Clara Viebig

“ Then she threw herself on his breast, and her arms held him like chains. '"Look at me, why do you turn your dear face away? Look at me, it's I, darling, I, whom you love so. Mr. Tiralla is dead."
She no longer spoke in a whisper, she no longer took care that her words should remain inaudible to others, and her voice sounded loud in the echoing passage. "I'm a widow now. I'm free now. Don't go! All I possess shall be yours. And it's no sin if we love each other. I beg of you, I implore you, don't go! Stop, my darling, my Martin, stop!" ”

“ Rosa's tears were tears of ecstatic rapture and longing, of a great longing for something she could not name--the dear Virgin, the dear little Child Jesus, the dear guardian angel and all the dear saints. She knew them all; she knew the history of every martyr that now wore a halo. Her mother had read about them aloud to her again and again from the book of holy legends that she had brought out of the gaily painted chest in which she, as a girl, had kept her belongings.
How splendid it must be to live like those holy women. ”

“ Mrs. Tiralla sat motionless at the back with her cloak wrapped tightly round her, for she was icy cold. She had drawn her shawl far down over her forehead, but her burning eyes wandered in mute despair over the desolate, slushy fields in the early morning twilight. Oh, how uncomfortable she felt, how tired out. She couldn't understand now why she had wanted to go to the ball instead of lying in her warm bed and being lulled to sleep by Rosa's soft-toned prayers, and thus forgetting her miserable existence in the arms of the saints. ”

“ How slowly the night crept on, would it never, never be day? How quietly Rosa was breathing. She was sleeping so well. Oh, to be a child once more, an innocent child who knows nothing of Life's wickedness.
Mrs. Tiralla was filled with an intense longing for innocence and purity, for a blameless, peaceful life. She would go to confession as soon as possible next morning. She would confess everything, so that she could breathe once more as quietly as her child. Even at the last examination of conscience she had not been able to find the right expression for what was stirring in her heart. ”

“ Rosa had never had a picture of the Saviour over her bed, nothing but a vessel containing holy water and some consecrated palm branches, but at that moment a picture shone on the bare wall which had never been there before. She stared at it in a transport of joy, and her eyes grew bigger and bigger; her lips faltered as she prayed, and she heaved a deep sigh--there--there--Jesus Christ! How Martin Becker resembled Him in every feature, and how He smiled at her.
The expression in the girl's face grew more and more ecstatic ”

“ Tiralla was seized with a sudden love for her daughter, and she went up to her and laid her hand on her head.
Rosa was very happy. Her mother had even kissed her when she had said good night, and she felt as if a flame of light had flashed through her. She did not care to hear any of Marianna's stories to-night, although she generally begged for some. "I only want to pray," she said. And she prayed that her mother might always smile at her. She admired her so, her slender figure, her beautiful hair, and her velvety eyes. Nobody was as beautiful as her mother, only the Holy Virgin. ”

“ Tiralla kept an obstinate silence; she seemed so low-spirited that the men involuntarily became low-spirited, too--that is, Mr. Tiralla and Mikolai. Becker's eyes were fixed on his plate; he was quiet and happy, and ate with a good appetite. What did he care if the woman was in a bad humour? Let the old man and Mikolai dance to her piping, he would not. And then the thought came to him that a girl like Rosa would never want to order about, and that a man would fare well with a wife like her: always united, and many children, and, and--he did not get any further. ”

“ They were quite alone, quite hidden. A deep silence reigned, save for a land-rail piping in the corn, and a deer calling deep down in the Przykop--and still he controlled himself. Everything was so different at Starydwór to what it was elsewhere.
Martin had not come to his age without having held a girl in his arms--as an apprentice at the mill at home and more especially as a soldier--but a woman like this one had never been his. For one short moment a feeling of regret filled his heart at the thought that it might perhaps have been still nicer with Rosa. ”

“ All the aversion, all the hatred she had ever felt for her husband was nothing compared with this intense, blazing passion that raged within her. How was she to avenge herself? If only she had the poison which she, like a fool, had given back to him. Then she would have rushed downstairs and calmly, quite calmly, poured some of the white powder into his half-open mouth whilst he was lying in his bed snoring. It would have acted, she felt sure of that. The saints would not let innocent animals die, but they would look on with a smile when the devils carried Mi. Tiralla's soul off to hell. ”

“ But the saints had not willed it; the maid, that idiot! had upset the coffee, and her husband had not got a single drop of it. What a pity, thought Mrs. Tiralla regretfully. How could she have felt so happy that morning when she saw her husband sitting at the breakfast-table safe and sound? He grew more and more repugnant to her every day. How long--how long would she have to bear it? Had Heaven no understanding? So many husbands died and left wives to weep and mourn for them, and he--he--she wouldn't shed a single tear for him, she was sure of that. She would laugh, laugh! ”

“ All at once the woman's lifeless eyes grew animated, and a wave of colour mounted to her pale cheeks. The thought had come to her that if Mr. Tiralla were to die Martin Becker would not hurry away from Starydwór. There would be no need for him to hurry away, for she would be free and could love whom she wished. And nobody would object then, not even Father Szypulski. ”

“ The early summer sun was shining down on the immense plains; the fine-looking ears of corn that swayed to and fro were already about as high as a man. The clover lay cut in the meadows, and emitted a powerful smell as it dried quickly in the sun. The air was full of a continuous buzzing of insects that glistened like gold, and of the trills of invisible larks. The blessing of a promising harvest lay spread over the broad fields as far as Starydwór, and everywhere [Pg 222] as far as the eye could see. But Mr. Tiralla's heart did not rejoice as a farmer's should have done. ”

“ Mikolai had gone out somewhat earlier. He had stood a short time at the front door whistling softly, but when the whistling had ceased and Marianna's clatter was no longer heard in the kitchen, the two had nodded to each other with a smile, as much as to say, "We understand," and had also got up from their seats and gone out as the others had done.
They wandered slowly along hand-in-hand. Mrs. Tiralla never dreamt of fearing that anybody should see them; she walked calmly along in her light-coloured dress that could be seen afar off in the flat fields in spite of the twilight. ”

“ The night time, the moaning of the wind, the plaintive cry of the screech-owls perched in the old pines in the morass; above all, the darkness of the room, the deep silence, the loneliness, gave wings to the maid's fancy. Everything became instinct with life: a creature sighed in every tree, a voice spoke from every stone, something gasped for air under every clod of earth, something lurked in every pool. The branches that tapped against the window-panes were the fingers of the dead, the stars that shot across the heavens were wandering souls, and the clouds and winds were full of prophecies. ”

“ But all at once the pleasant grin turned into a terrified grimace; it was not Marianna after all, it must be Sophia, and with her?
The idiot's eyes had suddenly become clear, and he had recognized his friend, his brother. Böhnke was holding his wife in a close embrace, and they were standing like a pair of lovers, breast to breast. Alas, alas! Mr. Tiralla fell back as though a gleaming knife were pointed at his face. The two were talking away so busily, so softly, that they had not noticed him. What were they whispering about? His teeth chattered. Murderers, murderers! Ugh! ”

“ The schoolmaster looked upon the harmless man as a criminal. "He doesn't deserve the sun to shine on him," he whispered, in a voice that was hoarse with excitement. Then he snatched hold of the hand which she held out to him, and pressed it to his lips, to his eyes, and stammered wildly, "Pani, let me die on the spot--God punish me if ever I forget Mr. Tiralla's behaviour. ”

“ Many a one has got his death from eating a dish of mushrooms. Who can say which are poisonous and which are not? Good and bad ones grow side by side; the devil passes his finger over them during the night, and in the morning they all look alike, you can't see any difference. You gather, you cook, you eat--oh!" Marianna stretched out her fingers and rolled her eyes. "Holy Mother. I know how awfully you suffer. I won't eat mushrooms, I know that." She shuddered.
"Well, you needn't eat any, nobody has asked you to," said the woman, soothingly, to the girl, who grew more and more vehement. ”

“ Martin's thoughts were far away, he was longing to leave Starydwór, leave it far behind him; and Mikolai was also deep in thought.
The happiness that Mikolai had felt during the summer was a thing of the past. Although a farm of one's own is not to be despised, he would much rather be servant somewhere else than master at Starydwór. How awful his father was! Why, he was out of his mind! If only he could catch that fellow Böhnke by the throat, he thought to himself, clenching his fists in fury. Why did he come creeping to the farm day after day, locking himself in with his father? ”

“ She was once more as young and as innocent as she had been when she sat in her priest's study. It had been quite a different woman who had sighed at Starydwór for so many years, who had wept and had again and again endeavoured to free herself from this hateful husband. Poison? She had to smile; how kind the saints had been to her; they had preserved her from the poison. Now Mr. Tiralla drank. And if he continued to drink as he was doing, so much Tokay and beer and gin, then he would soon drink himself into the grave. God be gracious to his poor soul! ”

“ Why did the young fellow trouble himself so much about Rosa? Why did he take such an interest in her? She was about to fire up--ah, now he was even reproaching her for it in words.
"Others who are older should be wiser," said Becker.
But she controlled herself; she must not be angry, it was better to win him with kindness. So she said in a low, dreamy whisper, as though she were speaking to herself:
"I was still a child when I wanted to go into a convent. I was forced to marry Mr. Tiralla. Oh!" ”

“ For the will-o'-the-wisps were the souls of those who could not find peace in the grave.
Rosa Tiralla much preferred the Przykop to the bare fields. If she stood at the farm gate and looked across the fields she could see the whole way to Starawieś, the path she took to school every day, the wooden church tower and the cottage roofs covered with moss, that almost disappeared from view behind the pale, waving corn when it stood high. But from her bedroom window at the back of the house, she could look into the Przykop, where the dark trees rustled so strangely. ”

“ The Count was not accustomed to have such an indulgent opponent; everybody else used to keep a strict eye on him except Mr. Tiralla. In his heart the gallant old Count pitied the latter's beautiful wife. Poor thing, to have such a fool of a husband.
Mrs. Tiralla was like a flame, in spite of her white dress and her cheeks that never got red--hot, but never red--for she set fire to the whole ballroom. ”

“ However, when he had seen the carriage drive down the village street as quickly as the uneven road and deep ruts permitted, he turned into the fields and walked towards Starydwór instead of going home. She was now alone. It would be a long time before they came back; he would be able to question her without being disturbed, talk to her and hear why her husband had not had any mushrooms. He ran as fast as he could.
His coat-tails flapped in the wind like raven's wings. A sudden jealousy gripped him; Mr. Tiralla had spoken of a nice young fellow. And Mikolai was also a young fellow. ”

“ If the old man wanted she was quite willing.
But Tiralla had only eyes for his wife. He continued to beg for a look from her. There was something ridiculous in the way this strong, already grey-haired man worried about this delicate, dainty little woman. "Sophia, my darling, what is the matter? Look at me, my dove, pray don't cry."
He succeeded at length in taking the apron away from her face. But when he tried to kiss her cheek her eyes sparkled, and she spat at him like an angry cat. "Oh, you've hurt me! Pooh, how you smell of manure and tobacco, and of gin, too. You stink, you boor!" ”