The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated Into English
General
The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated Into English
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
"Ssh! Ssh!" said the other maids.
"Yes, yes; what does it matter to me! But over there, on the other
side, it's going on worse than with us! Not only flies and vermin,
blood too has fallen like rain from heaven; and on the Sunday morning
after that when the pastor went to his washbasin there were five
death's-heads, the size of peas, in it, and they all came to see it; in
the month of August horrible red-headed caterpillars went through the
land and ate up the grain and flour and bread and whatever they could
find and no fire was able to destroy them!"
Ann Grete suddenly ceased; none of the maids had noticed that their
mistress had come into the kitchen. "What tales are you telling there?"
she asked. "Don't let your master hear that!" And as they all wanted to
begin to tell her she went on, "It's not necessary; I heard enough of
it; go about your work, that will do you more good!" Then she took Ann
Grete with her into the sitting-room to go through her market accounts
with her.
So in the dikegrave's house none of the family paid any attention to
the superstitious gossip that was going about; but it was different in
the other houses and the longer the evenings grew the more easily did
it find its way in. Everyone lived as if in an oppressive atmosphere
and secretly people said to themselves that a misfortune, and a heavy
one, would fall on northern Friesland.
* * * * *
It was in October, before All Saints' Day. A strong wind had blown from
the southwest all day; in the evening the crescent moon was in the
sky, dark brown clouds drove past and a medley of shade and dull light
flew across the earth; the storm was growing. In the dikegrave's room
the empty supper table still stood; the men had been sent into the
stable to look after the cattle; the maids were busy in the house and
in the attics seeing that the doors and windows were securely fastened
so that the storm should not gain an entrance and do damage. Hauke
stood beside his wife at the window; he had just swallowed down his
supper; he had been out on the dike. He had gone there on foot early in
the afternoon; here and there, where the dike looked weak, he had had
pointed stakes and sacks of clay or earth piled up; everywhere he had
left men to drive in the stakes and make dams with the sacks in front
as soon as the tide should begin to damage the dike. The largest number
he had placed at the corner towards the northwest at the intersection
of the old and new dikes; their instructions were not to leave the
places assigned to them except in case of necessity. That was what he
had left behind him and then, scarcely a quarter of an hour ago, he had
come back to the house wet and disheveled and now, his ear fixed on the
gusts of winds that rattled the leaded panes, he gazed out absently
into the wild night; the clock behind the pane of glass in the wall was
just striking eight. The child, who was standing beside her mother,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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