Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. I.
"That was certainly Joseph; for God's sake let us go after him."
"We will all go – all!"
"Stop!" said Schilder-David, coming forward; "hatter, will you go with us?"
"I cannot, for I am so weary, I can scarcely set one foot before the other; besides, it would be of no use, for it is more than an hour since I saw the child; I stopped for some time at the Meierhof; and who knows where the child may be now; I can tell you exactly where I met him – in the Otterswald Wood, close to the river, where the large spreading beech stands. It is the only very large tree there, and you all know it."
"Very well," said Schilder-David, striving to be composed; "I shall take good care to break a branch off that tree, to make Joseph remember it."
"No! no, you are not to beat him!" exclaimed Martina – she did not like to say, that this was the very same beech tree, where Adam had spoken to her for the first time; and perhaps her child might at that very moment be lying under it – frozen to death.
"It is night, and we can see nothing, and the snow is falling faster than ever," cried Häspele; "fetch torches, ring the alarm bell; we must ask the Pastor to let us do so; come straight to the Parsonage."
Martina, however, was taken home, and when she saw the boots on the table, she sobbed more than ever, saying: "Alas! how proud he was of them, and now his dear little feet are frozen – cold – dead!"
The women round Martina tried to comfort her, and one of them said, with the kindest intentions, that to be frozen to death was the easiest of all deaths; it was simply falling asleep, and never awaking.
"He would fall asleep on earth, to awake in Heaven," said the poor mother, weeping bitterly. "My Joseph prophesied it himself; he was too wise, too good, and went to meet his father. No, I will not die! when Adam goes to church with his bride, he shall hear my Joseph cry out from above, 'No!' and – he called 'father! father!' his father did not answer him; he did not know his voice – but day and night he will know it now. So long as he lives it will sound in his ears, that his child was frozen to death in his own wood; he need not go out and try to wrap him up now – too late – too late! his heart must be as hard as a stone! and there is the wooden horse my boy played with; it looks pitifully at me, though only wood; but the father is of wood too, he has no pity, he has killed his child. How often have I seen him holding out bread to his wooden horse! Oh! he had such a kind heart! oh! Joseph, Joseph!"
One of the women whispered to the other: "It would be a happy thing if he were only frozen to death, for a huge wolf is prowling about in the wood, and who knows if it has not torn the child to pieces." Though this was said in so low a voice, the ears of those who grieve are wonderfully acute; in the midst of her loud lamentations, Martina caught the words, and suddenly screamed out "The wolf, the wolf!" she clenched her hands and said, convulsively, "Oh! that I could strangle it with my own hands!" and looking at Leegart, she said, sobbing, "Oh! Leegart! Leegart! why do you sit sewing there at the darling's jacket, when the child is dead?"
"I did not hear a syllable; don't blame me; I heard nothing; you would not say a word; I asked three times, and no one answered. You know I have no superstition – nothing is so silly as to be superstitious; still there is no doubt of the fact, that so long as you go on either sewing or spinning for any one, that person cannot die. There was once a king – " and in the midst of all the distress and confusion, Leegart coolly related the story of Penelope and Ulysses, with some singular additions of her own; saying that Penelope had worked indefatigably at her web, but undid at night what she had done by day, and thus saved the life of her husband, who was in America.
Leegart was afraid, and not without cause, that in the agitation of the moment, her tale was not very distinctly heard; she acted, therefore, prudently, in proceeding with her story without pausing, or even looking up. When she was once seated, it was well known that she never left her chair till her time was up, and when she once began to tell a story, she went on steadily to the very end; indeed, if the house had taken fire, it was very doubtful whether she would have moved. We must hope, therefore, that the fire will be kind enough to wait till Leegart's hour for departure is come.
While Martina was lamenting with the women in the house, the whole troop of men, had arrived at the Parsonage, and Häspele offered to be spokesman. The children, too, begged hard to be allowed to go with the rest to look for Joseph, but their mothers began to cry and to hold them back, while the fathers shook them off impatiently, and scolded them soundly into the bargain. The decrepit old men, who had crept forth from their snug corners beside the stove, took the women and children home with them.
It looked like the vanguard of an army advancing on the foe – but where was the foe? There were some, however, who declared that it was utterly absurd to seek a child in the forest, in such a storm and in such blinding snow; it would be exactly like looking for a needle in a haystack. Häspele, however, called out, "Those who don't like to go with us can stay behind, there is no need to coax any one to go." Not one person left them. Häspele went up stairs and entreated the Pastor to allow the alarm bell to be rung. The Pastor was much distressed on hearing about Joseph, but said, he could not permit the alarm bell to be sounded, for it would terrify the neighbouring parishes without sufficient cause, and make them reluctant perhaps to give their assistance on some future occasion.
"It is good of you to go in such numbers to seek Joseph; I am glad to see it," said he in conclusion.
"There is not a single young healthy man in the village staying behind," said Häspele.
"I, however, am obliged to remain here," said the Pastor with a smile; "the Röttmännin occupied all my time last night, and I must be ready for midnight service in the church – but we will all pray for those who are in the forest."
"I will go instead of you," said his brother-in-law. "Who is your leader?"
"We have none; will you be so good as to be our conductor, Herr brother-in-law?"
All laughed, for Häspele, not knowing the young farmer's name, designated him simply as the Pastor's brother-in-law.
"My name is Brand," said Edward; "I know the path, for I was there to-day."
"The Pastorin's brother is going with us," was soon whispered into the street, and everyone was pleased. Häspele was right; with the exception of the sick and decrepit, every man in the village was present – they were all standing at the door with torches, iron spikes, ladders, axes, and long ropes.
"Is there any one here who can make a signal?" asked Edward. The stocking weaver drew his horn from under his cloak. The instrument did not shine brighter in the torchlight than the face of the stocking weaver, who had suddenly become so important a personage.
"Good! keep close to me. According to my ideas this is the best plan: the bugler is to go with me to the Reitersberg, where we will light a fire, and then let all disperse two and two; not one alone. Whoever finds Joseph, must either bring him to us on the Reitersberg, or at least any tidings of him. Three loud long blasts of the horn will be heard at intervals, so long as Joseph is not found; but as soon as we find him, three short notes will be sounded, and continued till we are all reassembled. But what would be still better; I have my gun with me, are there any others in the village?"
"Certainly there are."
"Then go and fetch several, and when Joseph is found, we will fire three consecutive shots. If we were not to do that, very possibly some of your good people might still be running about in the snow and cold, long after Joseph was found."
"He is right – a capital notion! Just like the brother of our Frau Pastorin."
The young farmer smiled, and continued: "One thing more: we have coverlets and mattrasses with us. Is there any dog in the village that knows Joseph?"
"They all know him, and love him. You know Joseph, don't you, Blitz?" said Häspele to a large dog at his heels.
The huge yellow dog answered by a loud bark, and a wag of his tail.
"Very well," exclaimed Edward, "let loose the dogs then."
"And we will hang lanterns round their necks, and round our own the bells of the cows, and those of our teams."
Every one had a fresh suggestion to make, so it was fortunate that the various opinions were concentrated into one by their leader.
"Now give us once more the signal, that we may all know it thoroughly," said Edward; and the stocking weaver blew his horn with all his might.
Scarcely had the sound died away, when Martina came running up and exclaimed: "Here are his clothes."
"Let the dogs smell the clothes," said Edward.
Martina would have been almost knocked down by the dogs who surrounded her, if Häspele had not had the sense to take the bundle from her.
"Call to the dogs, – 'Seek Joseph'!" commanded Edward; "and now forward! march! Joseph is our battle cry."
"Halt!" shouted a deep powerful voice from the opposite side, "what is the matter?"
"Adam," cried Martina, rushing up to him, "what have you there? have you found our Joseph?"
"Our Joseph! what do you mean? This is the wolf that I killed with my cudgel."
"The wolf that tore our child to pieces," cried Martina, clenching her hands in agony, and staring down at the dead animal. Häspele, very properly, told Adam in few words what had occurred. Adam was still holding the animal by the neck, and now he shook the dead creature violently, and hurled it with superhuman strength far away over the ditch into the field. Then he said: —
"I make a solemn vow here, before you all, that whether our child is found or not, my Martina is mine for life or death. May God forgive me for having been so long a weak undecided, good-for-nothing fellow! but listen to me, men all. Each of you may strike me in the face if I do not take my Martina to my own house, even if father, mother, and the whole world are against it."
"For heaven's sake, don't talk of this just now," said Martina, hiding her face on Adam's breast, and bursting for the first time into tears; Adam laid his hand fondly on her head, his breast heaving with the thick sobs which closely followed each other. Never did any one see Adam weep but that once.
The whole assemblage, at a silent signal from Edward, had gone forward with their bells, dogs, and torches; Häspele alone stayed behind with the unhappy parents, and when Adam looked up, large tears were glittering in his eyes in the light of the torch. Adam, however, stood erect, and said energetically: "Come, Martina, we shall certainly find him. I cannot think that he is dead; I heard him calling in the wood; I could not believe that it was really a human voice, and yet it was the voice of my child."
"And how often he called you during the night, and you could not hear him!"
"If he is still alive, I will cherish henceforth every word of his."
"God grant it! Amen," said Häspele in a low voice, and went on before them with his torch; and the two followed him close together.
CHAPTER XIII.
A TROOP OF HOBGOBLINS
"Let me carry the clothes; give me his clothes," said Adam, as they went along.
"No, I cannot part with them, they are all I now have belonging to him, and I have the new boots in the bundle, that he never wore, and in my hurry I brought his little wooden horse, too."
"Does he like horses? then he will like me also."
"Oh! do not speak so lightly; remember that he may be dead."
"The child may have lost himself in the wood, and yet not be dead; and who knows whether he may not be at home at this moment, having gone of his own accord, or some one have brought him home."
As a token of gratitude for these consoling words, Martina placed the bundle of clothes on Adam's arm, saying, "Carry them for me." When they passed by a weeping willow close to the road, which looked very singular, its drooping branches all hung with snow and glittering in the torchlight, Martina continued: "Do you see that tree? When our Joseph was not quite three years old, I was walking here with him, and on seeing the leaves hanging down, he said, 'Mother! that tree is raining leaves.' He often spoke such strange things, that it was quite puzzling to know whether one was on earth or in heaven, and what one could do, or ought to do with him; and he is grown so strong, so very strong; I was obliged to use all my strength when I wished to hold him – and now to die such a death! it is too dreadful. Joseph! Joseph! my darling Joseph! Oh! where are you now? I am here, your mother and your father too. Joseph! Joseph! oh come! Call him, Adam, can't you shout out his name?"
"Joseph! Joseph!" called Adam with his powerful voice, "My child! come to me; Joseph! Joseph!" and Adam, who once trembled to pronounce the child's name even secretly, now shouted it loudly in the wood. Soon, however, he desisted, and said, "It is no use, Martina; try to be quiet, or you will make yourself ill."
"If my Joseph is dead, I don't care to live either; I care for nothing more in this world."
"I cannot believe that, Martina; surely you have some love for me still."
"Oh heavens! don't wrangle with me just now," said Martina sorrowfully. For a long time neither spoke a word. Häspele proved a good mediator, for he came up to Martina and begged her to take a mouthful of the Kirschwasser that he had most thoughtfully brought for Joseph.
"No, no, I need nothing. I cannot take what the child may require."
"Do take a single mouthful," entreated Adam, as tenderly as his rough voice could be modulated. "Remember, our Joseph cannot drink it all if we find him."
"If we find him? Why do you say that? You know something, and are keeping it from me; I feel sure that you know he is dead."
"I know nothing whatever – as little as you do yourself. I do beg you will take one mouthful of the Kirschwasser."
"Ah! if my Joseph had it, it might restore him to life. I need nothing – leave me in peace." But Adam persisted till Martina took some, and this was a good opportunity for him to get hold of her hand again, and then they pursued their way hand in hand.
Martina spoke very low, and told Adam what a singularly reserved boy Joseph was; and that he had often whispered things to her, that he might have quite well said loud out before everybody; but his peculiarity was, to prefer saying things secretly; and no doubt he had something secret to tell his father, and then he would have been able to discern how it made you creep, when Joseph with his warm breath said something close to your ear. "His warm breath is now frozen," added she, wringing her hands.
Soon she suddenly seized Adam's arm, saying passionately, "Look! there is the very rock, where once on a time I wished to die along with him, when Leegart found me. If we had died together then, before he came into the world, it might have been better for both of us. Oh! where is he now? perhaps he is lying two steps from us, and yet we cannot see him, and he cannot hear us. I will go from hill to hill, to the top of every rock, and down into every valley, to seek my boy."
"Try to be more composed," said Adam, kindly; but Martina's excitement every instant increased, and she turned hastily to him saying: —
"You are to blame! a father can deny his child, and pass him by as if he were nothing to him in this world – but a mother – never! You did this!"
"Why do you reproach me at such a moment as this?"
"I do not reproach you. Why are you so cruel?"
"I am neither unkind nor cruel – only do try to command your feelings; from this day forth all your sorrows shall cease. Come closer to me, my Martina!"
"No, no, I cannot rest!" cried Martina, suddenly, after having leant on Adam for a few minutes – "I cannot – Oh, gracious Father! do with me what thou wilt, only do not deprive me of my child, my Joseph; he is innocent; I alone am guilty – this man and I."
She went some steps from Adam, as if she could not bear his vicinity; she no longer shed tears, but she sobbed convulsively with dry eyes, as if her heart would break.
The scene in the wood was like the procession of the "Wild Huntsman;" the men with torches and lanterns, and their eager shouts and cries, and cracking of whips, and ringing of bells; and the dogs, too, carrying lanterns round their necks, and rushing along the ravines barking, and then galloping up the hills, still barking and pressing forwards, till recalled by the voice of their masters. It was fortunate that such good order was maintained. No one could recognise his neighbour, for each man was a moving mass of snow, and the hills and rocks looked down by the torchlight in amazement, at the men who had come there to shout out, and seek a young child.
"See, how all the village loved him!" said Martina to Adam, relating to him how the boy had wakened her on the previous night, three times, to ask which way his father would come; and she reproached herself severely for having listened to Leegart, and sent him out of the house alone; she might have known that something dreadful was sure to occur on this day.
Adam was sadly perplexed, and did not know what to say; and he was more sad than ever when he thought of the Forest Mill, where they were all sitting waiting for him, and remembered the treachery towards Martina he had been persuaded to commit this very day.
Suddenly a cry of joy was heard – "What is it? what is it?" "God be praised, they have found him!" "Where? where?" The smith came up, out of breath, to Adam and Martina. "Here is his cap; we shall find him now, sure enough."
Martina seized the dripping cap, and shed scalding tears over it. "Heavens! he is now without a cap, and the snow is lying on his head, if he is still in life."
Martina passed her hand over her face, and stared at the smith, who certainly looked a strange monster. He had not taken time to wash his sooty face, and now the snow had drawn all sorts of strange figures on it, and his red beard was hanging full of icicles.
"You must remain on the straight road, that we may be able to find you immediately," said the smith, and turning to go away, he added, "I think this night we have earned from you the right to be well supplied with good liquor at your wedding."
It must certainly be a set of hobgoblins dispersed in the forest; and there was a man in the wood who saw them, as large as life. Speidel-Röttmann, who had followed his son, had made a false step, and rolled down the precipice. When he reached the bottom he became sober all at once. He had received no injury whatever. He went on a long way on the frozen stream, and the rocks and trees towered above him like gigantic monsters. Fresh snow fell thickly on him every instant, and at last he became so confused, that he did not know whether he was going up or down the stream. He tried to break the ice with a stone, to find out in what direction the current of the stream was flowing, so that he might know which way to proceed, but he could not loosen one of the stones. The whole world seemed iron-bound, and no help near. Well! here at last is an opening, here is a path in the forest. He climbs up, often slipping backwards, and almost entirely hidden by masses of snow; but he does not lose heart. Speidel-Röttmann's strength is now to be put to the proof. He succeeds in getting to the top of the rising ground – he is right: here is a path. As he grasps the ground for the last time, he stumbles over something; it is a pipe – it is Adam's pipe. So he must have gone this way; now he will come up with him – which way is he gone? right, or left? The traces of his footsteps have been already effaced by the falling snow. Speidel-Röttmann takes the path to the right; then it suddenly seems to him that the left must certainly be the best way, so he turns back; and then goes forward again, up and down, as if a will-o'-the-wisp were leading him hither and thither. Hark! a sound of horns, and whips, and barking of dogs; – what can it be? Heavenly powers! it is the Wild Huntsman! It is himself, on his gallant grey, with his spectre followers, shouting, and yelling, and blowing the horn; and in the midst of the hubbub there are screams as if from thousands of little children; and if any unlucky being were to look up at him as he dashes past, he would cut his head as clean off as if it were a turnip. All the terrors of the infernal regions assail Speidel-Röttmann. He had, indeed, often boasted that the talk about witches, and spectres, and hobgoblins, was only lies and nonsense; but now every hair on his head stands on end; he remembers that in bygone days men were quite as wise as at present, and they believed it all. "Here he comes! Forgive me for not believing a word of it till now. I will – " Speidel-Röttmann rushes along the path into the wood, and throws himself down on the ground on his face, that the Wild Huntsman may gallop over him without throttling him. So he lies still and hears the fiends rush past. He clutches the snowy moss with his hand, and the moss does not give way. It is a comfort that something in the world still holds fast. Hold on! hold on! or you may be in a moment lifted up in the air, and placed on the top of a tree, or who knows where? and your face twisted entirely round, and you must go about with it in that fashion as long as you live. And he feels as if he were mocked, and some one said to him, "Is not this wood your own property? but in spite of all your foresters, and all your keepers, you cannot prevent the Wild Huntsman galloping through it. Do you hear a child's voice? do you know that voice?"
Speidel-Röttmann has entirely lost his head – the snow in which he had buried his face melts from the warmth of his breath, but something melts also in his hard heart; and face to face with death, he calls out from the snowy moss, "Joseph!" as if that word had the power to save him. "I solemnly vow I will," he goes on muttering to himself. It has suddenly flashed across his thoughts, that there lived a child on earth to whom he had been guilty of great injustice, and that it is for this he hears such groans and cries in the air. He wishes to call back his son, who is in turn striving to recall his son. This is like a chain attached to another chain, and so the links go on.
"I yield! set me free! keep the child!" With these words he at last ventured to raise his head a little. The noise and shouts and cries sounded now further away.
"Who are you? who are you?" cries suddenly a figure, seizing him roughly, not like a man, but like an evil spirit, or the claws of a wild beast, so savage is the grasp.
"I am a miserable sinner! I am the Röttmann – let me go; be merciful!"
"So, I have got hold of you at last!" exclaimed the figure, and knelt down on his breast. "You shall die, for you have killed my grandson, and disowned him, and left him to want and misery."
"How? what? is it you, David?"
"Yes, you shall know first who is going to split your head with this axe – it is I, Schilder-David. Yes, accursed Goliah, I have got you down on the ground, and you shall die."
Speidel Röttmann's strength and courage revived, after a very short deliberation. "Oh, ho! not much fear of him!" and his hand speedily followed his thoughts. He seized with one hand the man who was kneeling on him, and with the other drew forth the sharp knife he always carried on him, and cried out, "Let go, David! let go: or I'll stab you to the heart!"
"Your evil deeds are come to an end," cried David, snatching the knife out of his hand; but Röttmann succeeded in getting on his feet, and David quickly lay under him on the ground.
"Now, do you see!" exclaimed Röttmann, triumphantly, "I can give you the finishing stroke."
"Do so, root out the whole family – you have killed my Joseph, kill me too."
"Stand up! I will do you no harm," answered Röttmann; "I don't know whether it is you that are bewitched, or myself, or the whole world. What on earth brings you here? – who are those in the forest?"
David, breathing hard all the time, told what had occurred; but adding, "I have no business to talk to you at all; both you and your son deserve to die. I will not say another word to you; one of us shall remain on this spot; stab me if you like, I shall be glad to leave this wicked world for I have nothing left to care for now in it." With these words Schilder-David rushed on Speidel-Röttmann, but the latter seized the old man's arms with such a powerful grasp, that they were as immoveable as if fastened into a vice.
