The little Barefoot

by Berthold Auerbach

Notwithstanding all these human influences, Amrie was often borne into the kingdom of dreams. Freely soared her childish soul upwards and cradled itself in unlimited ether. As the larks in the air sang and rejoiced without knowing the limits of their field, so would she soar away beyond the boundaries of the whole country. The soul of the child knew nothing of the limits placed upon the narrow life of reality. Whoever is accustomed to wonder, will find a miracle in every day.

“Listen,” she would say; “the cuckoo calls! This is the living echo of the woods which calls and answers itself. The bird sits over there in the service-tree. If you look up, he will fly away. How loud he calls, and how unceasingly! That little bird has a stronger voice than a man! Place thyself upon the tree and imitate him,—thou wilt not be heard as far as this bird, who is no larger than my hand. Listen! Perhaps he is an enchanted prince, and suddenly he may begin to speak to thee. Yes,” she said, “only tell me thy riddle, and let me think a little, and I will soon find the meaning of it; and then I will disenchant thee, and we will go into thy golden castle and take Mariann and Dami with us, and Dami shall marry the princess, thy sister, and we will then seek Mariann’s John through the whole world, and whoever finds him shall conquer thy kingdom. Ah! were it then all true? And why could I think it all out if it were not true?”

While the thoughts of Amrie thus soared beyond all limits, the geese also felt themselves at liberty to stray and enjoy the good things of the neighboring clover or barley field. Awaking out of her dreams, she had heavy trouble to bring the geese back; and, when these freebooters came in regiments, they had much to tell of the promised land where they had fed so well. To their gossiping and chattering there seemed no end. Here and there was heard an old goose holding on, after all the others had ceased, with a drowsy or significant word, while others stuck their bills beneath their wings, and continued to dream of the goodly land.

Again Amrie soared, “Look! there fly the birds. No bird in the air goes astray; even the swallows, in their continually crossing flight, are always safe, always free! Oh! could we only fly! How must the world look above where the larks soar. Hurrah! always higher and higher, farther and farther! Oh, could I fly! I would fly into the wide world and to the Landfried, and see what she does, and ask her whether she ever thinks of me.

‘Thinkest thou of me in distant lands?’”

Thus she sang herself suddenly away from all the noise and from all her thoughts. Her breath, which by the thought of flight had become deeper and quicker, as though she really hovered in the higher ether, became again calm and measured.

But not always glowed her cheek in waking dreams; not always did the sun shine clear in the open flowers and in the bending grain. In the spring came those cold, wet days, in which the blossoming trees stood like trembling foreigners, and all day long the sun scarcely beamed upon them. A sterile frost pierced through the natural world, interrupted only by gusts of wind that tore and scattered the blossoms from the trees. The larks alone kept jubilee, high in the air, above the clouds; and the finches’ little complaining note was heard from the wild pear-tree, against which Amrie leant. Now, in white stripes, rattled down the hail, and the geese pointed their beaks upwards, that the tender brain might not be hurt. There above, behind Endringen, it is already clear, and the sun will soon break through the clouds and the hills; the woods and the fields will look like the human countenance, which has been bathed in the tears of grief, but now shines out with beams of joy. The geese, which through the shower had pressed close together, and turned their bills upward, now venture to spread themselves apart and graze, and gaggle of the passing storm to the young, tender, downy brood, who have never before lived through such an experience.

Immediately after Amrie had been overtaken by the hail-storm, she endeavored to provide for the future. She took with her, out upon the green pasture, an empty corn-sack, which she had inherited from her father. Two axes, crossed with the name of her father, were painted upon it. When the showers came down, she covered and folded herself within it, and looked out from a protecting roof upon the wild conflict in the sky. A cold shower of snow would end in melancholy, which would sometimes overpower her. Then she would weep over the destiny which left her so alone—deprived of father and mother—thrust out, as it were, from her fellows. But she early gained a power that trial and difficulty teaches one to exert, to swallow down her tears. This makes the eyes sparkle, and to be doubly clear in the midst of all trouble.

Amrie could conquer her melancholy, especially when she recollected a proverb of Brown Mariann’s. “Who will not have his hands frozen in the cold, must double his fist.” Amrie did so, both spiritually and physically. She looked proudly into the world, and soon cheerfulness came over her face. She rejoiced at the beautiful lightning, and held her breath till the thunder followed after. The geese pressed close together, and looked strangely at the lightning.

“They,” said Amrie, “experience only good. All the clothing they need grows upon their bodies; and for that which is pulled out in the spring, other is already provided. When the shower is over, there is joy in the air and in the trees, and the geese rejoice in the rare luxuries it has left, pressing upon each other, greedily consume the snails and the young frogs that venture forth after it is over.”