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Updated: June 22, 2025
Don't advance a step nearer this lady," interrupted Willibald, placing himself in front of Marietta, "or I'll send you flying under those trees, and you won't get up from the second blow as soon as you did from the first."
"A soldier's wife," corrected Willibald, as his face grew bright. "She is to be a soldier's wife before I march." "Then Marietta will belong by right to Burgsdorf," said the mother, seemingly not at all surprised at this news, which she took very kindly. "No demurrers, child. The young Frau von Eschenhagen has nothing farther to do with Waldhofen except to visit her grandfather.
Certainly Willibald could not be forgotten by me, even were there no memento, no portraits, no letters to refresh my memory of him. There is another very pleasant thing the portraits often occasion a talk about you when my friends come to visit me. If only our letters travelled safely, how little we should miss of each other! You have a medal of me.
I'll see the Count's second the first thing in the morning, and let you know of the arrangements at once; but I must write to you, for I won't enter Herr von Wallmoden's house." Willibald only nodded. He had thought that his uncle's enmity would be returned in full by Rojanow, so considered it better to say nothing on the subject. "Yes, write me," he answered.
I have no doubt that under your guidance he will become, in time, a most excellent farmer, but to the education of a future landed proprietor, something more than that is needed. Willibald has outgrown home instructors and should be sent away now." "Sent a ?" Frau Regine laid down knife and fork in unbounded astonishment.
Willibald was roused now. He continued: "I am no boy, I am the heir of Burgsdorf, and twenty-seven years old. You have always forgotten that, mother, and so have I, for that matter, but I remember it to-day." Frau von Eschenhagen gazed astonished at her son, so tractable all his life until this moment. "I verily believe you are becoming refractory.
"You should give the poor fellow some chance and not leave him such a hard choice." Regine did not heed his remonstrance, she stood there, white to the very lips, her eyes fixed upon her son. She repeated impressively: "Decide which it shall be she or I." Willibald had grown pale, too, and an expression of deep pain lay on his face as he said gently: "That is hard, mother.
Or perhaps he has joined Willibald Pirkheimer at Basle or elsewhere, and they two, crossing the Alps together, have become friends for life? Will they part here ere long, the young burgher prince to proceed to the Universities of Padua and Mantua, the future great painter to trudge back over the Alps, getting a lift now and again in waggon or carriage or on pillion?
A wrinkle was to be found here and there in her face, and silver threads were weaving their way into her dark hair, but the gray eyes had lost nothing of their clearness and sharpness, the voice was as full and resolute as ever, and her bearing as erect and energetic as formerly. "Willibald will be here in eight days," she was saying.
Wallmoden understood only too well the mute language of those flashing dark eyes; they said to him: "Dare to despise me now!" At an early hour the next morning, Willibald von Eschenhagen entered the great city park, which, he had just declared to his uncle, he would explore for himself.
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