Dame Care by Hermann Sudermann

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"Now I have no longer a place on earth where I can rest my gray hairs," he
grumbled, stretching himself lazily on his cushions.

Next spring it was the turn of the farm buildings; the barn, especially,
was to be made an example of rural magnificence, as a monument of that
terrible night which had given the death-blow to his mother.

The farmers who now drove across the heath often halted to look admiringly
at the smart buildings which, with their red-tiled roofs, impressed them
already in the distance, and many a one shook his head thoughtfully and
murmured the old proverb:

"To build and to lend
Bring cares without end."

"Black Susy" on the moor was sending forth her black clouds of smoke, the
knives of the cutting-machine bored themselves deep into the clammy ground,
and the press worked slowly and silently like a good-natured domestic
animal. A newly-built shed with its white walls looked dazzling in the
sunshine, and all round about the long black rows of compressed peat were
to be seen. The blocks were hard and heavy, with little fibre and much
coal. They easily beat all competition and had a good reputation as far as
Koenigsberg.

Paul, who on his business journeys mixed much with strange people, now
also enjoyed the happiness of being greeted as a man of consequence, and
of being treated by the worthy land-owners as their equal. But he had no
longer any pleasure in it.

When they shook hands with him in a friendly manner, congratulated him upon
his success, or requested a visit from him, he asked himself in silence,
"Are they mocking me?" And though he saw well that the gentlemen were quite
in earnest about it, he always felt as if freed from a nightmare when they
let him go.

"Why did not these kind people come here before," he said to himself, "at
that time when I needed them--when each kind word would have been of great
advantage to me? Now I am as insensible as a stone--now it is too late."

But his ambition increased more and more. And as if Heaven itself wished
to consecrate it all, it caused the fruit to thrive in such abundance that
year (the seventh since his mother's death), sent rain and sunshine
so lavishly, each at its proper time, that the people began to feel
uncomfortable at all this profusion, and asked each other anxiously, "Can
it be for any real good?"

"Something will still come and spoil all--a hailstorm or the like," said
Paul, who was always prepared for the worst. But no; the harvest wagons
came in one after the other heavily laden, swaying from side to side, and
kept pouring the profusion of golden ears into the granary, scattering
grains around until it was full up to the rafters.

But neither did this give pleasure to Paul. The more he saw his property
accumulate, the more proudly the fruits of his handiwork greeted him, the
heavier grew his care. Any one who had seen him slowly walking across the
yard, with deep lines in his forehead and bowed head, might have taken him
for a man encumbered with debts and very near to ruin.

About this time he read in the newspaper that Elsbeth was betrothed. The
name of Elsbeth Douglas and Leo Heller stood side by side in letters full
of beautiful flourishes.

He did not feel any sharp pain, he was not even startled; only a smile of
melancholy satisfaction played round his mouth, as if he were murmuring to
himself, "I always said so!"

And then he remembered the document which had once been circulated in
church by the younger Erdmann to vex him, and which sounded just the same,
only that his own name had stood there instead of the strange one. And that
certainly made a difference.

He had not seen her for years. Although their properties lay so close
together there had been no meeting between them. The White House still
gleamed just as brightly over the heath and overlooked his window as at the
time when the longing to wander thither had arisen in his childish heart,
but the magic glitter which surrounded it then, and for fifteen years
after, had now vanished, extinguished by the deepening shadows of every-day
life.

"May she be happy!" he said, and considered himself comforted by this wish.

Next Sunday the harvest festival was celebrated in the church. Paul sat in
his corner, and listened to the tones of the organ and the vicar sending
up praise and thanksgiving to Heaven. The sun shone through the painted
windows in a thousand bright colors, just as it did on the day when he and
Elsbeth were confirmed; but there, too, sad and sombre in her ash-colored
garments, stood the gray woman, still gazing down upon him with her big,
hollow eyes.

"I, too, am celebrating a harvest festival to-day, the harvest festival of
my youth," he thought, "but mine is scarcely a too happy one."

The service was at an end. With a triumphant song the organ dismissed
the joyful worshippers, who crowded together under the yews in the shady
church-yard to shake hands and congratulate each other.

As Paul came down the steps he saw Elsbeth only a few paces before him, on
the arm of her betrothed.

She seemed older, and looked pale and delicate. When her look met his she
turned a shade paler still.

He trembled all over, but his eyes did not quit her face. In confusion he
raised his cap; and at the same place where fifteen years ago they had
spoken the first words to one another, they now passed each other in
silence and like strangers.

CHAPTER XX.

"Whatever is the matter with father?" said Frau Kate Erdmann to Frau Greta
Erdmann, as they were both driving along the road on the way to visit their
old home and take the opportunity at the same time of telling their brother
all that weighed on their minds.

The old man stood crouched up in a corner behind the barn, and was busying
himself over a heap of straw which lay there. When he heard the rattle of
the dog-cart he stopped in alarm and rubbed his hands like some one who
wished to appear unconcerned.

The two sisters looked at each other, and Greta said,

"We must give Paul a hint of this."

Oh, they had become very reasonable, these two wild girls! not less so
inwardly than outwardly; their truant brown curls were combed smoothly
behind their ears, and the sparkling eyes had a weary look in them, as
though they now knew how it feels to sit in a lonely room and cry one's
heart out.

Frau Kate, indeed, had three strapping boys, and

Frau Greta had already hopes of a fourth; and every one knows "Maternity
renders weary."

Paul was not at home; he was working on the moor; but their father came
towards them with a cunning laugh, swinging his crutch, and crying out,
"Can't I run again like a youth?"

Frau Kate expressed her admiration and Frau Greta agreed with her.

"It goes first-rate," he laughed; "the day before yesterday I even went as
far as Helenenthal."

They looked at him in surprise, and almost in terror, for since he was
forced to leave it he had never been there again.

"How were you received?" asked Frau Greta.

"Who? What? Oh, you think perhaps I went for a neighborly visit? You are
real geese! I would sooner be the guest of your watch-dog and try to take
his mutton-bone away."

"But what did you do there, then?"

"I peeped through the gate and looked at the clock and then I came home
again. How long do you think it takes me to walk there? just guess."

They had no idea.

"An hour and a half, just like a professional runner.... Indeed," he looked
down meditatively, "if one had anything to carry, it might take two."

"And you went only to find that out?"

"That was all, my love, that was all!" and his eye sparkled meaningly.

Then they seated themselves in the veranda, which Paul had had erected
before the door, on the model of the White House. The old house-keeper,
who had formerly managed the Erdmanns' establishment, and who after they
were married had emigrated to the Haidehof, had to go into the kitchen to
make coffee and waffle cakes, and as their father did not know what to
talk about to his daughters, he abused Paul and his sons-in-law. To-day he
did it less from absolute love of abuse than from old habit; his thoughts
seemed to be wandering somewhere else, and while he spoke he wriggled on
his chair with uncomfortable activity.

"Let us go in," said Kate; "we must look after household matters a little,
and the wind is blowing us away here."

"There will be a storm to-night," said Greta. And then they both turned
round terrified, for the laugh which the old man gave sounded so very
strange.

"Let there be a storm," he said, a little embarrassed; "that won't matter
at all. There are storms in married life too, sometimes, are there not?"

In Kate's face there lurked something of her old mischievous look, but
Greta drew down the corners of her mouth, as if she were going to cry. She
seemed not quite to have got over the last.

"Yes, autumn will be early this year," she said, with a touch of
melancholy.

The old man whistled "Wenn die Schwalben Heimwarts Ziehn" (When the
Swallows Homeward Fly), and Katie said:

"Let autumn come; the barns are full."

"Thank God!" tittered the old man, "they are full."

The sisters put their arms round each other, and pressing their foreheads
against the window panes, looked out into the sunny yard, from which clouds
of dust were whirling to the sky....

At dusk Paul came home, black as a nigger, for the peat-dust, which the
wind had been blowing about, had settled on his beard and face.

He mutely shook hands with his sisters, looked sharply into their eyes, and
said, "You shall tell me all about it afterwards."

Greta looked at Kate, and Kate looked at Greta; then they suddenly laughed
aloud, and, seizing him by both shoulders, danced about the room with him.

"You will make yourselves black, children," he said.

"My sweetheart is a chimney-sweep," hummed Greta; and Kate sang the second
verse, "My sweetheart comes from the nigger's land."

Then they kissed him and ran to the looking-glass to see whether the kiss
had left a mark.

When he had gone out to make himself tidy, Greta said, "It's funny that he
has only to look at one and all is right again."

And Kate added, "But he is more silent himself to-day than ever."

"Paul, be good," they said, caressingly, as they sat together at the
supper-table; "we may only come here on such rare occasions!... show us a
friendly face."

"Have you forgotten what day it is?" he answered, stroking their hair.

They started, for their first thought was of the anniversary of their
mother's death, but they breathed freely again, for that fell near
Midsummer-day.

"Well?" they asked.

"To-day, eight years ago, our barn was burned down!"

All were silent; only their father chuckled and sighed to himself....

It began to grow dark; over the heath there still streamed a streak of red
light, which was reflected a fiery glow upon the white table-cloth. The
storm rattled at the shutters.

It was a good thing that the house-keeper now entered the room. She was a
garrulous woman, who had always much news to relate.

"Well, Frau Jankus, what have you to tell us?" called out Kate to her, who
was glad to shake off the nightmare of remembrance.

"Oh, dear madam," cried the old person, "don't you know yet? There are
great goings-on in the church to-day. The whole village is making wreaths;
over the altar they have hung a whole garland of rare tea-roses, and on
each side the most beautiful oleander trees are placed."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"A wedding is the matter! Miss Douglas's wedding will be to-morrow!"

The two sisters started, exchanged a quick glance with each other, and then
looked at Paul.

But he was rolling a crumb of bread between his fingers, and looked as if
the story did not concern him in the least.

The sisters exchanged another glance and nodded significantly. Then, with
the same impulse, they both seized his hands.

"Children, you tear me to pieces," he said, with a feeble smile.

"Ah, then there will be _polterabend_ there today?" asked their father,
growing quite lively all of a sudden.

"Probably, probably!" answered the old housekeeper. "Not long ago I saw a
troop of children go by quite laden with old flower-pots and rubbish."

"At our wedding they showed more moderation," said Greta, and both sisters
looked at each other and smiled dreamily.

"That's a splendid coincidence," muttered the old man, and rubbed his
hands.

"Why splendid?" asked Paul.

"Oh, I only meant ... coincidence--the same day that they burned down our
barn. Just tell me, Paul--you were awake--what hour might it have been when
you saw the flames rise?"

"It might have been one o'clock."

"Well, you ought to know. Though what the business really was that took you
to Helenenthal that night passes my comprehension, but it is all right
quite right! now I know the exact hour."

Then you know a great deal! said Greta, laughing.

"So I do," he answered, sulkily. "You'll see, my little daughter, you'll
see!"

Kate was about to come to her sister's assistance, but Paul made them a
sign, secretly, to leave the old man in peace.

Soon after, the sisters took leave.

"You wanted to tell Paul that father has secrets behind the, barn," said
Kate, when they were both sitting in the dog cart.

"Yes that is true!" she answered, made the driver stop, and beckoned
to Paul. But the old man, who, in his distrust, always liked to hear
everything that was said, thrust himself in, and so they had to leave it
unsaid.

When Paul, on his usual evening round, came into the kitchen, he saw how
his father was negotiating with the house keeper for an earthen pot.

"What do you want the pot for, Mr Meyerhofer?" asked the old woman.

"I also am going to celebrate _polterabend_, Frau Jankus," he replied, with
a hollow laugh. "Perhaps they will give me some of the wedding cake."

The old woman nearly died of laughing, and his father limped off to his
bedroom with the pot, locking the door carefully behind him.

The whole house had retired to rest, only Paul still paced up and down in
the dark yard.

"So to morrow will be her wedding," he thought, folding his hands "If I
were a good Christian I ought to say a prayer for her happiness. But I am
not such an inert fellow yet, by a long way I believe that I once loved her
very much, more than I knew myself. How can it have been that I became
a stranger to her?" He thought and thought, but could come to no right
conclusion.

The moon rose over the moor--a great blood red disk--which spread an
uncertain light all over the yard. The storm seemed to be augmenting. It
whistled round the corners and howled through the trees.

"If a fire were to break out to day it would not content itself with the
barn only," thought Paul and then it occurred to him that he must send a
reminder to the agent, to hasten the insurance. "For one never knows what
might happen during the night. I will go to sleep"--he concluded his
reflections--"to morrow is another day, and a wedding day, too"

He went on tiptoe to the bedroom, which he had prepared for himself near
that of his fathers, so as to be at hand if anything should happen to the
old man. He lighted no candle, for the full moon, rising higher, already
shone brightly into the room.

"I wonder if you will sleep to night? he thought an hour later. The
shadows of the storm blown leaves led a wild dance on his counterpane, and
in between the light of the moon quivered like little tongues of white
flame.

"On that midsummer night the moon shone just as bright," and then he
remembered how white Elsbeth's dressing gown had looked, peeping out
underneath her dark cloak.

"That was the finest night of my life," he murmured, with a sigh, and then
he decided to go to sleep! and drew his blanket over his head to strengthen
his resolution.

Some time after, he thought he heard his father get up softly in the next
room and limp out at the door. He could distinctly hear how the crutch
clattered on the stone flags of the hall.

"He will come back directly," he thought, for it often happened that his
father got up in the night.

With that he fell into an uneasy doze, in which all sorts of terrible
dreams chased each other through his head. When he next came to full
consciousness the moon was already high in the heavens, her beams now
scarcely illumined his room at all, but the garden and yard lay bathed in
light.

"Strange--it seems to me as if I had not heard father come back," he said
to himself. He sat up and looked at the watch that was hanging over his
bed.

"Light minutes to one." Two hours had elapsed meanwhile.

"I suppose I was fast asleep," he thought, and was about to lie down again.
Then the house door, caught by the storm, slammed noisily to, so that the
whole house shook.

He jumped up, terrified What is that? The house door open, father not back
yet? The next moment he had thrown on his coat and trousers, and with bare
feet and bare head rushed out.

The door which led from his father's bedroom into the hall stood wide open.
Pale with anxiety, he stepped towards the bed--it had not been used, only
on the foot of it there was an impression on the feather quilt So his
father had been sitting there without stirring for more than an hour and a
half--evidently waiting till he himself was asleep.

What in the name of Heaven did all this mean?

His look wandered searchingly round the room. The worsted slippers in which
his father generally crept about the house were thrown in the corner, but
the boots, which for months had been standing there unused, were gone.

What? Did his lame father want to go for a ramble in the middle of the
night? His heart almost stopped beating He rushed out into the yard.

It was as clear as daylight, only as far as the shadow of the barn extended
night still reigned.

The storm howled among the trees, the glistening white sand was whirled in
the air, otherwise all was silent and deserted.

He hastened through the garden--no trace of him--to the back of the
stables--still no trace of him. Ah, what did this mean? The gate open?
Where had he gone? The dog near him whined, he hastily unfastened his
chain. "Seek for your master, Turk. Seek'"

The dog sniffed about on the ground and ran to the front of the barn, where
the bundles of straw were lying piled up like pale mountains of sand along
the wall.

The moonlight was dazzling on the whitewashed wall, and lay bright and
glittering on the ground One might have found a pin by its light. There was
nothing to be noticed, except in one place the straw seemed disarranged.

But stop! how does the ladder come here, which is leaning against the wall?
The ladder which but two hours ago was lying flat along the inside of the
fence?

Who has taken it from its place?

And, by heaven!--what is this?--

Who has opened the window of the loft, which he himself had bolted from the
inside before the barn was filled with the sheaves?

Below at the foot of the ladder, the ground looked moist, as if a liquid
had been spilled. An odor of petroleum rose from the spot.

With trembling hands he seized the straw which was strewn on the ground.
Yes, it was wet, and the obnoxious odor communicated itself to the fingers
that touched it.

He felt his knees tremble under him, a dull, terrible foreboding clouded
his senses. With difficulty he raised himself up and mounted the ladder,
till he reached the window of the loft.

The dog whined below.

"Seek for your master, Turk. Seek!"

The animal broke out into a joyous howl and ran sniffing round and round,
till he seemed to have found the scent.

Paul gazed at him. He was trembling feverishly, in agonizing suspense.

The way the animal took was through the gate. Then it really had been his
father who had opened it.

But then--then.... Which way would he turn?

"Seek for your master, Turk. Seek!"

The dog again gave a short howl, and then ran with great speed down the
path towards Helenenthal.

Helenenthal! What does father want in Helenenthal? Ah, did he not say a
short time ago that he had been there one afternoon for an experiment? For
an experiment! And how strangely and unpleasantly he laughed when he said
it.

And to-day, too. How mysterious his behavior had been! And when they were
speaking of the barn catching fire, what did he mean by the words that it
was a splendid coincidence today? Why to day? Whatever happens, I must
find the solution of this riddle ere it is too late!

He looked around, seeking help.

As his hand was groping mechanically in the dark aperture he laid hold of
the handle of a tin can which stood hidden there among the sheaves. It was
the petroleum can, which he had freshly filled yesterday. And on whose
advice? Who was it who came and said,

"Father, father, for Jesus' sake, what do you want to do at Helenenthal?"

And now, how much is there still in it? It is scarcely half full.

As he unconsciously went on groping about, he came upon some boxes of
matches which lay by the can.

This opened his eyes, he gave a terrible cry, "He is going to set
Helenenthal on fire!"

Everything swam before his eyes, and he would have fallen backward from the
ladder had he not clung to the framework of the window.

All was clear. His father's confused talk, his laughs, his threats.

But there was yet time. The old man could only creep along on his crutch.
He might throw himself on his horse, and gallop after him.

"Saddle a horse!" he called out through the dark, and sprang down from the
ladder. Then suddenly it shot through his brain--"Why did father ask so
minutely about the time years ago? Would his revenge be executed at the
same moment? Good heavens' then all is lost. I told him one o'clock was the
hour, and it is one now."

Mad fear seized him--again he climbed the ladder.

In the next moment the flames would rise over there.

Is it not burning there already? No, it is only the moon that shines on
the windows of the White House. Heavenly Father, is there no salvation, no
mercy? If a prayer, if a curse could have the power to lame the out
stretched hand! Who will warn him, who will give him a sign to turn back?

But there are the flames No. Perhaps in another second the fiery glow will
rise to the sky.

"Elsbeth, awake'"

It will flame up as it did then, eight years ago, when the blood red
reflection paralyzed all his faculties, as he roamed in the garden of
Helenenthal. If to day, as at that time, a fire were to rise on the heath,
or that his father's hand might be stiffened in the midst of his criminal
purpose.

Oh, God in Heaven, let a miracle happen! Let a fire break out on the heath,
as it happened before--as happened before.

There _must_ be a fire! And there must be a fire here! If lightning would
but strike the roof of his own home, so that the flames might cry out to
his father, "Stop, stop!" Ah, why is it such a clear, starlight night? Why
is there no threatening cloud upon the horizon? Perhaps he is even now
stretching up to the thatched roof. Perhaps he is now striking the match.
In another moment all warning will be too late.

There must be a fire! There must be a fire here!

And there is no torch that I could swing to warn him!

"There must be a fire! There must be a fire here!"

And as he looked around with eyes starting from his head, there suddenly
flashed upon him an idea as bright as the fire he was longing for.

He shouted with joy.

"Yes, that's the thing. The terror will benumb him. It must be saved. Saved
at any price."

With both hands he seized the can, and swinging it round him, poured its
contents on the piled-up sheaves.

He grasped the matches. There is a soft hissing, the storm howls through
the opening, and the flame shoots up high into the air, a whistling,
hissing roaring is heard. The fire has already reached the roof.

He rushes back into the yard, which still lies silent before him.

"Fire! fire! fire!" he cries, to wake the sleepers.

In the stables, where the farm servants sleep, there is a great stir,
shrieks come from the servants' rooms.

The roof is already wrapped in a fiery mantle. The tiles begin to crack,
and fall rattling to the ground. Wherever there is an outlet a fountain of
flame immediately spirts up towards the sky.

Hitherto he had been standing in the yard all alone, watching his terrible
work with folded hands, but now the doors were torn open, and the farm
servants and maids rushed screaming into the yard.

Then he sighed, relieved, as at a duty accomplished, and walked slowly
into the garden to avoid meeting anybody. "I have worked long enough," he
murmured, slamming the gate behind him. "To-day I will rest!"

With lagging steps he went along the gravel path like one tired out,
murmuring incessantly "Rest! rest!"

His glance wandered wearily around, the garden lay before him, bathed in a
sea of light caused by the moonbeams and the flames, and the shadows of the
storm driven leaves danced before his eyes like something supernatural.
Here and there a spark fell upon the path before him, looking like a
glowworm. He searched for the darkest arbor, and hid in its farthest
corner. There he sat down on the turfy seat and buried his face in his
hands.

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