A Village Romeo and Juliet

by Keller Gottfried

  But in spite of the freedom that he enjoyed, Sali was not really happy, realizing that he had no training for the future – for any rational pattern of work in Manz’s house had long since been abandoned. He thus found his chief consolation in the thought of his independence and hitherto blameless conduct. Priding himself on this, he watched sullenly as the days went by, averting his gaze from what lay in the future.

  The sole obligation in his life was to continue his father’s hostility towards Marti and everything connected with him. All he knew was that Marti had offended his father and that the same enmity persisted in Marti’s house, so it was not difficult for him both to ignore Marti and his daughter, and to play the role of a young, if somewhat gentle antagonist himself.

  Vrenchen, however, who had more to suffer than Sali and led a far lonelier life, felt less drawn to an attitude of rigid hostility and believed only that the well-dressed and seemingly happier Sali scorned her. She thus tried to keep out of his sight, and whenever he was close at hand, she hurried away, and he did not even bother to look in her direction. So a number of years went by without his seeing her at close quarters, and he no longer had any real idea what she looked like. Yet he often felt very curious to know, and whenever the Martis were mentioned, he involuntarily thought of the daughter whom he would now no longer recognize but whose memory was far from displeasing.

  However, it was his father Manz who was the first of the two enemies to break. He was forced to leave his house; his wife had helped him squander his money, and his son had also had certain needs to fulfil, whilst Marti was the only consumer in his own tottering empire – for although his daughter was allowed to work like a slave, she was not allowed to have any wants. So, following the advice of his supporters in Seldwyla, Manz moved into the town and set himself up as an innkeeper.

  It is always sad to see a farmer, accustomed to country life, move into the town with what he has salvaged of his possessions, and open a café or a bar, desperately trying to play the busy, genial publican while his personal feelings are anything but genial.

  Only when Manz and his family moved out of their farmhouse did it become evident how poor they had become, for the dilapidated furniture which they loaded up betrayed that they had not bought or repaired anything for years. Nevertheless, his wife put on her best clothes and took her place on top of the lumber cart, already seeing herself as a town lady and looking down scornfully at her fellow villagers who peeped out from behind the hedges as the pitiful procession went by. She had made up her mind that she would captivate the whole town with her wit and charm, and that what her simpleton of a husband could not do, she would accomplish herself once she was established in a fine hostelry as the mistress of the establishment.

  In fact, the hostelry turned out to be a miserable tavern in a remote and dingy little alley: the previous occupant had gone bankrupt, and the authorities were leasing it to Manz in the hope that they would thereby recoup the few hundred talers that were still outstanding. They also sold him a few casks of diluted wine and the equipment belonging to the inn – a dozen cheap bottles and glasses, and a few deal tables and benches which had once been painted red but were now badly battered and scratched. An iron ring, in which there was a carving of a hand pouring red wine from a jug into a glass, grated to and fro on a hook in front of the window, and above the front door hung a shrivelled sprig of holly.

  Manz did not share his wife’s complacency, and as though sensing his impending doom, he savagely whipped up the half-starved horses which he had borrowed from the new owner of his farm. His last wretched servant boy had deserted him weeks before.

  As he drove off, he saw the gloating, mocking figure of Marti pretending to busy himself with something at the roadside, and he cursed him as the sole cause of his misfortune. Sali, meanwhile, as soon as the can was on its way, quickened his steps and went ahead, making his own way to the town through side-lanes.

  “Here we are!” cried Manz, as the cart drew up in front of the dingy tavern. His wife was taken aback, for the place was a truly sorry sight. People hastened to their doors and windows to see the new farmer-turned-landlord, putting on expressions of scorn and pity in their haughty manner.

  Climbing down from the cart, Manz’s wife ran into the house, her eyes filling with angry tears. She had no wish to show herself again that day, for she was ashamed of the battered furniture and shabby beds which were now being unloaded. Sali was ashamed too, but was made to help his father unload their possessions in the alley, where ragged children began to climb about on the strange-looking pile and poke fun at the farmer and his downtrodden family.

  The inside of the house was even more depressing, and looked for all the world like a robbers’ den. The damp, dirty walls had been hastily painted with cheap lime, and apart from the dark and dingy bar-saloon with its peeling red tables, the house consisted of nothing but a few miserable little bedrooms in which, as everywhere, the previous occupants had left behind the filthiest mess imaginable.

  Such was the way Manz’s new life started, and such was the way it went on. During the first few weeks, particularly in the evenings, a group of neighbours might arrive who were curious to see the new landlord and whether there was any entertainment to be had there.

  The landlord did not claim their attention for long: crude, graceless, boorish and unfriendly, Manz was not capable of decent behaviour, nor did he desire to be. Slowly and clumsily he filled the glasses and placed them sullenly in front of his customers, muttering a few inaudible words.

  To make up for this, his wife threw herself into her task with all the more zest, and actually managed to attract a few customers for a while, though for reasons that she little guessed. She was a portly matron, and had put together a costume which she was convinced made her irresistible. This consisted of an unbleached linen skirt, a green silk spencer, a cotton apron and an untidy white ruff. She had rolled her thin hair into ridiculous little curls above her forehead and planted a large comb in the plait at the back. With a forced air of grace she waddled and floundered about, pouting stupidly in what she thought was a charming manner, tripped up to the tables with mincing gait and put down the glass or the plate of cheese, exclaiming with a smile: “All right? Everything all right? Very good, sir! Very good, sir!” and making other stupid comments. Normally she was not at a loss for words, but now, since she was a stranger to the town, she was incapable of saying anything intelligent.

  The rough townsfolk sitting there nudged each other under the table and almost exploded with laughter, holding their heads in their hands and spluttering:

  “My goodness, what a creature!”

  “An absolute jewel!” cried another. “It was well worth coming here! We’ve not seen anything like this for ages!”

  Manz observed them, glowering. Then he dug his wife in the ribs and whispered:

  “You stupid fool! What do you think you’re up to?”

  “Leave me alone, you clumsy idiot!” she cried indignantly. “Can’t you see that I know how to get on with people? In any case, these are only rabble that you have brought in. I’ll soon have better class customers in here, you’ll see!”

  The only light there was in the room came from a few thin tallow candles. Sali, who had heard this exchange, went out into the dark kitchen and sat down by the stove, weeping bitterly.

  The guests soon tired of the spectacle of Frau Manz, and went back to places where they felt more at ease and could have a good laugh about it. Now and again a stranger might come in for a drink and stare vacantly at the bare walls around him; sometimes even a group of people arrived, raising false hopes with their jollity and excitement.

  After a while the couple began to grow frightened in their gloomy house. The sun hardly ever penetrated into its rooms, and Manz, who had formerly spent half his time in the town, now began to find this confinement unbearable. When the thought of the wide, open fields came to him, he scowled morosely at the ceiling or the floor, sprang up and went to the
tiny front door, only to rush back again when he saw the neighbours peering at “the surly landlord”, as they called him.

  Soon they were in a state of abject poverty. In order to

  get anything to eat, they had to wait till someone came and paid a few coppers for a glass or two of such wine as

  was left; and if he asked for a sausage or something else

  to eat, it often cost them a great deal of trouble to obtain it. The only wine they had left was in a single large bottle

  which they secretly filled at another inn. They were tavern-keepers without bread or wine, trying to wear cheerful

  faces while having empty stomachs. Indeed, they were

  almost thankful when nobody came and they could sit huddled together in the deserted saloon and drag out

  their pitiful existence in a no-man’s-land between life and death.

  When Manz’s wife finally realized the bitter truth, she took off her green spencer, and, as she had formerly been governed by her faults, so now, in the hour of trial, she began to reveal her virtues. Patiently she tried to keep up her husband’s morale and instruct her son in the ways of good living, making many sacrifices and trying in her own way to exert a beneficent influence which, however limited, was at least better than nothing, or than an influence of the opposite kind, and helped to prevent things breaking up altogether. She offered advice, to the best of her ability, on all manner of problems, and even if her advice was useless or mistaken, she bore the men’s anger patiently. In short, she practised in her old age all the virtues she should have cultivated in her youth.

  In order to get some food, and also to while away the time, Manz and his son took to fishing in the river at places where it was permitted. This was a favourite pastime of penniless Seldwylans. When weather conditions were favourable and the fish could be expected to bite, dozens of men set out with rod and bucket, and an angler would be found every few steps along the river bank. One would be standing barefoot in the water, wearing a long brown overcoat, another, in a tight-fitting blue tailcoat and with an old felt hat pulled down over one ear, would take up position in an old willow tree. Further along there was even a man fishing in a torn floral dressing gown – the only outer garment he possessed – with a long pipe in one hand and his fishing rod in the other. And round the next bend a fat, bald-headed old man was standing stark naked on a stone and fishing; but although standing in the water, he had such dirty feet that it looked as if he still had his boots on.

  Each man had a little jar or can full of wriggling worms which he had dug up on some previous occasion. At dusk, when the weather was sultry and the sky had clouded over, indicating the approach of rain, these characters stood in their profusion at the side of the running stream, as motionless as a row of statues of saints or prophets. The farmers drove past without heeding them, so did the boatman on the river, whose craft disturbed the water and made the anglers swear under their breath.

  Twelve years earlier, when he was ploughing on the slope above the river behind his fine team of horses, Manz would have been furious if anyone had suggested that he would eventually take his place among this motley crew. He hurried round behind them and moved upstream, like some capricious shadow from the underworld seeking a cosy nook for itself by the dark waters of the infernal shades. But neither he nor his son had the patience to stand with a rod in his hand, and they recalled how the farmers used to catch fish with their hands. So, taking their rods with them as a pretence, they walked along the banks of the stream where they knew there were valuable trout to be had.

  Marti’s affairs, in the meantime, had also gone from bad to worse. He was bored with life, and instead of working on his neglected land, he, too, had been lured into fishing, and spent days on end splashing about in the water. Vrenchen was not allowed to leave his side, but, whatever the weather, had to carry his tackle for him through pools, streams and boggy fields, leaving all the important tasks at home undone. There was now no one left but the two of them: for since Marti only had a few acres left which he and his daughter cultivated either indifferently or not at all, he needed no help.

  One evening, when storm clouds were gathering overhead, he was walking along a deep, fast-flowing stream in which the trout were leaping high. Suddenly he saw his enemy Manz coming towards him on the other bank, and was filled with scorn and rage at the sight of him. They had not approached so close to each other for years, except in courts of law, where they had to restrain their insults, and Marti shouted out in fury:

  “What are you doing here, you cur? Why don’t you stay in your miserable hovel?”

  “Just you wait, you blackguard!” cried Manz. “If you’re down to catching fish, it will soon be all up with you!”

  The rushing of the stream grew louder, and Marti had to shout to make himself heard.

  “Shut your mouth, you scoundrel!” he shrieked. “It was you that ruined me!”

  As the storm wind rose, the willows at the water’s edge began to sway violently to and fro, and Manz could hardly be heard above the noise.

  “I’d be only too glad if I had, you miserable wretch!” he shouted.

  “You dog!” cried Marti.

  “You stupid idiot!” Manz bellowed back.

  Marti rushed along the bank like a wild animal and looked for a place to cross. He was the more furious of the two because he believed that, as an innkeeper, Manz must at least have had enough to eat and drink and be leading a reasonably comfortable life, whilst he, Marti, was unjustly condemned to the monotony of his broken-down farmstead.

  In a fine rage himself, Manz stalked along on the opposite bank. Behind him walked Sali who, instead of listening to the angry quarrel, looked across in curiosity and surprise at Vrenchen, who was following her father and staring in shame at the ground in front of her so that her curly brown hair fell down over her face. In one hand she carried a wooden fish bucket, while with the other she had been carrying her shoes and stockings, and holding up her skirt to keep it from getting wet. On Sali’s approach she lowered it in embarrassment; yet if she had looked up, she would have seen that Sali no longer looked proud and superior, but was himself utterly downcast.

  While Vrenchen fixed her eyes dejectedly on the ground, and Sali could do nothing but stare at the slim, graceful figure, neither of them noticed that the two men, who had now stopped shouting at each other, were running furiously towards a wooden bridge which had just come into view. The storm was breaking, and flashes lit up the eerie, dismal scene. The thunder began to roll through the dark grey clouds, and heavy drops of rain were falling as the men rushed on to the little bridge. As it swayed to and fro under their weight, they grabbed each other savagely and began to strike each other with their fists, their faces livid and distorted with rage.

  It is not a pleasant sight to see sober-minded men brought to a point where, whether from aggressiveness, rashness or mere self-defence, they become involved in a fight against people with whom they have no real quarrel. But this is nothing in comparison with the pitiful prospect of two mature men who have known each other for years being driven by a personal hatred to lay hands on each other.

  Yet such was the state to which these two ageing men had degenerated. The last time they had fought was fifty years ago; since then neither had touched the other save to shake hands as friends, and this only rarely, since they were phlegmatic and independent by nature.

  After aiming a few blows at each other, they began to wrestle, snarling and groaning as they tried to throw each other over the creaking handrail into the water below. The children had now caught up with them, and Sali jumped ahead to help his father put an end to his hated enemy, who appeared to be the weaker of the two and on the verge of collapse. Vrenchen dropped everything she was carrying and rushed screaming to her father’s side, holding him in her arms to protect him, but only hampering him in his struggle. The tears streamed from her eyes and she looked imploringly at Sali, who was on the point of seizing Marti and finally overpowering
him.

  Then, as though by instinct, he gripped his own father, trying to quieten him and get him away from his enemy. This brought a brief pause in the struggle, while all four swayed to and fro on the bridge.

  As they fought to separate their parents, the two children came close to each other. At that moment a ray of sunlight glinted through a gap in the clouds, and Sali saw before him the face that he had known so well but which had since taken on a fresh beauty. Vrenchen saw his astonishment, and gave him a fleeting smile through her tears. Pitting his strength against that of his father, Sali finally succeeded in getting him away from Marti and persuading him to desist. When the two men regained their breath, they turned away from each other and began again to curse and swear. The anxious children kept silent, but as the two groups parted, they quickly clasped each other’s hands, cold and wet from the water and the fish, without their parents noticing.

  The clouds had now closed in again; it was getting darker and darker, and the rain came down in torrents as the angry farmers went their way. Manz, shivering in the cold, trudged homeward through the dark, wet lanes, his hands in his pockets, bowing his head before the driving rain, and tears, which he had dared not wipe away lest his son should notice them, trickled down his cheeks.

  But Sali saw nothing. Blissfully happy, he noticed neither wind nor rain, neither darkness nor grief, and felt as rich and carefree as a prince. He was haunted by the vision of the brief smile on Vrenchen’s face, and only now, over half an hour later, did he return it, giving a tender smile to the rain and the darkness, and cherishing the thought that she could not but feel his presence and step out of the shadows to greet him.

  The following day Manz was so shaken that he would not leave the house. His feud, added to the misery of recent years, took on a harsher aspect and pervaded the whole oppressive atmosphere of the shabby house. Manz and his wife wandered listlessly and despondently from the bar into the gloomy rooms behind, from there into the kitchen, and from the kitchen back into the bar, to which no customer ever came. In the end they would each sit in a corner and pick some meaningless quarrel, falling asleep from time to time, and waking to the thoughts of an uneasy conscience.