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Manor-House Farmer’s Vefela
by
Old Staufer now came to Nordstetten, and Marem with him. They went to the inn, accompanied by the manor-house farmer, “to meet the spokesmen of the village.
“Good-morning, squire,” said the assembled guests to the three men as they entered, acting as if no one but old Staufer himself had come. The latter started at this, but called for two bottles of wine, filled his glass, and drank the health of the company, jingling his glass against the glasses of the others. But Ludwig the locksmith replied, “Thank you, but we can’t drink. No offence, squire, but we never drink till after the bargain is made. What the rich gentlemen-farmers of Baisingen do is more than we can say.”
The squire took his glass from his lips and sighed deeply. He then went to business with much calmness; dwelt upon the folly of throwing away one’s dearly-bought earnings to “those blood-suckers,” the lawyers, reminded the company that every lawsuit eat out of one’s dish and skimmed the marrow-fat from one’s soup, and concluded by saying that a little allowance here and a little allowance there would bring about a peace.
Each party now proposed a composition; but the two propositions were far apart. Marem did all he could to bring them nearer to each other. He took aside first the one and then the other, to whisper something into their ears. At length he took upon himself, in the teeth of objections made on both sides, to fix a sum. He pulled them all by the sleeves and coat-tails, and even tried to force their hands into each other.
After much wrangling, the manor-house farmer said, “Sooner than take such a beggar’s bit as that, I’ll make you a present of the whole, you starvelings!”
“Why, who spoke to you,” said Ludwig the locksmith, “you straw-boots?”
“You’ll never walk on straw as long as you live,” replied the manor-house farmer. “I’ll find such beds for you that you won’t have straw enough under your heads to sleep on. And if I should be ruined, and my wife and child too, and not have a span of ground left, I’ll not let you off another farthing. I’ll have my rights, if I must go to the emperor himself. Mark my words.” He gnashed his teeth as he rose, and all hope of a compromise was gone. At last he even quarrelled with his father-in-law, and went out, banging the door after him.
When he came home, his wife and daughters wept as if somebody had died, so that all the passers-by stopped to learn what was the matter. But all their entreaties could not turn the manor-house farmer from his purpose. Old Staufer returned home without coming to see his daughter: he sent Marem to say good-bye to her.
The old state of things went on. The manor-house farmer and his wife had frequent differences, which Vefela had to settle. The father had a sort of reverence for “the child,” for such was the name by which she went all over the house. There was such angelic mildness in her face, and her voice had such a magic charm, that if she only took his hand, looked up into his face with her blue eyes, and said, “Dear daddy,” he became meek and gentle at once: the strong man followed the guidance of his child as if it were a higher being; he never spoke a harsh word in her presence, and did every thing to please her, except only to make peace with his enemies.
Yet on this very subject the obstinacy of the manor-house farmer was but the cloak for a great struggle which was going on in his mind. He would fain have extended the hand of reconciliation, but was ashamed to confess what he called his weakness; and, as matters had gone so far, he thought his honor was at stake in keeping up the war. The thought of his honor recalled his pride; and he thought himself superior to the other farmers. This notion was fostered by the fawning law-clerks of the town and by mine host of the Crown Inn there, who always talked to him of his excellent mind and of his barony. He did not believe what they said; but still he liked to hear it. Finding, in time, that the townsfolk were really no wiser than himself, and convinced, like all European peasants, that the city is inhabited by beings of a far different order from those who plod in the fields, he could not but come to the conclusion that the peasantry were far beneath him. Not that he really enjoyed the society of this sort of people, who never objected to his standing treat for a stoup of wine; “but,” thought he, “a man must have some company, and it’s better than farmers’ gossip, after all.” At last, without avowing it even to himself, he enjoyed the stimulus to his vanity which their conversation afforded.