Farina | Page 5

for love, He
loved her for gold.'
'He must see for himself, and be satisfied,' continued Aunt Lisbeth; 'and
Holy Thomas to warn him for an example! Poor Kraut!'
'Poor Kraut!' echoed Margarita.
'The King loved wine, and the Knight loved wine, And they loved the
summer weather: They might have loved each other well, But for one
they loved together.'
'You may say, poor Kraut, child!' said Aunt Lisbeth. 'Well! his face was
before that as red as this dragon's jaw, and ever after he went about as
white as a pullet's egg. That was something wonderful!' 'That was it!'
chimed Margarita.
'O the King he loved his lawful wife, The Knight a lawless lady: And
ten on one-made ringing strife, Beneath the forest shady.'
'Fifty to one, child!' said Aunt Lisbeth: 'You forget the story. They
made Kraut sit with them at the jabbering feast, the only mortal there.
The walls were full of eye-sockets without eyes, but phosphorus
instead, burning blue and damp.'
'Not to-night, aunty dear! It frightens me so,' pleaded Margarita, for she
saw the dolor coming.
'Night! when it's broad mid-day, thou timid one! Good heaven take pity
on such as thou! The dish was seven feet in length by four broad. Kraut
measured it with his eye, and never forgot it. Not he! When the dish-
cover was lifted, there he saw himself lying, boiled!
"'I did not feel uncomfortable then," Kraut told us. "It seemed natural."
'His face, as it lay there, he says, was quite calm, only a little wrinkled,
and piggish-looking-like. There was the mole on his chin, and the
pucker under his left eyelid. Well! the Baron carved. All the guests
were greedy for a piece of him. Some cried out for breast; some for toes.
It was shuddering cold to sit and hear that! The Baroness said,
"Cheek!"'
'Ah!' shrieked Margarita, 'that can I not bear! I will not hear it, aunt; I

will not!'
'Cheek!' Aunt Lisbeth reiterated, nodding to the floor.
Margarita put her fingers to her ears.
'Still, Kraut says, even then he felt nothing odd. Of course he was
horrified to be sitting with spectres as you and I should be; but the first
tremble of it was over. He had plunged into the bath of horrors, and
there he was. I 've heard that you must pronounce the names of the
Virgin and Trinity, sprinkling water round you all the while for three
minutes; and if you do this without interruption, everything shall
disappear. So they say. "Oh! dear heaven of mercy!" says Kraut, "what
I felt when the Baron laid his long hunting-knife across my left cheek!"'
Here Aunt Lisbeth lifted her eyes to dote upon Margarita's fright. She
was very displeased to find her niece, with elbows on the window-sill
and hands round her head, quietly gazing into the street.
She said severely, 'Where did you learn that song you were last singing,
Margarita? Speak, thou girl!'
Margarita laughed.
'The thrush, and the lark, and the blackbird, They taught me how to
sing: And O that the hawk would lend his eye, And the eagle lend his
wing.'
'I will not hear these shameless songs,' exclaimed Aunt Lisbeth.
'For I would view the lands they view, And be where they have been: It
is not enough to be singing For ever in dells unseen !'
A voice was heard applauding her. 'Good! right good! Carol again,
Gretelchen! my birdie!'
Margarita turned, and beheld her father in the doorway. She tripped
toward him, and heartily gave him their kiss of meeting. Gottlieb
glanced at the helm of Siegfried.
'Guessed the work was going well; you sing so lightsomely to-day,
Grete! Very pretty! And that's Drachenfels? Bones of the Virgins! what
a bold fellow was Siegfried, and a lucky, to have the neatest lass in
Deutschland in love with him. Well, we must marry her to Siegfried
after all, I believe! Aha? or somebody as good as Siegfried. So chirrup
on, my darling!'
'Aunt Lisbeth does not approve of my songs,' replied Margarita,
untwisting some silver threads.
'Do thy father's command, girl!' said Aunt Lisbeth.

'And doing his command, Should I do a thing of ill, I'd rather die to his
lovely face, Than wanton at his will.'
'There--there,' said Aunt Lisbeth, straining out her fingers; 'you see,
Gottlieb, what over-indulgence brings her to. Not another girl in
blessed Rhineland, and Bohemia to boot, dared say such words!--than--
I can't repeat them!--don't ask me!--She's becoming a Frankish girl!'
'What ballad's that?' said Gottlieb, smiling.
'The Ballad of Holy Ottilia; and her lover was sold to darkness. And
she loved him--loved him----'
'As you love Siegfried, you little one?'
'More, my father; for she saw Winkried, and I never saw Siegfried. Ah!
if I had seen