Part 8 (1/2)

”That's the daughter of the old woman you gave a present to,” said Walpurga, addressing the lackey. ”She goes by the name of Black Esther.

If the mother doesn't bury the money out of sight, she'll surely take it from her.”

Although Baum turned toward Walpurga, he was not looking at her, but at the girl, who was no other than his sister. A little while ago, he had denied his mother, while bestowing an alms upon her. And now he sat up beside the postilion, his arms folded as if to brace himself, for he felt as if his heart would break. His whole life pa.s.sed before him, and, now and then, he planted himself more firmly in his seat, lest he should fall. And now the carriage pa.s.sed by a farmyard where, twenty years ago, he had, by his mother's order, stolen a goose. He was a slim lad then and had found it easy to slip in, on all fours, through the gap in the hedge, which had closed up in the mean while.

Thomas, his twin brother, had joined the poachers. But Baum, who was not apt at their work, was glad when they took him for a soldier. One day while he was on duty at the palace an old _valet de chambre_ brought a letter from Baroness Steigeneck, who was then at the height of her power. The valet was kept waiting a long while, during which he chatted with Baum, to whom he took a great liking. He invited Baum to visit the Steigeneck palace, where they drank together in the servants'

room and were exceedingly jolly.

”Why is your hair so red?” said the _valet de chambre_.

”Why? Because it grew so.”

”But that can be remedied.”

”Indeed! How so?”

The old man gave Baum the requisite directions.

”You must also change your name. Rauhensteiner is too hard for their lords.h.i.+ps. It is difficult to p.r.o.nounce, and particularly for those who have false teeth. You must take some such name as Beck, or Schultz, or Hecht, or Baum. For, mind you, a dog has no name except the one its master sees fit to call it by.”

”'Baum' would suit me very well.”

”Well then, let it be Baum.” On his way home that night, he kept continually saying to himself, ”Baum, Baum--that's a short and easy name and no one will know me.” The old man had made him swear that he would have nothing more to do with his family. His recent visit to his native village had reminded him of his pledge, and, although he attached but little importance to an oath, he found it convenient and, as he thought, praiseworthy to keep this one.

Through the intercession of the Steigeneck valet, his military discharge was made out in the name of Wolfgang Rauhensteiner--surnamed Baum. After that, he was simply known as Baum, and none knew that he had ever borne another name. He was perfectly willing to forego his chance of any bequests that might be left to him under the name of Rauhensteiner.

He entered the service of the court, and his first position was as groom to the prince, while at the university and during his subsequent journey through Italy. As a precaution, he had gone home and obtained an emigrant's pa.s.sport, and afterward had dyed his hair black. In his native village, all were under the impression that he had emigrated.

After he returned from his travels, he married the daughter of the _valet de chambre_, and ever grew in favor with his masters. He was discreet in all things, and would cough behind his raised left hand. He was delighted with the name of ”Baum.” Such was his zeal to serve his masters, that had it been possible he would, for their sakes, have banished all harsh consonants from the language.

”That's settled,” said Baum, as he sat on the box beside the postilion and coughed behind his hand. ”That's settled”--and his face a.s.sumed a calm and determined expression as if he thought some one was watching him. ”I've emigrated to America. If I were there, I'd be dead and buried as far as my family are concerned. Family, indeed! They'd only ruin and beggar me, and always be at my heels. None of that for me!” He watched the people, many of whom he knew, walking along the road. ”What a pitiful life these folks must lead--no pleasure the whole year round!

Once a week, on Sunday they get shaved and preached to, and the next morning the squalor begins anew. Any one who has escaped, would be a fool to think of returning to it again!”

Whilst Baum was thus recalling long-forgotten incidents of his past, Walpurga was trying hard to repress her tears. It seemed as if some higher power to whose sway she submitted herself had deprived her of thought and feeling.

With wondering eyes she gazed at the brooks that hurried down from the hills and then, as if to see what was becoming of Walpurga, would run along beside the road. When they dashed across the wooden bridges that overhung the roaring brook, she would tremble with fear, and would not feel rea.s.sured until they had gained the smooth road on the other side.

She looked up at the mountains, the houses and the Alpine huts; she knew the names of those who dwelt in every one of them. But they soon reached a region to which she was a stranger.

At the next station where they stopped to change horses, the Sunday idlers were astonished to see a peasant woman descend from so elegant a carriage. A woman nursing her child was sitting under a linden tree near by. Prompted by curiosity, she raised herself in her seat, and the child turning its head at the same time, mother and child were staring at Walpurga, who nodded to them kindly, while her eyes filled with tears and her throat seemed to close. The postilion blew his horn, the horses started off at a gallop, and Walpurga again felt as if flying through the air.

”This is fast traveling, Walpurga, isn't it?” exclaimed Baum. When she now looked at him, she, too, was startled by his wonderful resemblance to Thomas.

”Yes, indeed!” said she. The doctor said but little, for he was too deeply moved by sympathy for her. Nor did he, as usual, a.s.sert his pride of position. This woman was so much more than a mere tool that one might well treat her with kindness and consideration. She had found it so hard to leave her home. He was, for some time, considering what he should say to her, and, at last, inquired:

”Do you like your doctor?”

”Yes, indeed I do! He's very odd. He scolds and abuses everybody; but for all that, he does good wherever he can, be it day or night; rich and poor are all the same to him. Oh, he's a real good man!”

Doctor Sixtus smiled and asked her: