Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker Volume I Part 11

I stuck my nails into the earth, and crept on and on, and then sideways into the underwood, close to the dry channel, where a footing was to be found. Slowly, slowly, I crawled along. But stop! one step further and I must have been killed! A rock as steep and high as a house, as if cut out with a knife, overhung the river. I stopped short, and could have seized the tops of the larches with my hands, but there was no path. I went back two steps, and leant on a tree, and now my mind was easier. I saw running water. G.o.d be praised and blessed for all His mercies! this is the valley, and to have reached the valley is to have reached home.

How pleasant was the rus.h.i.+ng of water to my ears--so calm, so peaceful, so homelike! even seeing and hearing it quenched my thirst. I now accomplished the greatest feat of the whole, when, after a long round, I at last contrived, after much scrambling, to land in the valley. And when I actually found myself there, then, and not till then, I thought myself safe.

"Big drops of heat were running down my cheeks. I seated myself on a large log of wood, lying on the ground, close to the very beech tree where the hatter met Joseph. I was so overheated that I would gladly have got rid of some of my wraps; but there was a very cool breeze in the valley. The sun was just sinking behind the hills, and it was not yet noon when I left home. I saw swallows flying about. Oh! what a pleasant sight that was to me! And then I heard a c.o.c.k crow. No nightingale's song could sound half so sweet as the crowing of a c.o.c.k to a person who has lost his way. Well! I felt that I was now in the world again. I heard a hen cackling: wherever an egg is laid, there is sure to be a woman near. I heard a dog barking: where a dog barks a man is not far off. I am once more among my fellow-creatures. Presently I heard the rus.h.i.+ng of a mill. Where am I, then?

"So long as I was wandering about and lost, even in my anguish, I never shed a tear; but now, when I was safe, I for the first time became fully aware of the dangers I had undergone, and I began to cry so dreadfully that I thought I must dissolve away, and yet I could not stop myself. Then, luckily, I saw a woodcutter coming along. I asked him where I was. 'Rottmannshof is close by up there,' said the man, pa.s.sing on. I called after him to ask what o'clock it was. 'Past five.'

So I had actually been running about for seven hours. I could scarcely believe it--seven mortal hours! If I had been superst.i.tious, I should have certainly believed that some wood demon had purposely led me astray, for after seven o'clock has struck their delight is to mislead people, and there are day spirits as well as night spirits. By following the river I was sure to reach the Forest Mill; so I set off towards it. Scarcely, however, had I gone two hundred paces when I discovered that I had left my small parcel lying on the trunk of the tree; and it had caused me so much trouble, and I had taken such care of it! Gracious me! this too! Perhaps the woodcutter stole it, and I shall be obliged to pay for the velvet cap, instead of receiving a sum for making it. I ran back. Men are very good and honest, especially when they don't know the value of a thing. My parcel had slipped down behind the tree, and there I found it. The Forest Miller's wife was an excellent woman, and her daughter Tony takes after her. The good creature gave me dry clothes, and took as much care of me as if I had been her sister. But for three days I felt as if all my limbs had been dislocated. I started for home at last.

"When any one has been lost in a wood, it is scarcely possible to realise that they have a home of their own--a place where your bed stands, your looking-gla.s.s, your table, your chest of drawers, your Psalm Book. Oh! what good old friends these all seem, and how you love them all when you come home, and would gladly thank the tables and chairs for having stood steadily in the same place, and quietly waited for your return. And do you know the worst part of losing your way?--that you are so laughed at when you tell the story afterwards.

But I wish no one--not even the Rottmannin herself--to have such a thing happen to them.

"It was a lovely summer's day, the Sunday after All Saints--no, not Sunday, the Monday of Peter and Paul. Oh! what must it be to wander about in the snow at night, and such a child, too! what could it do but lie down and die! Oh heavens! I see the child before me, fast in the snow, or in the cleft of a rock, its hands struggling, and its feet frozen, so that it cannot move; and crying out, 'Mother!' and listening, and hoping that some one will come, and no one answers but the raven on the tree. And a hare runs past him--whis.h.!.+--over the snow.

It is afraid of the child, and the child looks after the hare, and forgets his misery for the moment. 'Mother! mother!' he goes on calling, and it is a blessing that he falls asleep at last, never to wake again. Good heavens! what an unhappy creature I am to have such thoughts pa.s.s through my mind; and come they will, I can't help it; but it runs in our family, and my mother was right in saying, that she knew more than that two and two made four. And you know what happened to the poor child that lies buried up yonder in Wenger. He was found in the wood on the third day, quite covered with snow, and only close to his heart was the snow melted. All those who saw it could not help sobbing their very hearts out; and the mother became an idiot. The Herr Pastor wrote a beautiful epitaph on the tombstone: I knew it once by heart, but I could not repeat it now. And what happened to the hatter, who was carrying a bundle of newly dyed hats on New Year's Day to Knusling? He arrived at the Schrockenhalde, the very precipice where I was when I lost myself, and went on through the meadow; and there was such a fog that you could not see your hand before you. He went round and round the village at least seven times, and could never find his way in. The bells were ringing, but they always seemed to him to come from the other side, and so he never got there. At last he heard geese cackling, so he followed the cry, and soon got safe to the village. But if you could but have seen him! he looked just as if he had been buried, and dug up again. But one thing I forgot to tell you, which was that the Forest Miller"--

Here Leegart was interrupted by loud cries in front of the house.

CHAPTER XV.

A CHILD SEEKING HIS FATHER.

Leegart was absolute mistress of Schilder-David's house, on the days when she came in the morning to stay till night; and therefore it was but natural that she should dismiss little Joseph at noon; for in his presence, it was not possible to discuss the many points that were absolutely necessary to be discussed.

The news that the Pastor intended to leave the village came first to Leegart; and now she proved that she richly merited the name she had earned of _The Privy Councillor_. She sent instantly for two of the churchwardens, and dispatched them, along with Schilder-David, to the Pastor, in order to persuade him, by their united eloquence, to give up his intention.

A servant from the Forest Mill had gone to fetch wine from the Rossleswirth, and sugar and all sorts of spices from the grocer. This occurrence was, of course, very soon known in the village, and speedily found its way to the house of Schilder-David, whom it naturally concerned most, and to Leegart, who was there, and who always contrived to have the earliest intelligence about everything. Every one in the village took a pride in bringing her news, and they considered it only their simple duty to tell her all reports, being well paid for it beforehand.

There was now a perfect strife as to who should concoct the mulled wine, preparing for the betrothal of Adam and the Forest Miller's Tony.

Leegart added her share of spice mentally, but very different from that you buy at the grocer's. She kept wis.h.i.+ng that she could drop poison into it, and that all who drank it should die. Her only difficulty was whether to wish most for the death of the Rottmannin or that of the Forest Miller, who was about to sacrifice his child in such a criminal manner, in order to save her marriage portion.

Martina, however, was vexed that Joseph should be sent out of the house on this particular day. Still it was quite right that he should not hear what they were going to talk about; and though she did not join in Leegart's denunciations, she could not help crying and lamenting. She sent Joseph back to Haspele, but Joseph had talked enough already of the dog he seemed doomed never to get. He went along the village, and a woman who met him said in a compa.s.sionate tone, "Ah! poor child! this is an evil day for you," Joseph thought so too, as he had been pushed out of the house. Presently another, by way of cloaking the bad news adroitly, said, "Joseph, what is your father doing? Is it long since you saw him?" The boy perceived that something was going on in the village, and that it concerned him; he, however, kept his promise to his mother, and told no one that his father was to come this very day.

It never ceased snowing, and Joseph, being quite alone on the ice, kept sliding backwards and forwards on the ground, and constantly looking at the path where his father was likely to come. But he found himself at last so solitary, that he went to his grandfather's. He remained standing outside the door of the workshop, for he heard two men talking there. He knew their voices: they were the two churchwardens Wagner and Harzbauer. They were saying that the cook at the Parsonage had let out that the Pastor intended to leave the village, and that she believed Rottmann and the Forest Miller were the chief cause of this; and then they abused Adam, saying that he well deserved his nickname of _The Horse_, for he allowed himself to be bridled and driven about, just as other people chose.

The men now came out, along with Schilder-David, who said, "So you are there, Joseph? Go home, and I will soon come to you."

His grandfather did not take him by the hand, as usual, but went with his two friends to the Parsonage. Joseph stood still. But suddenly, as if some one had whistled to him, he turned round, and ran off through the village into the fields, to meet his father. "He will be so glad to see me! and he will put me before him on his horse." Away ran the boy, jumping merrily along through the fields, and into the wood. Every now and then he wiped off the snow from his face and breast with his hands, and making small s...o...b..a.l.l.s, he threw them at particular trees that he fixed upon, and never failed to hit them. He went more slowly when he was once fairly in the wood, and often looked round. Two bullfinches were perched on a mountain ash close to the path, twittering incessantly, but as if half asleep, and every now and then picking the red berries; but many more than they ate, were scattered on the ground.

"You are silly, greedy fellows, and destroy more than you eat," said Joseph, and, despising the simple creatures, went on his way. Below in the valley a bird was singing charmingly, and with infinite tenderness: it sounded something like the notes of a thrush. What could it be? And the bird went on singing and flying--on and on, further and further!

Deep snow was lying where the path takes a sharp turn. At the very first step Joseph sunk up to his knees. He was, however, quick enough to clamber up an overhanging bank, and then to get down again into the path beyond the snowdrift. It was lucky that this steep declivity was planted with mountain ash, to show the way.

"Do the mountain ash berries belong to my father, too, I wonder?" said Joseph aloud. The trees could not answer him, and there was no human being near to give him any information. A fox appeared on the path in the thicket, and stared at the boy. No doubt he was puzzled to make out what such a singular apparition could be: he stood for some moments immoveable, watching the boy, till the latter cried out, "Get along!"

And off trotted the fox, but in no hurry, and little Joseph again exclaimed, "Yes, grandfather, it is just as you said, for now I saw it myself,--the fox drags his tail after him on the ground, to brush away the marks of his paws, that no one may know which way he is gone. How clever of him!" Magpies chattered from the tops of the trees, and a crossbill was perched on a projecting bit of rock, just above the valley; and the boy nodded to it, and the bird nodded too: he did not say a word, but he only opened and shut his beak, as if he wished to say, "I am hungry." "There's something for you!" cried little Joseph, flinging down the ravine the only bit of bread he had left. The bird, no doubt, supposed that it was a stone thrown at him, for he flew away timidly, and the piece of bread was buried in the snow, so no one got a share of it.

Joseph went on quietly, resting sometimes under a tree, and sometimes under a projecting rock, amusing himself by watching how the snow fell in such thick showers, and yet so softly, covering everything more and more. "My father must take me a drive in a sledge tomorrow," thought Joseph; and, thinking of his father, he wandered further and further.

Twilight was beginning to fall, and the boy felt rather frightened, but he still went straight on; and it was lucky for him that Schilder-David had guarded him from all the prevalent superst.i.tions of the country.

Still Haspele had told him that the souls of the dead danced in churchyards at night, in the shape of lights, and often in the wood besides; and the rider on the gallant grey, who rides through the air, can crack his whip famously, for he has a fir tree as tall as the church steeple for a whip. There is the stone cross at the side of the road, where once a peasant with his cart and horse fell down the hill; and there sits a raven on the cross. "You are nothing but a raven,"

said Joseph, throwing a s...o...b..ll at the bird, who flew away with a croak.

Joseph went on till he came to a group of wooden figures, the faces almost covered with snow, and the figures, in summer attire, peeping out of the hollow in which the group was placed. Joseph broke off a fir branch, and rubbed off all the snow from the wooden faces, that seemed to stare at him so strangely. They consisted of five men, in the hollow, under green trees: they all wore white s.h.i.+rts, green breeches, and short yellow leather gaiters. They stood in a row, each with an axe in his hand. In front, however, of the others stood one man alone, with uplifted axe, and beside him lay a man on the ground, bleeding and crushed, close to a felled tree. Joseph read the inscription: it was, "Vincent Rottmann was crushed by this tree on the 17th of August, and died, after great suffering, on the 23rd of August. May G.o.d grant him everlasting rest, and punish the guilty!"

Joseph shuddered. The figures kept staring at him as if he were guilty.

And what Rottmann could this be?

As a sign that he was innocent, Joseph placed the green fir branch on the group, and went on his way, not quite easy in his mind, because the figures stared after him so oddly.

What does he see coming, along the path? Is it a man?--he has at least a hundred protuberances! He must be a spectre! He comes nearer and nearer. Joseph goes up to him boldly, and says--"Good evening!" The man with the hundred protuberances--it was the hatter with his bundles of three-cornered hats hanging round him--tried to persuade Joseph, first kindly and then by force, to go back with him; but he slipped through his hands, and running on, cried loudly through the wood, "Father!

father!" and on he went. "He will soon come--he is sure to hear me."

Night now set in, and Joseph walked further and further, calling out his father's name; and his cheeks were in such a glow that the snow melted as it fell on his face. He knelt down and said his usual night prayer at least thirty times over--"G.o.d, bless my father and mother!"

He always said this with peculiar piety; and again started up, thinking that he heard something crackling and moving in the ravine. But no--all was again still. "But where is the path?--there is now no path at all."

The boy began to cry bitterly as he ran along, stumbling first against one tree and then against another. "Father! mother! father!--good Lord, help me!" And G.o.d heard his cry. Three angels are coming hither with lights: they have white garments and gold crowns on their heads, and are singing such a strange song.

"Awake ye, awake ye, Come hither to me; For this is the home Of the brave and the free."

They come nearer and nearer, and now they are close to Joseph, who accosts them courageously, saying--"Good angels! take me with you to my own home, and to my father and mother."

"Gracious powers!--a spirit!--the Holy Child!" cry out the three angels, and scurry off with their torches at such a pace! but they have wings, and can run or fly as quickly as they choose.

Joseph did not try to follow them: he stumbled and fell, but soon got up again, when all had vanished, and he was once more alone. A little way off he saw the glimmering of a torch. How to get near it! Joseph had lost his cap, but he did not observe it; and, running as hard as ever he could, he shouted, "Stay, stay! I am little Joseph!" But the angels declined stopping, and were no longer to be seen. Their footsteps, however, were distinct enough in the snow, and Joseph followed the marks on, and on; and at last up a hill--Heaven be praised!--a light at last, indeed many lights, and brightness all round. The comforting feeling, that men are under shelter of a roof close by, inspired fresh courage in the little wanderer; and, with renewed strength, he ran down the hill to the lights, and reached the Forest Mill below at the very moment when the three angels were ascending the outside stair singing:

"Three Kaisers sang on high--the Heavenly Hosts among; And glorious the melody, and glorious the song.

Awake ye, awake ye, Come hither to me; For this is the home Of the brave and the free."

Joseph slipped quietly in behind the singers, scarcely daring to breathe, far less to call out--above all not to call out, or the angels would be sure to fly away again. He went with them into the room, and the three angels sung the song of the "Three Holy Kings" to the end.

They were quietly listened to, and got plenty to eat and drink, and presents into the bargain; and the angels ate, and drank, and spoke their thanks very properly. Joseph soon found out that these were not angels at all, but three boys dressed up as the Three Holy Kings. They went away, and Joseph remained alone; and now, for the first time, he was remarked by those present.

"Who are you?--where do you come from?--what are you doing here?" These were the questions that quickly a.s.sailed him from the Rottmannin, and the miller's wife, and Tony.

"Eat something first to warm yourself; you are quite wet, and have no cap," said Tony, kindly. "There, my boy, eat and drink, and we will talk to you afterwards. Come, I will take off your jacket and hang it near the stove. Don't sit so close to the stove--it is not good for you."

"A handsome boy," said the miller's wife, while Joseph was drinking some mulled wine.

"The angels guided me famously. This is what they drink in Heaven, I suppose," said Joseph.

There was a strange flash in the eyes of the Rottmannin when she heard these words and that voice. She pushed aside the large jug, and stared at the boy very much as the fox had done in the wood.

"Where are you from?" asked the bride.

"From Waldhausen."

"Who is your father?"

"He does not live with us."

"What's your mother's name?"

"Martina, and my grandfather is Schilder-David."