Farina | Page 6

Siegfried! Never mind. She loved him; but she loved
Virtue more. And Virtue is the child of God, and the good God forgave
her for loving Winkried, the Devil's son, because she loved Virtue more,
and He rescued her as she was being dragged down--down--down, and
was half fainting with the smell of brimstone--rescued her and had her
carried into His Glory, head and feet, on the wings of angels, before all
men, as a hope to little maidens.
'And when I thought that I was lost I found that I was saved, And I was
borne through blessed clouds, Where the banners of bliss were waved.'
'And so you think you, too, may fall in, love with Devils' sons, girl?'
was Aunt Lisbeth's comment.
'Do look at Lisbeth's Dragon, little Heart! it's so like!' said Margarita to
her father.
Old Gottlieb twitted his hose, and chuckled.
'She's my girl! that may be seen,' said he, patting her, and wheezed up
from his chair to waddle across to the Dragon. But Aunt Lisbeth tartly
turned the Dragon to the wall.
'It is not yet finished, Gottlieb, and must not be looked at,' she
interposed. 'I will call for wood, and see to a fire: these evenings of
Spring wax cold': and away whimpered Aunt Lisbeth.
Margarita sang:
'I with my playmates, In riot and disorder, Were gathering herb and
blossom Along the forest border.'
'Thy mother's song, child of my heart!' said Gottlieb; 'but vex not good
Lisbeth: she loves thee!'
'And do you think she loves me? And will you say 'tis true? O, and will

she have me, When I come up to woo?'
'Thou leaping doe! thou chattering pie!' said Gottlieb.
'She shall have ribbons and trinkets, And shine like a morn of May,
When we are off to the little hill-church, Our flowery bridal way.'
'That she shall; and something more !' cried Gottlieb. 'But, hark thee,
Gretelchen; the Kaiser will be here in three days. Thou dear one! had I
not stored and hoarded all for thee, I should now have my feet on a
hearthstone where even he might warm his boot. So get thy best dresses
and jewels in order, and look thyself; proud as any in the land. A
simple burgher's daughter now, Grete; but so shalt thou not end, my
butterfly, or there's neither worth nor wit in Gottlieb Groschen!'
'Three days!' Margarita exclaimed; 'and the helm not finished, and the
tapestry-pieces not sewed and joined, and the water not shaded off.--Oh!
I must work night and day.'
'Child! I'll have no working at night! Your rosy cheeks will soon be
sucked out by oil-light, and you look no better than poor tallow Court
beauties--to say nothing of the danger. This old house saw Charles the
Great embracing the chief magistrate of his liege city yonder. Some
swear he slept in it. He did not sneeze at smaller chambers than our
Kaisers abide. No gold ceilings with cornice carvings, but plain
wooden beams.'
'Know that the men of great renown, Were men of simple needs: Bare
to the Lord they laid them down, And slept on mighty deeds.'
'God wot, there's no emptying thy store of ballads, Grete: so much shall
be said of thee. Yes; times are changeing: We're growing degenerate.
Look at the men of Linz now to what they were! Would they have let
the lads of Andernach float down cabbage-stalks to them without a shy
back? And why? All because they funk that brigand-beast Werner, who
gets redemption from Laach, hard by his hold, whenever he commits a
crime worth paying for. As for me, my timber and stuffs must come
down stream, and are too good for the nixen under Rhine, or think you
I would acknowledge him with a toll, the hell-dog? Thunder and
lightning! if old scores could be rubbed out on his hide!'
Gottlieb whirled a thong-lashing arm in air, and groaned of law and
justice. What were they coming to!
Margarita softened the theme with a verse:
'And tho' to sting his enemy, Is sweetness to the angry bee, The angry

bee must busy be, Ere sweet of sweetness hiveth he.
The arch thrill of his daughter's voice tickled Gottlieb. 'That's it, birdie!
You and the proverb are right. I don't know which is best
'Better hive And keep alive Than vengeance wake With that you take.'
A clatter in the cathedral square brought Gottlieb on his legs to the
window. It was a company of horsemen sparkling in harness. One
trumpeter rode at the side of the troop, and in front a standard-bearer,
matted down the chest with ochre beard, displayed aloft to the good
citizens of Cologne, three brown hawks, with birds in their beaks, on an
azure stardotted field.
'Holy Cross!'