Maezli — 03 - Castle Wildenstein
CASTLE WILDENSTEIN
When Mäzli and Lippo were neatly washed and dressed the next morning, they came downstairs to the living-room chattering in the most lively manner.
Mäzli was just telling Lippo her plans for the afternoon when he should be back from school.
The mother, after attending to some task, followed the children, who were standing around the piano.
As soon as she entered, Kurt broke out into a frightened cry.
"Oh, mother, we have forgotten all about the poor people whose houses burnt down and we were supposed to take the things with us this morning."
"Yes, the teacher told us twice that we must not forget it," Lippo complained, "but I didn't forget it."
"Don't worry, children, I have attended to it," said the mother.
"Kathy has just gone to the school with a basket full of things.
It was too heavy for you to carry."
"Oh, how nice and convenient it is to have a mother," Kurt said quite relieved.
The mother sat down at the piano.
"Come, let us sing our morning song, now," she said.
"We can't wait for uncle, because he might come back too late from his walk."
Opening the book, she began to sing "The golden sun--with joy and fun."
The children taking up the melody sang it briskly, for they knew it well.
Mäzli was singing full of zeal, too, and wherever she had forgotten the words, she did not stop, but made up some of her own.
Two stanzas had been sung when Kurt said, "We must stop now or it will get too late.
After breakfast it is time to go to school."
The mother, assenting, rose and went to the table to fill their cups.
But Lippo broke into a loud wail.
Pulling his mother back, he cried, "Don't go!
Please don't!
We must finish it.
We have to finish it.
Come back, mother, come back."
She tried to loosen the grip of the boy's firm little fingers on her dress and to calm him, but she did not succeed, and he kept on crying louder and louder: "Come back!
You said one must not leave anything half done.
We didn't finish the song and we must do it."
Kurt now began to cry out, too: "Let go your pincher-claws--we'll get to school late."
Mea's voice joined them with loud exclamation against Lippo, who was trying hard to pull his mother back, groaning loudly all the time.
Uncle Philip entered at this moment.
"What on earth is going on here?"
he cried loudly into the confusion.
Everybody began to explain.
Lippo let go his grip at last and, approaching his uncle, solicited his help.
Kurt's voice, however, was the loudest and he got the lead in telling about Lippo's obstinacy.
"Lippo is right," the uncle decided.
"One must finish what one has begun.
This is a splendid principle and ought to be followed.
Lippo has inherited this from his god-father and so he shall also have his help.
Come Lippo, we'll sit down and finish the song to the last word."
"But, Uncle Philip, the song has twelve stanzas, and we have to go to school.
Lippo must go, too," Kurt cried out in great agitation.
"He can't get an excuse for saying that he had to finish his morning song."
"That is true, Kurt is right," said the uncle.
"You see, Lippo, I know a way out.
When you sing to-night, mother must promise me to finish the song.
Then you will have sung it to the end."
"We can't do that," Lippo wailed.
"This is a morning song and we can't sing it at night.
We must finish it now.
Wait, Kurt!"
he cried aloud, when he saw that the boy was taking up his school-bag.
"What can we do?
Where is your mother?
Why does she run away at such a moment?"
Uncle Philip cried out helplessly.
"Call for your mother!
You mustn't go on like that."
Lippo had run back to the piano and, leaning against it, was crying bitterly.
Kurt, after opening the door, called loudly for his mother in a voice that was meant to bring her from a distance.
This exertion proved unnecessary, as she was standing immediately behind the door.
Bruno, in order to question her about something, had drawn her out with him.
"Oh, mother, come in!"
Kurt cried in milder accents.
"Come and teach our two-legged law-paragraph here to get some sense.
School is going to start in five minutes."
The mother entered.
"Maxa, where did you go?"
the brother accosted her.
"It is high time to get this boy straightened out.
Just look at the way he is clutching the piano in his trouble.
He ought to be off.
Kurt is right."
The mother, sitting down on the piano-stool, took the little boy's hand and pulled him towards her.
"Come, Lippo, there is nothing to cry about," she said calmly.
"Listen while I explain this.
It is a splendid thing to finish anything one has begun, but there are things that cannot be finished all at once.
Then one divides these things into separate parts and finishes part first with the resolution to do another part the next day, and so on till it is done.
We shall say now our song has twelve stanzas and we'll sing two of them every morning; in that way we can finish it on the sixth day and we have not left it unfinished at all.
Can you understand, Lippo?
Are you quiet now?"
"Yes," said the little boy, looking up to his mother with an expression of perfect satisfaction.
The leave-taking from the uncle had to be cut extremely short.
"Come soon again," sounded three times more from the steps, and then the children started off.
The mother, looking through the window, followed them with her eyes.
She was afraid that Kurt and Mea would leave the little one far behind on account of having been kept too long already, and it happened as she feared.
She saw Lippo trudging on behind with an extraordinarily full school-bag on his back.
"Can you see what Lippo is carrying?"
she asked her brother.
The lid of the bag was thrust open and a thick unwieldy object which did not fit into it was protruding.
"What is he carrying along, I wonder?
Can you see what it is?"
"I can only see a round object wrapped up in a gray paper," her brother replied.
"I am sure it must be something harmless.
I have to say that Lippo is a wonderfully obedient and good boy and full of the best sense.
As soon as one says the right word to him, he comes 'round.
Why did you wait so long though, Maxa, before saying it to him?"
was Uncle Philip's rather reproachful question.
"Why did you run away and leave him crying and moaning?
He needed your help.
What he wanted was perfectly correct but was not just suitable at that moment, and he needed an explanation.
How could you calmly run away?"
"It was just as necessary to hear Bruno's question," the sister said.
"I knew that Lippo was in good hands.
I thought naturally that you would be able to say the right word to him.
You know yourself how he respects you."
"Oh, yes, that is right," Uncle Philip admitted.
"It is not always easy to say the right word to a little fellow who has the right on his side and needs to have the other side shown to him, too; he is terribly pedantic besides, and says that one can't sing a morning song in the evening, and when he began to wail in his helplessness, it made me miserable.
How should one always just be able to say the right word?"
His sister smiled.
"Do you admit now, Philip, that bringing up children is not a very simple matter?"
"There is a truth in what you say.
On the other hand, it does not look very terrible, either," the brother said with a glance at Mäzli, who was quietly and peacefully sitting at the table, eating her bread and milk in the most orderly fashion.
She had been compelled to stop in the middle of breakfast by the excitement caused by Lippo.
It had been very thrilling, but now she could calmly finish.
Uncle Philip suddenly discovered that the tune set for his departure was already past.
Taking a rapid leave of his sister, he started to rush off, but she held him for a moment.
"Please, Philip, try to find out for me about the little girl, to whom she belongs, and with whom she is travelling," she begged him eagerly.
"Please do that for me!
If your supposition, that she is Leonore's child is right, I simply must see her.
Nobody can prevent me from seeing her once at least."
"We'll see, we'll see," the brother answered hurriedly, and was gone the next moment.
The day had started with so much agitation and it had all taken so much time that Mrs. Maxa had her hands full now in order to complete the most necessary tasks before the children came back from school.
Mäzli was very obedient to-day and had settled down on her little chair.
She was virtuously knitting on a white rag, which was to receive a bright red border and was destined to dust Uncle Philip's desk.
It was to be presented to him on his next birthday as a great surprise.
Mäzli had in her head this and many other thoughts caused by the morning's scene, so she did not feel the same inclination to set out on trips of discovery as usual, and remained quietly sitting on her chair.
Her mother was extremely preoccupied, as could easily be seen.
Her thoughts had nothing to do with either the laundry or the orders she was giving to Kathy, nor the cooking apples she had sorted out in the cellar.
Her hand often lay immovably on these, while she absently looked in front of her.
Her thoughts were up in the castle-garden with the lovely young Leonore, and in her imagination she was wandering about with her beloved friend, singing and chattering under the sounding pine trees.
Her brother's news had wakened all these memories very vividly.
Then again she would sigh deeply and another communication filled her full of anxiety.
Bruno had asked her not to wait for him at dinner, as he had resolved to stop his comrades from a wicked design and therefore would surely be a trifle late.
What this was and what action he meant to prevent the boy had not had time to say, for Kurt had opened the door at that moment calling for her with his voice of thunder.
All she had been able to do was to beg Bruno, whatever happened, not to let his anger become his master.
Sooner than the mother had expected Kurt's steps could be heard hurriedly running into the house followed by a loud call for her.
"Here I am, Kurt," sounded calmly from the living-room, where his mother had finally settled down after her tasks, beside Mäzli's chair.
"Come in first before you try to make your announcements; or is it so dreadfully urgent?"
Kurt had already reached his mother's side.
"Oh, mother, when I come home from school I'm never sure if you are in the top or the bottom of the house," he said, "so I have to inquire in plenty of time, especially when there is so much to tell you as there is to-day.
Now listen.
First of all, the teacher thanks you for the presents for the poor people.
He lets you know that if you think it suitable to send them a helmet of cardboard with a red plume, he will put it by for the present.
Or did you have a special intention with it?"
"I do not understand a word of what you say, Kurt," the mother replied.
That moment Lippo opened the door.
He was apt to come home after the older boy, for Kurt was not obliged to wait for him after school.
"Here comes the one who will be able to explain the precious gift you sent, mother," said Kurt.
Lippo, trotting cheerfully into the room, had bright red cheeks from his walk.
The mother began by asking, "Tell me, Lippo, did you take something to school this morning in your school-bag for the poor people whose houses were burnt?"
"Yes, mother, my helmet from Uncle Philip," Lippo answered.
"I see!
You thought that if a poor little chap had no shirt, he would be glad to get a fine helmet with a plume for his head," Kurt said laughing.
"You don't need to laugh!"
Lippo said, a little hurt.
"Mother told us that we must not only send things we don't want any more.
So I gave the helmet away and I should have loved to keep it."
"Don't laugh at him, Kurt; I really told him that," the mother affirmed.
"He wanted to do right but he did not quite find the right way of doing it.
If you had told me your intention, Lippo, I could have helped you to do some positive good.
Next time you want to help, tell me about it, and we'll do it together."
"Yes, I will," Lippo said, quite appeased.
"Oh, mother, listen!"
Kurt was continuing.
"I have to tell you something you won't like and we don't like either.
Just think!
Loneli had to sit on the shame-bench to-day.
But all the class is on Loneli's side."
"But why, Kurt?
The poor child!"
the mother exclaimed.
"What did she do?
I am afraid that her honest old grandmother will take it terribly to heart.
She'll be in deep sorrow about it and will probably punish Loneli again."
"No, indeed, she must not do that," Kurt said eagerly.
"The teacher said himself that he hated to put Loneli there, as she was a good and obedient child, but that he had to keep his word.
He had announced that he was tired of the constant chattering going on in the school.
To stop it he had threatened to put the first child on the shame-bench that was caught.
So poor Loneli had to sit there all by herself and she cried so terribly that we all felt sorry.
But of course, mother, a person doesn't talk alone, and Loneli should not have been obliged to stay there alone.
The teacher had just asked: 'Who is talking over there?
I can hear some whispering.
Who is it?'
Loneli answered 'I' in a low voice, so she had to be punished.
One of her neighbors should have said 'I,' too, of course; it was perfectly evident that there was another one."
"Loneli might have asked somebody a question which was not answered," his mother suggested.
"Mea will know all about it, for she followed Loneli after school.
Now more still, mother," Kurt continued.
"Two boys from my class were beaten this morning by Mr. Trius.
Early this morning they had climbed over the castle hedge to inspect the apples on the other side of the hedge.
But Mr. Trius was already about and stood suddenly before them with his heavy stick.
In a jiffy they had a real Trius-beating, for the hedge is high and firm and one can't get across it quickly.
Now for my fourth piece of news.
Farmer Max who lives behind the castle has told everybody that when his father came back late yesterday night from the cattle-fair in the valley, he saw a large coach, which was right behind his own, drive into the castle-garden.
He was quite certain that it went there, but nobody seems to know who was in it.
So you are really listening at last, mother!
I noticed that you have been absentminded till now.
Farmer Max told us something else about his father that you wouldn't like me to repeat, I know."
"You would not say so if it were not wrong; you had better not repeat it, Kurt," said the mother.
"No, indeed, it is not bad, but very strange.
I can tell you though, because I don't believe it myself.
Max told that his father said there was something wrong about the coach and that he went far out of its way.
The coachman looked as if he only had half a head, and his coat-collar was rolled up terribly high in order to hide what was below.
He was wildly beating the horses so that they fairly flew up the castle-hill, while sparks of fire were flying from their hoofs."
"How can you tell such rubbish, Kurt?
How should there be something unnatural in such a sight?"
the mother scolded him.
"I am sure you think that the Wildenstein ghost is wandering about again.
You can see every day that horses' hoofs give out sparks when they strike stone, and to see a coachman with a rolled up collar in windy weather is not an unusual sight either.
In spite of all I say to you, Kurt, you seem to do nothing but occupy yourself with this matter.
Can't you let the foolish people talk without repeating it all the time?"
Kurt was very glad when Mea entered at that moment, for he had really disobeyed his mother's repeated instructions in the matter.
But he comforted himself with the thought that he was only acting according to her ideas if he was finally able to prove to the people that the whole thing was a pure invention and could get rid of the whole thing for good.
"Why are your eyes all swollen?"
he accosted his sister.
Mea exploded now.
Half angry and half complaining, she still had to fight against her tears.
"Oh, mother, if you only knew how difficult it is to stay friends with Elvira.
Whenever I do anything to offend her, she sulks and won't have anything to do with me for days.
When I want to tell her something and run towards her, speaking a little hurriedly, she is hurt.
Then she always says I spoil the flowers on her hat because I shake them.
And then she turns her back on me and won't even speak to me."
"Indeed!
I have seen that long ago," Kurt broke in, "and I began a song about her yesterday.
It ought to be sung to her.
I'll recite it to you: A SONG ABOUT A WELL KNOWN YOUNG LADY.
I know a maiden fair of face, Who mostly turns her back.
All noise she thinks a great disgrace, But tricks she does not lack.
"No, Kurt, you mustn't go on with that song," Mea cried with indignation.
"Mea is right when she doesn't want you to celebrate her friends in that way, Kurt," said the mother, "and if she asks you to, you must leave off."
"But I am her brother and I do not wish to see my sister being tyranized over and treated badly by a friend.
I certainly wouldn't call her a real friend," Kurt eagerly exclaimed.
"I should be only too glad if my song made her so angry that she would break the friendship entirely.
There would be nothing to mourn over."
Mea, however, fought passionately for her friend and never gave way till Kurt had promised not to go on with his ditty.
But her mother wanted to know now what had given Mea such red eyes.
So she told them that she had followed Loneli in order to comfort her, for she was still crying.
Loneli had told her then about being caught at chattering.
Elvira, who was Loneli's neighbor, had asked her if she would be allowed to go to Sils on dedication day, next Sunday, and Loneli had answered no. Then Elvira wanted to know why not, to which Loneli had promised to give her an answer after school, as they were not allowed to talk in school.
That moment the teacher had questioned them and Loneli had promptly accused herself.
"Don't you think, mother, that Elvira should have admitted that she asked Loneli a question?
Then Loneli would not have had to sit on the shame-bench alone.
He might have given them both a different punishment," Mea said, quite wrought up.
"Oho!
Now she sent Loneli to the shame-bench besides, and Loneli is a friend of mine!"
Kurt threw in.
"Now she'll get more verses after all."
"Elvira should certainly have done so," the mother affirmed.
"Yes, and listen what happened afterwards," Mea continued with more ardor than before.
"I ran from Loneli to Elvira, but I was still able to hear poor Loneli's sobs, for she was awfully afraid to go home.
She knew that she had to tell her grandmother about it and she was sure that that would bring her a terrible punishment.
When I met Elvira, I told her that it was unfair of her not to accuse herself and to let Loneli bear the punishment alone.
That made her fearfully angry.
She said that I was a pleasant friend indeed, if I wished this punishment and shame upon her.
She should not have said that, mother, should she?
I told her that the matter was easy enough for her as it was all settled for her, but not for Loneli.
I asked to tell the teacher how it all happened, so that he could say something in school and let the children know what answer Loneli had given her.
Then he would see that she was innocent.
But Elvira only grew angrier still and told me that she would look for another friend, if I chose to preach to her.
She said that she didn't want to have anything to do with me from now on and, turning about, ran away."
"So much the better!"
Kurt cried out.
"Now you won't have to run humbly after Elvira any more, as if you were always in the wrong, the way you usually do to win her precious favor."
"Why shouldn't Mea meet her friend kindly again if she wants to, Kurt?"
said the mother.
"Elvira knows well enough who has been offended this time and has broken off the friendship.
She will be only too glad when Mea meets her half-way."
Kurt was beginning another protest, but it was not heard.
Lippo and Mäzli arrived at that moment, loudly announcing the important news that Kathy was going to serve the soup in a moment and that the table was not even set.
The mother had put off preparations for dinner on purpose.
During the foregoing conversation she had repeatedly glanced towards the little garden gate to see if Bruno was not coming, but he could not be seen yet.
So she began to set the table with Mea, while Lippo, too, assisted her.
The little boy knew exactly where everything belonged.
He put it there in the most orderly fashion, and when Mea put a fork or spoon down quickly a little crookedly, he straightway put them perfectly straight the way they belonged.
Kurt laughed out loud, "Oh, Lippo, you must become an inn-keeper, then all your tables will look as if they had been measured out with a compass."
"Leave Lippo alone," said the mother.
"I wish you would all do your little tasks as carefully as he does."
Dinner was over and the mother was looking out towards the road in greater anxiety, but Bruno had not come.
"Now he comes with a big whip," Kurt shouted suddenly.
"Something must have happened, for one does not usually need a whip in school."
The younger boy opened the door, full of expectation.
Bruno could not help noticing his mother's frightened expression, despite the rage he was in, which plainly showed in his face.
He exclaimed, as he entered, "I'll tell you right away what happened, mother, so that you won't think it was still worse.
I have only whipped them both as they deserved, that is all."
"But, Bruno, that is bad enough.
You seem to get more savage all the time," the mother lamented.
"How could you do such a thing?"
"I'll explain it right away and then you will have to admit that it was the only thing to do," Bruno assured her.
"The two told me last Saturday that they had a scheme for to-day in which I was to join.
They had discovered that the lovely plums in the Rector's garden were ripe and they meant to steal them.
When the Rector is through with his lessons at twelve o'clock he always goes to the front room and then nobody knew what is going on in the garden.
Their plan was to use this time to-day in order to shake the tree and fill their pockets full of plums.
I was to help them.
I told them what a disgrace it was for them to ask me and I said that I would find means to prevent it.
So they noisily called me a traitor and told me that accusing them was worse than stealing plums.
I
said that it wasn't my intention to tell on them, but I would come and use my whip as soon as they touched the tree.
