But Sali saw nothing of this, for his thoughts were only of Vrenchen. Since the events of the previous day he had not only felt unbelievably rich but also seemed to have experienced a sensation of indescribable beauty and goodness. This experience had been visited upon him from above and was the source of an unceasing wonderment and happiness, yet he seemed to have been aware of it all along. Nothing can be compared with the bliss that comes to one in human shape – a personal shape with its own God-given name.
This day Sali felt neither idle nor unhappy, neither poor nor abandoned. For hour after hour he toiled to conjure up in his mind the vision of Vrenchen’s face, but so feverish were his attempts that he almost lost sight of her and began to believe that the vision would never return. Yet she seemed to be for ever before his eyes: he felt the warmth of her presence, and seemed to be in the power of something that he had only seen once and did not understand. In his happiness he could clearly recall her features as a little girl but not those which he had seen the day before. Had he never seen her again, his imagination would have had to put her picture together piece by piece until it was complete. But now that his eyes had claimed their own joyful role in this task, his wily imagination obstinately refused to play its part. So as the afternoon sun streamed into the upper storeys of the dark houses, he stepped out through the door and wandered off towards his old home, which he now saw as a heavenly Jerusalem with twelve shining gates, and the closer he came to it, the faster his heart beat.
On his way he passed Vrenchen’s father walking towards Seldwyla. Wild and untidy, his beard grey and unkempt, he wore the vindictive mien of one who had frittered away his own possessions and was now intent on bringing ruin upon others. Yet as he passed him, Sali felt not hatred but fear and apprehension, as though his fate rested in the hands of this old farmer, from whom he would rather have received his life as a gift than wrenched it from him as a prize.
But Marti just gave him a vicious glance and went his way. This was as Sali wished, however, for as he watched the figure moving away from him, he began to realize the true nature of his own feelings. Slipping unobtrusively through paths on the outskirts of the village, which he had known from childhood, he soon found himself in front of Marti’s farmhouse.
It was years since he had seen the place from close quarters, for even while they were still living here, the rival families avoided entering each other’s land. Sali stared in amazement at the desolate scene. Marti had been forced to sell his fields one by one, and there was now nothing left but the house itself and the yard in front of it, together with an area of garden and the one field by the river, to which he was obstinately clinging as long as he could. But he made no attempt at proper cultivation, and on the field where the lines of golden corn used to wave at harvest time, all manner of odd seeds left over in bags and boxes had been planted – turnips, cabbage and the like, together with a few potatoes. The whole impression was of a carelessly tended vegetable patch from which he could eke out a hand-to-mouth existence – here a handful of turnips, there a clump of potatoes or cabbages, and the rest left to grow wild or to rot. People walked in or out of it at will, and what had formerly been a fine large field was now almost indistinguishable from the disputed strip of wasteland from which the whole tragedy stemmed.
The area round the house was no longer farmed. The stable was empty, the door swung to and fro on one hinge, and across the dark entrance thousands of half-grown spiders wove their glistening webs in the sunlight. By the open door of the barn, which used to house the rich harvest, hung some cheap fishing tackle, the tools of Marti’s poaching. Not a hen or a pigeon, not a cat or a dog was to be seen in the yard; the only living thing left was the fountain, but instead of flowing through the pipe, the water was seeping out through a hole and collecting in puddles on the ground, symbolizing to perfection the spirit of decay.
It would not have cost Marti much effort to mend the hole in the pipe. But Vrenchen was made to struggle to get herself clean water from these foul conditions and wash her clothes in the puddles instead of in the washtub, which stood there cracked and dried up.
The house itself presented an equally lamentable appearance. Many of the windows were broken and patched up with strips of paper; yet the panes were probably the friendliest thing about the whole melancholy scene, for they were all polished and spotlessly clean, even the broken ones, and shone like Vrenchen’s own eyes, which brought to the dark, dilapidated house the only brightness that it had. And like the curly hair that surrounded her eyes, and the orange cotton neckerchiefs she wore, so the wild creeper twined its way round the shining windows and along the walls, merging with a mass of swaying beanstalks and a fragrant cluster of orange wallflowers. The beans were clinging to rakes or brooms stuck upside down in the ground, and twined round the rusty pike which Vrenchen’s grandfather had used when he was a sergeant in the cavalry. More beans were growing up a battered ladder which had stood for ages against the side of the house, and were hanging down in front of the brightly polished windows like the curls above Vrenchen’s eyes.
The farmyard, now more picturesque than practical, stood somewhat apart from the neighbouring houses, and at this moment there was not a soul in sight, so without fear of being seen, Sali leant against an old shed some distance away and looked steadily across at the silent, ramshackle building.
After a while Vrenchen appeared at the door and stared out for a long time, as though meditating. Sali stood motionless, his eyes fixed on her. At last she turned her head and saw him. They stared at each other as though they had seen a mirage. Then Sali began to walk slowly across towards her. Stretching out her arms to him, she whispered:
“Sali.”
Gazing into her eyes, he gripped her hands. As she reddened, tears sprang to her eyes.
“What do you want?” she said in low tones.
“Just to see you,” he answered. “Let us be friends again!”
“And our parents?” she murmured, turning her tear-stained face away.
“Are we to blame for what they have done and what they have made of their lives?” he cried. “If we two stay together and care for each other, perhaps we can make up for all the misery they have caused.”
“No good would ever come of it,” replied Vrenchen with a sigh. “You must go your own way, Sali.”
“Are you alone?” he asked. “May I not come in for a moment?”
“Father told me he was going into Seldwyla to teach your father a lesson. But you must not stay, because someone might see you when you leave. So please go now, while nobody is about.”
“No, I will not!” cried Sali. “I have been thinking of you ever since yesterday, and I am not leaving until we have talked to each other at least for a little while. It will do us good!”
Vrenchen hesitated for a moment. Then she said:
“I shall have to go out to our field this evening to fetch some vegetables. You know the field I mean – it is the only one we still have. Nobody will be there, because the others are working somewhere else. Meet me there if you want to. But go away now, and be careful that no one sees you. People no longer have any dealings with us round here, but their gossip would soon reach my father’s ears.”
They let go of each other’s hands, only to grasp them again and exclaim with one breath:
“But how are you?”
Instead of replying, they stammered out their question again, while the answer was to be seen in the look in their eyes. As is the way with lovers, the words would not come, and half blissful, half sorrowful, they hurriedly parted.
“I will come soon!” cried Vrenchen, as Sali went away.
So he went out to the quiet ridge where the two fields lay spread out peacefully. The bright July sunshine, the white clouds billowing above the acres of ripe, waving corn, the sparkling blue river wending its way through the valley – for the first time in years everything filled him with joy instead of sadness, and he threw himself full-length in the shade of the cornfield
at the edge of Marti’s desolate waste and looked up happily up at the sky.
Barely a quarter of an hour had passed, during which his thoughts had been only of his childhood sweetheart, when he saw her standing in front of him, smiling down on him as he lay there. He sprang up in joy.
“Vreeli!” he cried.
Still smiling she stretched out her arms towards him, and hand in hand they walked along the side of the swaying corn down towards the river, exchanging only an occasional word. Happily they strolled back and forth, like a constellation rising and setting behind the sunlit curve of the ridge over which the straight furrows of their father’s ploughs had once run.
Suddenly, as they raised their eyes from the blue cornflowers on the ground before them, they became aware of another, sinister body on the horizon of their world, a dark figure who had appeared from nowhere. Vrenchen trembled at the thought that he might have been lying in the corn, and Sali whispered, aghast:
“The Black Fiddler!”
The man striding along in front of them carried a fiddle and a bow under his arm, and presented a wild, swarthy appearance. He was wearing a small black felt hat and a dirty black smock, and his hair and the stubble on his chin were also jet-black. His face and hands, too, looked black, for he performed all manner of menial jobs: he was a tinker by trade but also helped the charcoal-burners and tar-workers in the woods, and only took to his fiddle when there was an easy penny to be earned among the farmers who were making merry in some tavern or holding a celebration.
Sali and Vrenchen crept along behind him, hoping that he would leave the field without looking round. And it seemed that he would, for he behaved as though he had not noticed them. Some strange compulsion prevented them from venturing away from the narrow path and forced them to follow the mysterious figure right to the end of the field, where the cruel pile of stones still stood on the disputed corner of land. A mass of corn poppies had taken root on it, making it look like a mountain on fire.
All of a sudden the Black Fiddler leapt with a single bound on to the top of the stones, turned and looked about him. The couple stopped in their tracks and looked up at him in confusion. They could not go on, because the path would have led them into the village, yet they did not want to turn back in full view of him.
Looking at them sharply, he cried:
“I know who you are! You are the children of the men who stole this field from me! I am delighted to see how prosperous you have become. I’ll live to see the end of you yet, just you wait! Look at me, you poor little creatures! What do you think of my nose, eh?”
His nose was indeed a frightening sight, protruding sharply from his features like a bludgeon which had been thrown into his black, bony face. Beneath it was a small round hole for a mouth, from which came a perpetual puffing, hissing and whistling. Even his little hat contributed something to his uncanny appearance, for it was neither round nor pointed but seemed to change shape every few moments. Only the whites of his eyes could be seen as they flashed to and fro, like two rabbits darting hither and thither.
“Look at me!” he cried in an imperious tone. “Your fathers know me well, and all the villagers recognize me as soon as they see my nose. Years ago it was announced that there was a sum of money due to the heir of this field. Twenty times I claimed it, but I have neither birth certificate nor proof of citizenship, and no one will accept the testimony of the gypsies who were present at my birth. So the time limit expired, and I was swindled out of the money that rightfully belonged to me and with which I could have left here. I begged your fathers to confirm my claim, for their conscience must have told them that I was the true heir. But they chased me out of the house, and now they have gone to the Devil themselves! Well, that’s the way of the world, and I am prepared to accept it. So if you want to dance, I’ll play for you!”
Whereupon he jumped down on the other side of the stones and made off towards the village, where the harvest was being brought in and the people were in high spirits.
When he had gone, the young couple sat down dejectedly on the stones, let go of each other’s hands and hung their heads in sorrow. The Fiddler’s words had shaken them out of their childish trance, and as they sat there in their misery, the rose-like hue of their life clouded over, and their spirits became as heavy as the stones on which they sat.
Then Vrenchen suddenly remembered the Fiddler’s strange face and nose, and could not help laughing.
“What a comical sight the poor man is! What a nose!” she cried, and a sunny glow of merriment came into her face, as though she had just been waiting for the Fiddler’s nose to push the clouds aside.
Sali looked at her and saw her amusement. But she had already forgotten what caused it, and was now smiling at Sali for his sake alone. Astonished and confused, he gazed open-mouthed into her eyes, like a starving man who catches sight of a loaf of sweet, white bread, and cried:
“Oh, Vreeli, how lovely you are!”
Vrenchen smiled at him all the more happily and gave a low, attractive laugh whose musical ring sounded to poor Sali like the call of a nightingale.
“You witch!” he cried. “Where did you learn to laugh like that?”
“There’s no witchcraft about it,” said Vrenchen caressingly, taking his hand. “I had been longing to laugh like that. When I am on my own, I sometimes smile at odd things, but it is not the same thing. But as long as I am with you, I feel like laughing all the time. Do you care a little for me, too?”
“Oh, Vreeli,” he cried, gazing devotedly into her eyes. “I have never looked at another girl. I always felt that it was you I would love some day, and you must have always been in my thoughts, even though I never knew it.”
“And you in mine – even more,” Vrenchen broke in. “You had not seen me and did not know what I looked like, but I had often watched you from a distance, and sometimes even from quite close, without you knowing, so that I always knew what you looked like. Do you remember how often we used to come here as children? And the little cart? How small we were then, and how long ago it was! It makes us really old!”
“How old are you?” asked Sali, happy and delighted. “Seventeen?”
“Seventeen and a half,” replied Vrenchen. “And how old are you? Wait, I know – you’re about twenty.”
“How do you know?”
“Never you mind!”
“Oh, go on!”
“No!”
“Oh, do tell me.”
“No. I won’t!”
“All right, we’ll see!”
This childish exchange led Sali to lay his hands on her, pretending to make his clumsy caresses appear like a form of punishment. Playfully defending herself, she, too, allowed the conversation to go on, which, for all its childishness, they both found so charming and amusing.
Then Sali, his spirit roused, made bold to grasp her by the hands and draw her down among the poppies. She lay there, looking up into the sun, her cheeks aglow and her lips parted, revealing two rows of shining white teeth. Her fine dark eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead, and her young breasts rose and fell as their hands, locked in confused embrace, pressed caressingly against her.
Sali’s joy knew no bounds as he gazed at the beautiful slim form beside him. He knew that she was his, and he felt like a king.
“You’ve still got all your white teeth!” he smiled. “Do you remember how we used to count them? Have you learnt to count now?”
“They’re not the same ones, you baby!” laughed Vrenchen. “The first ones came out long ago!”
Sali wanted to play their childish game again, but Vrenchen closed her ruby lips, sat up and began to plait a garland of poppies for her head. The broad ring of rich flowers gave the dark-skinned lass an irresistible charm, and what Sali held in his arms many would have paid dearly to have as a painting on their walls.
Then she sprang up and cried:
“My goodness, how hot it is! Here we are, sitting foolishly in the sun and getting burnt. Let’s go a
nd sit in the tall corn!”
Gently they slipped into the cornfield, leaving hardly a trace of the way they had come, and built themselves a little nook among the golden ears which stretched up above their heads, cutting off the outside world except for the deep blue sky. Clasped in each other’s arms, they kissed each other until they grew weary – if weariness is the word to describe those glimpses of the transience of mortal life which come to lovers in their moments of ecstasy.
They listened to the larks singing high above and tried to seek them out with their keen eyes. When they thought they glimpsed one flashing across the sun like a meteor, they rewarded each other with a kiss, always trying to outdo each other and pretending to have seen one.
“Look! Up there!” Sali would whisper. And Vrenchen whispered back:
“I can hear it but I can’t see it!”
“Up there, a little to the right of that white cloud.”
And they would both stare at the heavens, their lips parted like the beaks of baby quails sitting in their nest, waiting only to press their lips together each time they imagined that they had seen another lark.
Suddenly Vrenchen drew away and said:
“So we agree that we both have a sweetheart, do we?”
“Yes,” replied Sali, smiling; “it seems so.”
“Are you fond of your sweetheart?” asked Vrenchen. “What does she look like? What can you tell me about her?”
“She is a lovely creature,” said Sali, “with two brown eyes and ruby lips, and she walks on two legs. But I know as little about her mind as I do about the Pope of Rome! And what about yours?”
“He has two blue eyes and impudent lips, and he uses two strong, bold arms. But I know as little about his thoughts as I do about the Emperor of China!”
A Village Romeo and Juliet Page 4