was time for the terrible bear from Asturias to make his appearance.
"The Asturian bear! the Spanish bear!" was the cry.
The bear-leader made signs to the people to be quiet, as he had something
to say to them. It was impossible! The cries and the uproar redoubled.
"The bear of Asturias! the bear of Asturias!"
Then the fellow muttered a few unintelligible words, unfastened the brown
bear, and took it back into its den; then with every appearance of
precaution he loosened the door of the pigsty and took the end of a chain
which was lying on the ground. A formidable growling was heard inside.
The man quickly passed the chain through a ring in the wall and fled,
crying--
"Now, you there, let the dogs go!"
Immediately a black bear, low, and almost stunted in its stature, with a
low forehead, ears wide apart, eyes red as fire, and glowing with a
fierce sullen passion, hurled himself out into the open, and finding the
chain fast in the wall, howled furiously. Evidently this was a bear of
the most deplorably low moral character! Moreover, he had been roused to
madness by the noise of the preceding combats, and his master had good
reason for not trusting himself much to him.
"Let go the dogs!" cried the bear-leader, putting his head out of the
granary skylight; "let them loose!"
Then he added--
"If you are not satisfied this time it won't be my fault. There will be a
battle now!"
At that moment Ludwig Karl's big mastiff and Fischer de Heischland's pair
of wolf-hounds, with tails low, hair straight and smooth, heads advanced
and ears erect, came into the court together.
The heavy-headed mastiff calmly yawned as he stretched his sinewy legs
and caved in his long back. But after a long and leisurely yawn he slowly
turned round, and catching sight of the bear he stood immovable as if
stupefied. The bear, too, fixed his vicious glowing eyes upon him with
ears expanded and his huge claws indenting the ground under them.
The wolf-hounds drew up as reserves in the rear of the mastiff.
Then such silence fell upon all that excited multitude that a dead leaf
might have been heard rustling to the ground; but there followed a deep,
low, fierce growl, like a coming thunderstorm, which sent a shudder
through the crowd.
Suddenly the mastiff sprang forward, the two others followed, and then
for several seconds nothing was seen but a confused mass rolling round
the chain, then blood and entrails mingled flowing over the stones, then
the bear rising on his haunches hugging the mastiff between his terrible
claws, swaying to and fro his heavy head, for a moment and gaping wide
with his crimson jaws, for the muzzle was gone; in the struggle it had
fallen off!
Then a low but rising cry of fear passed over the crowd in the galleries.
No applause now, only a well-grounded alarm! The mastiff was in the
agonies of death, with a rattling in his throat; the wolf-hounds lay torn
and dead on the bloodstained earth; in the stables all round the court
long agitated roaring and bellowing betrayed the terror of the cattle,
whose kicking and plunging made the walls shake; but the bear never
stirred: he seemed to be enjoying the universal alarm.
But lo! in this predicament was heard a slight but unmistakable cracking
like timber giving way, then more cracks; the old rotten galleries were
beginning to yield under the heavy pressure of the crowd; and there was
in this noise, just heard in the midst of the dead silence of suspense,
something so dreadful that I, in my place of safety, felt a cold shiver
pass over me. Taking a rapid survey of the galleries before me, I saw
every face changed in colour, pale with a bluish, ashy paleness; some
open-mouthed, others with bristling hair, listening intently, holding
their breath. The capuchin friar Johannes seated on the banister had
turned from crimson to a greenish hue, and the big red nose of Doctor
Melchior had turned from red to sallow the first time for twenty years;
the poor little women trembled without stirring from their places,
knowing that the least agitation would bring down the whole place.
I could have wished to fly too. I fancied I could see the thick oaken
pillars of the gallery bowing to the ground. I cannot tell whether this
was illusion or not, but in a moment the principal beam gave a loud crack
and became depressed by three inches at the least. Then, my friends, it
was horrible to behold--the deep silence of a minute before was succeeded
by tumult, cries, screams, and ravings. That mass of human beings heaped
up in the galleries, one above another, were some clutching the walls,
the pillars, the banisters; others were fighting with fury, and even
biting, to get away faster, and from the midst of this frightful
confusion arose the plaintive voices of the suffering women. I shudder at
the remembrance. Oh, may I never see such a sight as this again!
But, most terrible circumstance of all, the bear was chained close by the
staircase that leads up to the galleries!
If I were to live a thousand years never should I forget the horror of
Friar Johannes, who had cleared a way for himself with his long staff,
and was placing his foot on the last step when he discovered, just before
the bottom of the staircase, Beppo seated calmly on his tail, his chain
tightened, his eye expressive of joy, ready to snap him up first!
None can tell the muscular power which Maître Johannes was obliged to put
forth to stem the force that was driving him in from behind. Convulsively
grasping the banister with both hands, his broad shoulders formed a
mighty buttress against the pressing flood. Like Atlas, I do believe he
would have borne the earth upon his back to save his precious skin.
In the midst of this confusion and tumult, and when there seemed no
way to avert the threatening catastrophe, suddenly the door of the
cattle-shed opened violently, and the redoubtable Horni, Maître
Sébaldus's magnificent bull, rushed into the arena, his massive dewlap
shaking loosely like an apron, his tail extended straight, his mouth and
nostrils white with fleecy foam.
It was an inspiration of the master's. He had resolved to risk his bull
to save human life. At the same moment the fat, round, rosy face of our
landlord appeared through the skylight of the stable, crying to the crowd
not to be alarmed, for that he would open the inner door which abuts into
the old synagogue, and let out the crowd by the Jews' street, which was
done in two or three minutes, to the immense relief and comfort of the
public.
But now listen to the end of my story.
Scarcely had the bear caught sight of the bull when he made an ugly rush
upon this new adversary with so terrible a shock that the chain burst.
The bull retired, facing his foe, to a corner of the court near the
pigeon-cote, and there, head well down between his short legs and horns
presented, he awaited the shock of war.
The bear made several feints, slipping along by the wall from right
to left; but the bull, with his forehead almost touching the ground,
followed the enemy's movements with marvellous coolness.
In five minutes the galleries had been cleared; the noise of the crowd
taking refuge down the Jews' street was becoming more remote, and this
manoeuvring of the two huge brutes seemed as if they were meditating
a drawn battle, when suddenly the bull, losing patience, threw himself
upon the bear with the whole momentum of his monstrous bulk. The unhappy
brute, pressed so closely, took refuge under the wood-shed, but the head
and horns of his foe pursued him thither, and there no doubt he nailed
his adversary to the wall, for although I could only see the bull's
hind-quarters, I could hear a dreadful shriek, followed by a crunching of
bones, and presently a pool of blood was flowing over the pavement.
I could only see the bull's hind-quarters and his tail waving aloft like
a battle-flag. You would have thought he wanted to bring the walls down
by the furious and violent pounding of his hind-feet. That silent scene
in shadow was fearful. I did not wait to see the end. I came carefully
down my ladder, and slipped out of the court like a thief. You may
imagine with what pleasure I inhaled the pure open air; and passing
through the crowd collected round the door where the bear-leader was
tearing his hair in his wild despair, I ran off to my aunt's house.
I was just going round under the arcades when I was stopped by my old
drawing-master, Conrad Schmidt.
"Caspar!" he cried, "where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I am going to paint the great bear-fight!" I answered enthusiastically.
"Another tavern scene, I suppose," he remarked with a shrug.
"Why not, Master Conrad? Is not a tavern scene as good as one in the
forum?"
I would have said a good deal, but we were standing at his door.
"Good night, Maître Conrad," I cried, pressing his hand. "Don't bear a
grudge against me for not going to study in Italy."
"Grudge! No," replied the old master, smiling. "You know that privately
I am of your opinion. If I tell you now and then to go to Italy, it is to
satisfy Dame Catherine. But follow out your own idea, Caspar. Men who
only follow other men's ideas never do any good."
THE SCAPEGOAT.
Note
This story, allowing for the exercise of fancy in its construction, is
only too faithful a picture of German student life and habits, with its
ignorance or disregard of the Christianity taught us in the Gospel, its
only half-concealed leaning towards the ancient systems of religion
properly known as heathen, and its careless indifference to human life.
The translator has ventured to deviate slightly from the original in one
or two places in order to avoid giving an unnecessary shock to the
susceptibilities of readers trained and educated in principles widely
differing from these.--_Transl_.
THE SCAPEGOAT.
Doesn't everybody at Tubingen know the lamentable history of the quarrel
between the Seigneur Kaspar Evig and the young Jew Elias Hirsch? Kaspar
Evig was courting Mademoiselle Eva Salomon, the daughter of the old
picture-dealer in the Rue de Jericho. One day he found my friend Elias
In the broker's shop, and, on what pretext I know not, he boxed his ears
soundly three or four times.
Elias Hirsch, who had begun his medical studies only about five months
before, was called upon by a council of the students to challenge the
Seigneur Kaspar to fight, a step which he took with the greatest
repugnance, for it was quite to be expected that a seigneur should be
a perfect swordsman.
For all that Elias put himself well on the defensive, and, watching his
opportunity, inserted his finely-pointed sword so neatly between the ribs
of the above-mentioned seigneur as considerably to affect his breathing,
the consequence of which was that he was dead in ten minutes.
The Rector Diemer, being informed of this transaction by credible
witnesses, listened coldly and remarked briefly--
"I understand you, gentlemen. He is dead, is he? Very well, then; bury
him."
Elias was carried about in triumph, like another Mattathias; but, far
from accepting the proffered glory, he drooped under a profound
melancholy.
He lost flesh, he sighed, he groaned; his nose, already a pretty long
one, seemed to gain in prominence what it lost in solidity, and often in
the evening, as he was passing down the Rue des Trois Fontaines, he might
be heard murmuring--
"Kaspar Evig, forgive me; I did not mean to take your life. Oh, unhappy
Eva! what have you done? By your thoughtless flirting you made two brave
men quarrel, and now the shade of the Seigneur Kaspar pursues me
everywhere, even in my sleep. Oh, Eva! wretched Eva! why did you behave
so?"
So poor Elias moaned in his misery; and he was the more to be pitied
because the sons of Israel are not bloodthirsty, and they know it is
written in their law, "Whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man shall his
blood be shed."
Now one fine day in July, while I was drinking at the Faucon, in walks
Elias Hirsch, just as miserable as ever, with hollow cheeks, hair hanging
in disorder about his face, and downcast eyes. He laid his hand upon my
shoulder, and said--
"Dear Christian, will you do me a pleasure?"
"Of course I will, Elias; only say what."
"Let us go for a walk together in the country; I want to consult you
about my grief. You know many things human and divine; perhaps you can
point me out a remedy for so much trouble of mind. I can trust in you,
Christian, entirely."
As I had already had five or six pints of beer and two or three glasses
of schnapps, there was nothing more to detain me, and I consented to go
with him. Besides, I felt flattered with his confidence in my wisdom.
So we came through the town, and in twenty minutes we were walking along
the little violet-bordered path which winds up to the ancient ruins of
Triefels.
Then, feeling alone, passing between hedges balmy with honeysuckle and
musical with the song of birds, and slowly climbing up to the lofty pines
which crown the Rothalp, Elias breathed more freely; he raised his eyes
and cried--
"In all your theological studies, Christian, have you met with a way in
which great crimes may be expiated? I know that you have studied this
question a good deal. Tell me. Whatever you recommend to put to flight
the avenging shade of Kaspar Evig, I will do it."
Hirsch's question made me thoughtful. We walked together, with heads
bowed down in thought, in deep silence. He watched me, I could see, out
of the corner of his eye, whilst I was endeavouring to collect my
thoughts upon this delicate question, but at last I made answer--
"Now, if we were inhabitants of India, Elias, I should tell you to go
and bathe in the Ganges, for the waters of that river wash away the
pollutions of both body and soul--so, at least, the people of that
country think; and they kill, and burn, and steal without fear under
the protection of that marvellous river. It is a great comfort for
scoundrels! It is a matter of great regret that we have no such river!
If we were living in the days of Jason, I should prescribe to you the
salt-cakes of Queen Circe, which had the remarkable property of whitening
blackened consciences and saving people the trouble of repenting.
Finally, if you had the happiness to belong to our holy religion,
I would order you to have masses said, and to give up your goods to the
Church. But in your state as to locality, time, and belief, I know of
only one way to relieve you."
"What is it?" cried Hirsch, already kindling with hope.
We had now reached the Rothalp, and were standing in a lonely place
called the Holderloch. It is a deep dark gorge, encircled with gloomy
firs; a level rock crowns the abyss, whence fall the dark waters of the
Marg with roaring deep and loud.
Our path had brought us there. I sat down upon the mossy turf to breathe
the moist air which rises from the gulf, and at that very moment I espied
below me a magnificent goat, reaching up to crop the wild cresses that
grow on the edge of the cliff.
Let it be remembered that the rocks of the Holderloch rise in the form of
successive terraces, each terrace ten feet high perhaps, but not more
than a foot wide, and upon these little narrow ledges grow a thousand
sweet-smelling plants--thyme and honeysuckle, ivy and convolvulus, and
the wild vine, perpetually bedewed with the spray from the falling
torrent, and falling over in the loveliest clusters of bloom and foliage.
Now my goat--an animal with a broad brow, garnished with heavy knotted
curling horns, with eyes gleaming like a pair of gold buttons, a reddish
beard, exhibiting a proud, defiant bearing under those festoons of
verdure, and a countenance as bold as that of a prowling satyr--my goat
was making a progress upwards towards the very highest of these narrow
ledges, and was enjoying a sweet repast of dainty herbs.
"Elias!" I cried, "I feel an inspiration! Just as I was thinking of a
scapegoat, there is one! I see it! Look!--behold! There he is! Is not
your course plain now? Lay your crime upon that goat, and then forget all
about it."
Elias looked at me in stupid ignorance.
"I should like to do that, Christian, but how am I to lay my remorse upon
that goat?"
"Nothing can be plainer. What did the Romans do to get rid of their
criminals, polluted with every crime? Why they flung them off the
Tarpeian rock, to be sure. Well, having laid your imprecations upon that
goat, fling him down the Holderloch, and there will be an end of it all."
"But"--replied Elias.
"I know your objections beforehand," I replied. "You are going to say
that you see no connection between Kaspar Evig, whose shade follows you,
and that goat. But beware! be careful! Where was the connection between
the waters of the Ganges, Circe's salt-cakes, and the scapegoat with the
crimes to be expiated? None at all. Well, for all that, the expiation
was held to be good; therefore lay your curses and imprecations upon that
goat, and throw him over! I order you to do that! I feel it my duty to
see this thing done. I can see a connection between that goat and your
fault, but I cannot explain it because the light of my vast information
dazzles me just now!"
Elias did not move a step. I even thought I detected a smile upon his
countenance, which irritated me.
"How!" said I; "here am I pointing out to you an infallible method to
get rid of the just punishment of your crime, and you doubt--you
hesitate--you even smile!"
"No," said he, "but I am not accustomed to walk on the edges of
precipices, and I am afraid I should fall into the Holderloch along
with the goat."
"Ah, you are a coward! I can see it all. You have just once displayed a
little courage to get exemption for the rest of your days. Well, sir, if
you refuse to carry out my advice, I will do it myself."
And I rose.
"Christian! Christian!" cried my friend, "don't trust yourself too far.
Your foot is not steady--just now."
"My foot not steady! Do you dare to insinuate that I am drunk because
I have just had ten or a dozen glasses of beer and three glasses of
schnapps this morning? Away with you! Back! back, son of Belial!"
And advancing a few feet above the goat, with my head raised and hands
extended, I cried solemnly--
"Azazel! goat destined for misery and expiation, I lay upon your hairy
back the remorse of my friend Elias Hirsch, and I send you down to the
spirits of darkness!"
Then, passing round the ledge on which we stood, I descended to the next
below to catch the goat and throw him over.
A sacred rage and fury seemed to possess me. I took no notice of the
abyss. I stepped along the edge of the precipice like a cat.
The goat, perceiving my approach, eyed me suspiciously, and stepped back
a little way.
"Ha!" I cried, "you may flee from me, but you shall not escape from me,
accursed beast! I have got you!"
"Oh, Christian, Christian!" Elias kept repeating in a heartrending voice,
"do come back. You are risking your life!"
"Silence, unbeliever!" I cried. "You are unworthy of the great sacrifice
which I am making for your happiness! But your friend Christian never
draws back. Azazel must perish!"
A little farther on the ledge narrowed and ended in a point.
The goat, having a second time examined me with a curious eye, drew back
a little farther, but not without some hesitation.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "you are beginning to understand what is going to
happen. Yes, let me get you into that corner, and your doom is sealed!"
And undoubtedly, when he had got to the spot where the ledge came to
an end, Azazel seemed puzzled to know what to do next. I edged up to
him closer and closer, full of a noble excitement, and laughing in
anticipation at the coming descent and the splash in the torrent below.
I now beheld him at four paces from me, and I was grasping tightly a root
of holly that was growing out of a rock to launch out a kick at the
devoted beast.
"Look, Elias, see the accursed!" I cried.
When, all in a moment, I felt in my stomach a most awful blow, a butt
which would have sent _me_ into the Holderloch had I not kept hold of
that blessed root of holly. The fact was that that miserable goat, seeing
himself driven into a corner, had himself commenced the attack.
Oh, what was my astonishment! Before I knew where I was or what had
happened, there was the brute standing up again on his hind-legs, and his
horns digging into my stomach and my sides with a hollow sound.
What a position to be in! It is impossible to be more astounded than I
was at that moment! It was the world upside down. It was a bad dream--a
nightmare! The precipice with all its jagged peaks seemed to dance around
me, and so did the trees and sky above. At the same moment I heard
piercing cries from Elias of "Help! help!" while Azazel's horns were
ploughing up my sides.
Then I lost all presence of mind. The goat with his long beard and his
hard, sharp horns pounding me, now in my chest, now in my stomach, and
then in my shaking limbs, produced a most diabolical effect upon me. My
hold on the root slowly relaxed, and I let go. But happily something kept
me from falling, something which I could not understand at first. But it
was the shepherd Yeri, of the Holderloch, who from the next platform
above had caught me by the coat-collar with his crook.
Thanks to his assistance, instead of falling down into the chasm I lay
full length along the ledge, and that awful goat walked over my body to
get away about his business.
"Come, take firm hold of my crook," cried the shepherd to Elias; "now I
will go down for him. Don't let go!"
"You may rely upon me," answered Elias.
I heard all that as if it were a nightmare. I had almost lost
consciousness.
When I opened my eyes I saw standing before me that gigantic shepherd,
with his grey eyes sunk underneath his bushy eyebrows, his yellow beard,
a sheepskin thrown over his shoulders, and I thought I had awoke in the
age of Oedipus, which made me wonder a good deal.
"Well," cried the shepherd, in a harsh guttural, "this will teach you not
to curse my goat any more!"
Then I saw Azazel rubbing himself comfortably against his master's
colossal legs, and looking slily, and I thought ironically, at me; and
then I saw Elias standing behind me, and making the greatest efforts
not to laugh.
My scattered senses were beginning to return. I sat myself down with pain
and difficulty, for Azazel had bruised me all over, and I felt fearfully
stiff and sore.
"Was it you who saved me?" I asked the shepherd.
"Yes, my boy, it was."
"Well, you are a good fellow, and I am much obliged to you. I withdraw
the curse I laid upon your goat. Here, take this."
I handed him my purse with sixteen florins in it.
"Thank you, sir," said he, "and now you can begin again if you like on
even ground. Down there it was not fair; the goat had all the advantage."
"Thank you very much! But I have had quite enough. Shake hands, old
fellow; I'll never forget you. Let us go now."
My comrade and I, arm-in-arm, then descended the hill.
The shepherd, leaning on his crook, watched us till we disappeared. The
goat had resumed his walk and his supper on the very edge of the crags.
The sky was lovely, the air balmy with a thousand sweet mountain perfumes
carried on it with the distant sounds of the shepherd's horn and the
booming of the torrent.
We returned to Tubingen with our hearts full.
Since that time my friend Elias has found some comfort for slaying the
Seigneur Kaspar, but in an original fashion.
Scarcely had he taken his doctor's degree when he married Mademoiselle
Eva Salomon, with the hope of having a numerous family to make up for the
loss of that individual who had met with an untimely end at his hand.
Four years ago I was at his wedding as best man, and already there are
two fat babies making the pretty little house in Crispin street to
rejoice.
This was a promising commencement!
Don't let me be misunderstood. I don't pretend to say that the method
I prescribed for making expiation for taking away a life is better than
that taught in our holy religion, which, according to the Catholic
Church, consists in masses and in giving away your goods to the Church.
But I do think it better than the Hindoo practice, and I think the theory
of the famous scapegoat is not to be compared with that which is taught
us by pure religion.
A NIGHT IN THE WOODS.
CHAPTER I.
My worthy uncle, Bernard Hertzog, the historian and antiquary, surmounted
with his grand three-cornered hat and wig, and with a long iron-shod
mountain-pole firmly grasped in his hand, was coming down one evening by
the Luppersberg, hailing every turn in the landscape with enthusiastic
exclamations.
Years had never quenched in him the love of knowledge. At sixty he was
still at work upon his _History of Alsacian Antiquities_, and never
allowed himself to write a complete account of a ruined and defaced
monument, or any relic of former days, until he had examined it a hundred
times from every point of view.
"No man," said he, "who has had the happy privilege of being born in the
Vosges, between Haut Bar, Nideck, and Geierstein has any business to
think of travelling. Where are there nobler forests, older fir and beech
trees, more lovely smiling valleys, wilder rocks? Where is the country
with richer possessions in memorable story? Here, in olden times, used
the high and powerful lords of Lutzelstein, Dagsberg, Leiningen, and
Fénétrange, to fight clad in mail from head to foot. Here the eldest son
of the Church and the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire exchanged blows in
the Middle Ages with swords two yards long. What are our wars compared
with those terrible battles where warriors fought hand to hand, where
they hammered upon each other's skulls with huge battle-axes, and drove
the dagger between the bars of the closed visor? Were not those heroic
feats of arms? was not that a courage worthy to be chronicled to all
posterity? But our young people want to see new things; they are not
satisfied with their own native land: they must wander through Germany,
make tours in France. Worse still, they abandon science and its noble
fields for trade, arts, industry, as if there had not been in the former
glorious days much more curious industrial arts and pursuits than in our
own day! Witness the Hanseatic League, the maritime enterprise of Venice,
Genoa, and the Levant, Flemish manufactures, Florentine art, the triumphs
in art of Rome and Antwerp! No! all that is laid aside; people now-a-days
pride themselves upon their ignorance of those glorious days; above all,
they neglect our dear old Alsace. Now, candidly, Theodore, don't all
those tourists remind you of husbands leaving their fair sweet lawful
wives to run after ugly coquettes?"
And Bernard Hertzog shook his learned head, his eyes rounded with wonder
and excitement, just as if he had been standing before the ruins of
Babylon.
His partiality to the usages and customs of old times accounted for his
having, for forty years past, worn the full-skirted plush coat, the
velvet breeches, the black silk stockings, and the silver shoe-buckles of
our grandfathers. He would have thought himself disgraced had he put on
trousers; and to cut off his pigtail would have been a profane deed.
So the worthy chronicler was going to Haslach on the 3rd of July, 1835,
to examine with his own eyes a little bronze Mercury recently unearthed
in the old cloister of the Augustins.
He trotted on with a tolerably elastic stop under a burning sun.
Mountains succeeded mountains, valleys sank into other valleys, the
footpath went up, then went down again, turned, now to the right, now to
the left, until Maître Hertzog began to wonder how it was that he had not
caught sight of the village spire an hour ago.
The fact was that after leaving Saverne he had inclined to the right, and
was now penetrating into the Dagsberg woods with juvenile energy. At the
rate he was going, in five or six hours he would have reached Phramond,
eight leagues from his destination. But night was coming on apace, and
the path was now becoming fainter, and under the tall trees only an
indistinct track appeared.
The approach of night among the mountains is a melancholy sight; the
shadows lengthen in the valleys, the sun withdraws, one by one, his rays
from the darkening foliage, the silence deepens every minute. You look
behind you; the groups and clumps of trees assume colossal proportions;
a blackbird at the summit of a tree bids farewell to the parting day,
then silence covers all like a funeral pall. You can only hear now the
last year's dead leaves crisping under foot, and far, far, away a
waterfall filling the valley with its monotonous hum. Bernard Hertzog
began to pant a little; his clothes adhered to his skin with the running
perspiration. His legs were beginning to give hints of surrendering.
"Confound that foolish Mercury!" he cried. "At this moment I ought to
have been quiet at home in my own arm-chair, and Berbel, according to her
praiseworthy custom, ought to be bringing me up upon a tray a cup of
smoking hot coffee, while I am winding up my chapter upon the ancient
armoury at Nideck. Instead of which, here I am floundering in holes,
stumbling everywhere, and suppose I lost my way altogether and then broke
my neck! There!--I said so! Was that a tree I knocked against? A hundred
thousand bans and maledictions fall upon Mercury and Haas, the architect,
who sent for me to look at it! and the scoundrels, too, who dug it up!
I'll lay any wager that the boasted Mercury is nothing but some defaced
and corroded bit of stone, without either nose or legs--some shapeless
deformity like that little Hesus last year at Marienthal. Oh, you
architects! you architects!--you are always finding antiquities
everywhere. Luckily I had not my spectacles on, or I should have smashed
them against that tree; but now I shall be obliged to find a bed
somewhere among the bushes. What a road this is!--nothing but ruts, and
holes, and pits, and loose rocks and boulders!"
In one of those moments when the good man, getting exhausted, was
stopping for breath, he thought he could hear the grating of a saw far
down the valley. What was his joy when he became certain that it was
that!
"Heaven be praised!" he cried, plucking up his spirits; "now to push on
with halting steps. Now I shall get a little rest. What a lesson this
will be for me! Providence had compassion upon my rheumatism. What an
old fool to go and expose myself to have to lie out in the woods at my
time of life, to ruin my health and undermine my constitution! I shall
remember this! Never shall I forget this warning!"
In a quarter of an hour the noise of falling water became more distinct;
then a faint light broke through the trees. Maître Bernard then found
himself at the top of the wood; he observed below the heath a stream
running down the winding valley as far as he could see, and just before
him the saw-mill, with its long dark posts and beams crossing and
recrossing in the gloom like a huge spider.
He crossed the high-arched bridge over the rushing dam, and looked
through the little window into the woodman's hut.
It was a low, dark shed leaning against a hollow in the rock. At the
farther end of the natural cavity was a small pile of smouldering
sawdust. In the front the boarded roof, weighted with heavy stones,
descended to within three feet of the ground; in a corner at the right,
a kind of box, full of dried heather; a few logs of oak, an axe, a
massive bench, and other implements of toil, were lost in the shade.
A resinous odour of pine-wood impregnated the air, and the ruddy smoke
eddied through a fissure in the rock.
Whilst the good man was observing these objects, the woodman, coming out
from the mill, saw him, and cried--
"Halloo!--who is that?"
"I beg your pardon; pray pardon me," said my worthy uncle, rather
startled. "I am a traveller who has lost his way."
"Hey!" cried the other man; "good guide us! Is not that Maître Bernard,
of Saverne? You are very welcome indeed, Maître Bernard. Don't you know
me?"
"No, indeed! How should I in this dark night?"
"_Parbleu!_--of course not! But I am Christian; I bring you your
contraband snuff every fortnight. But come in, come in! We will soon get
a light."
They passed stooping under the little low door, and the woodman, having
lighted a pine-torch, stuck it into a split iron rod to serve as a
candlestick, and a bright light, clear and white as moonshine, filled the
hut, lighting up every corner of it.
Christian, standing in shirt-sleeves, his broad chest uncovered, and
with a pair of canvas trousers hitched up about his hips, looked a
good-natured fellow enough; his tawny beard came down in a point to his
waist; his huge bull head was covered with bristling brown hair; his
small grey eyes inspired confidence.
"Take a seat, master," he said, rolling a log of wood before the fire.
"Are you hungry?"
"Why, you know, my lad, your mountain air does excite one's appetite."
"Very well; you are just in time. I have got some very good potatoes
quite at your service."
At the mention of potatoes Uncle Bernard could not help grimacing; he
remembered, with the longing of affection, old Berbel's good suppers, and
had a difficulty in coming down to the humble realities before him.
Christian seemed to take no notice; he took five or six potatoes out of
a sack, and put them into the embers, taking care to cover them entirely;
then, sitting down on the hearthstone, he lighted his pipe.
"But just tell me, master, how is it that you are here to-night, at six
leagues' distance from Saverne, in the gorge of Nideck?"
"The gorge of Nideck!" cried my uncle Bernard, springing from his seat in
great surprise.
"To be sure! You may see the ruins from here, about two gunshots
distant."
Master Bernard looked out, and really did recognise the ruins of Nideck,
just as he had described them in the twenty-fourth chapter of his
_History of Alsacian Antiquities_, with their high towers crumbling away
at the foot, and dominating over the abyss into which the torrent falls.
"But I thought I was near Haslach!" he cried with amazement.
The woodcutter burst out laughing.
"Haslach!--you are two leagues away from it! I see how it is. You went
wrong at the old oak-tree. You took the right instead of the left path.
When you are in the woods you must look well about you. A few yards wrong
at starting come to leagues at the end!"
Bernard Hertzog at this discovery was in consternation.
"Six leagues from Saverne," he murmured, "and all mountains!--and if I
have to go two more to-morrow, that will be eight!"
"Oh, don't mind that! I will guide you to the road down the valley. And
don't forget. You are very fortunate."
"Fortunate? You are joking with me, Christian."
"Yes, you are lucky. You might have had to spend the night in the woods.
There is a thunderstorm coming on from Schnéeberg; if that had overtaken
you you might have had some reason to complain, with the rain at your
back and thunder and lightning all round. But now you shall sleep in a
good bed," pointing to the box in the corner; "you will sleep there like
a log, and to-morrow, when the sun is up, we will start; you will be
rested, and you will get there in very good time."
"You are very kind, Christian," said Uncle Bernard with tears in his
eyes. "Give me a potato, and then I will go to bed. I am more tired than
anything else. I am not hungry. One hot potato will be quite enough for
me."
"Here is a couple as mealy as chestnuts. Taste that, master; take a small
glass of kirschwasser, and then lie down. I have to set to work again. I
have got to saw fifteen more planks before I can go to bed."
Christian rose, set the bottle of kirschwasser on the window-sill, and
went out. The alternate movement of the saw, which had for a time ceased,
now recommenced amidst the rushing of the stream.
Maître Hertzog, astonished as he was to find himself in those remote
solitudes between Dagsberg and the ruins of Nideck, sat long meditating
what he must do to rejoin his household gods; then, gliding down the
stream of his usual meditations, he went over the fabulous, heroic, or
barbarous legends and chronicles of the former lords of that land. He
went back to the Tribocci, that German nation settled about Strasbourg,
remembering Clovis, Chilperic, Theodoric, Dagobert, the furious struggle
between Brunehaut, Queen of Austrasia, and Frédégonde, queen of Chilperic
of France, and many heroes and heroines besides. All these fierce
personages passed in review before his eyes. The vague murmuring of the
trees, the inky blackness of the rocks, favoured this strange invocation.
All the distinguished personages of his chronicle were there, and the
boar, and the wolf, and the bear were among them.
At last, unable to hold out any longer, the good man hung his
three-cornered hat upon a peg in the wall and lay down upon the heath.
The cricket sang its monotonous song upon the hearth, a few surviving
sparks were running hither and thither in the smouldering fire, his
eyelids dropped, and he slept a deep, sound sleep.
CHAPTER II.
Maître Bernard Hertzog had slept a couple of hours, and the boiling of
the water in the millrace alone competed with the noise of his loud
snoring, when suddenly a guttural voice, arising in the midst of the deep
silence, cried--
"Dröckteufel! Dröckteufel! have you forgotten everything?"
The voice was so piercing that Maître Bernard, waking with a sudden
start, felt his hair creeping with horror. He raised himself upon his
elbow and listened again with eyes starting with astonishment. The hut
was as dark as a cellar; he listened, but not a breath, not a sound,
came; only far away, far beyond the ruins, a dull, distant roar was heard
among the mountains.
Bernard, with neck outstretched, heaved a deep sigh; in a minute he began
to stammer out--
"Who is there? What do you want?"
But no answer came.
"It was a dream," he said, falling back upon his heather couch. "I must
have been lying upon my back. There is nothing at all in dreams and
nightmares--nothing! nothing!"
But in the midst of the restored silence the same doleful cry was again
repeated--
"Dröckteufel! Dröckteufel!"
And as Maître Bernard, fairly beside himself, was preparing for instant
flight, but with his face to the wall, and unable to move from his couch,
the voice, in a dissonant chant, with pauses and strange accents, went
on--
"The Queen Faileube, espoused to our king, Chilperic--Queen Faileube,
learning that Septimanie, the governess of the young princes, had
conspired against the king's life--Queen Faileube said to the lord, 'My
lord, the viper waits until you are asleep to give you a mortal wound.
She has conspired with Sinnégisile and Gallomagus against your life! She
has poisoned her husband, your faithful Jovius, to live with Dröckteufel.
Let your anger come down upon her like lightning, and your vengeance with
a bloody sword!' And Chilperic, assembling all his council in the castle
of Nideck, said, 'We have cherished a viper; she has plotted our death.
Let her be cut into three pieces. Let Dröckteufel, Sinnégisile, and
Gallomagus perish with her! Let the ravens rejoice!' And the vassals
cried, 'So let it be! The wrath of Chilperic is an abyss into which his
enemies fall and perish!' Then Septimanie was brought to be put to the
torture and examined; a ring of iron was bound around her temples; it was
tightened; her eyes started; her blood-dropping mouth murmured, 'Lord
king, I have offended. Dröckteufel, Gallomagus, and Sinnégisile have also
conspired!' And the following night a festoon of corpses dangled and
swung from the towers of Nideck! The foul birds of prey rejoiced over the
rich spoil. Dröckteufel, what would I not have done for thee? I would
have had thee King of Austrasia, and thou hast forgotten me!"
The guttural voice sank down, and my uncle Bernard, more dead than alive,
breathing a sigh of terror, murmured--
"Oh, I have never done anybody any wrong! I am only a poor old
chronicler! Let me not die without absolution, far from the succour
of the Church!"
The great wooden box full of heather seemed at every effort to escape to
sink deeper and deeper. The poor man thought he was going down into a
gulf, when, happily, Christian reappeared, crying--
"Well, Maître Bernard, what did I say? here is the storm."
And now the hut was for an instant full of dazzling light, and my worthy
uncle, who was lying facing the door, could see the whole valley lighted
up, with its innumerable fir-trees crowded along the slopes down the
valley as close as the grass of the fields, its rocks piled up on the
banks of the river, which was rolling its sulphurous blue waves over the
rounded boulders of the ravine, and the towers of Nideck rising proudly
in the air fifteen hundred feet above.
Then the darkness covered all up again. That was the first flash.
But in that instant of time he caught sight of a strange figure crouching
at the end of the hut without being able to make out what it really was.
Great drops were beginning to patter on the roof. Christian lighted a
rush, and seeing Maître Bernard with his hands convulsively clutching the
edge of his box of heather, and his face covered with beads of cold
sweat, he cried--
"Why! Master Bernard! what is the matter with you?"
But, without answering, he merely pointed to the figure huddled up in the
corner; it was an old woman, so very advanced in extreme old age, so
yellow and wrinkled, with such a hooked nose, fingers so skinny, and
lips so lean, that she looked like an old owl with all its feathers gone.
There were only a few hairs left on the back of her head; the rest of her
skull was as bare of covering as an egg. A threadbare ragged linen gown
covered her poor skeleton figure. She was sightless, and the expression
of her face was one of constant reverie.
Christian, noticing my uncle's inquiring look, turned his head and said
quietly--
"It's old Irmengarde, the old teller of legends. She is waiting to die
till the old tower falls into the torrent."
Uncle Bernard, stupefied, looked at the woodman; he did not seem inclined
to joke; on the contrary, he looked serious.
"Come, Christian," said the good man, "you mean to have your joke."
"Joke! no indeed, old and feeble as you see her, that old woman knows
everything; the spirit of the ruins is in her. She was living when the
old lords of the castle lived."
Now my old uncle was very nearly falling backwards at this astounding
disclosure.
"But what do you mean?" he cried; "the castle of Nideck has been down
these thousand years!"
"What if it was two thousand years?" said the woodman, making the sign of
the cross as a new flash lighted up the valley; "what does that prove?
The spirit of the ruins lives in her. A hundred and eight years
Irmengarde has lived with this spirit in her. Before her it was in old
Edith of Haslach; before Edith in some other--"
"Do you believe that?"
"Do I believe it! It is as sure, Master Bernard, as that the sun will be
back in three hours' time. Death is night, life is day. After night comes
day, then night again, and so on without end. The sun is the soul of the
sky, the great spirit that is in us all, and the souls of the saints are
like the stars which shine in the night, and which will never cease to
return."
Bernard Hertzog replied not another word, but having risen, he began
suspiciously to consider the aspect of that aged woman, who sat still in
a niche carved out of the rock. He noticed above the niche some rough
carving on the stone representing three trees with their branches
touching, and forming a sort of crown; lower down were three toads cut in
the granite. Three trees are the arms of the Tribocci (_dreien büchen_),
three toads are the arms of the Merovingian kings.
What was the surprise of the old chronicler! Covetousness now took the
place of alarm.
"Here," thought he, "is the oldest monument of the Frankish race in Gaul.
That old woman reminds me of some fallen queen, left here a relic of ages
long gone by. But how am I to carry the niche away?"
He began to consider.
Then was heard far away in the woods the trampling of the hoofs of
many cattle and deep bellowing. The rain fell faster; the flashes of
lightning, like flights of frightened birds in the dark, touched each
other by the tips of their wings; one never waited for another to be
gone, and the rolling of the thunder became incessant and terrible.
Soon the storm reached the very gorge of Nideck and hung over it closely,
and swooped down with implacable fury; the explosions succeeded each
other without intermission. It seemed as if the very mountains were
falling.
At every fresh crash Uncle Bernard shrank, feeling as if the lightning
were coming down his back.
"The first Triboceus who built a hut to cover his head was no fool,"
thought he. "He was a sensible man, with some experience of atmospheric
changes. What would have become of us in this emergency had we not a roof
over our heads? We should be greatly to be pitied. The invention of that
Triboccus was quite as useful as that of the steam-engine; what a pity
his name is not known!"
The worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maiden
of sixteen, wearing a very wide-brimmed straw hat, her white skirts
dripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advanced
to the doorstep, and said--
"The Lord bless you!"
"Amen," answered Christian solemnly.
This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose
pink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and
so silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with
it. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with
inexpressible sweetness.
Maître Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman,
kindly addressing the young girl, said--
"I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm
it is! Is it coming to an end yet?"
"Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before
daylight."
Then, without looking at Maître Bernard, she went to sit before the old
woman, who now seemed to revive.
"Fuldrade," she murmured, "is the great tower yet standing?"
"Yes."
The aged woman bowed her head, and her lips moved.
After the last thunderclaps the rain fell in torrents. All down the
valley was heard an incessant loud beating of falling sheets of rain,
and the rushing of the swollen stream, then, at intervals, after a brief
cessation of rain, again the heavier dashing of repeated and more violent
showers.
Between the heavy showers the tinkling which Uncle Bernard had
distinguished in the distance when he awoke gradually became more
distinct, and at last arrived under the window of the hut, and almost
immediately five long-horned head of beautiful cows, spotted equally with
white and black, appeared at the door.
"Why! here's Waldine!" cried Christian, laughing; "she is looking for
you, Fuldrade."
The gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed to
examine old Irmengarde.
"Go away!" cried Fuldrade; "go along with the others!"
And the obedient heifer turned back to the cabin door.
But the falling floods seemed to give her matter for reflection, for she
stood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging her
beautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone.
The fresh air was now penetrating the hut and bringing with it the sweet
perfumes of honeysuckle and wild roses, excited by the freshening rain.
All the birds in the woods--redbreasts, thrushes, and blackbirds--formed
a concert under the trees; the air was filled with the little love-tales
of the happy birds and the fluttering of their eager wings.
Then Maître Bernard, recovering from his reverie, took a few paces
outside, raised his eyes, and contemplated the white and fleecy clouds
hastily crossing the still troubled sky. On the hill opposite he could
see the whole herd of cattle, all lying sheltered beneath the overhanging
rocks, some lazily extended, their knees bent beneath them, with sleepy
eyes; others, with neck outstretched, lowing solemnly. A few young
animals were gazing at the hanging festoons of honeysuckle, and seemed
to enjoy the balmy air that wafted from them.
All these diverse forms and attitudes stood clearly out upon the reddish
background of the rock; and the immense expanded vault of the cavern,
with its setting of oak and pine whose twisted roots appeared where they
had pierced through the rock, gave a majestic air of grandeur to the
spectacle.
"Well, Maître Bernard," cried Christian, "it is broad daylight; had we
not better start?"
Then, speaking to Fuldrade, who seemed buried in thought--
"Fuldrade, this old gentleman cannot drink our kirschwasser, yet I cannot
offer him water. Have you anything better?"
Fuldrade took up a milk-pail, and, with an intelligent glance at
Christian, went out.
"Wait a moment," she said; "I shall be here directly."
She rapidly tripped over the wet meadow; the drops of rain, collecting in
the large leaves, poured about her feet in little crystal streams. At her
approach to the cave the finest cows arose up as if to greet their young
mistress. She patted them all, and, having seated herself, began to milk
one, a fine white cow, which, standing motionless, with eyes half-closed,
seemed grateful for the preference.
When her pail was full Fuldrade made haste back, and, presenting it to
Bernard, said, smiling--
"Drink as much as you like; that is the way we drink milk warm from the
cow in the country."
Which was done at once, the good man thanking her many times, and
praising the excellence of this frothy milk, flavoured, as it were, with
the wild aromatic plants of the Schnéeberg, Fuldrade seemed pleased with
his eulogiums, and Christian, who had slipped on his blouse, standing
behind them, staff in hand, waited for the end of these compliments
before he cried--
"Now, master, en route! We have plenty of water now to turn the mill for
six weeks without stopping, and I must be back by nine o'clock."
And they started, following the gravelly road under the hill.
"Adieu!" said Maître Bernard to the young girl, who gently bowed her head
without speaking; "farewell! and may God make you always happy!"
The next day, about six in the evening, Bernard Hertzog, having returned
to Saverne, was seated before his writing-desk, and describing in his
chapter upon the antiquities of the Dagsberg, his discovery of the
Merovingian arms in the woodman's hut in the Nideck. Then he went on to
prove that the name of Tribocci, or Triboques, was derived from the
German _drei büchen_--that is, three beeches. As a convincing proof, he
referred to the three trees and the three toads of Nideck, which latter
our kings have converted into three _fleurs-de-lis_.
All the antiquaries of Alsace envied him this admirable and interesting
discovery. On both banks of the Rhine he was known as doctor,
doctissimus, eruditus Bernardus, under which triumphal titles he dilated
with honest pride, while he tried to bear his honours with becoming
gravity.
And now, my dear friends, if you are curious to know what became
of old Irmengarde, refer to the second volume of Bernard Hertzog's
_Archeological Annals_, where under date July 16,1836, you will find
the following statement:--
"The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed '_The Soul of the
Ruins_,' died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian. Wonderful
to relate, in the very same hour, almost the same minute, the principal
tower of Nideck fell, and was washed away by the waterfall below.
"Such is the end of the most ancient monument known of Merovingian
architecture, of which Schlosser, the historian, says," etc., etc.
THE QUEEN OF THE BEES.
"As you go from Motiers-Navers to Boudry, on your way to Neufchatel," said
the young professor of botany, "you follow a road between two walls of
rocks of immense height; they reach a perpendicular elevation of five or
six hundred feet, and are hung with wild plants, the mountain basil
(thymus alpinus), ferus (polypodium), the whortleberry (vitis idoea),
ground ivy, and other climbing plants producing a wonderful effect.
"The road winds along this defile; it rises, falls, turns, sometimes
tolerably level, sometimes broken and abrupt, according to the thousand
irregularities of the ground. Grey rocks almost meet in an arch overhead,
others stand wide apart, leaving the distant blue visible, and
discovering sombre and melancholy-looking depths, and rows of firs
as far as the eye could reach.
"The Reuss flows along the bottom, sometimes leaping along in waterfalls,
then creeping through thickets, or steaming, foaming, and thundering over
precipices, while the echoes prolong the tumult and roar of its torrents
in one immense endless hum. Since I left Tubingen the weather had
continued fine; but when I reached the summit of this gigantic staircase,
about two leagues distant from the little hamlet of Novisaigne, I
suddenly noticed great grey clouds begin passing overhead, which soon
filled up the defile entirely; this vapour was so dense that it soon
penetrated my clothes as a heavy dew would have done.
"Although it was only two in the afternoon, the sky became clouded over
as if darkness was coming on; and I foresaw a heavy storm was about to
break over my head.
"I consequently began looking about for shelter, and I saw through one
of those wide openings which afford you a perspective view of the Alps,
about two or three hundred yards distant on the slope leading down to
the lake, an ancient-looking grey châlet, moss-covered, with its small
round windows and sloping roof loaded with large stones, its stairs
outside the house, with a carved rail, and its basket-shaped balcony,
on which the Swiss maidens generally hang their snowy linen and
scarlet petticoats to dry.
"Precisely as I was looking down, a tall woman in a black cap was folding
and collecting the linen which was blowing about in the wind.
"To the left of this building a very large apiary supported on beams,
arranged like a balcony, formed a projection above the valley.
"You may easily believe that without the loss of a moment I set off
bounding through the heather to seek for shelter from the coming storm,
and well it was I lost no time, for I had hardly laid my hand on the
handle of the door before the hurricane burst furiously overhead; every
gust of wind seemed about to carry the cottage bodily away; but its
foundations were strong, and the security of the good people within,
by the warmth of their reception, completely reassured me about the
probability of any accident.
"The cottage was inhabited by Walter Young, his wife Catherine, and
little Raesel, their only daughter.
"I remained three days with them; for the wind, which went down about
midnight, had so filled the valley of Neufchatel with mist, that the
mountain where I had taken refuge was completely enveloped in it; it was
impossible to walk twenty yards from the door without experiencing great
difficulty in finding it again.
"Every morning these good people would say, when they saw me buckle on my
knapsack--
"'What are you about, Mr. Hennetius? You cannot mean to go yet; you will
never arrive anywhere. In the name of Heaven stay here a little longer!'
"And Young would open the door and exclaim--
"'Look there, sir; you must be tired of your life to risk it among these
rocks. Why, the dove itself would be troubled to find the ark again in
such a mist as this.'
"One glance at the mountain side was enough for me to make up my mind to
put my stick back again in the corner.
"Walter Young was a man of the old times. He was nearly sixty; his grand
head wore a calm and benevolent expression--a real Apostle's head. His
wife, who always wore a black silk cap, pale and thoughtful, resembled
him much in disposition. Their two profiles, as I looked at them defined
sharply against the little panes of glass in the chalet's windows,
recalled to my mind those drawings of Albert Durer the sight of which
carried me back to the age of faith and the patriarchal manners of the
fifteenth century. The long brown rafters of the ceiling, the deal table,
the ashen chairs with the carved backs, the tin drinking-cups, the
sideboard with its old-fashioned painted plates and dishes, the crucifix
with the Saviour carved in box on an ebony cross, and the worm-eaten
clock-case with its many weights and its porcelain dial, completed the
illusion.
"But the face of their little daughter Raesel was still more touching.
I think I can see her now, with her flat horsehair cap and watered black
silk ribbons, her trim bodice and broad blue sash down to her knees,
her little white hands crossed in the attitude of a dreamer, her long
fair curls--all that was graceful, slender, and ethereal in nature. Yes,
I can see Raesel now, sitting in a large leathern arm-chair, close to the
blue curtain of the recess at the end of the room, smiling as she
listened and meditated.
"Her sweet face had charmed me from the first moment I saw her and I was
continually on the point of inquiring why she wore such an habitually
melancholy air, why did she hold her pale face down so invariably, and
why did she never raise her eyes when spoken to?
"Alas! the poor child had been blind from her birth.
"She had never seen the lake's vast expanse, nor its blue sheet
blending so harmoniously with the sky, the fishermen's boats which
ploughed its surface, the wooded heights which crowned it and cast
their quivering reflection on its waters, the rocks covered with moss,
the green Alpine plants in their vivid and brilliant colouring; nor had
she ever watched the sun set behind the glaciers, nor the long shades of
evening draw across the valleys, nor the golden broom, nor the endless
heather--nothing. None of these things had she ever seen; nothing of what
we saw every day from the windows of the chalet.
"'What an ironical commentary on the gifts of Fortune!' thought I, as I
sat looking out of the window at the mist, in expectation of the sun's
appearing once more, 'to be blind in this place! here in presence of
Nature in its sublimest form, of such limitless grandeur! To be blind!
Oh, Almighty God, who shall dare to dispute Thy impenetrable decrees, or
who shall venture to murmur at the severity of Thy justice, even when its
weight falls on an innocent child? But to be thus blind in the presence
of Thy grandest creations, of creations which ceaselessly renew our
enthusiasm, our love, and our adoration for Thy genius, Thy power, and
Thy goodness; of what crime can this poor child have been guilty thus
to deserve Thy chastisement?'
"And my reflections continually reverted to this topic.
"I asked myself, too, what compensation Divine pity could make its
creature for the deprival of its greatest blessing, and, finding none, I
began to doubt its power.
"'Man, in his presumption,' said the royal poet, 'dares to glorify
himself in his knowledge, and judge the Eternal. But his wisdom is but
folly, and his light darkness.'
"Oh that day one of Nature's great mysteries was revealed to me,
doubtless with the purpose of humbling my vanity, and of teaching me
that nothing is impossible to God, and that it is in His power only
to multiply our senses, and by so doing gratify those who please Him."
Here the young professor took a pinch from his tortoiseshell snuff-box,
raised his eyes to the ceiling with a contemplative air, and then, after
a short pause, continued in these terms:--
"Does it not often happen to you, ladies, when you are in the country in
fine weather in summer, especially after a brief storm, when the air is
warm, and the exhalations from the ground filling it with the perfume of
thousands of plants, and their sweet scent penetrates and warms you; when
the foliage from the trees in the solitary avenues, as well as from the
bushes, seems to lean over you as if it sought to take you in its arms
and embrace you; when the minutest flowers, the humble daisy, the blue
forget-me-not, the convolvulus in the hedgerows raise their heads and
follow you with a longing look--does it not happen to you to experience
an inexpressible sensation of languor, to sigh for no apparent reason,
and even to feel inclined to shed tears, and to ask yourselves, 'Why does
this feeling of love oppress me? why do my knees bend under me? whence
these tears?'
"Whence indeed, ladies? Why from life, and the thousands of living things
which surround you, lean to you, and call to you to stay with them, while
they gently murmur, 'We love you; love us, and do not leave us.'
"You can easily imagine, then, the deep enthusiastic feeling and the
religious sentiment of a person always in a similar state of ecstasy.
Even if blind, abandoned by his friends, do you think there is nothing to
envy in his lot? or that his destiny is not infinitely happier than our
own? For my own part I have not the slightest doubt of it.
"But you will, doubtless, say such a condition is impossible--the mind
of man would break down under such a load of happiness. And, moreover,
whence could such happiness be derived? What organs could transmit,
and where could it find, such a sensation of universal life?
"This, ladies, is a question to which I can give you no answer; but I ask
you to listen and then judge.
"The very day I arrived at the chalet I had made a singular remark--the
blind girl was especially uneasy about the bees.
"While the wind was roaring without Raesel sat with her head on her hands
listening attentively.
"'Father,' said she, 'I think at the end of the apiary the third hive on
the right is still open. Go and see. The wind blows from the north; all
the bees are home; you can shut the hive.'
"And her father having gone out by a side door, when he returned he
said--
"'It is all right, my child; I have closed the hive.'
"Half an hour afterwards the girl, rousing herself once more from her
reverie, murmured--
"'There are no more bees about, but under the roof of the apiary there
are some waiting; they are in the sixth hive near the door; please go and
let them in, father.'
"The old man left the house at once. He was away more than a quarter of
an hour; then he came back and told his daughter that everything was as
she wished it--the bees had just gone into their hive.
"The child nodded, and replied--
"'Thank you, father.'
"Then she seemed to doze again.
"I was standing by the stove, lost in a labyrinth of reflections; how
could that poor blind girl know that from such or such a hive there were
still some bees absent, or that such a hive had been left open? This
seemed inexplicable to me; but having been in the house hardly one hour,
I did not feel justified in asking my hosts any questions with regard to
their daughter, for it is sometimes painful to talk to people on subjects
which interest them very nearly. I concluded that Young gave way to his
daughter's fancies in order to induce her to believe she was of some
service in the family, and that her forethought protected the bees from
several accidents. That seemed the simplest explanation I could imagine,
and I thought no more about it.
"About seven we supped on milk and cheese, and when it was time to retire
Young led me into a goodsized room on the first floor, with a bed and a
few chairs in it, panelled in fir, as is generally the case in the
greater number of Swiss châlets. You are only separated from your
neighbours by a deal partition, and you can hear every footstep and
nearly every word.
"That night I was lulled to sleep by the whistling of the wind and the
sound of the rain beating against the window-panes. The next day the wind
had gone down and we were enveloped in mist. When I awoke I found my
windows quite white, quite padded with mist. When I opened my window the
valley looked like an immense stove; the tops of a few fir-trees alone
showed their outlines against the sky; below, the clouds were in regular
layers down to the surface of the lake; everything was calm, motionless,
and silent.
"When I went down to the sitting-room I found my hosts seated at table,
about to begin breakfast.
"'We have been waiting for you,' cried Young gaily.
"'You must excuse us,' said the mother; 'this is our regular breakfast
hour.'
"'Of course, of course; I am obliged to you for not noticing my
laziness.'
"Raesel was much more lively than the preceding evening; she had a fresh
colour in her cheeks.
"'The wind has gone down,' said she; 'the storm has passed away without
doing any harm.'
"'Shall I open the apiary?' asked Young.
"'No, not yet; the bees would lose themselves in this mist. Besides,
everything is drenched with rain; the brambles and mosses are full of
water; the least puff of wind would drown many of them. We must wait a
little while. I know what is the matter: they feel dull, they want to
work; they are tormented at the idea of devouring their honey instead
of making it. But I cannot afford to lose them. Many of the hives are
weak--they would starve in winter. We will see what the weather is like
to-morrow.'
"The two old people sat and listened without making any observations.
"About nine the blind girl proposed to go and visit her bees; Young and
Catherine followed her, and I did the same, from a very natural feeling
of curiosity.
"We passed through the kitchen by a door which opened on to a terrace.
Above us was the roof of the apiary; it was of thatch, and from its ledge
honeysuckle and wild grapes hung in magnificent festoons. The hives were
arranged on three shelves.
"Raesel went from one to the other, patting them, and murmuring--
"'Have a little patience; there is too much mist this morning. Ah! the
greedy ones, how they grumble!'
"And we could hear a vague humming inside the hive, which increased in
intensity until she had passed.
"That awoke all my curiosity once more. I felt there was some strange
mystery which I could not fathom, but what was my surprise, when, as I
went into the sitting-room, I heard the blind girl say in a melancholy
tone of voice--
"'No, father, I would rather not see at all to-day than lose my eyes. I
will sing, I will do something or other to pass the time, never mind
what; but I will not let the bees out.'
"While she was speaking in this strange manner I looked at Walter Young,
who glanced out of the window and then quietly replied--
"'You are right, child; I think you are right. Besides, there is nothing
to see; the valley is quite white. It is not worth looking at.'
"And while I sat astounded at what I heard, the child continued--
"'What lovely weather we had the day before yesterday! Who would have
thought that a storm on the lake would have caused all this mist? Now one
must fold up its wings and crawl about like a wretched caterpillar.'
"Then again, after a few moments' silence--
"'How I enjoyed myself under the lofty pines on the Grinderwald! How the
honey-dew dropped from the sky! It fell from every branch. What a harvest
we made, and how sweet the air was on the shores of the lake, and in the
rich Tannemath pastures--the green moss, and the sweet-smelling herbs! I
sang, I laughed, and we filled our cells with wax and honey. How
delightful to be everywhere, see everything, to fly humming about the
woods, the mountains, and the valleys!'
"There was a fresh silence, while I sat, with mouth and eyes open,
listening with the greatest attention, not knowing what to think or what
to say.
"'And when the shower came,' she went on, 'how frightened we were! A
great humble-bee, sheltered under the same fern as myself, shut his eyes
at every flash; a grasshopper had sheltered itself under its great green
branches, and some poor little crickets had scrambled up a poppy to save
themselves from drowning. But what was most frightful was a nest of
warblers quite close to us in a bush. The mother hovered round about us,
and the little ones opened their beaks, yellow as far as their windpipes.
How frightened we were! Good Lord, we were frightened indeed! Thanks be
to Heaven, a puff of wind carried us off to the mountain side; and now
the vintage is over we must not expect to get out again so soon.'
"On hearing these descriptions of Nature so true, at this worship of day
and light, I could no longer entertain the least doubt on the subject.
"'The blind girl sees,' said I to myself; 'she sees through thousands of
eyes; the apiary is her life, her soul. Every bee carries a part of her
away into space, and then returns drawn to her by thousands of invisible
threads. The blind girl penetrates the flowers and the mosses; she revels
in their perfume; when the sun shines she is everywhere; in the mountain
side, in the valleys, in the forests, as far as her sphere of attraction
extends.'
"I sat confounded at this strange magnetic influence, and felt tempted to
exclaim--
"'Honour, glory, honour to the power, the wisdom, and the infinite
goodness of the Eternal God! For Him nothing is impossible. Every day,
every instant of our lives reveals to us His magnificence.'
"While I was lost in these enthusiastic reflections, Raesel addressed me
with a quiet smile.
"'Sir,' said she.
"'What, my child?'
"'You are very much surprised at me, and you are not the first person who
has been so. The rector Hegel, of Neufchatel, and other travellers have
been here on purpose to see me: they thought I was blind. You thought so
too, did you not?'
"'I did indeed, my dear child, and I thank the Lord that I was mistaken.'
"'Yes,' said she, 'I know you are a good man--I can tell it by your
voice. When the sun shines I shall open my eyes to look at you, and when
you leave here I will accompany you to the foot of the mountain.'
"Then she began to laugh most artlessly.
"'Yes,' said she, 'you shall have music in your ears, and I will seat
myself on your cheek; but you must take care--take care. You must not
touch me, or I should sting you. You must promise not to be angry.'
"'I promise you, Raesel, I promise you I will not,' I said with tears in
my eyes, 'and, moreover, I promise you never to kill a bee or any other
insect except those which do harm.'
"'They are the eyes of the Lord,' she murmured. 'I can only see by my own
poor bees, but He has every hive, every ant's nest, every leaf, every
blade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good
by means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain
the Lord, who loves us so much!'
"Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full
minute before I could ask her--
"'So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how
that is?'
"'I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of
them. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have
never once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all
alone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing
then, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At
first I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little
more, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then
the full light of day. I began to emerge from myself; my spirit went
forth with the bees. I could see the mountains, the rocks, the lake, the
flowers and mosses, and in the evening, when quite alone, I reflected on
these things. I thought how beautiful they were, and when people talked
of this and that, of whortleberries, and mulberries, and heaths, I said
to myself, "I know what all these things are like--they are black, or
brown, or green." I could see them in my mind, and every day I became
better acquainted with them, thanks to my dear bees; and therefore I love
them dearly, Monsieur Hennetius. If you knew how it grieves me when the
time comes for robbing them of their wax and their honey!'
"'I believe you, my child--I believe it does.'
"My delight at this wonderful discovery was boundless.
"Two days longer Raesel entertained me with a description of her
impressions. She was acquainted with every flower, every Alpine plant,
and gave me an account of a great number which have as yet received
no botanical names, and which are probably only to be found in
inaccessible situations.
"The poor girl was often much affected when she spoke of her dear
friends, some little flowers.
"'Often and often,' said she, 'I have talked for hours with the golden
broom or the tender blue-eyed forget-me-not, and shared in their
troubles. They all wished to quit the earth and fly about; they all
complained of their being condemned to dry up in the ground, and of being
exposed to wait for days and weeks ere a drop of dew came to refresh
them.'
"And so Raesel used to repeat to me endless conversations of this sort.
It was marvellous! If you only heard her you would be capable of falling
in love with a dogrose, or of feeling a lively sympathy and a profound
sentiment of compassion for a violet, its misfortunes and its silent
sufferings.
"What more can I tell you, ladies? It is painful to leave a subject where
the soul has so many mysterious emanations; there is such a field for
conjecture; but as everything in this world must have an end, so must
even the pleasantest dreams.
"Early in the morning of the third day of my stay a gentle breeze began
to roll away the mist from off the lake. I could see its folds become
larger every second as the wind drove them along, leaving one blue corner
in the sky, and then another; then the tower of a village church, some
green pinnacles on the tops of the mountains, then a row of firs, a
valley, all the time the immense mass of vapour slowly floated past us;
by ten it had left us behind it, and the great cloud on the dry peaks of
the Chasseron still wore a threatening aspect; but a last effort of the
wind gave it a different direction, and it disappeared at last in the
gorges of Saint-Croix.
"Then the mighty nature of the Alps seemed to me to have grown young
again; the heather, the tall pines, the old chestnut-trees dripping with
dew, shone with vigorous health; there was something in the view of them
joyous, smiling, and serious all at once. One felt the hand of God was in
it all--His eternity.
"I went downstairs lost in thought; Raesel was already in the apiary.
Young opened the door and pointed her out to me sitting in the shade of
the wild vine, with her forehead resting on her hands, as if in a doze.
"'Be careful,' said he to me, 'not to awake her; her mind is elsewhere;
she sleeps; she is wandering about; she is happy.'
"The bees were swarming about by thousands, like a flood of gold over a
precipice.
"I looked on at this wonderful sight for some seconds, praying the Lord
would continue His love for the poor child.
"Then turning round--
"'Master Young,' said I, 'it is time to go.'
"He buckled my knapsack on for me himself, and put my stick into my hand.
"Mistress Catherine looked on kindly, and they both accompanied me to the
threshold of the châlet.
"'Farewell!' said Walter, grasping my hand; 'a pleasant journey; and
think of us sometimes!'
"'I can never forget you,' I replied, quite melancholy; 'may your bees
flourish, and may Heaven grant you are as happy as you deserve to be!'
"'So be it, M. Hennetius,' said good Dame Catherine; 'amen; a happy
journey, and good health to you.'
"I moved off.
"They remained on the terrace until I reached the road.
"Thrice I turned round and waved my cap, and they responded by waving
their hands.
"Good people; why cannot we meet with such every day?'
"Little Raesel accompanied me to the foot of the mountain, as she had
promised. For a long time her musical hum lightened the fatigue of my
journey; I seemed to recognise her in every bee which came buzzing about
my ears, and I fancied I could hear her say in a small shrill tone of
voice--
"'Courage, M. Hennetius, courage; it is very hot, is it not? Come, let me
give you a kiss; don't be afraid; you know we are very good friends.'
"It was only at the end of the valley that she took leave of me, when the
sound of the lake drowned her gentle voice; but her idea followed me all
through my journey, nor do I think it will ever leave me."