Edelweiss: A Story
The engineer fastened one end of a long rope about his body, and, instinctively assuming the place of leader, commanded that every six men should fasten themselves together at convenient distances to afford mutual support, and prevent loss of time from having to hunt up scattering members of the party. Pilgrim tied himself to the same rope with the engineer; Don Bastian was about to do likewise, but their temporary leader advised his heading a second company of six. A quantity of dry wood was collected to light fires with, and, armed with picks, shovels, and ladders, the party began the ascent of the mountain.
Within fifty paces of the house, – they could not approach nearer, – a clearing was made in a comparatively sheltered spot, and a fire lighted. Ladders were placed against the wall of snow, which proved, however, too soft to bear a man's weight. Cries of "I am sinking! I am sulking!" were heard here and there, while the confusion and danger were increased by the impossibility of keeping the torches alight in the wind. All expedients having failed, it was pronounced useless to attempt the rescue in the night, and the party went homewards. Faller at once offered to remain behind to watch the fire, – a duty which Pilgrim would have shared, had not the engineer, seeing how the poor fellow's teeth were chattering, made him go home with him, comforting him with the assurance that, if the buried inmates were still alive, they would be able to hold out till morning.
It soon became known in the village that Petrovitsch also must be buried under the snow. He had started for the Morgenhalde in the morning, and had not since returned. Ibrahim, his companion at cards, appeared in the street at the ringing of the alarm-bell with the cards in his hand, crying out, "Where is Petrovitsch? I am waiting for Petrovitsch."
"It would be terrible," said Pilgrim to his new friend the engineer, "if Petrovitsch should have perished in attempting to offer his tardy help."
Pilgrim reproached himself bitterly for having spent the whole day in childish games, instead of going to the Morgenhalde. His mind had misgiven him all the while that things were not right with Lenz, but he had reasoned away his fears and been merry with his godson. The child lay quietly sleeping in bed, unconscious of the fate which that night might be bringing him, perhaps had already brought. Pilgrim established himself in a chair by the little fellow's side, and sat watching him till his anxious eyes closed, and he too fell asleep.
Faller, meanwhile, remained like a soldier at his post, happily not quite alone, for a workman of the village, who had once been a pioneer, stayed behind with him on the field of danger. The two held counsel together how the snow-fortress should best be taken, but no possible mode of attack did they see. Poor Faller poked the fire in wrath that he could be of so little use.
A stranger joined them at their watch-fire, – a messenger from the city who had been sent to summon Annele to her mother's death-bed.
"There she is," said Faller, in bitter irony. "Fetch her out, if you can!" After learning what had happened, the man returned as he had come, through the night and storm.
Faller managed, by means of a by-path, to mount up into what had been the forest, hoping thus to be able to reach the pine-trees by the house and bring help nearer. With his comrade's assistance he rolled several great logs down the slope towards the pines. Some rolled beyond the trees and remained upright in the snow, while one fell in the desired position, with its end resting upon one of the projecting branches.
The second man here suddenly bethought himself, that the logs they had been rolling down might break in the roof and crush all under it.
"What a fool I am!" cried poor Faller; "the greatest fool in all the world. Dear, dear Lenz, God grant I may not have been your murderer!"
Finally he crawled across the bridge which the one log had formed and succeeded in kindling by his torch several of the other logs that stood or lay near it.
"That will melt the snow," he cried, exultingly.
"Yes; and set fire to the thatched roof," returned his comrade.
Faller stood in mute despair. The two began rolling up great snowballs and throwing them into the fire, just as the day was dawning, which they succeeded in extinguishing.
It was a clear day, almost as warm as spring. The sun shone bright on the Morgenhalde, seeking the house it had so often greeted; seeking the master who on Monday morning always sat busy at work in the window, as his father and grandfather had done before him. It found neither house nor master. The sunbeams quivered and shimmered here and there as if they had lost their way. There lay the defiant snow, challenging them to do their worst. The sun sent its fiery darts against the few cowardly flakes that yielded, but the solid fortress would hold out for days.
All the villagers were on the spot, the engineer at their head. Other villages too and other parishes had sent men and help in abundance.
Faller's logs offered a firm support, and companies were organized for working systematically both from below and above. A single raven flew persistently round and round the workmen and would not be frightened away. The men perched high in the air shouted at him; he heeded not their cries, but watched them at their work as if he knew what they were about, and had something to tell them if he could but have spoken.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A PLANT GROWS UNDER THE SNOW
Lenz sat mute and motionless, watching in the face of night and death.
Petrovitsch was the first to rouse himself. He told of a house that had once been buried in this way, and of those who came to the rescue finding the bodies of four peasants with the cards still in their hands, crushed to death at the table round which they had been sitting. The old man shuddered as he told the story, and yet he could not keep it to himself; he must tell it and relieve his mind, though it should freeze the hearer's blood. But God would save them, he added, for the sake of the innocent child. He almost railed against the Providence which could doom the child as well as themselves to destruction.
"She too is like a child again," replied Lenz. Petrovitsch shook his head and warned him not to trust to such sudden conversion. If ever they got out he must oblige Annele to sue daily and hourly for his love. Lenz disputed the matter with his uncle, who had never known what it was to be married; there was an angel in Annele, he said, that might well raise a man to a heaven on earth; the trouble had been that, in her frenzy, she had debased the good in her to the level of the evil.
Petrovitsch only shook his head; he was evidently not convinced.
Annele and the child awoke simultaneously with a cry of terror: "The roof is breaking in!" screamed Annele. "Where are you, Lenz? Keep by me; let us die together! put the child in my arms."
When she was quieted, they all went together into the sitting-room. Lenz pounded up Cousin Ernestine's coffee-beans, and they drank their coffee by the light of the ghastly blue flame. The clocks struck. Annele said she should stop counting the strokes, and asking whether it was night or day; they were already in eternity. If the last cruel step were only over! – She had hoped for some answer to relieve her fears, her certainty of death; but none came.
They sat for a long while in silence; words were useless. Lenz ventured at last to take advantage of the pleasant terms on which he and his uncle now stood, to ask why he had manifested such cruel reserve towards him.
"Because I hated the man whose dressing-gown I now am wearing; yes, hated him. He treated me cruelly in my youth, and fixed the nickname of goatherd on me. Constant pressure leaves its mark on the hard wood, why not on a human heart? The thought that my only brother had rejected and banished me was always wearing into my soul. I came home in the hope of laying down the burden of hate which I had so long carried about the world. I can truly say, I hated him to his death. Why did he die before the word of reconciliation was spoken between us? On the long journey home I rejoiced at the prospect of having a brother again, and I found none. In the bottom of my heart I did not hate him, or why should I have come home? Never again in this world shall I hear the name of brother; soon elsewhere-"
"Uncle," said Annele, "at the very moment we heard Bubby scratching at the door Lenz was telling me how his father, when he was once snowed up here, though not buried as we are, said that if he should have to die then, he should leave no enemy behind but his brother Peter, and that he would gladly be friends with him."
"So, so?" said Petrovitsch, pressing one hand to his eyes, while the other closed convulsively over that grooved handle which his brother's hand had worn.
For a while nothing was heard but the ticking of the clocks, till Lenz asked again why his uncle had refused to recognize him, during the first year after his return home, when his heart was yearning towards his father's only brother, and he had longed, whenever he met him in the street, to run to him and grasp his hand.
"I knew how you felt," replied Petrovitsch, "but I was angry with both you and your mother. I was told she petted you to death, and praised you half a dozen times a day for being the best son, and the wisest, cleverest man in all the world. That is a bad plan. Men are like birds. There are certain fly-catchers who must always have something in their crops. You are just such a bird, always crying out for a pat of the hand or a kind word."
"He is right, Annele, – is he not?" said Lenz with a bitter smile.
"Perhaps so," answered Annele.
"You need not talk!" cried Petrovitsch. "You are a bird yourself, or at least have been; and do you know what kind of a one? A bird of prey, who can go for days without food, but when he does eat, devours all he can seize hold of, innocent singing-birds or little kittens, swallowing bones, skin, hair and all."
"Alas! he is right there, too," said Annele. "I never was so happy as when I had some one to worry and tear to pieces. I was not conscious of it till our first drive together, when you asked me how I could take pleasure in exulting over Ernestine as I did. The words dwelt in my heart, and I determined to become as good as you. It seemed to me I should be much happier so. When on the way home you wanted to give old Pröbler a seat in the carriage, I could have pitched you out for being such a simpleton; but afterwards, when you gave up the idea, excusing yourself to God and your conscience for not giving a poor old fellow a lift on the road, and seeming so happy, I could gladly have kissed your hands for love of your goodness, if my pride had permitted. I resolved to be like you, yet still I kept on in my old way, putting off from day to day beginning on my new life, till the old devil took possession of me again. I first grew ashamed of my good resolutions, and finally ceased to entertain them. I was Annele of the Lion, whom all flattered; I needed not to change. You were the first person who blamed in me what others had found pretty and amusing. I was angry, fearfully angry. I resolved to show you that you were no better than the rest of the world. Finally, one idea took entire possession of me: I must be once more at the head of a public-house; then you and the world would see what talents I had. So I went on from worse to worse. Yesterday, – was it yesterday that the minister was here? – hark! uncle is asleep. That is good. I want one hour with you alone before we go into eternity. No third person can understand our two hearts after all we have been through together. Yesterday, Lenz, as I was sitting here by myself, the thought came to me, that I had never known what it was to love with my whole heart. I had been your wife for five years, and never found out till yesterday how much I loved you. If you had come home then, I should have kissed your eyes and your hands. Oh, you do not know how dearly I can love! But instead came Faller, who first frightened me, and then told how you had deceived me about the security. I became again possessed with the evil spirit that makes me do and say what he will, not what I will. But he is gone now; his power is over. I would crouch at your feet if it would serve you. Oh, if I could but see you once more; only once in the light of day! There is no seeing by this blue flame. If I could but once more see your kind, good face, your honest eyes! To die thus without seeing or being seen; it is terrible! How often I met your eyes with averted looks! Oh for one flash, one single flash of light, to show you to me!"
Petrovitsch had only feigned sleep, seeing that Annele wanted to open her heart to her husband, alone. The child was playing with Bubby. "If I could but call back the years!" continued Annele. "One day at noon you said, 'Is there anything better than the sun?' and in the evening, 'O, this good fresh air! it is pure blessing.' I laughed at your folly; yet you were right, – you were happy. Happiness came to you as naturally as the light and air. I sinned against you in all ways. When I threw down your father's file and broke it, the point pierced my heart; but I would not show that I was sorry. I threw out of the window that dear writing of your mother's and that memento of her. Nothing that was sacred to you escaped my venom. You forgive me, I know; pray God to forgive me, whether I live or die."
A musical clock began to play. Petrovitsch turned involuntarily in his chair, but appeared to drop off to sleep again. When the piece was finished, Annele cried again: "I must beg forgiveness of everything, even of the clock. I was always ridiculing it, and now I hear how beautiful it is. O God! not for myself I pray. Save us, save us all! Let me show that I can make all well again."
"All is well now," said Lenz; "even though we die. While the clock was playing the thought came to me that we have our edelweiss again. It has grown up in your good heart and in the hearts of us all? Why do you tremble so?"
"I am so cold; my feet are like ice."
"Take off your shoes and let me warm your feet. So will I bear you up in my hands my life long. Are you not better now?"
"Yes, much better; but oh, my head! every hair seems dropping blood. Hark! I hear the cock crow and the raven scream. Thank God, it is day."
They all rose, even the uncle from his pretended sleep, as if deliverance were at hand. A fearful pounding now began overhead. "We are lost," cried Petrovitsch. Again all was still. The roof of the sleeping-room had been broken in, so that the door refused to open. After the first shock Lenz thanked God that a presentiment of the coming danger had startled both wife and child from their sleep. He comforted his companions by telling them that the sleeping chamber had been lately added to the original house, and was quite independent of it. The old oaken timbers of the main building would resist every shock. Even while he spoke he thought he saw the roof giving way in the direction of the sleeping-room; but he did not express his fears, thinking he might easily be mistaken in this uncertain blue light.
Again followed a long, breathless silence, unbroken except when a distant cock-crow was answered by a bark from Bubby and a croak from the raven in the kitchen.
"This is a veritable Noah's ark," said Petrovitsch.
"Whether we are nearing life or death, we are saved from the deluge of sin," returned Lenz.
Annele laid her hand upon his face.
"If I only had a pipe of tobacco! it is a shame you don't smoke, Lenz," complained Petrovitsch. Reminded of his fire-proof safe by the thought of his row of pipes at home, he continued: "One thing I tell you; if we ever are saved, you will get no money from me: not a penny."
"We shall not need it now," replied Lenz; while Annele said, cheerfully, "Do you know who will not believe that?"
"You?"
"No; the world. Nobody will believe, though you swear it a hundred times, that one who was in death with us will not continue with us in life. The world will give us credit on your account, and make us rich if we will let it."
"You are the same old rogue as ever," said Petrovitsh, trying to scold. "I thought you were done with your jests."
"Thank God, she is not!" cried Lenz. "Keep your happy heart, Annele, if God delivers us."
Annele threw her arms about her husband's neck and hugged and kissed him. All were surprised at finding they had suddenly grown as gay as if the danger were passed, whereas it was really at its height. Neither communicated his fears to the others, but each saw how the walls trembled and the main beam seemed about to fall.
Annele and Lenz held each other in a close embrace. "So let us die and shelter our child!" cried Annele.
"Hark! there is a hollow sound without. It is our deliverers; they are coming, they are coming! they will save us! – "
CHAPTER XXXIX.
SAVED
"There are two blows following close upon each other," cried Lenz. "I will make the clocks play together, as a sign to those without."
He set the two musical clocks in motion, but the dreadful confusion of sounds drove him almost frantic. Even in this hour of deadly danger a discord was intolerable to him. He stopped them suddenly. With a pang as of the severing of a heart-string he heard something in his great clock snap at the hasty check.
Again they held their breath and listened; no further sounds were heard.
"You rejoiced too soon," said Petrovitsch, his teeth chattering so that he could hardly speak. "We are nearer death than life now."
The pounding was repeated from above. "Bum, bum!" imitated the child, while Petrovitsch complained that he felt every blow of the hammer in his brain.
Lenz could not have touched the right spring in one of the clocks, for it suddenly began to play the air of the grand Hallelujah. "Hallelujah, blessed be God the Lord!" sang Lenz with the full force of his voice. Annele sang too, keeping one hand upon Lenz's shoulder, and the other upon the head of the child. "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" cried a voice from above.
Once more that piercing cry of old rang through the house "My Pilgrim! my faithful brother!"
The chamber-door was battered down with an axe.
"Are you all alive?" cried Pilgrim,
"All; thank God!"
Pilgrim embraced Petrovitsch first, taking him for Lenz, and the old man returned the greeting with a kiss on both cheeks, after the Russian fashion.
Close upon Pilgrim came the engineer, followed by Faller, Don Bastian, and the members of the Liederkranz.
"Is my William safe?" asked Lenz.
"Yes indeed, safe in my house," answered Don Bastian.
Some of the men shovelled away the snow from the outside of the windows.
"Sun, sun! I behold you again!" cried Annele, sinking upon her knees.
The clock kept on playing the Hallelujah, the schoolmaster added his voice, and the whole Liederkranz joined in with full, firm tones. As if shaken by the mighty song, the snow-fortress in front of the house suddenly loosened and rolled down the valley.
The house stood free.
The door into the kitchen was opened, and, upon the window being lifted, the raven darted across the room above the head of the child out into the open air.
"Birdie gone!" cried the child. A second raven was waiting without, and the two now soaring high in the air, now swooping towards the ground, flew up through the valley.
The first woman who made her way to Annele was Ernestine, who, having heard of the disaster on the Morgenhalde, and also of the landlady's death, had lost no time in coming to her cousin's help. She knelt beside her. Lenz leaned upon Pilgrim's bosom.
Petrovitsch was beginning to be angry because no one paid him any attention, when happily the engineer approached him, and, with a manner at once respectful and cordial, congratulated him on his deliverance. The best fellow of the whole company, thought the old man. Pilgrim politely apologized for the embrace he had inadvertently given, and was treated to a cordial shake of the hand.
"I have found a scrap of your mother's handwriting in the snow," said Faller hoarsely; "most of the writing is washed out, but these few words are left: 'This little plant is called edelweiss. Marie Lenz.'"
"The paper is mine!" cried Annele, rising. All looked at her in astonishment. "Why, Annele!" screamed Ernestine, "what in Heaven's name have you on your head? your hair is all white!"
Annele went to the mirror, and, with a cry of anguish, clasped both hands above her head.
"An old woman! an old woman!" she moaned, and fell upon Lenz's neck. After a while she rose, sobbing, dried her tears and whispered in his ear, "That is my edelweiss that has grown for me under the snow."
CHAPTER XL.
ALL IS WELL
The ravens flew across the valley and over the mountains, past a humble cottage where sat an old woman at the window, spinning coarse yarn, while big tears rolled down her withered cheeks upon the threads she spun. It was Franzl. The tidings that Lenz with his whole household had been buried in the snow had reached Knuslingen, and men from her village had gone to their rescue. Franzl would gladly have gone with them and done her part; but her poor old feet refused to bear her. Moreover, she had lent her one good pair of shoes to a poor woman who had to go to the doctor's. In the midst of her sorrow Franzl often clapped her hands to her stupid head and said to herself: Why did I not think of it yesterday, while he was here? it is too late now. I had it on my tongue's end to tell him he must make provision against being snowed up. We were thrice snowed up for days at a time, and such an accident should be provided for every winter. It is too late now. The old mistress was right in saying, as she did a hundred times: "Franzl, you are always very clever, an hour behind the time."
The ravens that now flew past her window might have told Franzl to dry her tears, for the buried family was saved. Unhappily man cannot understand the ravens, and is a long while conveying his good news across mountain and valley.
At evening a sleigh with merry jingling bells came driving up to the door. What could it want? there was no one at home but Franzl. It stopped just before her window. Who was getting out from it? was it not Pilgrim? She tried to go to meet him, but her strength failed her.
"Franzl, I have come for you," cried Pilgrim. The old woman rubbed her forehead. Was it a dream? or what was it? "Lenz and his household are saved," continued Pilgrim; "and I am sent to fetch you, most high and mighty princess Cinderella. Will you trust yourself to the Swan."
"I have no shoes," stammered out Franzl.
"For that reason I have brought you fur boots that will just fit your little foot," returned Pilgrim; "and here is the skin, I mean the sheep-skin, of the monster Petrovitsch. You must drive with me, well-beloved Franzl of Knuslingen, Fuchsberg, and Knebringen. Your magic spinning-wheel you must leave behind, unless it chooses to hop after us on its wooden legs.
"'So gird thyself, my Gretchen,Thou must with me to-day;The corn is cut and garnered,The wine is stored away.'"Thus merrily singing, Pilgrim offered old Franzl his arm, as if to lead her to the dance. She was in a state of perfect bewilderment. Happily her sister-in-law came home at this moment, and was by no means displeased at the idea of having Franzl carried off in a sleigh. The old woman, however, turned her unceremoniously out of the room when she wanted to help her pack up her things: she could have no one by to see her stow away that mysterious shoe.
"The bed is my own; can you not pack it away in the sleigh?" she asked.
"Let Knuslingen have it to sleep upon," answered Pilgrim. "Use your pillow for a footstool and leave the rest behind. You will be cushioned like a queen."
"Must I leave my hens and my geese behind too? They are all my very own, and my gold-hammer has been sitting for six weeks."
The hen thus complimented thrust her gay crest through the bars of her coop.
The hens and geese, Pilgrim said, ran after the true princess Cinderella of their own accord, and these were free to do the same if they were so inclined; carrying them was out of the question.
Franzl recommended her beloved fowls most pressingly to the tender mercies of her sister-in-law, and charged her to send them by the first messenger that should be going her way.
