CHAPTER VII.
As far as she could, Bertha led a self-contained and secluded life. She frankly admitted that she was not in the mood to worry about her lost brother; her heart was filled with thoughts of her husband, the father of her children.
When haymaking began on the mountain meadows, Bertha would go out and assist in scattering the newly mown grass. She hoped that physical exercise would enable her again to enjoy the refreshing sleep of her childhood, and was quite happy when, in the morning, she found herself able to tell us that she had passed a night in dreamless sleep.
Annette suffered greatly from the heat. Bertha, however, said that it was best to expose one's self to the sun, because the heat would then be less oppressive. She was quite delighted to see how the sun browned her own children.
Annette again introduced the subject of the parable of the Prodigal Son, when Richard, with an ironical smile, replied, "I am glad to see that you can dwell on a subject and again return to it; and I shall only add, that in the Old Testament the history of a nation is conceived in a popular manner, while the New Testament is a history in which one exalted and idealized man serves as the sole and central figure. The real life of the family, the relations of parents and kindred, is not emphasized in the latter. Life, there, is isolated, and looks only towards heaven.
"In the Old Testament, the life of the family is in constant action, and superfluous figures which serve no moral in themselves are also introduced.
"To express myself symbolically, I should say Moses has a brother and a sister who are also important figures. Jesus, on the other hand, stands alone against the golden background, and no relationship of His is mentioned except that to His mother, which was afterward poetically invested with a higher significance."
"Accept my thanks; I believe I understand you. If one were able always to regard individual suffering as merely part of the world's development, one would be saved from all pain," said Annette.
Richard's look was one of surprise, almost of anger, at these words.
When we were together, most of his attentions were for the daughter of the kreis-director. Her calm and gentle manner seemed to him the very opposite of Annette's; and it may have been his desire to let Annette see that cultivated womanhood consists of something more than incessantly propounding questions, or in keeping a man in a constant trot to prove his gallantry by providing for the intellectual requirements of the ladies.
"I greatly fear," said Richard to my wife, "that Annette is one of that class of beings with whom everything resolves itself into talk, and of whom one might well say that what to us is a church, is to them a concert." And he went on to complain that, in the strict sense of the word, Annette did not have a nice ear; that where she thought she fully understood one's meaning, she usually misconceived it. When he had finished, my wife answered with a quiet smile:
"Be careful: the professor is again showing himself in you. It seems to me that the professor finds it annoying to have listeners who are not all attention."
Richard was a severe judge of his own motives and actions, and frankly confessed that he deserved the reproach. Nevertheless ne could not accustom himself to Annette's presence.
He had much knowledge of men, and constantly lived in a certain equable atmosphere of his own; and the impulsive, changeable traits of Annette were therefore repugnant to him.
She, too, felt the antagonism, and one day said to him, quite roguishly, "The forester is the type of many men. I had always thought that he found it refreshing to breathe the pure air of the woods; but I find that he is constantly smoking his vile tobacco."
The petty war between Richard and Annette enabled us, for many an hour, to forget the greater war that was raging out of doors. Annette was quite anxious in her care for my wife, and could never fully gratify her desire to be with her always.
Although Richard attempted to conceal it, it was quite evident that he had a decided aversion to Annette.
He would sometimes spend whole days with Rautenkron the forester, and was more frequent in his visits to Baron Arven than he had formerly been.
But in the evenings, when we were all together, Annette seemed to possess the art of drawing him out in spite of himself.
And thus we led a simple and yet intellectual life, while, without doors, armies speaking the same language were arrayed against each other with deadly intent.