THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND DUTY
In his lonely room in the mountain hut in which he had taken up his
quarters, Christian Almer sat writing. It was early morning; he had
risen before the sun. During the past week he had struggled earnestly
with the terror which oppressed him; his suffering had been great, but
he believed he was conquering. The task he had imposed upon himself of
setting his duty before him in clear terms afforded him consolation.
The book in which he was writing contained the record of a love which
had filled him with unrest, and threatened to bring dishonor into his
life.
* * * * * *
"I thank Heaven," he wrote, "that I am calmer than I have been for
several days. Separation has proved an inestimable blessing. The day
may come when I shall look upon my love as dead, and shall be able to
think of it as one thinks of a beloved being whom death has snatched
away.
"Even now, as I think of her, there is no fever in the thought. I have
not betrayed my friend.
"How would he regard me if he were acquainted with my mad passion--if
he knew that the woman he adored looked upon him with aversion, and
gave her love to the friend whom he trusted as a brother?
"There was the error. To listen to her confession of love, and to make
confession of my own.
"That a man should so forget himself--should be so completely the
slave of his passions!
"How came it about? When were the first words spoken?
"She sat by my side, radiant and beautiful. Admiring glances from
every part of the theatre were cast upon her. In a corner of the box
sat her husband, silent and thoughtful, heedless of the brilliant
scene before him, heedless of her, as it seemed, heedless of the music
and the singers.
"Royalty was there, immediately facing us, and princes levelled their
opera-glasses at her.
"There are moments of intoxication when reason and conscience desert
us.
"We were stepping into the carriage when a note was delivered to him.
He read it, and said, 'I cannot go with you; I am called away. You
will not miss me, as I do not dance. I will join you in a couple of
hours."
"So we went alone, we two together, and her hand rested lightly upon
mine. And in the dance the words were spoken--words never to be
recalled.
"What demon prompted them? Why did not an angel whisper to me,
'Remember. There is a to-morrow.'
"But in the present the morrow is forgotten. A false sense of security
shuts out all thoughts of the consequences of our actions. A selfish
delight enthrals us, and we do not see the figure of Retribution
hovering above us.
"It is only when we are alone with our conscience that this figure is
visible. Then it is that we tremble; then it is that we hear words
which appal us.
"Again and again has this occurred to me, and I have vowed to myself
that I would tear myself from her--a vow as worthless as the gambler's
resolve to play no more. Drawn irresistibly forward, and finding in
every meeting a shameful justification in the delusion that I was
seeing her for the last time; and leaving her with a promise to come
again soon. Incredible infatuation! But to listen to the recital of
her sorrows and unhappiness without sympathising with her--it was not
possible; and to hear her whisper, 'I love you, and only you,' without
being thrilled by the confession--a man would need to be made of
stone.
"How often has she said to me, when speaking of her husband, 'He has
no heart!'
"Can I then, aver with any semblance of honesty that I have not
betrayed my friend? Basely have I betrayed him.
"If I were sure that she would not suffer--if I were sure that she
would forget me! Coldness, neglect, indifference--they are sharp
weapons, but I deserve to bleed.
"Still, I cry out against my fate. I have committed no crime. Love
came to me and tortured me. But a man must perform a man's duty. I
will strive to perform mine. Then in years to come I may be able to
think of the past without shame, even with pride at having conquered.
"I have destroyed her portrait. I could not look upon her face and
forget her."
* * * * * *
A voice from an adjoining room caused him to lay aside his pen. It was
the peasant, the master of the hut, calling to him, and asking if he
was ready. He went out to the man.
"I heard you stirring," said the peasant, "and my young ones are
waiting to show you where the edelweiss can be found."
The children, a boy and a girl, looked eagerly at Christian Almer. It
had been arranged on the previous day that the three should go for a
mountain excursion in search of the flower that brings good luck and
good fortune to the finder. The children were sturdy-limbed and
ruddy-faced, and were impatient to be off.
"Breakfast first," said Christian Almer, pinching the little girl's
cheek.
Brown bread, honey, goat's milk, and an omelette were on the table,
and the stranger, who had been as a godsend to the poor family,
enjoyed the homely fare. The peasant had already calculated that if
his lodger lived a year in the hut, they could save five hundred
francs--a fortune. Christian Almer had been generous to the children,
in whose eyes he was something more than mortal. Money is a magic
power.
"Will the day be fine?" asked Christian.
"Yes," said the peasant; "but there will be a change in the evening.
The little ones will know--you can trust to them."
Young as they were, they could read the signs on Nature's face, and
could teach their gentleman friend wise things, great and rich as he
was.
The father accompanied them for a couple of miles; he was a goat-herd,
and, unlike others of his class, was by no means a silent man.
"You live a happy life here," said Christian Almer.
"Why, yes," said the peasant; "it is happy enough. We have to eat, but
not to spare; there is the trouble. Still, God be thanked. The
children are strong and healthy; that is another reason for
thankfulness."
"Is your wife, as you are, mountain born?"
"Yes; and could tell you stories. And there," said the peasant,
pointing upwards afar off, "as though it knew my wife were being
talked of, there is the lämmergeier."
An enormous vulture, which seemed to have suddenly grown out of the
air, was suspended in the clouds. So motionless was it that it might
have been likened to a sculptured work, wrought by an angel's hand,
and fixed in heaven as a sign. It could not have measured less than
ten feet from wing to wing. Its colour was brown, with bright edges
and white quills, and its fiery eyes were encircled by broad
orange-shaded rings.
"My wife," said the peasant, "has reason to remember the lämmergeier.
When she was three years old her father took her to a part of the
mountains where they were hay-making, and not being able to work and
attend to her at the same time, he set her down by the side of a hut.
It was a fine sunny day, and Anna fell asleep. Her father, seeing her
sleeping calmly, covered her face with a straw hat, and continued his
work. Two hours afterwards he went to the spot, and Anna was gone. He
searched for her everywhere, and all the haymakers assisted in the
search, but Anna was nowhere to be found. My father and I--I was a
mere lad at the time, five years older than Anna--were walking towards
a mountain stream, three miles from where Anna had been sleeping, when
I heard the cry of a child. It came from a precipice, and above this
precipice a vulture was flying. We went in the direction of the cry,
and found Anna lying on the edge of the precipice, clinging to the
roots with her little hand. She was slipping down, and would have
slipped to certain death had we been three minutes later. It was a
difficult task to rescue her as it was, but we managed it, and carried
her to her father. She had no cap to her head, and no shoes or
stockings on her feet; she had lost them in her flight through the air
in the vulture's beak. She has a scar on her left arm to this day as a
remembrance of her acquaintance with the lämmergeier. So it fell out
afterwards, when she was a young woman, that I married her."
Ever and again, as they walked onwards, Christian Almer turned to look
upon the vulture, which remained perfectly still, with its wings
outstretched, until it was hid from his sight by the peculiar
formation of the valleys they were traversing.
Hitherto their course had lain amidst masses of the most beautiful
flowers; gentians with purple bells, others spotted and yellow, with
brilliant whorls of bloom, the lilac-flowered campanula, the anemone,
the blue columbine and starwort, the lovely forget-me-not--which
Christian Almer mentally likened to bits of heaven dropped down--and
the Alpine rose, the queen of Alpine flowers. Now all was changed. The
track was bare of foliage; not a blade of grass peeped up from the
barren rocks.
"There is good reason for it," said the peasant; "here, long years
ago, a man killed his brother in cold blood. Since that day no flowers
will grow upon the spot. There are nights on which the spirit of the
murderer wanders mournfully about these rocks; a black dog accompanies
him, whose bark you can sometimes hear. This valley is accursed."
Soon afterwards the peasant left Christian Almer to the guidance of
the children, and with them the young man spent the day, sharing
contentedly with them the black bread and hard sausage they had
brought for dinner. This mid-day meal was eaten as they sat beside a
lake, in the waters of which there was not a sign of life, and
Christian Almer noticed that, as the children ate, they watched the
bosom of this lake with a strange and singular interest.
"What are you gazing at?" he asked, curious to learn.
"For the dead white trout," answered the boy. "Whenever a priest dies
it floats upon the lake."
In the lower heights, where the fir-trees stretched their feathery
tips to the clouds, they found the flower they were in search of, and
the children were wild with delight. The sun was setting when they
returned to the hut, tired and gratified with their day's wanderings.
The peasant's wife smiled as she saw the edelweiss.
"A lucky love-flower," she said to Christian Almer.
These simple words proved to him how hard was the lesson of
forgetfulness he was striving to learn; he was profoundly agitated by
them.
Night fell, and the clouds grew black.
"The wind is rising," said the peasant; "an ill night for travellers.
Here is one coming towards us."
It proved to be a guide who lived in the nearest post village, and
who, duly commissioned for the service, brought to Christian Almer the
letters of the Advocate and his wife.
"A storm is gathering," said the guide; "I must find shelter on the
heights to-night."
In his lonely room Christian Almer broke the seals, and by the dull
light of a single candle read the lines written by friend to friend,
by lover to lover.
The thunder rolled over the mountains; the lightning flashed through
the small window; the storm was upon him.
He read the letters once only, but every word was impressed clearly
upon his brain. For an hour he sat in silence, gazing vacantly at the
edelweiss on the table, the lucky love-flower.
The peasant's wife called to him, and asked if he wanted anything.
"Nothing," he replied, in a voice that sounded strange to him.
"I will leave the bread and milk on the table," she said.
"Good-night."
He did not answer her, nor did he respond to the children's
good-night. Their voices, the children's especially, seemed to his
ears to come from a great distance.
A drop of rain fell from the roof upon the candle, and extinguished
the light. For a long while he remained in darkness, until all in the
hut were sleeping; then he went out into the wild night, clutching the
letters tight in his hand.
He staggered almost blindly onwards, and in the course of half an hour
found himself standing on a narrow and perilous bridge, from which the
few travellers who passed that way could obtain a view of a torrent
which dashed with sublime and terrific force over a precipice upon the
rocks below, a thousand feet down.
"If I were to grow dizzy now!" he muttered, with a reckless laugh; and
he tempted fate by leaning over the narrow bridge, and gazing
downwards into the dark depths.
Indistinct shapes grew out of the mighty and eternal waterfall. Of
hosts of angry men battling with each other; of rushing horses; of
armies of vultures swooping down for prey; of accusing and beautiful
faces; of smiling mouths and white teeth flashing; and, amidst the
whirl, sounds of shrieks and laughter.
Suddenly he straightened himself, and tearing Adelaide's letter into a
thousand pieces, flung the evidence of a treacherous love into the
furious torrent of waters; and as he did so he thought that there were
times in a man's life when death were the best blessing which Heaven
could bestow upon him!