mist
+settle down slowly.
+
+Johannes leans his head against the glass of the veranda window, but
+that is as hot as if it had been all day in a fiery furnace. Then Trude
+suddenly jumps up.
+
+"Where are you going to?" asks Martin.
+
+"Into the garden," she replies.
+
+After a while they hear her mounting the stairs that lead to the turret
+room. When she comes out again she gives Johannes a quick, timid look,
+then takes her seat with downcast eyes.
+
+From the village green come sounds of merry-making and screams of
+enjoyment, mingled with the squeak of the fiddle and the drone of the
+double-bass.
+
+"I suppose you'd like to go there, children?" They are both silent and
+he takes their silence for consent. "Well, then come along," he says,
+getting up. Trude stretches out her arms in silent anguish, looks
+across wistfully at Johannes, then with a shake of her head she says,
+"Don't care about it!"
+
+"Why, what's up?" cried Martin, quite taken aback. "Since when do you
+get out of the way of dance music? I suppose you two have been
+squabbling again, eh?"
+
+Johannes laughs curtly and Trude turns away. Suddenly she gets up, says
+laconically, "Good-night," and disappears.
+
+A little later the brothers, too, part company.
+
+With heavy limbs Johannes mounts the stairs--he opens the door of his
+room--an intoxicating fragrance of flowers wells towards him. He draws
+a deep breath and utters a sigh of satisfaction. Then this was the
+reason for going at such a late hour into the garden! By the side of
+his pillow stands a huge bunch of rose and jasmine. He drops into bed
+as if he would like to bury himself beneath this mass of blossoms. For
+a while he lies a-dreaming quietly to himself, but his breathing
+becomes more and more labored, his senses grow dim,--at every pulsation
+a poignant pain darts through his temples,--he feels as though he must
+succumb beneath this overpowering fragrance.
+
+Exerting all his force of will, he pulls himself up and pushes open a
+window. But even this brings no calm, no relief. A very chaos of
+fragrance wafts up to him from the garden--the wind breathes hotly upon
+him, lukewarm, tingling drops of rain beat upon his face. Down in the
+village the fires from the tar-barrels shoot fitfully through the
+nebulous clouds of mist veiling the distance.
+
+Johannes looks down. He is waiting. His heart is beating audibly. His
+longing appears to him almighty--he will force that window below to
+open and ... hark! Softly the latch is pushed back, one sash is thrown
+open, and there, leaning far out, framed by waving unbound tresses,
+Trude's face appears, straining upwards to him with mute yearning.
+
+One moment--then it has vanished. He knows not--shall he exult, or
+shall he weep?--Now he may sink into sweet unconsciousness--What can
+the fragrance harm him now?
+
+He undresses and goes to bed; but before he drops to sleep he once more
+raises himself up, gropes with a trembling hand for the vase, and
+buries his face in the flowers.
+
+How like it all is to that first evening, and yet how different! Then
+he was peaceful and happy; now ...
+
+A suddenly awakened memory makes him start; his fingers clutch the
+handle of the vase more tightly--he listens and listens--he feels as if
+that merry laugh which then so softly sounded through the floor, must
+at this moment again greet his ears--he listens with increasing fear
+till his whole brain is humming and buzzing--an ugly feeling of hatred
+and jealousy suddenly uprises within him; and, bursting into a wild
+laugh, he hurls the vase far away into the middle of the room, where it
+shatters with a crash.
+
+Next morning Johannes is ashamed of himself. It all seems as if it had
+been a bad dream. He collects the fragments of the vase, fits them
+together and resolves to get some cement from the chemist and mend it.
+Much as he considers the matter, he cannot explain the feeling which
+prompted him to this act of apparent school-boy folly; he only knows
+that it was something wicked and loathsome.
+
+He presses his brother's hand more heartily than at other times and
+gazes silently into his eyes as if to plead forgiveness for some grave
+crime.
+
+Trude looks pale and as if she had not slept. Her eyes avoid his, and
+the cup of coffee which she hands him rattles in her trembling hand.
+
+As he can find no better subject, he begins to talk about the dancing
+shoes, wishing at the same time to sound Martin. He is quite agreeable.
+Trude is to have her measure taken at once and when she objects to
+taking off her shoes in Johannes' presence, he angrily calls her an
+"affected little prude," She is offended, begins to cry and leaves the
+room. Then towards evening she bashfully appears with her measure and
+Johannes sends off his letter. The broken vase still weighs heavily on
+his conscience. When he is alone with her he confesses.
+
+"I say, I've done a clumsy thing."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I have smashed a vase."
+
+"Indeed! was that simply clumsiness?"
+
+"What else should it be?"
+
+"I thought you had done it on purpose," she says, with apparent utter
+indifference. He gives no answer, and she quietly nods a few times to
+herself as much as to say, "It seems I was right after all!"
+
+
+The days pass by. Relations between Johannes and Trude are cooler than
+they were. They do not avoid each other, they even talk together, but
+their former happy-go-lucky mode of intercourse is irretrievably lost.
+
+"She is offended because I kissed her," thinks Johannes, but it does
+not strike him that he too has changed his behavior towards her.
+
+"Children, what's up with you?" says Martin one evening grumblingly.
+"Have your throats grown rusty, as you never sing now?"
+
+For a few seconds both are silent, then Trude says, half turning
+towards Johannes, "Will you?" He nods; but as she has not been looking
+at him she thinks she has had no answer and says, turning towards
+Martin, "You see, he doesn't want to!"
+
+"Don't I though!" laughs Johannes.
+
+"Then why can't you say so at once?" she answers with a timid attempt
+at responding to his cheerful tone.
+
+Then she puts herself in position, folds her hands in her lap as she is
+wont to do when singing, and fixes her eyes on the pigeon-house yonder.
+
+"What shall we sing?" she asks.
+
+"Must we part, beloved maid?"--he suggests.
+
+She shakes her head. "Nothing about love," she says rather pointedly,
+"that's all so stupid."
+
+He looks at her astonished and after some deliberation she starts a
+hunting song. He joins in lustily and their voices blend and unite like
+two waves in the ocean. They themselves marvel at such harmony; they
+have never sung so well. But they soon come to an end. The Germans have
+not many folk-songs which are not at the same time love ditties. And
+finally she has to submit.
+
+
+            "Rose-bush and elder-tree,
+            When my love comes to me!"
+
+
+she begins, tacking on a "Jodler." He smiles and looks at her, she
+blushes and turns away.--She has let herself be caught now.
+
+The two voices grow full of wonderful animation, as though their
+hearts' pulsation were throbbing through the notes. They swell
+heavenwards as though impelled by waves of passion, they die down as
+though the bourne of life were stagnant through intensity of hidden
+woe.
+
+            "No words can e'er express my love,
+            In silent longing I adore.
+            Question my eyes, for they will speak;
+            I love thee now and evermore!"
+
+
+Why do their eyes suddenly meet? What occasion is there for them both
+to tremble as though an electric current were passing through their
+bodies?...
+
+
+            "There is never an hour in my sleeping
+            When my thoughts are not waking.
+            Their flight to thee taking,
+            To thank thee for placing forever
+            Thy heart in my keeping!"
+
+
+What intoxicating passion vibrates through the notes!
+
+How the two voices seek each other as if to embrace!
+
+
+            "O'er the mill-stream bends the willow,
+            In the valley lies the snow,
+            Sweetest love, 'tis time we parted,
+            I must leave thee, broken-hearted.
+            Parting, love, is full of woe!"
+
+
+The voices die away in tremulous whispers. It is over--longing and
+hope, the pain of parting and the agony of death, all resounded in
+these treacherous, swelling chords.
+
+Trude's lips twitch as with suppressed weeping, but her eyes glitter,
+and suddenly, standing bolt upright, she begins the old, sad
+miller-song about the golden house that stands "over on yonder hill."
+
+Johannes starts, and his voice falls in tremulously. They sing through
+the first verse and begin the second:
+
+
+            "Down there in yonder valley,
+            The mill-wheel grinds away,
+            'Tis love that it is grinding
+            By night and all the day.
+            The mill-wheel now is broken--"
+
+
+Suddenly--a scream--a fall--Trude has dropped down in front of the
+bench and is sobbing convulsively in the corner with her head pressed
+against the wood-work.
+
+Both brothers jump up--Martin takes her head between both his hands,
+and, quite upset, he stammers disconnected, confused words--but she
+only sobs more violently. He stamps his foot on the ground in despair
+and, turning towards Johannes, who is deathly pale, he cries; "What
+ails the child?"
+
+Then Trude flings both her arms around his neck, raises herself up by
+him and hides her tear-stained face upon his breast, as if seeking
+refuge. He strokes her dishevelled hair caressingly and tries to calm
+her; but he does not understand the art of comforting, poor Martin;
+each one of his half-mumbled words sounds like suppressed scoldings.
+She lets her head sink back towards the wall of foliage, her lips move,
+and, as if she were continuing the song, she murmurs, still half choked
+with sobs:
+
+
+            "The mill-wheel--now--is broken!"
+
+
+"No, my child, it is not broken," his eyes filling with tears, "it
+will not be broken--not _ours_--it will go on turning--as long as we
+live."--
+
+She shakes her head passionately and closes her eyes, as though
+beholding visions.
+
+"And what makes such things enter your head?" he continues. "Has not
+everything turned out better than we thought? Isn't Johannes with us
+too?--Don't we live together in happiness and content?--and work from
+morn till night?--and--and--aren't your people comfortable too? And
+don't we take care that your father has a good income--and"--
+
+He groans and wipes the perspiration from his brow. He can think of
+nothing more--and now appeals to Johannes, who is standing with his
+face turned away and his head resting against the pillar at the
+entrance of the veranda.
+
+"Why will you always sing such sad songs?" he growls at him. "I myself
+got to feel quite--I don't know what--when you began with them--and
+she--she is only a weak woman."
+
+Trude shakes her head as if to say, "Don't scold!" Then she raises
+herself, murmurs, without looking up, a soft "Good-night," and goes
+into the house.
+
+Martin follows her.
+
+Johannes buries his head in his arms and dreams to himself. He sees
+her again as she raises herself to her full height with her eyes all
+a-gleam,--then suddenly sank down as if struck by lightning. Then he
+reproaches himself that he did not hasten to her side sooner, to
+prevent her from falling, for he was nearest to her, and not only as
+regards space!
+
+Not only as regards space! As by a lurid flame--horrible,
+bloody-red--his brain is suddenly illumined! Now he understands what
+feelings inspired him on that midsummer night--why he flung the vase to
+the ground--he makes a movement as if he would shatter it a second
+time!--It is only for one moment--a moment of hellish torture--then the
+flame is suddenly extinguished, there is darkness once more--intense,
+pain-penetrated darkness!--He passes his hand over his brow, as if to
+fire the flame anew, but all remains dark,--and dark and mysterious
+remains to him what he has just experienced. He feels as though he must
+cry out, as if he must confide to the night this unintelligible agony
+in which he is wrestling. He drops on to his knees, on the very same
+spot where Trude sank down, rests his head on the edge of the bench and
+moans softly to himself.
+
+Suddenly a door in the house slams. His brother's steps resound in the
+entrance.
+
+He jumps up and sits down on the bench. Martin's figure, darkly
+outlined, appears on the veranda.
+
+"Brother, brother!" Johannes calls out to him.
+
+"Are you there, my boy?" the latter answers and throws himself with a
+deep sigh on to the bench. "Well, things are nearly all right again
+now--she has cried herself to sleep and now she is lying there quite
+calmly and her breath too comes quietly and regularly. I stood for a
+while at her bedside and looked at her. I am quite at a loss! Her
+child-like mind used to lie before me as clear as a mirror--and now all
+at once--what can it be? However much I think about it, I don't seem to
+get on to the right track. Perhaps she troubles because as yet there is
+no prospect of--of--yes, probably that's it. But I have always kept my
+longing quite to myself--didn't want to hurt her feelings--for of
+course, she can't alter the matter. And really, if one thinks about it,
+she is but a child herself and much too young to fulfil maternal
+duties. Why, one must have patience!" Thus he tries to talk away his
+soul's secret sorrow. Johannes remains silent. His heart is so full, so
+full. He wants to give his brother some proof of his affection and
+knows not how? He too has his own pain which he wants to work off, and,
+grasping Martin's hand, he says from the depths of his soul: "Oh,
+everything, everything will come right again!"
+
+"Of course, why shouldn't it?" Martin stammers in consternation. He
+shakes his head, looks down thoughtfully for a while, then says, with
+an uneasy laugh: "Go to bed, Johannes.--That broken mill-wheel is
+haunting your imagination."
+
+Next day Trude is lying ill in bed. She will see no one--even Martin as
+little as possible. Johannes slinks about unable to settle down to
+anything. Their meals are taken in monotonous silence. The shadows
+close down more and more round the Rockhammer mill.
+
+But the sun breaks forth once more. On the fourth day Trude is half-way
+convalescent again, and Johannes may go into her room for a talk with
+her.
+
+He finds her sitting at the window, with a white dress lying across her
+lap. She is pale and weak yet, but her features are glorified by an
+expression of peaceful melancholy such as convalescents are apt to
+wear.
+
+Smiling, she puts out her hand to Johannes.
+
+"How are you now?" he asks softly.
+
+"Well--as you see," she replies, pointing to the white dress; "my
+thoughts are already occupied with the ball."
+
+"What ball?" he asks, astonished.
+
+"What a bad memory you have!" she says with an attempt at a joke. "Why,
+next Sunday is the rifle-fete."
+
+"Yes, so it is."
+
+"Perhaps you're not even looking forward to dancing with me?"
+
+"Indeed I am!"
+
+"Very much?--Tell me! Very much?"
+
+"Very much!"
+
+A child-like smile of pleasure flits across her pale, delicate face;
+she fingers the laces and frills, with undisguised delight at the
+white, airy texture.
+
+This physical exhaustion seems to have restored to her mind its former,
+child-like harmlessness, and with a certain degree of anxiety she
+begins to enquire about her dancing shoes. She is once more, to all
+appearance, just the same girlishly thoughtless creature who once put
+out her hand with such unconstrained simple-heartedness to bid Johannes
+welcome.
+
+He sits down opposite to her, lets the texture of the ball-dress glide
+through his fingers, and listens to her prattling with a quiet smile.
+
+And everything she tells him is replete with sunshine and the very joy
+of existence. This had been her wedding dress which she had made and
+trimmed herself, for she could do that as well as anybody. She would
+have liked to wear silk, as befitted the bride of the rich miller
+Rockhammer, but she could not scrape together sufficient money, and as
+for letting her intended give her her wedding dress--well, her pride
+would not permit that. To-day she felt almost sorry to undo the seams,
+for how many foolish hopes and dreams were not sewn into them?--But
+what else could she do?--she had got so much stouter since she was a
+married woman.
+
+Then the conversation flies off at a tangent to the approaching
+rifle-fete, touches on her new acquaintances in the village and
+occasionally wanders off to the shoemaker's place in the town; but ever
+and again she comes back to the time of her engagement and tarries over
+the moods and events of those blissful days.
+
+She seems to feel just like a young girl again. The smile that plays so
+dreamily and full of presage about her lips, is like the smile of a
+bride--as if the fete to which she is looking forward were her wedding.
+
+All her thoughts henceforth tend towards the ball. While she is
+entirely recovering, while her eyes grow clear, and the color returns
+to her cheeks, she is meditating by day and by night how she shall
+adorn herself; she is dreaming of the bliss which in those looked-for
+hours is to dawn upon her, as though it were something totally new and
+beyond all comprehension.
+
+Trumpets sound; clarionets shriek; the big drum joins in with its dull,
+droning thud.
+
+Midst clinking and clanking, midst skipping and tripping, the guild
+march along the street in solemn procession. On in front ride two
+heralds on horseback--Franz Maas and Johannes Rockhammer, the two
+Uhlans of the Guard. Nothing would induce them to give up their
+privilege--even did it mean rack and ruin to the guild.
+
+Franz's countenance is beaming, but Johannes looks serious--indifferent
+almost; what does he care about all these people from whom he has
+become estranged? He salutes no one, his gaze rests on none; but he is
+searching, he is mustering the lines of people,--and now, suddenly--his
+features glow with pride and happiness-he bows, he lowers his sword in
+salute:--over there at the street corner, with rosy-red cheeks, with
+beaming eyes, waving her handkerchief, stands she whom he seeks--his
+brother's wife.
+
+She is laughing--she is beckoning--she pulls herself up by the railing,
+she jumps on to the curb-stone--she wants to watch him till he
+disappears in the whirling clouds of dust. With all this she nearly,
+very nearly, forgets Martin, who is walking along close to the banner.
+But then, why does he go marching on so quietly and stiffly, why does
+he stick his head so far into his collar?--Over there in the distance
+Johannes is beckoning just once more with his sword.
+
+The rifle-range, the goal of the procession, is situated close to the
+fir-copse--which, seen from the weir, frames the meadow landscape,--and
+hardly a thousand paces straight across from the Rockhammer mill, which
+seems to beckon from over the alder bushes by the river. If those
+stupid rifle people did not make such a deafening noise one might
+easily hear the rushing of the waters....
+
+"If only this hocus-pocus were already over," observed Johannes,
+and casts a longing look towards the "ball-room," a huge square
+tent-erection, whose canvas roof rises high above the mass of smaller
+stalls and tents grouped around. Not till afternoon, when the "King"
+has been solemnly proclaimed, may the members' friends enter the
+festival ground. The hours pass by; shots resound at intervals along
+the boundary of the wood. At noon comes Johannes' turn. He shoots--at
+random--in spite of the flowers which Trude stuck into his gun.
+"Flowers for luck," she had said, and Martin had stood by and smiled,
+as one smiles at childish play. ... As soon as his duties as a rifleman
+are fulfilled, he turns his back on the ranges and betakes himself into
+the wood, where nothing is to be heard of all the shouting and
+chattering and there is no sound but the echo of the shooting softly
+dying away into the air.... He throws himself down upon the mossy
+ground and stares up at the branches of the fir-trees, whose slender
+needles glisten and gleam in the rays of the midday sun, like brightly
+polished little knives. Then he closes his eyes and dreams. How strange
+the whole world has become to him! And how far removed everything seems
+which he ever lived through before! Not indeed that he has lived
+through much--women and care have played no great part in his life
+hitherto: and yet how rich, how full of glowing color it has always
+appeared to him! Now an abyss has swallowed up everything, and over the
+abyss rose-colored mists are undulating....
+
+Two hours may have elapsed, when he hears distant trumpet blasts
+proclaim the election of a new king. He jumps up. Only half an hour
+more; then Trude will be coming.
+
+At the shooting-stand he learns that the dignity of "king" has been
+allotted to his friend Franz Maas. He hears it as if in a dream; what
+does it concern him? His gaze wanders incessantly towards the highroad,
+where, through the dust and the glaring sun, crowds of gaily dressed
+female figures are approaching on foot and in carriages.
+
+"Are you looking out for Trude?" asks Martin's voice suddenly, close
+behind him.
+
+He looks up startled from his brooding. "Good gracious, boy, what's up
+with you?" asks Martin laughingly. "Have you taken your bad shot so
+much to heart, or are you sleeping in broad daylight?"
+
+Martin has one of his good days to-day. Meeting all these people--he is
+one of the chief dignitaries of the guild--has roused him from his
+usual moodiness,--his eyes glisten and a jovial smile plays about his
+broad mouth. If only he did not look so awkward in his Sunday clothes!
+His hat sits right on his forehead, leaving full play to a bunch of
+bristly hair sticking up curiously over the brim, and below that there
+appear the white tapes of his shirt-front, which have worked out from
+under his coat collar.
+
+"There she comes, there she comes," he suddenly shouts, waving his hat.
+
+The flashing carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid Lithuanian bays, is
+the Rockhammer state coach, which Martin had had built for his wedding.
+Sitting within it--that white figure reclining with such proud dignity
+in one corner, and looking about with such distant seriousness--that is
+she, "the rich mistress of Rockhammer," as the people all round are
+whispering to each other.
+
+"Look--Trude is giving herself airs," says Martin softly, pulling
+Johannes' sleeve.
+
+At the same moment she discovers the brothers, and, throwing her
+affected bearing to the winds, she jumps up in the carriage, waves her
+sunshade in one hand, her kerchief in the other, and laughs and gives
+vent to her delight and prods the coachman with the point of her
+parasol to make him drive faster. Then, when the carriage stops, she
+gives herself no time to wait till the door is opened, but jumps onto
+the splash-board and from there straight into Martin's arms. She is in
+a state of feverish excitement; her breath comes hot; her lips move to
+speak, but her voice fails her.
+
+"Quietly, child, quietly," says Martin, and strokes her hair, which
+to-day falls upon her bare neck in a mass of little ringlets. Johannes
+stands motionless, lost in contemplation of her.
+
+How lovely she is!
+
+The white, gauzy dress floats round her exquisite figure like an airy
+veil! And that white neck!--and those little dimples at her bosom!--and
+those glorious plump arms on which there trembles a light, silvery
+fluff!--and this plastic bust, which rises and falls like a marble
+wave!... She appears unapproachably beautiful, every inch a woman yet
+every inch majesty, for in his innocent mind the ideas "woman" and
+"majesty" are synonymous, and mean for him an indefinable something
+which fills him with bliss and with fear. His eyes are suddenly opened
+and are dazzled as yet with gazing at this regal type of female
+loveliness, beside which he has hitherto walked as one blind. How
+lovely she is! How lovely is woman! And now a torrent of confused
+words streams from her unfettered lips. She had nearly died of
+impatience.--And that stupid big clock,--and her lonely dinner,--and
+those silly dancing shoes which would not fit! They are too tight; they
+pinch frightfully--"but they look lovely, don't they?"
+
+And she lifts up the hem of her skirt a little to show the works of
+art, light blue, high-heeled little shoes, tied across the instep with
+blue silk bows.
+
+"They seem too short!" Martin remarks, with a doubtful shake of his
+head.
+
+"That's just what they _are_," she laughs, "my toes burn as if they were
+on fire! But I shall dance all the better for it--what do _you_ say,
+Johannes?" And she closes her eyes for a moment as though to recall
+vanished dreams. Then she hooks her arm in Martin's, and asks to be
+taken to her tent. The most notable families of the district have
+provided themselves with private dwellings--light huts or canvas tents
+which afford them night shelter, for the fete commonly drags on till
+early day. Trude had been herself the day before on the festival ground
+to superintend the erection of her tent; she had also had furniture
+brought in and wreathed the entrance gaily with leafy garlands. She may
+well be proud of her handiwork, for the Rockhammer tent is the finest
+of the whole collection.
+
+While Martin seeks to wedge his way through the crowd, she turns to
+Johannes and says quickly and softly:
+
+"Are you satisfied, Hans? Am I to your liking?"
+
+He nods.
+
+"Very much. Tell me--very much?"
+
+"Very much."
+
+She draws a deep breath, then laughs to herself in silent satisfaction.
+
+The miller's lovely wife makes a sensation among the crowd. The strange
+farmers and land-proprietors stand and stare at her--the burghers'
+wives secretly nudge each other with their elbows; the young fellows
+from the village awkwardly pull off their hats; a whispering and
+murmuring passes through the throng wherever she appears. With serious
+mien and affecting a certain dignity, she walks along, leaning on
+Martin's arm, from time to time shaking back the curls which wave over
+her shoulders,--and when, in so doing, she throws back her head, she
+looks like a queen, or rather like a spirited child which is playing
+the part of a queen in a fairy tale, and hardly feels comfortable in
+the role.
+
+When an hour later the first notes of the fiddles are heard, she calls
+out with a cry of delight! "Hans, now I belong to you."
+
+Martin warns her to beware of cold and other evils, but in the midst of
+his speeches they are off and away. Then he resigns himself, pours
+himself out a good glass of Hungarian wine, and stretches himself on
+the sofa to take some rest.
+
+All sorts of pleasant thoughts flit through his head. Hasn't everything
+arranged itself happily and satisfactorily since Johannes came to live
+at the mill? Have not even his own bad hours of tragic presentiment and
+haunting terror become less and less frequent? Is he not visibly
+reviving, infected by the harmless merriment of those two? Is
+not this very day the best proof that his antipathy to strange
+people has disappeared, that he has learnt to be merry when others are
+merry-making?--And Trude--how happy she is at his side!--That evening
+certainly!--Well, what of that! Women are frail creatures, subject to a
+thousand varying moods! And how quickly things have come right again!
+The words which Johannes spoke to him that night, come back to him; he
+clinks his full glass against the two empty ones which the youngsters
+have left behind them: "Good luck to you both! May our happy triple
+alliance continue to our lives' end!"--Meanwhile Trude and Johannes
+have squeezed themselves through the closely packed crowd, as far as
+the entrance to the dancing-room. Sounding waves of music swell towards
+them; like a hot human breath the air from within is wafted in their
+direction. In the semi-obscurity of the tent the couples are whirling
+along in one dense crowd, and flit past them like shadowy forms.
+
+Johnannes walks as one a-dreaming. He hardly dares to let his gaze rest
+upon Trude; for even yet that mysterious awe has complete possession of
+him and seems to bind him round with iron fetters.
+
+"You are so quiet to-day, Hans," she whispers, nestling with her face
+against his sleeve. He is silent.
+
+"Have I done anything to displease you!"
+
+"Nothing--no indeed!" he stammers.
+
+"Then come, let us dance!"
+
+At the moment when he lays his hand upon her she gives a start; then
+with a deep sigh she lets herself sink into his arms. And now they are
+whirling along. She leans her face with a deep-drawn breath upon his
+breast. Just in front of her left eye there flutters the rosette which
+he wears to-day as a member of the rifle-guild; the white silk ribbon
+trembles close to her eyelashes. She moves her head a little to one
+side and looks up at him.
+
+"Do you know how I feel?" she murmurs.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"As if you were carrying me through the clouds."
+
+And then, when they have to stop, she says: "Come out quickly, so that
+I need not dance with anyone else!"
+
+She clutches hold of his hand, while he makes a passage for her through
+the crowd of people. Outside, she takes his arm, and walks at his side
+proudly and happily with glowing cheeks and dancing eyes. She laughs,
+she chatters, she jests, and he keeps pace with her to the best of his
+ability.--In the heat of the dance his bashfulness has entirely melted
+away. A wild gladness fires his veins. To-day she is his with every
+thought and feeling, his only, as he can feel by the trembling of her
+arm, which rests upon his more firmly with secret, sweet pressure; he
+can see it in the most gleaming glamour of her eyes as she raises them
+to his.
+
+After a time she asks, somewhat reluctantly: "I say, mustn't we have a
+look what Martin is doing?"
+
+"Yes, you are right," he replies eagerly. But nothing comes of this
+good resolution. Every time they happen to pass the tent something
+remarkable is sure to be taking place in the opposite direction, which
+gives them an opportunity of forgetting their intention.
+
+Then all of a sudden, Martin himself comes towards them, beaming with
+pleasure and surrounded by a number of village inhabitants whom he is
+taking along with him to stand them treat. "Hallo, children!" he says,
+"I am just going to remove my general headquarters to the 'Crown'
+Innkeeper's booth; if you want a drink, come along with me."
+
+Trude and Johannes exchange a rapid glance of understanding and
+simultaneously beg to be excused.
+
+"Good-bye then, children, and enjoy yourselves thoroughly!" With that
+he goes off.
+
+"I have never seen him in such good spirits," remarks Trude, laughing.
+"Indeed, no one could grudge them to him," says Johannes in a gentle
+voice, looking affectionately after his brother. He wants to kill the
+gnawing which has awakened within him at sight of Martin.
+
+
+Evening has come on. The festive crowd is bathed in purple light. The
+wood and the meadow are ruddy red.
+
+In a lonely nook at the meadow's edge, Trude stops and looks with
+dazzled gaze towards the faintly glowing sun.
+
+"Ah, if only it would not set for us today!" she cries, stretching
+forth her arms.
+
+"Well, command it not to!" says Johannes.
+
+"Sun, I command thee to stay with us!"
+
+And as the red ball sinks lower and lower, she suddenly shivers and
+says: "Do you know what idea just came into my head? That we should
+never see it rise again!" Then she laughs aloud. "I know it is all
+nonsense! Come and dance."
+
+And they return to the dancing-tent. A new dance has just commenced.
+Fired by longing, entranced by contemplation of each other, they whirl
+along and disappear in a dark little corner near the musicians'
+platform, which they have chosen in order to avoid the searching gaze
+of the other dancers, who are all dying to make the acquaintance of the
+miller's lovely wife.
+
+Trude's hair has loosed itself and is fluttering about unbound; in her
+eyes is a faint glow, as of intoxication: her whole being seems
+pervaded by the ecstasy of the moment.
+
+"If only my foot did not burn like very hell-fire," she says once as
+Johannes takes her back to her place.
+
+"Then rest awhile."
+
+She laughs aloud, and when at the same moment Franz Maas comes to claim
+the dance of honor in his capacity of "rifle-king," she throws herself
+into his arms and whirls away.
+
+Johannes puts his hand to his burning brow, and looks after the couple,
+but the lights and the figures melt away before his eyes into one
+heaving chaos: everything seems to be turning round and round--he
+staggers--he has to clutch hold of a pillar to prevent himself from
+falling; and when at that moment Franz Maas returns with Trude, he begs
+him to take charge of his sister-in-law for half an hour; he must go
+out for a whiff of fresh air.
+
+He steps out of the hot, close tent, in which two candelabra filled
+with tallow candles diffuse an unbearable smoke--out into the clear,
+cool night. But here too are noise and fiddling! In the shooting booths
+the bolts of the air-guns are rattling, from the gaming tables comes
+the hoarse screaming of their owners, trying to allure people, and the
+merry-go-round spins along in the darkness, laden with all its
+glittering tawdriness and accompanied by shouting and clanging.
+
+In between everything sways the black, surging crowd.
+
+Behind the crests of the pine wood, which silently and gloomily towers
+above all the tumult, the sky is all aflame with glorious yellow light.
+Half an hour more and the moon will be pouring its smiling beams over
+the scene. Johannes walks along slowly between the tents.--In front of
+the "Crown" host's booth he stops and looks in through the window. But
+when he sees Martin sitting with a deeply flushed face amidst a swarm
+of rollicking carousers, he creeps back into the darkness, as if he
+were afraid to meet him.
+
+From the adjacent tent comes the sound of noisy singing. He hesitates
+for a moment, then enters, for his tongue cleaves to the roof of
+his mouth. He is received with a loud shout of delight. At a long
+beer-bedabbled table sits a host of his former schoolfellows, rowdy
+fellows, some of them, whom as a rule he seeks to avoid. They surround
+him; they drink to him; they press him to join their circle. "Why do
+you make yourself so scarce, Johannes?" one of them screams from the
+opposite end of the table, "and where do you stick of an evening?"
+
+"He dangles at the apron-strings of his lovely sister-in-law," sneers
+another. "Leave my sister-in-law out of the game," cries Johannes with
+knitted brows. These proceedings sicken him; this hoarse screaming
+offends his ear; these coarse jests hurt him. He pours down a few
+glasses of cool beer and goes outside, with great difficulty succeeding
+in shaking off the importunate fellows.
+
+He saunters toward the boundary of the wood and stares into its
+obscurity, already beginning to be animated by pale lunar reflections;
+then he proceeds for some distance beneath the trees, deeply inhaling
+the soft, aromatic fragrance of the pines. He is determined that by
+main force he will master this mysterious intoxication which seems to
+fever his whole being; but the further he betakes himself away from the
+festival ground the more does his unrest increase. Just as he is about
+to enter the dancing-room he sees Franz Maas hurrying towards him in
+breathless excitement. A vague presentiment of disaster dawns within
+him.
+
+"What has happened?" he calls out to him.
+
+"It's a good thing I've found you. Your sister-in-law has been taken
+ill."
+
+"For heaven's sake! Where have you taken her?"
+
+"Martin led her to your tent."
+
+"How did it happen? How did it happen?"
+
+"Some time before, I noticed that she had become pale and quiet, and
+when I asked her what was the matter, she said her foot hurt her. But
+in spite of that she would not sit still, and, while I was dancing with
+her, she suddenly broke down in the middle of the room."
+
+"And then? What then?"
+
+"I raised her up and drew her as quickly as possible to her chair,
+while I sent some one off to fetch Martin."
+
+"Why didn't you send for me, man?"
+
+"Firstly I didn't know where you were, and then, of course, it was the
+proper thing to send word first to her husband."
+
+Johannes breaks into a shrill laugh. "Very proper, but what then?"
+
+"She opened her eyes even before Martin arrived. The first thing she
+did was to send away the women who were crowding round her! then she
+whispered to me, 'Don't tell him that I fainted;' and then when he came
+hurrying in, looking quite pale, she went to meet him apparently quite
+cheerfully and said, 'My shoe hurts me; it is nothing else.'"
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Then he took her outside. But I just happened to see how she burst out
+sobbing and hid her face on his shoulder. Then I thought to myself,
+'God knows what else may be hurting her.'" Johannes hears no further.
+Without a word of thanks to his friend he rushes off.
+
+The canvas which covers the entrance to the Rockhammer tent is let down
+low. Johannes listens for a moment. Soft weeping mingled with Martin's
+soothing voice is audible from the interior, he tries to tear the
+curtain open, but it does not give way; it is evidently fastened down
+with a peg, "Who is there?" calls Martin's voice from the other side.
+
+"I--Johannes!"
+
+"Stay outside."
+
+Johannes winces. This "stay outside" has given him a very stab at his
+heart. When there is a chance of being at her side to help her in her
+trouble,--of giving her peace and comfort, he is to "stay outside." He
+grates his teeth and stares with hungry eyes at the curtain, through
+the apertures of which a faint red gleam pierces.
+
+"Johannes!" Martin's voice is heard anew.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Go and see if our carriage is here."
+
+He does as he is bid. He is just good enough to go errands! He inspects
+the rows of conveyances, and, when he does not find what he is seeking,
+he returns to the tent.
+
+Now the curtain is drawn aside. There she stands--a little transparent
+shawl about her shoulders, looking pale and so beautiful.
+
+"Just as I expected," says Martin, when he reports to him--"the
+carriage wasn't ordered till daybreak."
+
+"But what now? Does Trude want to go?" he asks anxiously.
+
+"Trude must!" says she, giving him a look out of her tear-stained eyes,
+which are already trying to smile again.
+
+"Resign yourself to it, my child," answers Martin, stroking her hair.
+"If it were only the foot, it would not matter. But your crying just
+now--all this excitement--I think your illness is still hanging about
+you and rest will do you good. If only it did not take so long to fetch
+the carriage! I believe it would be best if you could walk the short
+distance across the fields--of course, only if you have no more pain.
+Can you manage it?"
+
+Trude gives Johannes a look; then nods eagerly.
+
+"The air is warm, the grass is dry," Martin continues, "and Johannes
+can accompany you."
+
+Trude gives a start, and he feels his blood mount in a hot wave to his
+head. His eyes seek hers, but she avoids his glance.
+
+"You can easily be here again in half an hour, my dear boy," says
+Martin, who takes Johannes' silence to mean vexation. He shakes his
+head, and declares, with a look at Trude, that he too has had enough of
+it now.
+
+"Well then, good speed to you, children," says Martin, "and, when I
+have disbanded my party, I will follow!"
+
+Johannes sends a look into the distance; the plain which lies before
+him, swathed in silver veils of moonlight, appears to him like an abyss
+over which mists are brewing; he feels as if the arm which is just
+being pushed so gently and caressingly through his were dragging him
+down--down into the deepest depths.
+
+"Good-night," he murmurs, half turned away from his brother.
+
+"Aren't you even going to shake hands?" asked Martin, with playful
+reproach, and, when Johannes hesitatingly extends his right hand, he
+gives it a hearty shake. What pain such a shake of the hand can
+inflict!
+
+
+The din of the fete more and more dies away into the distance. The
+many-voiced tumult becomes a dull roaring in which only the shrill
+tinkle of the merry-go-round is distinguishable, and when the
+dance-music, which has been silent so long, commences anew, it drowns
+everything else with its piercing trumpet-blasts.
+
+But even that grows more and more indistinct, and the big drum alone,
+which hitherto has played only a modest part, now gains ascendancy over
+the other instruments, for its dull, droning beat travels furthest into
+the distance. Silently they walk beside each other--neither ventures to
+address the other. Trude's arm trembles in his; her eyes rest upon the
+mists which rise up in the greenish light from the meadows.
+
+She steps along bravely, though she limps a little and from time to
+time gives vent to a low moan.
+
+They have perhaps been walking for about five minutes when she turns
+around and points with outstretched hand towards the twinkling lights
+of the festival ground, that glisten against the black back-ground of
+the pine-wood. The merry-go-round is spinning its glittering hoop
+round, and the canvas partition of the dancing-room sparkles like a
+curtain of woven flames.
+
+"Look, how lovely!" she whispers timidly.
+
+He nods.
+
+"Johannes!"
+
+"What is it, Trade?"
+
+"Don't be cross with me!"
+
+"Why--should I?"
+
+"Why did you go away from the dancing?"
+
+"Because it was too hot for me in the room."
+
+"Not because I danced with some one else?"
+
+"Oh! dear no!"
+
+"You know, Hans, I suddenly felt so lonely and forsaken that it was all
+I could do to keep from crying. He might have said he didn't want me to
+dance with anyone else, I said to myself--for whom else did I go to the
+fete but for him? For whom did I adorn myself but for him? And my foot
+hurt me a thousand times worse than before; and then suddenly--well,
+you know yourself what happened."
+
+He sets his teeth; his arms twitch, as if he must press her to him. Her
+head leans softly against his shoulder; her shining eyes beam up at
+him--when suddenly she gives a loud cry: her injured foot which she can
+only just drag along the ground, has hit against a pointed stone. She
+tries to keep up, but her arm slips away from his, and overcome by
+pain, she lets herself drop on to the grass.
+
+"Just for a moment I should like to lie here," she says, and wipes the
+cold perspiration from her brow; then she throws herself down on her
+face and lies there for a while motionless. He grows frightened when he
+sees her thus. "Come on," he exhorts her, "you will catch cold here."
+
+She stretches out her right hand to him with her face turned away and
+says, "Help me up," but when she attempts to walk, she breaks down once
+more. "You see, it won't do," she says with a faint smile.
+
+"Then I will carry you," he cries, opening out his arms wide.
+
+A sound, half of pain, half of joy, escapes her lips; next moment her
+body lies upraised in his arms. She sighs deeply, and, closing her
+eyes, leans her head against his cheek--her bosom heaves upon his
+breast; her waving hair ripples over his neck; her warming breath
+caresses his glowing countenance. More firmly does he press her
+trembling body to him. Away, away further, ever further away, even
+though his strength fail! Away, to the ends of the earth! His breath
+becomes labored, acute pains dart through his side, before his eyes
+there floats a red mist--he feels as though he were about to drop down
+and give up his ghost--but he must go on--further, further.--
+
+Over there the river beckons; the weir's hollow roaring comes through
+the silent night; the splashing drops of water sparkle in the
+moonbeams.
+
+She lets her head fall back upon his arm; a melancholy yet blissful
+smile plays about her half-opened lips; and now she opens her eyes, in
+whose somber depths the reflection of the moon is floating.
+
+"Where are we?" she murmurs.
+
+"At the river's edge," he gasps.
+
+"Put me down."
+
+"I must--I cannot."
+
+Close to the water's edge he lays her down; then he stretches himself
+full length on the grass, and presses his hand to his heart and
+struggles for breath. His temples are throbbing, he is in a fair way to
+lose consciousness; but, pulling himself together with an effort, he
+bends his body towards the river, ladles out a handful of water and
+bathes his forehead with it.
+
+That restores him to consciousness. He turns to Trude. She has buried
+her face in her hands and is moaning softly to herself.
+
+"Does it hurt very much?" he asks.
+
+"It burns!"
+
+"Dip your foot in the water. That will cool it."
+
+She drops her hands and looks at him in surprise.
+
+"It has done me good," he says, pointing to his forehead, from which
+single drops of water are still trickling down. Then she bends forward
+and tries to pull off her shoe, but her hand trembles, and she grows
+faint with the effort. "Let me help you," he says. One pull--her shoe
+flies to one side; her stocking follows, and, pushing herself forward
+to the very edge of the bank, she dips her bare foot up to the ankle in
+the cooling stream.
+
+"Oh, how refreshing it is!" she murmurs with a deep breath; then,
+turning to right and to left, she seeks a support for her body.
+
+"Lean against me," he says. Then she lets her head drop upon his
+shoulder. His arm twitches, but he does not dare to twine it round her
+waist; he hardly dares to move. His breath comes heavily; his eyes
+stare on to the stream, through the crystal waters of which Trude's
+white foot gleams like a mother-o'-pearl shell resting in its depths.
+
+They sit there in silence. Just in front of them, at the weir, the
+water's rush and roar. The spray forms a silver bridge from bank to
+bank, and the waves break at their feet. From time to time the soft
+night-breeze wafts hushed music towards them, and the monotonous
+droning of the big drum comes to them mingled with the dull note of the
+bittern.
+
+Suddenly a shudder passes through her frame.
+
+"What is the matter with you?"
+
+"I am shivering."
+
+"Take your foot out of the water at once." She does as she is bid, then
+draws from her pocket the dainty little cambric handkerchief which she
+had for the ball. "That is no good," he says, and with a trembling hand
+pulls out his own coarser handkerchief. "Let me dry you!" Silently,
+with a dumb, pleading look, she submits, and when he feels the soft,
+cool foot between his hands, everything seems to whirl before him; a
+sort of fiery madness comes over him, and, bending down to the ground,
+he presses his fevered brow upon it.
+
+"What are you doing?" she cries out.
+
+He starts up. In wild ecstasy their eyes meet--one wild, exuberant cry,
+and they lie in each other's arms. His kisses burn hot upon her lips.
+She laughs and cries and takes his head between her hands and strokes
+his hair and leans her cheek against his cheek and kisses his forehead
+and both his eyes.
+
+"Oh, my darling, my darling! How I love you!"
+
+"Are you my very own?"
+
+"Yes, yes!"
+
+"Shall you always love me?"
+
+"Always! Always! And you--you will never again leave me alone like
+to-day so that Martin--"
+
+Abruptly she stops short. Silence weighs upon them! What terrible
+silence! The big drum drones in the distance. The waters roar.
+
+Two deathly pale faces gaze at each other.
+
+And now she screams aloud. "Oh Lord, my God!" is the cry which resounds
+through the night.
+
+Loudly moaning, he covers his face with his hands. Tearless sobs
+shake his frame. Before his eyes everything is aflame--aflame with a
+blood-red light as if the whole world were set on fire. Now it is all
+suddenly made clear as day to him! What dawned mysteriously within him
+in yonder midsummer night, what flashed like lightning through his
+brain on that evening when Trude broke down sobbing in the middle of
+her song--all now arises before him like a glowing ball of fire. Every
+flame speaks of hate; every ray flashes with torturing jealousy through
+his soul, every gleam pierces his heart with fear and guilty
+consciousness.
+
+Trude has thrown herself face downwards upon the ground, and is
+weeping--weeping bitterly.
+
+With bowed head and folded hands he gazes upon her fair form, lying
+before him in an agony of woe.
+
+"Come home," he says tonelessly. She lifts her head and plants her arms
+firmly upon the ground; but when he attempts to help her up, she
+screams out: "Do not touch me!" Twice, thrice, she endeavors to stand
+upright, but again and again she breaks down. Then without a word she
+stretches forth her arms, and suffers herself to be drawn up by him. In
+silence he guides her feeble steps to the mill. Her tears are dried up.
+The rigidness of despair has settled upon her deathly pale features.
+She keeps her face averted and resistingly allows him to drag her
+along. Before the threshold of the veranda she loosens her arm from
+his, and, with what little strength is left to her, she darts away from
+him towards the house-door. Her figure disappears among the dark
+foliage.
+
+The knocker gives forth its dull beats. Once--twice, then shuffling
+footsteps become audible in the entrancehall; the key is turned; a dark
+yellow ray of light beams out into the moonlight night.
+
+"For heaven's sake, madam, how pale you look!" the maid ejaculates in a
+terrified voice.... The door closes with a bang.
+
+For a long time Johannes keeps on staring at the place where she has
+disappeared.--A cold shiver which runs through him from head to foot
+rouses him at length. Absentmindedly he slinks across the moonlit
+yard,--strokes the dogs that with joyous barking drag at their
+chains,--casts an indifferent glance towards the motionless mill-wheel,
+beneath the shadows of which the waters glide along like glittering
+snakes. Some indefinable impulse drives him forward and away. The
+ground of the mill-yard burns beneath his feet. He wanders across the
+meadows, back to the weir--to the spot where he was sitting with Trude.
+On the grass there gleams her blue silk shoe, and not far from it lies
+her long, fine stocking. So she must have limped home with her bare
+foot and probably is not even conscious of the fact! He breaks into a
+shrill laugh, takes up both and flings them far into the foaming
+waters.
+
+Whither shall he turn now? The mill has closed its portals upon him
+forevermore. Whither can he go now? Shall he lay himself down to rest
+under some haystack? He cannot sleep even if he does. Stay! He knows of
+a jolly set of fellows--though he despised them a little while ago,
+they will just suit him now.
+
+When, at two o'clock in the morning, Martin Rockhammer has shaken
+himself free of his drinking companions and is stepping, in the
+happiest of moods, out on to the festival ground, when the bluish-gray
+light of dawning day is beginning to illumine the doings of these
+night-birds, he is met by a band of drunken louts, who, singing obscene
+songs, break in single file through the ranks of the promenading
+couples. They are headed by the locksmith Garmann, a fellow of bad
+repute who practices poaching by night and in whose train now follow
+other good-for-nothing scamps. Intending to turn them out of the place
+forthwith, Martin steps towards them. But suddenly he stops as if
+turned to stone; his arms drop down at his sides: there in the midst of
+this crew, with glassy eyes and drunken gestures staggers his brother
+Johannes.
+
+"Johannes!" he cries out, horrified.
+
+He starts back; his drink-inflamed face grows ashy pale; a frightened
+gleam flickers in his eyes--he trembles--he stretches forth his arm as
+if to ward him off--and staggers back--two--three paces. Martin feels
+his anger disappear. This picture of misery arouses his pity. He
+follows after Johannes, and, taking him by the arm, he says in loving
+tones: "Come, brother; it is late, let us go home." But Johannes
+shrinks back in horror at the touch of his hand, and fixing his gaze
+upon him in mortal agony, he says in a hoarse voice: "Leave me--I do
+not wish to--I do not wish to have anything more to do with you--I am
+no longer your brother." Martin starts up, clutches with his two hands
+at the slab of the table near him and then drops down upon the nearest
+bench as if felled by the stroke of an axe.
+
+Johannes, however, rushes away. The forest closes in upon him.
+
+
+Henceforth come sad days for the Rockhammer mill.
+
+When Martin reached home on that morning, when he found the whole house
+quiet, as quiet as a mouse, he took the key of the mill from the wall
+and slunk off to that melancholy place which he had built up as the
+temple of his guilt. There his people found him at midday, pale as the
+whitewashed walls, his head bowed upon his hands, muttering to himself
+incessantly: "Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!" The
+phantom, the old terrible phantom, which he had thought was laid for
+evermore, has cast itself upon him anew and is twining its strangling
+claw about his neck.
+
+The men had to drag him almost by force from his den. With weary,
+halting steps he staggered out of the mill. His wife he found crouching
+in a corner, with hollow cheeks and gaunt, terrified eyes. Then he took
+her face between his two hands, looked for a while with stern looks at
+the trembling woman, and once more murmured the mournful refrain:
+"Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!"
+
+When she heard his ominous words, a cold shiver ran through her frame.
+"Does he know? Does he not know? Has Johannes confessed to him! Has he
+found out by chance? Does he perhaps only suspect?" Since that time her
+soul is fretting itself away; her body repines in fear of this man and
+in yearning for that other, whom love of her has driven away. She grows
+pale and thin; her cheeks fade. She steals about like a somnambulist.
+Round her eyes bluish grooves are outlined, and grow broader and
+broader, and about her mouth is graven a tiny wrinkle which keeps on
+twitching and moving like a dancing will-o'-the-wisp.
+
+Martin remarks nothing of all this. His whole being is absorbed in
+sorrow for his lost brother. During the first few days, he has hoped
+from hour to hour for his return--hoped that he was possibly quite
+unconscious of the words he spoke in the madness of intoxication. As
+for him--he would verily be the very last to remind him of them. But
+when day after day passes without any news of Johannes, his fear grows
+more and more terrible, he begins to search for the lost one;--at first
+with little result, for the intercourse between one village and the
+next is very slight. But gradually one report after another reaches the
+mill. To-day he has been seen here, yesterday, there--erring restlessly
+from place to place but always surrounded by a band of merry-makers.
+The people call him "Madcap Hans," and, wherever he appears, the
+public-house is sure to be full--corks fly and glasses clink, and
+sometimes, when things become specially lively, the window-panes clink
+too, for the bottles go flying out through them into the street. Keep
+it up! "Madcap Hans" will pay up for the whole lot. He will stand treat
+to any one he happens to come across, and there are boisterous songs
+and comic anecdotes fit to make one's sides split with laughing. Yes,
+he's a fine bottle-companion, is "Madcap Hans."
+
+Soon, too, various very doubtful personages appear at the door of the
+Rockhammer mill, people with whom one does not like to come into
+contact; such as the corn-usurer. Lob Levi from Beelitzhof, and the
+common butcher Hoffman from Gruenehalde; they present yellow, greasy
+little papers which bear his brother's signature and turn out to be
+promissory notes with such and such interest for so many days.
+
+Martin stares for a long time at the unsteady hand-writing; where the
+strokes are all tumbling over as if drunk, then he goes to his safe
+and, without a word, pays the debts as well as the usurious interest.
+How gladly he would give the half of his fortune, could he buy his
+brother's return therewith!
+
+At length he has the horses put to the carriage and himself sets out in
+quest. He drives miles away; he is about whole nights through, but
+never does he succeed in getting hold of his brother. The information
+he receives from the inn-keepers is scanty and confused--some answer
+him with awkward prevarication, others with sly attempts at
+concealment--they all seem to guess that their rich profits will go to
+the devil as soon as the owner of the Rockhammer mill once more gets
+possession of his scape-grace brother. When Martin begins to notice
+that he is being taken in, he loses heart. He has the carriage put up
+in the coach-house and locks himself in for several days in his
+"office." During that time he is gravely considering whether it would
+be advisable to secure the service of the Marienfeld gendarmes. For
+him, of course, by virtue of his official authority, it would be an
+easy matter to extort the truth from these people. Yet no!--it would
+hardly be compatible with the honor of the Rockhammer family to have
+his brother hunted for by the police--why it would make his old father
+turn in his grave!
+
+A cold, brought on by his nocturnal expeditions, throws him upon the
+sickbed. Through two terrible weeks Trude sits by day and by night at
+his bedside, tortured by his delirious ravings in which his two
+brothers, the dead and the living one, now singly, now together,
+transformed to one horrible two-headed monster, haunt and encircle him.
+
+As soon as he is halfway convalescent, he has the carriage got ready.
+_Some_ time he must find him!
+
+And he does find him.
+
+Late one evening at the beginning of September, his road happens to
+pass through B----, a village two miles north of Marienfeld.
+
+Through the closed shutters of the tavern boisterous noises reach his
+ears--stamping of feet, brawling and drunken singing. Slowly he gets
+out of the carriage, and ties up his horse at the entrance to the inn.
+The lantern flickers dimly in the night wind--heavy drops of rain come
+pelting down. The handle of the taproom door rattles in his hand; one
+push--it flies open wide. Thick, bluish-yellow tobacco fumes assail him
+as he enters, mixed with the odor of stale beer and foul-smelling
+spirits.
+
+And there, at the top end of the long, roughly-hewn table, with flabby
+cheeks, with his eyes all red and swollen, with that glassy stare
+habitual to drunkards, with matted, unkempt hair, with a dirty
+shirt-collar and slovenly coat to which hang blades of straw--perhaps
+the reminders of his last night quarters--there that picture of
+precocious vice and hopeless ruin, that, that is all that remains to
+him of his darling, of his all in all ...
+
+"Johannes!" he cries, and the driver's whip which he holds in his hand
+falls clattering to the ground.
+
+A dead silence comes over the densely crowded room, as the tipplers
+gaze openmouthed at this intruder. The wretched man has started up from
+his seat, his face petrified with nameless fear, a hollow groan breaks
+from his lips; with one desperate leap he springs upon the table; with
+a second one he endeavors to reach the door over the heads of those
+sitting nearest to him.
+
+No good! His brother's iron fist is planted upon his chest.
+
+"Stay here!" he hears close to his ear in angry, muffled accents;
+thereupon he feels himself being pushed with superhuman strength
+towards the fire-corner, where he sinks down helplessly.
+
+Then Martin opens the door as far as ever its hinges will allow, points
+with the butt-end of his whip towards the dark entry and plants himself
+in the middle of the taproom.
+
+"Out with you!" he cries in a voice which makes the glasses on the
+table vibrate. The tipplers, most of them green youths, retreat in
+terror before him, and hastily don their caps; only here and there some
+suppressed grumbling is heard.
+
+"Out with you!" he cried once more and makes a gesture as if about to
+take one of the nearest grumblers by the throat. Two minutes later the
+taproom is swept clear ... only the innkeeper remains, standing half
+petrified with fear behind the bar; now, when Martin fixes his gloomy
+gaze upon him, he begins to complain in a whining tone of this
+disturbance to his business.
+
+Martin puts his hand in his pocket, throws him a handful of florins and
+says: "I wish to be alone with him."
+
+When he has bolted the door after the humbly bowing innkeeper, he walks
+with slow steps towards Johannes, who is crouching motionless in his
+corner, with his face buried in his hands. He places his hand gently
+upon his shoulder and says in a voice in which infinite love and
+infinite pain tremble: "Rise up, my boy; let us talk to one another."
+
+Johannes does not stir.
+
+"Will you not tell me what grievance you have against me? It will do
+you good to speak out, my boy! Relieve your feelings, my boy!"
+
+Johannes drops his hands and laughs hoarsely: "Relieve my feelings!
+Ha-ha-ha!" That secret terror that distorted his features before as
+with a cramp has now changed to dull, obstinate stubbornness.
+
+Wavering between horror and pity, Martin looks upon this countenance
+in which deep furrows have left nothing, not a trace of his former
+open-faced, good-natured Johannes. Every evil passion must have worked
+therein to disfigure it so wretchedly within six short weeks. Now he
+raises himself up and casts a searching look towards the door. "It
+seems you have locked me in," he says with a fresh outburst of laughter
+that cuts Martin to the quick.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I suppose you intend dragging me with you like a criminal?"
+
+"Johannes!"
+
+"Go on. I know you are the stronger! But one thing let me tell you: I
+am not yet so wretched but that I should resist. I would rather fling
+myself from the carriage and dash my head against a curbstone than come
+back with you."
+
+"Have pity, merciful God!" cries Martin. "My boy, my boy, what have
+they made of you?"
+
+Johannes paces the room with heavy tread and snaps open the lids of the
+beer-mugs as he passes.
+
+"Cut it short," he then says, standing still. "What do you want with me
+that you imprison me here?"
+
+Martin goes silently to the door and lets the bolt fly back; then he
+places himself close in front of his brother. His bosom heaves as if he
+were laboring to raise the words he is about to speak from the
+uttermost depths of his soul. But what good is it? They stick fast in
+his throat. He has never been a fluent talker--poor, shy fellow that he
+is, and how is he to find tongues of flame now with which to talk this
+madman out of his delusions? All he can stammer forth is that one
+question:
+
+"What have I done to you? What have I done to you?"
+
+He says the words twice, thrice, and over and over again. What better
+can he find to say? All his love, all his misery, are contained in
+these.
+
+Johannes answers not a word. He has seated himself on a bench, and is
+running the fingers of both his hands through his unkempt hair. About
+his lips there lurks a smile--a terrible smile, void of comfort or
+hope.
+
+At length he interrupts his helpless brother who keeps on repeating his
+formula as if to conjure therewith. "Let that be," he says, "you have
+nothing to say to me; nor can you have anything to say to me. I have
+done with myself, with you, with the whole world. What I have been
+through in these last six weeks--I tell you, since I left the mill, I
+have slept under no roof, for I felt sure it must fall down upon me."
+
+"But for heaven's sake, what ...?"
+
+"Do not ask me.... It is no good, for you won't get to know, not
+through me.... Let all talking alone, for it is to no purpose ... and
+if you were to entreat me by the memory of our parents...."
+
+"Yes, our parents!" stammers Martin joyfully. Why did he not think of
+that sooner?
+
+"Let them rest quietly in their graves," says Johannes with an ugly
+laugh. "Even that won't catch on with me. They can't prevent me from
+going to the dogs nor from hating you!"
+
+Martin groans aloud and drops down as if struck.
+
+"It is just because I _did_ always think of them, because I tried again
+and again to remember that Martin Rockhammer is my brother, that things
+have turned out like this and not differently. It has cost me a heavy
+sacrifice,--you may believe me that! I have behaved quite fairly
+towards you, ha-ha-ha, brother--quite fairly!"
+
+Martin inquires no further. The solution of this riddle is perfectly
+clear to him. Old blood-guilt has risen from the grave to claim its
+penalty.... He folds his hands and mutters softly:
+
+"Retribution for Fritz! Retribution for Fritz!"
+
+"For one reason, however, you are quite right to remind me of our
+parents; I must not bring shame upon their name, upon the name of
+Rockhammer! That is the one thing which has been worrying me all
+along--even though it did not alter matters; for surely a man must
+enjoy himself somehow ... ha-ha-ha! After all I am quite glad to have
+met you, for we can talk things over quietly ... I intend going to
+America!"
+
+Martin looks for a while into his glowing, bloated face; then he says
+softly, "Go, in God's name!" and lets his hand drop heavily upon the
+table slab.
+
+"And soon, too, what's more," Johannes continues. "I have already made
+enquiries. On the first of October the ship sails from Bremen--next
+week I shall have to leave here,--you know what part of our inheritance
+is owing to me--I dare say, by the bye, that I have got through a good
+bit of it already; give me as much as you happen to have handy in cash
+and send it to Franz Maas; I will fetch it from him."
+
+"And won't you come just once more to the--to the--"
+
+"To the mill? Never!" cries Johannes starting up, while a restless
+gleam, full of terror and of longing, comes into his eyes.
+
+"And you expect me to--I am to bid you good-bye here--here in this
+disgusting hole--good-bye forever? good-bye forever?"
+
+"I suppose that is what it will be," says Johannes, bowing his head.
+
+Then Martin falls all in a heap and once more murmurs, "Retribution for
+Fritz!"
+
+With burning eyes Johannes stares at his brother, crouching there
+before him as if broken, body and soul.... He is quite determined never
+to see him again ... but he must give a hand at parting!
+
+"Farewell, brother," he says, approaching him, as he sits there
+motionless. "Keep well and happy!" Then, suddenly, a warm, gentle
+sensation comes over him. His brain reels. A thousand scenes seem
+simultaneously to be evoked. He sees himself as a child, petted and
+spoilt by his elder brother, he sees himself as a youth proudly walking
+at his side, he sees himself with him at their parent's death-bed, he
+sees himself hand in hand with him at that solemn moment when they
+vowed never to part, nor to let any third person come between them.
+
+And now!--And now!
+
+"Brother!" he cries aloud--and loudly sobbing he falls at his feet.
+
+"My boy--my dear boy." He sobs and cries with joy, and catches hold of
+him with both hands and presses him to him as if he nevermore would let
+him go.
+
+"Now I have got you ... oh, thank heaven--now I have got you! Now
+everything will come right again--won't it? Tell me it was all only a
+dream--only madness! You did not know what you were doing--eh? You
+don't remember anything of it--eh? I bet you haven't any notion of it
+all--eh? Now you have woke up, haven't you--you have woke up again
+now?"
+
+Johannes digs his teeth into his lips till they smart and leans his
+face upon his breast. Then suddenly a thought takes possession of him
+and weighs him down and buzzes in his ears--a thought like a vampire,
+cold and damp, and beating the air with bat's wings.... In these arms
+Trude has rested this very day--this very day....
+
+He jumps up abruptly.
+
+Away from this place, away from this atmosphere--else madness will
+really assail him!
+
+He rushes towards the door. One creak of its hinges, one click of the
+lock: he has disappeared.
+
+Martin looks after him, mute with consternation; then he says, as if to
+quell his rising fear:
+
+"He is too excited; he wants some fresh air. He will come back!"
+
+His glance falls upon the wooden clothes=pegs on the opposite wall. He
+smiles, now quite reassured, and says "He has left his cap here; it is
+raining outside, the wind blows cold; he will come back." Thereupon he
+calls the innkeeper, orders his horse to be put up and has some hot
+grog mixed for his brother, and a bed prepared for him. "For," he says
+with a blissful smile, "he will come back again."
+
+When everything is made ready he sits down on the bench and becomes
+lost in brooding. From time to time he murmurs as if to resuscitate his
+sinking courage:
+
+"He will come back!"
+
+Outside the rain beats against the windowpanes, autumn blasts are
+soughing around the housetop, and every gust of wind, every drop of
+rain, seems to proclaim:
+
+"He will come back! He will come back!" The how's pass; the lamp goes
+out.... Martin has fallen asleep over his waiting and is dreaming of
+his brother's return.
+
+
+In the morning the people of the inn wake him. Haggard and shivering he
+looks about him. His glance falls upon the empty bed in which his
+brother was to have slept. The first bed since six weeks!--Sadly he
+stands there in front of it and stares at it. Then he has his
+conveyance brought round and drives off.
+
+
+This year autumn has come early. Since a week there has been a rough
+north wind which cuts through one's body as if it were November. Gusts
+of rain beat against the window-panes and the ground is already covered
+with a layer of yellowish-brown half-decayed leaves off the lime-trees.
+And how soon it grows dark! In the bakery a light burns in the swinging
+lamp long before supper-time. Beneath its globe sits Franz Maas,
+eagerly reckoning up and counting. On the baker's table before him
+where as a rule the little white round heaps of dough are ranged,
+to-day there are little white round heaps of florins, and instead of
+the crisp "Bretzels" to-day the paper of bank-notes is crackling.
+
+This is the treasure which Martin Rockhammer entrusted to him the
+Sunday before, with instructions to hand it over to Johannes. He also
+left a letter in which the various items of the inheritance are set
+down to a penny.
+
+Every morning since then he has knocked at the door, and each time
+asked the selfsame question, "Has he been?" Then when Franz Maas shook
+his head, has silently departed again.
+
+To-day the same. To-day is Friday; today he must come if he wants to be
+in time for the Bremen ship. Noiselessly he has opened the door and is
+standing behind him, just as he is about to lock the money away. "I
+suppose that is all for me," he asks, laying his hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Thank heaven I you have come," cries Franz, agreeably startled. Then
+he casts a critical glance over his friend's figure. Martin must have
+been exaggerating when, with tears in his eyes, he described his
+dilapidated appearance. He looks decent and respectable, is wearing a
+brand new waterproof, beneath the turned-back flaps of which a neat
+gray suit is visible. His hair is smoothly brushed--he is even shaved.
+But of course his dark, dulled gaze, the bagginess under his eyes, the
+ugly red of his cheeks, are sad witnesses in this face, eretime so
+youthfully joyous.
+
+And then he grasps both his hands and says:
+
+"Johannes, Johannes, what has come over you?"
+
+"Patience; you shall hear all!" he replies, "I must confide in one
+living soul, or it will eat my very heart out over there."
+
+"Then you really mean it? You intend--"
+
+"I am off to-night by the mail-coach. My seat is already booked. Before
+I came to you, I went once more through the village. It was already
+dark, so I could venture--and I took leave of everything. I went to our
+parents' grave, and as far as the church door, and to the host of the
+'Crown,' to whom I owed a trifle."
+
+"And you forgot the mill?"
+
+Johannes bites his lips and chews at his moustache; then he mutters:
+"That is still to come."
+
+"Oh, how glad Martin will be," cries Franz Maas, quite red with
+pleasure himself.
+
+"Did I say I was going to see Martin?" asks Johannes between his teeth,
+while his chest heaves, as if it had a load of embarrassment to throw
+off.
+
+"What? You intend slinking about on your father's inheritance like a
+thief,--avoiding a meeting with any one?"
+
+"Not that either. I have to bid good-bye to some one, but not to
+Martin!"
+
+"To whom else then?--To whom else, man?" cries Franz Maas, in whom a
+horrible suspicion dawns.
+
+"Lock the door and sit down here," says Johannes,--"now I will tell
+you."
+
+The hours pass by; the storm rattles at the shutters. The oil in the
+lamp begins to splutter. The two friends sit with their heads together,
+their looks occasionally meeting. Johannes confesses--conceals nothing.
+He begins with that first meeting with Trude, up to the moment when
+horror drove him forth from Martin's embrace--out into the stormy
+night.
+
+"What came after that," he concludes, "can be told in a few words. I
+ran without knowing whither, until the cold and wet restored me to
+consciousness. Then the post-chaise from Marienfeld just happened to
+come along. I stopped it--at last I got under cover by this means. Thus
+I came to the town, where I have been putting up till now. Lob Levi had
+just given me a hundred thalers. With these I rigged myself out afresh,
+for I did not want to face Trude in the dilapidated state I was in."
+
+"Miserable wretch--are you going to ...?"
+
+"Don't kick up a row," he says roughly. "It is all arranged, already. I
+gave a note for her to a little boy I met in the street, and waited
+till he came back. She took it from him in the kitchen without even a
+servant noticing anything. At eleven o'clock she will be at the weir,
+and I--ha-ha-ha- ... I too!"
+
+"Johannes, I beg and implore you, don't do it," cries Franz in sheer
+terror. "There's sure to be a misfortune." Johannes' reply is a hoarse
+laugh, and, with burning eyes, his mouth put close to his friend's ear,
+he hisses: "Do you really think, man, that I could manage to live and
+to die in a strange country if I did not see her just once more? Do you
+imagine I should have courage to stare for four weeks at the sea
+without throwing myself into it--if I did not see her once more? The
+very air for breathing would fail me, my meat and drink would stick in
+my throat, I should rot away alive if I did not see her just once
+more!"
+
+When Franz hears all this he refrains from further discussion.
+
+Johannes' restless glance wanders towards the clock. "It is time," he
+says, and takes his cap. "At midnight the mail-coach comes through the
+village. Expect me at the post office and bring me two hundred-thaler
+notes; that will be enough for my passage. The rest you can give back
+to him; I shan't want it! Good-bye till then!" At the door he turns
+round and asks: "I say, does my breath smell of brandy?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He breaks into a coarse laugh; then he says: "Give me a few coffee
+beans to chew. I don't want Trude to get a horror of me in this last
+hour."
+
+And when Franz has given him what he wants he disappears into the
+darkness.
+
+It is high water to-day. With a great hissing and roaring the waters
+shoot down the declivity, then sink down into their foaming grave with
+dull, plaintive rumblings, while the glistening spray breaks over them
+in one high-vaulted arch.
+
+The howling of the storm mingles with the tumult of these volumes of
+water. The old alders alongside the river bow and bend to each other
+like shadowy giants come forth in their numbers to dance a reel in one
+long line. The heavens are obscured by heavy rain-clouds,--everything
+is dark and black except the snowy froth, which seems to throw out an
+uncertain light against which the outlines of the wood planking are
+dimly visible. Above that projects the rail of the little drawbridge,
+in appearance like the phantom form of a cat, creeping with
+outstretched legs across a roof.
+
+On the drawbridge the two meet. Trude, her head covered by a dark
+shawl, has been standing for a long time beneath the alders, seeking
+shelter from the rain, and has hurried to meet him as she saw the
+outline of his figure appear on yonder side of the weir.
+
+"Trude, is it you?" he asks hurriedly, looking searchingly into her
+face. She is silent and clings to the rail. The foam is dancing before
+her eyes, in blue and yellow colors.
+
+"Trude," he says, while he tries to catch hold of her hand, "I have
+come to bid you farewell for life. Are you going to let me go forth to
+a strange land without one word?"
+
+"And I have come for the peace of my soul," says she, shrinking back
+from his groping hand. "Hans, I have borne much for your sake; I have
+grown older by half a lifetime; I am weak and ill. Therefore take pity
+on me: do not touch me--I do not want to return again guilt-laden to
+your brother's house!"
+
+"Trude--did you come here to torture me?"
+
+"Softly, Hans, softly--do not pain me! Let us part from one another with
+clean and honest hearts, and take peace and courage with us--for all
+our lives.... We must surely not rail at each other--not in love and
+not in hatred," She stops exhausted; her breath comes heavily; then,
+pulling herself together with an effort, she continues: "You see, I
+always knew that you would come long before I got your note to-day;
+and, a thousand times over I thought out every word--that I was going
+to say to you. But of course--you must not unsettle me so."
+
+His eyes glow through the darkness; his breath comes hot; and with a
+shrill laugh he says:
+
+"Don't make a halo round us. It is no good--we are both accursed anyway
+in heaven and on earth! Then let us at least--"
+
+He stops abruptly, listening.
+
+"Hush! I thought--I heard--there in the meadow!"
+
+He holds his breath and hearkens. Nothing to be heard or seen. Whatever
+it was, the storm and the darkness have engulfed it.
+
+"Come down to the river's edge," he says, "our figures are so clearly
+defined up here."
+
+She leads the way; he follows. But on the slippery woodwork she loses
+her footing. Then he catches her in his arms and carries her down to
+the river. Unresisting, she hangs upon his neck.
+
+"How light you have got since that day," he says softly, while he lets
+her glide down, then raises her up.
+
+"Oh, you would hardly recognize me if you saw me," she replies equally
+softly.
+
+"I would give anything if only I could!" he says, and tries to draw
+away the shawl from about her face. A pale oval, two dark, round
+shadows in it where the eyes are--the darkness reveals no more.
+
+"I feel like a blind man," he says, and his trembling hand glides over
+her forehead, down to her cheeks, as if by touch to distinguish the
+loved features. She resists no longer. Her head drops upon his
+shoulder.
+
+"How much I wanted to say to you!" she whispers. "And now I no longer
+can think of anything--not of anything at all."
+
+He twines his arms more closely around her. They stand there silent and
+motionless while the storm tugs and tears at them, and the rain beats
+down upon their heads.
+
+Then from the village come the cracked notes of the post-horn, half
+drowned by the blast.
+
+"Our time is up," he says, shivering. "I must go."
+
+"Now--the night?" she stammers voicelessly.
+
+He nods.
+
+"And I shall never see you again?"
+
+A wild scream rends the storm.
+
+"Johannes, have pity, I cannot let you go. I cannot live without you!"
+Her fingers dig themselves into his shoulders. "You shall not--I will
+not let you."
+
+He tries to free himself by main force.
+
+"Ah, well--you are going--oh--you--you--you are wicked! You know that I
+must die if you go, I cannot--Take me with you! Take me with you!"
+
+"Are you out of your senses, woman?" He covers his face with his hands
+and groans aloud.
+
+"So--this is what you call being out of one's senses! Does not even a
+lamb struggle--when led to the slaughter? And you are capable of----Ah,
+is this all your love for me? Is this all? Is this all?"
+
+"Don't you think of Martin?"
+
+"He is your brother. That is all I know about him. But I know that I
+must die if I stay with him any longer. It makes me shudder to think of
+him! Take me with you, my husband! Take me with you!"
+
+He grasps both her wrists, and shaking her to and fro, he whispers with
+half-choked utterance:
+
+"And do you know besides that I am ruined and disgraced--an outcast, a
+drunkard, no good at all in the world? If you could see me, you would
+have a horror of me, good people shun me and loathe me--do you think I
+should be good to you? I shall never forgive you for coming between me
+and Martin--never forgive you for making me sin against him as I have
+done for your sake. He will be between us as long as we live. I shall
+insult you--I shall beat you when I am drunk. You will find it hell at
+my side. Well? What do you say now?"
+
+She bows her head demurely, folds her hands and says: "Take me with
+you!" A scream of exultant joy escapes his lips. "Then come--but come
+quickly. The coach stops for a quarter of an hour. No one will see us
+except Franz Maas--the only one he will not betray us. In the town you
+can get clothes and then.... Stop! What does this mean?"
+
+The mill has awakened to life. A yellow light streams out into the
+darkness from the wide-opened door. A lantern sways across the yard
+then, thrown to one side, flies in a gleaming curve through the air
+like a shooting star.
+
+Martin lies in bed asleep. Suddenly there is a tap at the window-pane.
+
+"Who is there?"
+
+"I--David!"
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Open the door, Master! I have something important to tell you."
+
+Martin jumps out of bed, strikes a light and hurries on his clothes. A
+casual glance falls upon Trude's empty bed. Evidently she has dozed off
+on the sitting-room over her sewing, for it is a long time since she
+has known sound, healthy sleep.
+
+"What is the matter?" he asks David, who steps into the entrance
+dripping like a drowned cat.
+
+"Master," he says, blinking from under the peak of his cap, "it is now
+more than twenty-eight years since I first came to the mill--and your
+late father already used to be good to me always...."
+
+"And you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to tell me
+_that_?"
+
+"Yes, for to-night when I woke up and heard the rain pelting down, I
+suddenly remembered with a start that the sluices of the lock were not
+opened.... Perhaps the water might get blocked up and we could not
+grind to-morrow."
+
+"Haven't I told you fellows hundreds of times that the sluices need
+only be opened when the ice is drifting? At high water it only means
+unnecessary labor."
+
+"Well, I didn't touch them," observes David.
+
+"Then what do you want?"
+
+"Because, when I got to the weir I saw two lovers standing on the
+drawbridge!"
+
+"And that's why?..."
+
+"Then I thought it was a regular disgrace and a crying shame, and no
+longer--"
+
+"Let them love each other, in the devil's name!"
+
+"And I thought it my duty to tell you. Master, when Master Johannes and
+our lady--"
+
+He gets no further, for his master's fingers are at his throat.
+
+What has come over Martin, wretched man? His face becomes livid and
+swollen; the veins on his forehead stand out; his nostrils quiver, his
+eyes seem to start from their sockets--white foam is at his mouth.
+
+Then he gives vent to a sound like the howl of a jackal, and, loosening
+his grip of David, with one wrench he tears the shirt at his throat
+asunder.
+
+Two or three deep breaths, like a man who is achoking; then he roars
+aloud in suddenly unfettered rage: "Where are they? They shall account
+to me for this. They have been acting a farce! They have deceived me!
+Where are they? I'll do for them! I'll do for them, then and there!"
+
+He tears the lantern out of terrified David's hand and rushes out. He
+disappears into the wheel-house; a second later he reappears. High
+above his head there gleams an axe. Then he swings the lantern thrice
+in a circle and flings it far away from him into the water. He storms
+along in the direction of the weir.
+
+"There's some one coming," whispers Trude, nestling closer up to
+Johannes.
+
+"Probably they have something to do at the sluices," he whispers back.
+"Don't stir and be of good courage."
+
+Nearer and nearer hastens the dark figure. A beastlike roaring pierces
+through the night, above the fury of the storm. "It is Martin," says
+Johannes, staggering back three paces.
+
+But he collects himself quickly, clutches Trude and drags her with him
+close up to the woodwork at the weir, in the darkest shadow of which
+they both crouch down.
+
+Close to their heads the infuriated man races along. The axe, lifted on
+high, glints in the half-light of the foam. On the other side of the
+weir he stops. He seems to be gazing searchingly across the wide
+meadow, which spreads before him in monotonous darkness without tree or
+shrub.
+
+"You keep watch at the hither sluice, David," his voice thunders out in
+the direction of the mill. "They must be in the field. I shall catch
+them there!"
+
+A cry of horror starts from Johannes' lips. He has divined his
+brother's intention. He is going to pull up the drawbridge and trap
+them both on the island. And close behind Trude's neck hangs the chain
+which must be pulled to make the bridge move back. His first thought
+is: "Protect the woman!" He tears himself out of Trude's arms, and
+springs up the slope of the river-bank to offer himself as a sacrifice
+to his brother's fury.
+
+Trude utters a piercing shriek. Johannes in mortal danger; over there
+the infuriated man, the axe gleaming bright; but behind her there is
+that chain, that iron ring which is almost tearing her head open. With
+trembling hands she grasps hold of it; she tugs at it with all her
+might. At the very moment when Martin is about to climb upon the
+foot-plank, the drawbridge swings back.
+
+Johannes sees nothing of it; he only sees the shadow over there, and
+the gleaming axe. A few paces further, and death will descend swiftly
+upon him. Then suddenly, in the moment of direst distress, he thinks of
+his mother and what she once said to the enraged boy.
+
+"Think of Fritz!" he cries out to his brother. And behold! The axe
+drops from his hand; he staggers; he falls--one dull thud--one splash:
+he has disappeared. Johannes rushes forward; his foot hits against the
+draw-up bridge. Close before him yawns a black hole. "Brother,
+brother!" he cries in frenzied terror. He has no thought, no feeling
+left, only one sensation: "Save your brother!" whirls through his
+brain. With one jerk he throws off his cloak--a leap--a dull blow as if
+against some sharp edge.
+
+
+Trude, who is half unconsciously clutching at the chain, sees a long
+dark mass shoot down the incline into the white waters, and disappear
+into the foaming whirlpool, a second later another follows.
+
+Like two shadows they flew past her. She turns her gaze upwards towards
+the woodwork. Up there all is quiet; it is all empty. The storm howls;
+the waters roar. Fainting, she sinks down at the river's edge.
+
+
+Next day the bodies of the two brothers were pulled out of the river.
+Side by side they were floating on the waters; side by side they were
+buried.
+
+Trude was as if petrified with grief. In tearless despair she brooded
+to herself--she refuses to see any of her relations, even her own
+father. Franz Maas alone she suffers near her. Faithfully he takes
+charge of her, kept strangers away from her threshold and attends to
+all formalities.
+
+There was some rumor of a legal investigation to be held against the
+wretched woman, on the ground of David's dark insinuations. But even
+though the statements of the old servant were too incomplete and
+confused to build up a lawsuit upon them, they still sufficed to brand
+Trude Rockhammer as a criminal in the eyes of the world. The more she
+shrinks from all intercourse, the more anxiously she closes the mill to
+all strangers, the more extravagant grow the rumors that were spread
+about her.
+
+"The miller-witch," people come to call her, and the legends that
+surrounded her were handed down from one generation to the next. The
+mill now becomes the "Silent Mill," as the popular voice christened
+it. The walls crumble away; the wheels grow rotten; the bright, clear
+stream becomes choked with weeds, and when the State planned a canal
+which conducted the water into the main stream above Marienfeld--then
+it degenerated into a marsh.
+
+And Trude herself became entirely isolated, for soon she would not even
+allow her one friend to approach her, and closed her doors to him.
+
+Before her own conscience she was a murderess. Her terrors drove her to
+a father confessor and into the arms of the Catholic Church. She was to
+be seen crawling at the foot of a crucifix or kneeling at church doors,
+telling her beads and beating her head against the stones till it bled.
+
+She is expiating the great crime which is known as "youth."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Mill, by Hermann Sudermann
+
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