High, high up where no blade of corn can grow, in the glacier
desert of the Ortler chain, the solitary penitent lived on the
extremest verge where it was possible for flesh and blood to live
and breathe--fulfilling literally Correntian's curse. Below lay the
unfathomable depth of the valley of Trafoy between its deeply cleft
walls, like an open grave. The glacier torrents roared down through
fissures and crevices, feeding the three Holy Wells in the gorge below;
the rock crumbled away beneath the volume of the mighty waters, and
wide floods devastated the land.
A strange herd-boy had led him up whom he had met with that night at
Marienberg, and who had taken pity on him for God's sake. It was a
difficult task to guide the blind man up to these heights, but guardian
spirits were with him and upheld him, or he would have slipped from the
boy's weak hand a hundred times and down the steep and slippery path.
It is only from those who love life that God requires it; the wretch to
whom death would be release may not die!
Again and again the boy was fain to stop, but the penitent was not to
be persuaded to stay where a bird's call was still to be heard--where
he could still lay his hand on fruitful soil. So, after long wandering,
they had reached their goal--the last for which he longed--the realm of
everlasting peace, where no sound of a human voice could pierce, where
no slenderest thread could reach to link man to man. Here is the first
circle of hell, cold and silent, here he might atone and die, and live
above for ever.
The boy had contrived an indispensable shelter against the wind and
rain under an overhanging rock, and then had left him; but from time to
time he came to bring bread to the hermit. He was a strange boy, he
came and went without the blind man's perceiving it, noiselessly and
without a word, and Donatus was grateful to him for that. He would have
felt it a desecration to break the sacred silence that bathed his soul
like a sea which no profane sound might pierce.
Once every week his moss-bed was freshly made, and a fragrant loaf laid
by the side of it; but he who brought it vanished as he came. Often it
seemed to the blind man that it could be no boy of flesh and blood, but
a friendly angel of death sent by God to guide him hither, and to
support his existence until he were fit to die; and as the season
advanced, and it became more and more difficult for any human being to
find his way up the snow-covered path, he believed this still more
firmly. What could prompt a strange and lowly herd-boy to such a
fearful sacrifice? For what hope of reward could he do this? And what
to him was the accursed outcast--the hapless wretch who could no longer
give him even a blessing? Yes, it was daily clearer to his mind that it
was a messenger from the other world; daily he felt more sure that
here, with the earth far below him, he was nearer to the world of
spirits. In the roaring of the storm, in the thunder of the avalanche,
in the freezing snow-drift, in all the terrors of the wilderness, he
felt with reverent awe the nearness of Him who rides the clouds and
speaks in the thunder; and that which appals most mortals and fills
them with dread, uplifted his soul which had triumphed over this life,
in jubilant hope of redemption and release.
"Crush, mangle this body!" he would shout to the raging blast, to the
falling rocks, to the torrents of heaven, when they whirled round him
in wild uproar, and he kissed the invisible hand of the storm that
lashed him, he thanked the pain that gnawed his numbed limbs--it all
was penance, and penance meant deliverance; and then again when the
tumult had subsided, when the last faint rays of the autumn sun shone
from the once more peaceful sky, and all the air was still--then he
felt as if a reconciled spirit hovered over him too--a divine
something, for which he found no name. And then, indeed, a mood would
come over him in which he would stretch out his arms to the vacant
air, and a cry would escape his lips--like a bird freed from its
cage--"Beata."
So near, so real, did her watchful spirit seem that he would fancy he
heard her breathing and almost thought he felt her passing lightly by
him.
"Beata--have you died down in the valley, and come up to watch by me
till I may follow you into eternity? Oh, poor child, the son of
perdition may not follow you--not even when he has shed this mortal
husk, for you will soar upwards to the fields of the blest--and I must
sink among the souls in purgatory," and then it seemed to him that the
wind bore a soft cry to his ear. Yes, certainly--it was her soul--that
mourned for him, that prayed for him with tears to the Saints. And
could they withstand her prayers? In such an hour he felt as if a
breath of salvation floated round him; here, up at the limits of the
earth, on the brink of the other world, the very air was full of
revelation. The two realms seemed to touch and mingle, and he learned
more and more to understand their gentle ebb and flow.
Thus it grew to be winter and the chastening hand fell more roughly,
and the fetters of death closed more tightly upon him; still he prayed
and sang praises without ceasing, and as often as he found a fresh loaf
by his couch and a warm skin to preserve him from the increasing cold,
he received it as a miracle from God the Lord, who in days of old
rained down Manna on his starving people. So long as God sent him
nourishment, so long it was His will that he should live, and he
relished the bread with a thankful heart, full of devout meditation as
if it were the body of Christ--which no mortal hand might evermore
present to him.
At last the supplies of bread ceased. He knew not how many days had
passed, for him there was neither day nor night; but he perceived that
it was longer than usual, for his meagre store had never been exhausted
before the fresh supply came. Now it was exhausted, and the place where
he was wont to find his bread was empty. Now he knew that the last
trial was at hand. Nature inexorably asserted her claims, and gnawing
hunger tormented his vitals; death was approaching in the form of
starvation. He felt it--it was a cruel death, but he could thank the
Lord for it; now the hour was come when, like the chamois, he must end
in a hidden crevasse; he wound his rosary round his hand, and only
prayed, "Grant, Lord, that I may bear the trial with honour."
He went out of his cave to seek a cleft in the ice so as to carry out
his vow; something checked his steps--it was lying at his feet, and
softly caressing his knee like a faithful dog. But it was not a dog, it
clung to him and grasped his arm with a human hand. "Donatus," it
whispered in a beseeching tone. "Donatus, forgive me!"
"Beata!" shrieked the blind man, staggering back against the cliff. He
felt as if the mountain had fallen and had buried everything under
it--man, and all his works and laws--as if he were left alone with
Beata and with God. But that God was He who spoke, saying, "I am Love."
"Donatus, I could not help myself any longer--I can get you no more
bread," stammered the girl. "For three days I have been trying in vain,
but I can do no more--my limbs are frozen--the cold--I am dying. Oh,
poor soul, what will become of you?"
"Beata! angel of my life--angel of my soul!" cried Donatus, rejoicing
and weeping in the same breath. "Beata! blessed one, having overcome
the world! You have been with me all the time, you have brought me
food, have been by my side through snow and frost, in death and
desolation? All-merciful God, why were you so long silent?"
"That you should not sin for my sake, nor drive me away--that is why I
was silent! Forgive me for disobeying you--I could not, could not leave
you."
"Forgive you--I forgive you, you messenger of grace." And with a strong
arm the blind man raised the dying girl and carried her into the
sheltering cave, and laid her on his bed, covering her with the warm
skins that she herself had brought him in her indefatigable care. Then
he flung himself down by the couch and covered her care-worn face and
faithful breast, and her poor, frozen, little feet with innumerable
kisses. He could say no more; only moans and inarticulate sounds of
love and sorrow escaped him, and he held her in his arms, and rocked
her and soothed her as a mother does her dying child.
And she clung to him in a perfect extasy of joy. "You see--now I am
dying by your side--it has happened as I said"--she whispered in his
ear. "And you have kept your word; you wanted to lead me to bliss--now
I am indeed blessed."
The blind man was like one in the very whirlwind of a celestial
revelation.
"Oh, sweet martyr! You have done what no man ever did. We, when we deny
ourselves and subdue ourselves, we hope for a future reward and fear
future punishment--but you have renounced all, and fought the fight
without hope and without fear. You have sacrificed yourself freely and
without compulsion, and have bled to death in silence. What is all that
heroism and chastity have ever achieved in comparison with this deed?
No--it is no power of the devil that has accomplished this. It is not
with dying lips that the evil one seeks to tempt--nor with the kiss of
death that he entangles his victims. It is a higher power--yes--now I
see and know it! Beata, your death has released me from my bonds--there
is a love, that is God--and we have loved each other with such a love,
and for that love's sake we shall find mercy."
"Amen!" said the girl, and with a smile of rapture she clasped his head
that had sunk upon her breast. And there was peace--the peace of God,
in their souls. Her breath was now short and weak, but she clasped him
to her with all her remaining strength. He pressed her to his breast
and rubbed her frozen limbs, and breathed on her with his warm breath.
He implored her with a thousand loving words.
"Do not die, my child, my wife--gift of God, stay with me. God who gave
you to me, will let you stay with me one day--one hour, only one little
hour that I may make up to you for all you have suffered!"
In vain! the cold hand could no longer stroke his head; it fell by her
side.
"Beata!" he called in her ear. "I abandoned you in life, but in death I
will not forsake you, I will die with you."
She still heard, a sigh of rapture answered him as from a happy
bride--it was her last--then she bowed her head and slept, softly and
peacefully, with a smile on her lips. She was gone like the night-moth
whose fate it is never to rejoice in the light of the sun, that is
snatched away by the first frosts of winter, without a sound, without a
wail--out of darkness into darkness.
Donatus still listened for a while to hear if the stilled heart beat no
more--not a breath, not a throb, all was over. Long, long did he lie
so, the body clasped to his heart; then he rose, and saying half-aloud
as though she still could hear, "Come, my child," he laid the slender
form across his shoulders like a dead lamb, and went out into the open
air.
Snow was falling, softly and lightly spreading a white coverlet under
his feet over which he glided inaudibly, feeling his way by the rocky
wall. Whither was he going, what did he seek? He could not answer
himself these questions, the time for thought was over; one feeling
alone possessed him, and that was love. All seemed light to his blind
eyes; a slight form rose out of the darkness, and floated before him
with a sad but blissful smile. It was Beata's glorified spirit. She
pointed out the way, and signed to him to follow with a look of
unutterable love.
"Yes, I am coming, I follow," he cried, and hurried on as fast as he
could through the snow--after her. Presently the sweet vision reached a
spot where the rock ended precipitously, a perpendicular cliff of more
than a thousand fathoms. She stood still and looked round. "Wait, I am
coming!" he cried. Once more she beckoned, then she soared up and
floated across the abyss up--away. By this time he too had reached the
spot, and without a shudder he sprang after her; but his mortal body
with its burden weighed him down. He slid into the abyss in a cloud of
snow, and the loosened mass came plunging after him, a thundering
avalanche that filled the air with an ocean of snow.
But just as the air that clings to a heavy body when it is plunged into
the depths of the sea rises to rejoin its parent element in shining
globules, the spirit of the engulfed Donatus rose from the deep to its
eternal home.
The earth lay dead and dumb as if the sun could never rise again, as if
love had perished for ever--and yet it will return, bringing softer
airs, under whose quickening breath Heaven and earth shall once more be
reconciled.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Himmelsschlüssel--keys of Heaven--is the pretty German
name.]
[Footnote 2: The Adige lower down.]
[Footnote 3: In German the corpse-owl.]
[Footnote 4: The translator is indebted for these verses to the
kindness of a friend.]
THE END.
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