the medical schools of the Leipsic University, my father sent for me to
come during my vacation to Rome, where he still lived, and a few weeks
before my twenty-fifth birthday I rode through the Porta del Popolo.
The evening before that anniversary my father took out the phial, showed
it to me, and asked me what I thought of the verses that he had written
on a label and attached to the bottle.
I read them, and they ran as follows:
In hearts alone where modesty resides
Is found the priceless treasure of Pure Truth.
If pride within you secretly abides
That, forced by the elixir's charm, The Sooth
You needs must speak--be wholly pure in thought,
Despising not the teachings wise, of old;
When Truth with equal earnestness was sought
If speech be silver, silence then is gold!
The scales seemed to fall from my eyes, and I realised why the
Ueberhells had borne such an evil and dreaded name among their
fellow-citizens.
The day after I, too, was to use the elixir and I asked my father: "What
shall I do if the power of the essence forces me to speak out everything
that is true, simply because it is true, even when it is against my wish
and will tend to my own annoyance and distress, as well as to that of
others?"
And he replied solemnly: "The truth? Has any one yet found the right
answer to the old question: 'What is Truth?' Can you be sure that
the noble and mighty Goddess corresponds to your puny and individual
conception of her?"
This very idea had disturbed me during my ride over the Alps, and I
exclaimed: "Therein lies the dangerous power of the elixir! It kindles
in our minds the confidence that we know the truth by means of a charm,
whereas we can only possess the desire to seek for it. Our certainty
also misleads us to constrain others to think as we think, and to
despise them and persecute them when they differ from us. The elixir
made you happy, my father, because you are good and pure, and because
the beautiful, to the pursuit of which you have dedicated your life,
ennobles everyone and makes every thing harmonious that comes from you.
"But many generations had to pass before you appeared to do honour
to the powers of the elixir. I myself have been cast in a less heroic
mould, and who can prophesy what my children, if I ever have any, will
be like. In this world where every thing is deceitful, and no one is
outspoken, the man who alone is under the necessity of proclaiming what
he considers the truth, is like a warrior who opposes himself without
shield or harness to a fully armed foe. Therefore, my dear father, I am
very reluctant to make use of the elixir to-morrow."
The old gentleman smiled and replied: "Inhale it in peace, my Ernst, for
I will confide to you that I have poured the elixir into the Tiber, on
whose banks the battle for the Truth has been so often joined, and where
so many factions have imagined that they possessed the elixir of Truth.
I have filled the phial with water and a drop of aromatic myrrh. The
water I took from the fountain of Trevi, which, you know, is supposed
to possess the power of inspiring longing--only for the Eternal City, I
believe--but perhaps in our phial it may awaken a desire for the Eternal
Truth. Let us leave the little bottle to our successors. It will not
hurt them to use it while they are young, and they can commit to
memory, at the same time, the maxim which is attached to it. Then if
the harmless liquid which it contains, together with the adage and the
example of their parents, arouse a craving for truth within them we
shall have cared better for them than Doctor Melchior did for our
ancestors."
"I think so, too," I answered gratefully. "But," I added, "when you
poured the elixir into the river did you not sacrifice a valuable aid to
yourself in remaining loyal to the Truth in your creations?"
"The old gentleman shook his head. Let the essence flow away!" he
answered. "The verity of the Ueberhells, that is what each one thought
to be true, was a thing of naught, and, if you consider it closely, a
dangerous thing. Only the mind which is capable of comprehending the
laws of Nature can escape the danger of mistaking the fortuitous, and
ever changing reality, for the eternal and unchangeable truth. Therefore
I do not regret what I have done. If one of my grandsons should wish to
become a painter I have obviated the risk of his falling into the error
of believing that he has succeeded when he has only slavishly imitated
all the imperfections in the objects he sees around him. Nature
reflected in a mirror, would be what his pictures under the influence
of our elixir, would have been like, and for a true work of art, in the
highest acceptation of the term, something further is needed."
These words of my father removed my last regret for the loss of the
elixir, and my sons and grandsons who are now grown men have, with God's
help, brought it to pass that the burghers of Leipsic are willing once
again to associate with the Ueberhells.
I have only one thing more to say before I close this story.
I have already mentioned the fact that I am a physician. When recently
from England came the news of the discovery of vaccination and I saw
how a small drop could penetrate through a man's entire system, then
I regretted that my father had thrown away the elixir. If I still
possessed it I would, despite my advanced age, try the experiment of
inoculating myself with it. The exhalation of the elixir acted only
on the tongue, and hence its fatal effect, if, however, it had been
possible to infiltrate a desire for truth into the whole man, then,
ah then! it might have been possible for a man really to know himself,
which is the beginning of his salvation. One thought occurs to me for my
consolation:
A race that has felt itself forced, generation after generation, to
serve the truth must finally have acquired an instinct to do so, like
the races of pearl-divers who by inheritance can hold their breath a
phenomenally long time.
POSTSCRIPT.
At this point my granddaughter Bianca came in to see me. Three days
before she had been betrothed to young Karl Winckler, a descendant of
the notary Anselmus.
As I had fallen asleep over my writing she read through undisturbed the
book that had fallen from my hands onto the floor.
And so the secret was betrayed, for of course she told the story to her
lover.
She expressed her thankfulness that the elixir was out of the world, but
asserted impertinently, that if a drop of blood had been drawn from Frau
Bianca--whose features as well as name she had inherited--instead of
from the little Zeno, or if the women of the Ueberhell family had been
allowed to inhale the elixir the consequences might have been entirely
different.
"Woman," she said, "is ruler in the kingdom of the affections, and in
Leipsic as well as elsewhere, the austere Goddess of Truth will find
devoted and loving worshippers, as well as dutiful subjects, only when
she exhibits goodness of heart combined with grace of manner as does my
grandfather."
Perhaps she is not altogether wrong, though women....
And yet both Greeks and Romans represented Truth under the guise of a
woman.
FINIS.
THE GREYLOCK
A FAIRY TALE.
By Georg Ebers
Once upon a time there was a country, more beautiful than all other
lands and the castle of the Duke, its ruler, lay beside a lake that was
bluer than the deepest indigo. A long time ago the Knight Wendelin and
his squire George chanced upon this lake, but they found nothing save
waste fields and bleak rocks around it, yet the shores must formerly
have borne a different aspect, for there were shattered columns and
broken-nosed statues lying on the ground. Against the hillside there
were remains of ancient walls that once, undoubtedly, had supported
terraces of vines, but the rains had long washed the soil from the
rocks, and among the caves and crannies of the fallen stonework, and
ruined cellars, foxes, bats, and other animals had found a home.
The knight was no antiquary, but as he looked about him his curiosity
was excited: "What can have happened here?" he said, and his squire
wondered also, and followed his master. The latter led his horse to
the edge of the water to let him drink, for though he had seen many
watercourses in the land, he had found nothing in them save stones, and
boulders, and sand.
"What if this lake should be salt, like the Dead Sea in the Holy Land?"
the knight asked, and the squire answered:
"Ugh, that would be a thousand pities!" As the former raised his hand
to his mouth to taste the water, wishing indeed that it were wine, he
suddenly heard a strange noise. It was mournful and complaining, but
very soft and sweet. It seemed to be the voice of an unhappy woman,
and this pleased the knight, for he had ridden forth in search of
adventures. He had already been successful in several encounters, and
from George's saddle hung the tail-tips of seven dragons which his
master had killed. But a woman with a musical, appealing voice, in great
danger, offered a rare opportunity to a knight. Wendelin had not yet
had any such experience. The squire saw his master's eyes sparkle with
pleasure, and scratched his head thinking: "Distress brings tears to
most peoples' eyes, but there is no knowing what will delight a knight
like him!"
The waters of the lake proved to be not salt, but wonderfully sweet.
When Wendelin reached the grotto from which the complaining notes
came, he found a beautiful young woman, more lovely than any one the
grey-haired George had ever seen. She was pale, but her lips shone moist
and red like the pulp of strawberries, her eyes were as clear and blue
as the sky over the Holy Land, and her hair glistened as if it had been
spun of the sunbeams. The knight's heart beat fast at the sight of her
loveliness; he could not speak, but he noticed that her hands and feet
were bound with chains, and that her beautiful hair was entwined about
a circle of emeralds that hung by a chain from the ceiling. She marked
neither the knight nor the squire, who stood shading his eyes with his
hand in order to see her the better.
Hot rage took possession of the heart of Wendelin when he saw the tears
rain down from the lady's large eyes onto her gown, which was already as
wet as if she had just been drawn from the lake.
When the knight noticed this, an overwhelming pity chased the anger from
his heart, and George, who was a soft-hearted man, sobbed aloud at her
pitiful appearance. The voice of the knight, too, was unsteady as he
called to the fair prisoner that he was a German, Wendelin by name, and
that he had set out on a knightly quest to kill dragons, and to draw
his sword for all who were oppressed. He had already conquered in many
combats, and nothing would please him better than to fight for her.
At this she ceased to weep, but she shook her head gently--her hair
being chained impeded her motion,--and answered sadly. "My enemy is too
powerful. You are young and beautiful, and the darling, perhaps, of a
loving mother at home, I cannot bear that you should suffer the same
fate as the others. Behold that nut-tree over there! What seem to be
white gourds hanging on its naked branches are their skulls! Go your
way quickly, for the evil spirit that keeps me prisoner, and will not
release me until I have sworn an oath to become his wife, will soon
return. His name is Misdral, he is very fierce and mighty, and lives
among the waste rocks over there on the north shore of the lake.
You have my thanks for your good intention, and now proceed on your
journey." The knight, however, did not follow her advice, but approached
the beautiful woman without more words, and caught hold of her hair to
unbind it from the ring. No sooner had he touched the emeralds than two
brown snakes came hissing towards him.
"Oho!" exclaimed Sir Wendelin. With one hand he caught their two necks
together in his powerful grip, with the other he grasped their tails,
tore them in two, and threw them out onto the cliffs above the lake.
When the imprisoned lady saw this, she heaved a deep sigh of relief and
spoke: "Now I believe that you will be able to liberate me. Draw this
ring from my finger!"
The knight obeyed and as he touched the lady's fingers, which were
slender and pointed, he felt his heart warm within him, and he would
gladly have kissed her. But he only withdrew the ring. As he forced it
onto the end of his own little finger the lady said to him: "Whenever
you turn it round you will be changed to a falcon; for you must know....
But woe to us! There, where the water is lashed into foam, is the
monster swimming towards us!"
She had hardly finished before a hideous creature drew itself out of the
lake. It looked as if it were covered with mouldering pumice-stone.
Two toads peeped from the cavities of the eyes, brown eel-grass hung
dripping and disordered over its neck and forehead, and in place of
teeth there were long iron spikes in its jaws which protruded and
crossed one another over its lips.
"A fine wooer, indeed!" thought the squire. "If the stone-clad fellow
should not possess a vulnerable spot somewhere on his body I shall
certainly lose my position!"
Similar thoughts passed through the knight's mind, and consequently he
did not attack it with his sword, but lifting a huge piece of granite
from the ground he hurled it at the monster's head. The creature only
sneezed, and passed its hand over its eyes as if to brush away a fly.
Then it looked round and, perceiving the knight, bellowed aloud, and
changed itself into a dragon spouting fire. Herr Wendelin rejoiced at
this, for his favourite pastime was to kill that sort of beast. He
had no sooner, however, plunged his good sword into a soft part of
the monster, and seen the blood flow from the wound, than his opponent
changed itself into a griffin, and raising itself from the ground
swooped upon him. His defence now became more difficult, as the evil
spirit continued to attack him in ever changing forms, but Sir Wendelin
was no coward, and knew well how to use his arm and sword. At length,
however, the knight began to feel that his strength was deserting him;
his sword seemed to grow heavier and heavier in his hand, and his legs
felt as if an hundredweight had been attached to them. His squire,
noting his fatigue, grew faint, and began to think the best thing for
him would be to ride off, for the fight was likely to end badly for his
master. The knight's knees were trembling under him, and as the monster,
in the form of a unicorn, charged against his shield he fell to the
ground.
The creature shrank suddenly together and in the guise of a black, agile
rat shot towards him.
Sir Wendelin felt that he was losing consciousness, he heard faintly a
voice from the grotto where the lady was imprisoned calling to him: "The
ring, remember the ring!"
He was just able to turn with his thumb the ring on his little finger.
Immediately he felt himself lighter and freer than he had ever felt
before, and his heart seemed to harden to a steel spring, while a gay
and reckless mood came over him. A wild desire to fly took possession
of him at the same time, and it seemed as if he were only fourteen years
old once more. Some strange force impelled him aloft into the air, to
which he yielded, spreading the two large wings, that he suddenly found
himself in possession of, as naturally as if he had used them all his
life. He soon felt the feathers on his back stroked by the clouds, and
yet he saw everything below him on the earth more distinctly than
ever before. Even the smallest things appeared perfectly clear to his
sharpened eyes, and yet he seemed to see them as if reflected in a
brilliant mirror. He could distinguish even the hairs on the rat and
suddenly another impulse came over him--the impulse to stoop down and
catch the long-tailed vermin in his beak and claws. Wendelin had been
changed into a falcon, and the rat struggled in vain to escape his
powerful attack.
The prisoner had followed the combat first with anxiety, then with joy.
While the falcon held the rat in his claws and struck him with his beak
again and again, she called the squire to her, and bade him free her
from her chains. This was no distasteful task for George, indeed it gave
him so much pleasure that he was in no hurry to finish.
When at last all her bonds were loosened, she stood very erect, and
lifted her arms, and each moment seemed to make her more lovely and
more beautiful. Then she grasped the circle of emeralds, about which
the enchanter had wound her golden hair, and waving it high in the air,
cried: "Falcon, return to the shape you were before. Misdral, hear thy
sentence!"
Wendelin assumed immediately his knightly guise, which seemed very
clumsy to him after having been a falcon. The rat lengthened itself and
expanded until it was once more the giant covered with pumicestone; it
walked no longer erect, however, but crawled along the ground at the
feet of the beautiful woman, whimpering and howling like a whipped cur.
She then said to it: "At last I possess the emerald circlet, in which
resides your power over me. I can destroy you, but my name is Clementine
and so I will grant you mercy. I will only banish you to your rocks.
There you shall remain until the last hour of the last day. Papaluka,
Papaluka,--Emerald, perform thy duty!"
The giant of pumice-stone immediately glowed like molten iron. Once he
raised his clenched fist towards Wendelin, and then plunged into the
lake where the hissing and foaming waters closed over him. The lady and
the knight were left alone together. When she asked him what reward he
desired, he could only answer that he wished to have her for his wife,
and to take her to his home in Germany; but she blushed and answered
sadly: "I may not leave this country, and it is not permitted to me
to become the wife of any mortal man. But I know how heroes should be
rewarded, and I offer you my lips to kiss."
He knelt down before her and she took his head between her slim hands
and pressed her mouth against his.
George, the squire, saw this, sighed deeply, and wondered: "Why was my
father only a miller? What favours are granted to a knight like that!
But I hope the kiss won't be the end of it all; for, unless she is
a miserly fairy, there ought to be much more substantial pay for his
services in store for him."
But Clementine bestowed even a richer reward than he had expected
upon her rescuer. When she discovered that a lock of the brown hair on
Wendelin's left temple had turned grey during the conflict with the evil
monster, she said to him: "All this land shall belong to you henceforth,
and because you have grown grey in your courageous fight with evil, you
shall be known from this time forward as Duke Greylock. Every prince,
yea, even the Emperor himself, will recognize the title which I confer
upon you as my saviour, and when the race, of which you are to be the
progenitor, is blessed with offspring, I will stand godmother to every
first-born. All the sons of your house from first to last, whether they
be dark or fair, or brown, shall bear the grey lock. It will be a sign
unto your posterity that much good fortune awaits them. My authority,
however, is limited, and if at any time a higher power should hinder me
from exerting my influence in behalf of one of your grandsons, then will
the grey lock be missing from his head, and it will depend altogether
on himself how his life unfolds itself. One thing more. Give me back
my ring and take instead this mirror, which will always show to you and
yours whatever you hold most dear, even when you are far away from it."
"Then it will ever be granted to me to bring your face before my eyes,
oh! lovely lady!" the knight exclaimed.
The fairy laughed and answered: "No, Duke Greylock--the mirror can only
reflect the forms of mortals. I know a wife awaiting you, whom you will
rather see than any picture in the glass, even were it that of a fairy.
Receive my thanks once more! you are duke, enter now into your dukedom!"
With these words she disappeared. A gentle rustling and tinkling was
heard through the air, the waste ground covered itself with fresh green,
the dry river beds filled with clear running water, and on their banks
appeared blooming meadows, shady groves and forests. The broken walls
against the hillsides fitted themselves together, rose higher
and supported once more the terraces covered with vine stocks and
fruit-trees. Villages and cities grew into form and lay cradled in
the landscape. Beautiful gardens bloomed forth, full of gay flowers,
olive-trees, orange-trees, citron, and fig, and pomegranate-trees,
each covered with its golden fruit of many-seeded apples. In the
neighbourhood of the grotto in which the fairy had been imprisoned a
park of incomparable beauty grew into view, where brooks whispered and
fountains played, and shady pergolas appeared, formed of gold and silver
trellises, over which a thousand luxuriant creepers clambered, holding
by their little tendril hands.
The fallen columns stood up again, the mutilated marble statues
found new noses and arms, and in the background of all this growing
magnificence the young duke perceived-at first dimly, as if obscured
by mists, then more distinctly-the outline of a palace with loggia,
balconies, columned halls, and statues in bronze and marble around the
cornice of its flat roof.
George, the squire, gazed in openmouthed wonder, and his mouth remained
open until he entered the fore-court of the palace. Then he only closed
it to give his jaws a little rest before their future labours began,
for such a good smell from the kitchen greeted him that he ordered the
willing cook to satisfy immediately the demands of his appetite, as his
hunger was greater than his curiosity.
Sir Wendelin continued his way through the passages, chambers, halls,
and courts. Everywhere servants, guards, and heyducks swarmed, and from
the stables he heard the stamping of many horses, and the jingle of
their halter chains as they rattled them against their well-filled
mangers. Choruses of trumpeters played inspiriting fanfares, and from
the assembled people in the forecourt a thousand voices shouted again
and again: "Hail to his Grace Duke Greylock, Wendelin the First! Long
may he live!"
The knight bowed graciously to his good people, and when the Chancellor
stepped forward, and after a deep reverence set forth in a carefully
prepared speech the great services which the duke had rendered to the
country, Wendelin listened with polite attention, though he himself was
quite ignorant of what the old man was talking about.
Sir Wendelin had lived through so many adventures that it pleased him
now to sit peacefully on his throne, and he did his best to be worthy of
the honours which the fairy had conferred upon him. After he had learned
the duties of a ruler from A to Z, he returned to Germany to woo his
cousin Walpurga. He led her back to his palace, and for many years they
governed the beautiful land together. All of the five sons which his
wife bore to him, came into the world with the grey lock. They all grew
to be brave men and loyal subjects of their father, whom they served
faithfully in war, holding fraternally together and greatly enlarging
the boundaries of his dukedom by their prowess.
A long time passed and generation after generation of the descendants of
the worthy Sir Wendelin followed one another. The first-born son always
bore the name of the progenitor of the family, and the fairy Clementine
always appeared at the baptism. No one ever saw her; but a gentle
tinkling through the palace betrayed her presence, and when that ceased,
the grey lock on the infant's temple was always found to have twisted
itself into a curl.
At the end of five hundred years, Wendelin XV. was carried to his grave.
No Greylock had ever possessed a more luxuriant grey curl than his, and
yet he had died young. The wise men of the land said that even to
the most favoured only a fixed measure of happiness and good luck was
granted, and that Wendelin XV. had enjoyed his full share in the space
of thirty years.
Certain it is that from childhood everything had prospered with this
duke. His people had expected great things of him when he was only crown
prince, and he did not disappoint them when he came to the throne. Every
one had loved him. Under his leadership the army had marched from one
victory to another. While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest
followed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most
virtuous daughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.
In the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent
up a shout of victory, he met his death. Everything that the heart
of man could desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of
possessing a son and heir. But he had left the world in the hope that
that wish, too, would be fulfilled.
Black banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at
its entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted
black, and the manes and tails of the duke's horses bound with ribbons
of the same sombre hue. The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored
birds in the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the
boys covered with black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad
strains, and every subject wore mourning. When the ruby-red nose of the
guardian of the Court cellar gradually changed to a bluish tint during
this time, the Court marshal thought it only natural. Even the babies
were swaddled in black bands. And besides all this outward show, the
hearts too were sad, and saddest of all was that of the young widowed
duchess. She also had laid aside all bright colours, and went about in
deepest mourning, only her eyes, despite the Court orders in regard to
sombre hues, were bright red from weeping.
She would have wished to die that she might not be separated from her
husband, save for a sweet, all-powerful hope which held her to this
world; and the prospect of holy duties, like faint rays of sunshine,
threw their light over her future, which would otherwise have seemed as
dark as the habits of the Court about her.
Thus five long months passed. On the first morning of the sixth month
cannon thundered from the citadel of the capital. One salvo followed
another, making the air tremble, but the firing did not waken the
citizens, for not one of them had closed an eye the foregoing night,
which, according to the oldest inhabitants, had been unprecedented. From
the rocky district on the north shore of the lake, where Misdral lived,
a fearful thunder-storm had arisen, and spread over the city and ducal
palace. There was a rolling and rumbling of thunder and howling of wind,
such as might have heralded the Day of judgment. The lightning had not,
as usual, rent the darkness with long, jagged flashes, but had fallen to
the ground as great fiery balls which, however, had set nothing aflame.
The watchmen on the towers asserted that above the black clouds a
silver-white mist had floated, like a stream of milk over dark wool, and
that in the midst of the rumbling and crashing of the thunder they had
heard the sweet tones of harps. Many of the burghers said that they too
had heard it, and the ducal Maker of Musical Instruments declared that
the notes sounded as if they had come from a fine harpsichord--though
not from one of the best--which some one had played between heaven and
earth.
As soon as the firing of cannon began, all the people ran into the
streets, and the street-cleaners, who were sweeping up the tiles and
broken bits of slate that the storm had torn from the roofs, leaned
on their brooms and listened. The Constable was using a great deal of
powder; the time seemed long to the men and women who were counting
the number of reports, and there seemed no end to the noise. Sixty
guns meant a princess, one hundred and one meant a prince. When the
sixty-first was heard, there was great rejoicing, for then they knew
that the duchess had borne a son; when, however, another shot followed
the one hundred and first, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps
there were two princesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been
fired, they said it might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred
and eightieth came, the schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him
with seven daughters, exclaimed: "Perhaps there are triplets, 'feminini
generis!" But this supposition was confuted by the next shot. When the
firing ceased after the two hundred and second gun, the people knew that
their beloved duchess was the mother of twin boys.
The city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were
hoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the
drapers' shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once
more, and the courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and
practised their smiles again.
Every one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a few
old women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that children born
in such a night had undoubtedly come into the world under inauspicious
signs. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not unclouded, and it was
precisely the most faithful and devoted of the servants who seemed most
depressed, and who held long conferences together.
Both of the boys were well formed and healthy, but the second-born
lacked the grey curl which heretofore had never failed to mark each
new-born Greylock.
Pepe, the Major-domo, who was a direct descendant of George, the squire,
and who knew the history of the ducal family better than any one else,
for he had learned it from his grandfather, was so dejected that one
would have imagined a great misfortune had befallen him, and in the
evenings, when he sat over his wine in company with the Keeper of the
Cellar, the Keeper of the Plate and the Decker of the Table, he could
not resist giving expression to his presentiments. His conviction that
Bad Luck had knocked at the door of the hitherto fortunate Greylocks was
finally shared by his companions.
That an unhappy future awaited the second boy was the firm belief, not
only of the servants, but of the whole Court. The unlucky horoscope cast
by the Astrologer was known to all, the wise men of the land confirmed
it by their predictions, and soon it was proved that even the fairy
Clementine was powerless to avert the misfortune that threatened the
youngest prince. On the day of the baptism, neither the gentle tinkling
sound, nor the sweet perfume, which had heretofore announced her
presence, were perceptible. That she had not deserted the ducal house
altogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of the
first-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left
temple of the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could be
discovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young mother
was filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had taken care
of her dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what had happened at
his baptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and ended by betraying
the gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock
should go through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful!
And the old nurse called the poor little creature, "an ill-starred
child, a dear pitiable princeling."
Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon
attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade
them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she
stroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs
with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,
well-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking
save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she
leaned over him and whispered: "You sweet little darling, you are just
as good, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be
duke, but that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to
him. His subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow
to be a mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse
gives him better nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak
woman. But you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish
you myself, and if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have
not done my best."
When the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen
for the second boy--the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI--she
remembered her dream, and answered quickly: "Let him be named George,
for it was he who killed the dragon."
The old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: "That is a
good name for him."
Time passed, and both of the princes flourished. George was nourished
by his own mother, Wendelin by a hired nurse. They learned to babble and
coo, then to walk and talk, for in this respect the sons of dukes with
grey locks are just like other boys. And yet no two children are alike,
and if any schoolmaster tried to write an exhaustive treatise on the
subject of education, it would have to contain as many chapters as there
are boys and girls in the world, and it would not be one of the thinnest
books ever published.
The ducal twins from the beginning exhibited great differences.
Wendelin's hair was straight and, save for the grey lock, which hung
over his left temple like a mark of interrogation, jet black; George,
on the contrary, had curly brown hair. Their size remained equal until
their seventh year, when the younger brother began to outstrip the
older. They loved one another very fondly, but the amusements that
pleased one failed to attract the other; even their eyes seemed to have
been made on different patterns, for many things that seemed white to
George appeared black to his brother.
Both received equal care and were never left alone. The older brother
found this but natural, and he liked to lie still, and be fanned, or
have the flies brushed away from him, and to have some one read fairy
stories, which he loved, aloud to him until he dozed off to sleep. It
was astonishing how long and how soundly he could sleep. The courtiers
said that he was laying up a store of strength, to meet the demands that
would be made upon him when he came to the throne.
Even before he could speak plainly, he had learned to let others wait
upon him, and would never lift his little finger to do anything for
himself. His passive face and large melancholy eyes were wonderfully
beautiful, and inspired even his mother with a feeling of awe and
respect. She never had cause to feel anxious about him, for there was no
better, nor more obedient child in the whole land.
The ill-omened boy, George, was the exact opposite of his brother. He,
on the contrary, had to be watched and tended, for his veins seemed to
run quicksilver. One would have been justified in saying that he went
out to meet the misfortune which was so surely awaiting him. Whenever
it was possible he gave his nurses and attendants the slip. He planned
dangerous games, and incited the children of the castle servants and
gardeners to carry out the mischief which he had contrived.
But his favorite pastime was building. Sometimes he would erect houses
of red stone, often he would dig great caves of many chambers and halls
in the sand. At this work he was much more energetic than his humbler
playfellows, and he would be dirty and dripping with perspiration when
he returned to the castle. The courtiers would shake their heads over
him in disapprobation, and then look approvingly at Wendelin, who was a
true royal child and never got his white hands dirty.
There was no doubt but that George was cast in a less aristocratic mould
than his brother. When Wendelin complained of the heat, George would
spring into the lake for a swim, and when Wendelin was freezing, George
would praise the fresh bracing air. The duchess often sighed for
a thousand eyes that she might the better look after him, and she
constantly had to scold and reprove him, whereas her other son never
heard anything but soft words from her. But then George would fly into
her arms in a most unprincely manner, and she would kiss him and hug
him, as if she never wanted to let him go, while her caresses of her
elder son were restricted to a kiss on his forehead, or to stroking his
hair. George was by no means so beautiful as his brother; he had only
a fresh boyish face, but his eyes were exceptionally deep and truthful,
and his mother always found in them a perfect reflection of what was in
her own heart.
The two boys were as happy as is every child who grows up in the
sunshine of its mother's love, but the lords and ladies about the Court,
and the castle-servants felt that misfortune had already begun to dog
the footsteps of the younger prince. How constantly he was in disgrace
with the duchess! And the accidents that had already happened in the
eleven years of his life were too numerous to count. While bathing he
had ventured too far out into the lake and had been nearly drowned;
once, while riding in the ring, he had been thrown over the barriers
by an unmanageable horse; indeed the Court-physician was certain to be
called from his night's rest at least once a month, to bind up bloody
wounds in the young prince's bead, or bruises on his body.
No one, save the Seneschal of the Royal Household, and the Master of
Ceremonies bore the unruly boy any malice, but every one pitied him as
an ill-starred child. With what relentlessness his evil destiny pursued
him was first made clear when a stone house, which he, together with
some other boys, had built, fell down on top of him. When they drew
him out from under the blocks and stones he was unconscious, and the
Major-domo, who had been attracted by the cries of George's companions,
carried him into the prince's room, laid him on the bed, and watched by
him until the physician was called.
The old nurse, Nonna, aided the Majordomo, and these two faithful souls
confided their anxiety to one another. They recalled the unlucky signs
that had accompanied his entrance into the world, and Pepe expressed his
fear that the unfortunate child would not come to life again.
"'Tis very sad," he continued, "but I doubt not it would be better for
the ducal family if Heaven were now to remove him, for an early death
is, after all, preferable to a long life of vexation and misery."
The boy heard this conversation word for word, for, although he could
move neither hand nor foot, and kept his eyes closed, his hearing and
understanding were wide awake.
Old Nonna had shed many tears during good Pepe's speech, and he was
trying to comfort her when George suddenly sat up, rubbed his eyes with
the back of his hands, stretched himself, and then, agile as a brook
trout, sprang out of bed.
The two old people screamed in their astonishment, then laughed louder
in their joy; but the Court physician, who was just entering the room,
looked very much disgusted and disappointed, for he saw the beautiful
prospect of saving the life of one of the royal children dissolve before
his very eyes.
At the time of this accident the Duchess was away from home. On her
return she forced herself to reprove George for his recklessness before
she yielded fully to her motherly affection. When George threw his arms
around her neck and asked her if it were really true that he was an
ill-starred child, and would never have anything but bad luck as long
as he lived, she nearly burst into tears. But she restrained herself,
called Pepe and Nouna a couple of old geese, and the "signs," which they
had talked about, stupid nonsense. Then she left the room hurriedly and
George thought that he heard her crying outside. He had gathered from
her tone that she was not convinced of what she was saying, and was only
trying to quiet his fears, and from that hour he, too, regarded himself
as a child destined to adversity. This was indeed unfortunate, yet it
had its compensation, for each morning he anticipated an unhappy day,
and when in the evening he looked back on nothing but pleasure and
sunshine, he went to bed with a heart full of gratitude for the good
which he had enjoyed but which did not rightfully belong to him. From
this time his mother had him more carefully guarded than before, she
herself even followed him about anxiously, like a hen who has hatched a
duckling, and forbade him to build any more stone-houses.
The noble Duchess was just then weighed down with other cares. One of
her neighbors, a king, who had often been defeated in battle by her
husband and her husband's father, thought it an excellent opportunity,
while the duchy of the Greylocks was ruled only by a woman and her
Councillors, to invade the land, and win back some of the provinces
which he had formerly lost. Moustache, her Field-marshal, had led forth
the army, and a battle was now imminent, which like all other battles,
must end either in victory or defeat.
One day a messenger came from the camp, bringing a letter from the
brave marshal, who demanded more troops, saying that the enemy far
out-numbered him. Then the Prime Minister called the Great Council
together, from which, of course, the Duchess could not be absent, and
during the time that she presided over the Councillors' meeting, she
lost sight of George for the first time for many weeks.
The naughty boy was delighted. He slipped out of the castle, whence his
older brother would not move, on account of the bad weather, went down
to the shore of the lake, and finding that it was unusually rough, he,
together with the son of the head-gondolier, sprang into a small boat,
and drove it with powerful strokes out among the waves. The wind lifted
the brown curls of the boy, and whenever a large wave bore the skiff
aloft on its crest, he shouted with joy. Hitherto he had only been
allowed to go on the lake in a well manned, safe boat, and then the
sailors were under orders to keep to the southern half of the lake.
Consequently an excursion on the water had seemed but a mild amusement;
but to be his own master, and to fight thus untrammelled against the
winds and waves was pleasure such as he had never before experienced.
He had never yet visited the northern part of the lake, there where
it was so dark, and mysterious, and where--as old Nonna used to
relate--evil spirits dwelt, and a giant covered with pumice-stone was
compelled by a curse to live. Perhaps, if he could only get to the other
shore, he might see a ghost! That was a tempting prospect! So he turned
the bow of the boat towards the north, and bidding his companion to row
hard, did the same himself.
As they got further north, the waves increased in size, a storm arose
and blew fiercely in their faces; but the rougher the lake became, the
gayer and more boisterous grew George's mood.
His companion began to be afraid, and begged that they might return, but
George, though it was not his custom, made his princely authority felt,
and sternly commanded the boy to do as he was bid.
All at once it became dark around them, and it seemed as if a powerful
sea-horse must have got under the skiff and lifted it with his back, for
George was hurled into the air. Then he felt himself caught by a rushing
whirlpool which sucked him in its circles to the bottom. He lost breath
and consciousness. When he came to himself again, he found himself in a
closed cave, amidst strange forms of grey-brown, dripping stalactites.
Above the arches of the roof he heard a loud, grunting laugh, and a
voice, that sounded like the hoarse howl of a dog, cried several times:
"Here we have the Wendelin brood! At last I have the Greylock!"
Then George remembered all that he had overheard Pepe and Nonna relate,
and all that he had coaxed out of them by his questions. He had fallen
into the hands of the evil spirit, Misdral, and now the real misfortune,
which had threatened him ever since his birth, was to begin. He was
freezing cold, and very hungry, and as he thought of the beautiful
gardens at home, of the well-spread table in his father's castle, at
which he used to sit so comfortably in his high-backed chair, and of the
well-fed lackeys, he felt quite faint.
He also realized what terrible anxiety his absence would cause his
mother. He could see her running about, weeping, with her hair in
disorder, seeking him every where.
When he was smaller she had often taken him into her bed and played
"Little Red Riding Hood" with him, and he said to himself that for
that and many succeeding nights she would find no rest on her silken
cushions, but would wet them with her tears. These recollections brought
him to the verge of weeping, but the next instant he stamped his foot
angrily, in rage against his weakness.
He was only thirteen years old, but he was a true Greylock, and fear and
cowardice were as unknown to him as to his ancestor, Wendelin I. So
when he heard the voice of the wicked Misdral again, and listened to the
curses which it heaped upon his family, George's anger grew so hot that
he picked up a stone, as the first Wendelin had done five hundred years
before, to hurl it in the monster's wrinkled face. But Misdral did not
show himself, and George had to give up the expectation of seeing him,
for he gathered from the conversation between the two spirits that,
owing to an oath which he had given to the fairy, Misdral dared not lay
hands on a Wendelin, and that, therefore, he had planned to starve him
(George) to death. This prospect seemed all the more dreadful to the boy
because of his hunger at that moment.
The cave was lighted by a hole in the roof of rocks, and as George
could cry no more, and had raged enough against himself and the wicked
Misdral, there was nothing further for him to do but to look about his
prison, and examine the stalactites which surrounded him on all sides.
One of them looked like a pulpit, a second like a camel, a third made
him laugh, for it had a face with a bottle-nose, like that of the chief
wine cooper at the castle. On one of the columns he thought he discerned
the figure of a weeping woman, and this made his eyes fill with tears
again. But he did not mean to cry any more, so he turned his attention
to the ceiling. Some of the stalactites that hung from it looked like
great icicles, and some of them looked like damp, grey clothes hung out
to dry. This recalled the appearance of the wash hanging in the
garden behind the palace--a long stocking, or an unusually large shirt
descending below the rest of the clothes--and he remembered how, in
the fall, after the harvest, the clothes-lines used to be tied to the
plum-trees, and the ends decorated with branches still bearing the blue,
juicy fruit, and then his hunger became so ravenous that he buckled his
belt tighter round his waist and groaned aloud.
Night fell. The cave grew dark, and he tried to sleep, but could not,
although the drops of water splashed soothingly, and monotonously from
the roof into the pools below.
The later it grew, the more he was tormented by his hunger, and the
flapping of the bats, which he could not see in the dark. He longed for
it to be morning, and more than once, in his great need, he lifted his
hands and prayed for deliverance, and yet more passionately for a piece
of bread, and the coming of day. Then he sat lost in thought, and bit
his nails, for the sake of having something to chew. He was aroused by
a splash in one of the puddles on the Hoor. It must be a fish! He sat up
to listen, and it seemed as if some one called to him gently. He pricked
up his ears sharply, and then!--no, he had not deceived himself, for the
friendly words came distinctly from below: "George, my poor boy, are you
awake?"
How they comforted him, and how quickly he sprang up in answer to the
question! At last he was saved. That was as certain to him as that twice
two makes four, although it might have been otherwise.
Over the pool, from which the small voice had sounded, appeared now a
dim light, a beautiful goldfish lifted its head out of the water, opened
its round mouth, and said, in a scarcely audible tone,--for a real fish
finds it difficult to speak, because it has no lungs,--that George's
godmother, the fairy Clementine, had sent it. Its mistress was by no
means pleased with George's disobedience; but, as he was otherwise a
good boy, and she was pledged to aid the Greylocks, she would help him
out of his difficulty this time.
The boy cried: "Take me home take me home, take me to my mother!"
"That would indeed be the simplest thing to do," replied the fish, "and
it lies in our power to fulfil your wish; but, if my mistress frees you
from the power of the wicked Misdral, she must promise him in exchange
that another ill shall befall your house. Your army is in the field,
and if you return to your family, then will the giant help your enemies;
they will defeat you, will capture your capital, and possibly something
evil might befall your mother."
George sprang up and waved his hand in negation. Then his curly head
fell, and he said sadly, but decisively: "I will stay here and starve."
The fish in his delight slapped the water with his tail until it
splashed high, and continued, although his first speech had already made
him hoarse:
"No, no; it need not be so bad as that. If you are willing to go into
the world as a poor boy, and never to tell any one that you are a
prince, nor what your name is, nor whence you come, then no enemy will
be able to do your army or the lady duchess any harm."
"And shall I never see my mother and Wendelin again?" George asked,
and the tears poured down over his cheeks like the water over the
stalactites.
"Oh yes!" the fish replied, "if you are courageous, and do something
good and great, then you may return to your home."
"Something good and great," George repeated, "that will be very
difficult; and, if I should succeed in doing something that I thought
good and great, how could I know whether the fairy considered it so?"
"Whenever the grey lock grows on your head, you may declare yourself
to be the son of a duke and go home;" the fish whispered. "Follow me. I
will light the way for you. It is lucky that you have run about so much
and are so thin, otherwise you might stick fast on the way. Now
pay attention. This pool drains itself, through a passage under the
mountain, into the lake. I shall swim in front of you until we come
to the big basin into which the springs of these mountains empty their
waters. After that I must keep to the right, in order to get back into
the lake, but you must take the left passage, and let the current carry
you along for an hour, when it will join the head of the great Vitale
river, and flow out into the open air. Continue with the stream until it
turns towards the east, then you must climb over the mountains, and keep
ever northwards. Hold your hand under my mouth that I may give you money
for your journey."
George did as he was bid, and the fish poured forty shining groschen
into his hand. Each one of them would pay for a day's nourishment and a
night's lodging.
The fish then dived under, George plunged after it into the pool,
and followed the shimmering light that emanated from his scaly guide.
Sometimes the rocky passages, through which he crawled on his stomach in
shallow water, became so small that he bumped his head, and had to press
his shoulders together in order to pass, and often he thought that he
would stick fast among the rocks, like a hatchet in a block of wood.
He always managed to free himself, however, and finally reached the big
basin, where a crowd of maidens with green hair and scaly tails were
sporting, and they invited him to come and play tag with them. But the
fish advised him not to stop with the idle hussies, and then parted from
him.
George was alone once more, and he let himself be borne along on the
rushing subterranean stream. At length it poured out into the open air,
as the Vitale river, and the boy fell with it over a wall of rock into
a large pool surrounded by thick greenery. There was a great splash, the
trout were frightened to death, a dog began to bark, and a shepherd,
who was sitting on the bank, sprang up, for the coloured bundle that had
just shot over the falls, now arose from the water and bore the form of
a pretty boy of thirteen years.
This apparition soon stood before him, puffing, and dripping, and
regarding, with greedy eyes, the bread and cheese which the old man was
eating. The shepherd was very, very old, and deaf, but he understood the
language of the boy's eyes, and as he had just milked the goats, he held
out a cup of the milk to him with a friendly gesture, and broke off a
piece of bread for him. Then he invited George to sit down beside him in
the sun, which had been up for an hour.
The prince had never before eaten such a meal, but as he sat there in
the sun, munching the bread, and drinking goats' milk, he would have
thought any one a fool who called him an ill-fated child.
After he had satisfied his hunger, he thanked the shepherd, and offered
him one of the groschen which the fish had given him, but the old man
refused it.
George insisted, for it hurt his pride to take anything as a gift from
a man clad in rags, but the shepherd still declined, and added, after he
had noticed the fine clothes of the little prince, which the water
had not entirely spoiled: "What the poor man gives gladly, no gold can
repay. Keep your groschen."
George blushed scarlet, put his money in his pocket, and replied: "Then
may God reward you." The words sprang naturally and easily to his lips,
and yet they were the very ones that the beggars in the duchy of the
Greylocks always used.
He ran along by the side of the stream quite fast, in order to dry his
clothes, until it was noon, and many thoughts passed through his mind,
but so rapidly that he could hardly remember whether they were gay or
sad. When at last he sat down to rest under a flowering elder bush, he
thought of his mother, and of the great sorrow that he was causing her,
of his brother, and Norma, and old Pepe, and his heart failed him, and
he wept. He might never see them again, for how could he ever accomplish
anything that was good and great, and yet the fish had demanded it of
him! For three days he continued to be very dejected, and whenever he
passed boys at play, or boys and maidens dancing and singing under the
trees, he would say to himself: "You are happy, for you were not born
under an evil star as I was."
The first night he slept in a mill, the second in an inn, the third in
a smithy. Just as he was leaving in the early morning a horseman rode
rapidly past, and called out to the smith, who was standing in front
of the shop: "The battle is lost. The King is flying. The Greylocks are
marching on the capital."
George laughed aloud, and the messenger hearing him, made a cut at him
with his riding-whip, but missed him, and the boy ran away. George felt
as if some one had removed the burden that had been weighing him down
during his wanderings, and he reflected that, if he had remained a
prince, and had been at that moment comfortably at home, instead of
wandering until he was footsore along the highways, Moustache, the
Field-marshal, would have lost the battle.
It was still early when he reached the spot where the river turned to
the east. From this point he was to go northwards. He found a path that
led from the bank of the river, through the woods, across the mountain
chain. The dew still hung on the grass, and above in the oaks and
beeches, it seemed as if all the birds were holding high festival, there
was such a fluttering, and calling, and chirping, and trilling, and
singing, while the woodpecker beat time. The sunshine played among the
branches, and fell through onto the flowery earth, where it lay among
the shadows of the leaves like so many round pieces of gold. Although
George was climbing the mountain, his breath came freely, and all at
once, without any reason, he burst into song. He sang a song at the
top of his voice, there in the woods, that he had learned from the
gardeners. At noon he thought he had reached the top of the mountain,
but behind again a yet higher peak arose, and so, after he had eaten the
bread and butter which the blacksmith's wife had given him, he continued
his way and, as the sun was setting, attained the summit of the second
mountain, which was the highest far and near.
Once more he beheld the river which, sparkling and bright, wound through
the green plain like a silver snake. Smaller hills covered with forests
fell away on all sides and the tops of the trees caught the radiance of
the sinking sun. Over the snow-fields of the further mountain-ranges, a
rosy shimmer spread that made him think of the peach blossoms at home;
a purple mist obscured the rocky peaks behind him and there, far away
to the south, was a tiny speck of blue. That might be his own dear lake,
which he was never to see again. It was all so wonderfully beautiful and
his heart filled to overflowing with memories and hopes. Neither to
the right nor to the left, whither he turned his eyes, were there any
boundaries to be seen. How wide, how immeasurably wide was the world
which, in the future, was to be his home, in the place of the small
walled garden of the castle. Two eagles were floating round in circles
under the softly-glowing fleecy clouds, and George said to himself that
he was as free and untrammelled on the earth as they were in the air;
suddenly a feeling of delight in his liberty overcame him, he snatched
his cap from his head and, waving it aloft, tore down the mountain, as
if he were running for a wager. That night he found hospitable housing
in the cell of a hermit.
After this he derived much pleasure from his wanderings. He was a child
born to bad luck--no denial could change that--nevertheless a child
destined to good fortune could hardly have been more contented than
he. On the thirtieth day of his journeying he met with a travelling
companion in the lower countries, which he had reached some time before.
This was a stone-mason's son, who was much older than George, but who
accepted the gay young vagabond as his comrade. The youth was returning
home after his wanderings as a journeyman and, as he soon discovered
that George was a clever, trustworthy boy with all his wits about him,
he persuaded him to offer himself as apprentice to the stone-mason,
who was an excellent master in his business. His name was Kraft, and he
gladly received his son's companion as apprentice, George having spent
his last groschen that very day, and thus the little prince was turned
into a stone-mason's apprentice.
In the castle of the Greylocks, meanwhile, there was sorrow and
lamentation. The boy who had ventured onto the lake with George,
managed to save his life and returned home the following morning, and
to repeated questionings he had only the one answer to make--that he had
seen the prince drown before his very eyes. With this information the
Court had to content itself; but not the duchess, for a king will give
up his throne sooner than a mother the hope of seeing her child again.
She possessed indeed one means by which she could know beyond doubt
whether her darling were alive or dead, namely the magic mirror which
the fairy had given to the first Wendelin, and in which, ever since, the
Greylocks had been able to see what they held most dear. In this glass
she had seen her husband fall from his horse and die. Once again she
took it out of the ivory casket in which it was kept; but so long as
George sat imprisoned in the cave of the evil spirit, nothing was to
be seen on its smooth surface. That was ominous, yet she ceased not to
hope, and thought: "If he were dead, I should see his corpse." She sat
the whole night staring in the mirror. In the morning a messenger from
the army of the Greylocks arrived, bringing word that the enemy was
pressing upon them and that a battle would have to be fought before the
fresh troops, which Moustache, the field-marshal, had asked for, could
arrive.
The issue was doubtful, and the duchess would better have everything
ready for her flight and that of the princes, and, in case of the worst,
to carry with her the crown jewels, the royal seal and a store of gold.
The chancellor ordered all of these things to be packed in chests and
warned the servants not to forget to add his dressing-gown. Then he
begged the noble widow to look into the glass and to let him know as
soon as there was any reflection of the battle.
Presently she saw the two armies fall upon each other, but her longing
to see her son overcame her immediately, and behold, there in the glass
he appeared, seated by the side of an old ragged shepherd and eating
bread and cheese, his clothes were soaked and there was no possibility
of his changing them. This worried her and she at once pictured him
with a cold or lying helpless in the open air, stricken down by fever
or inflammation of the lungs. Henceforth she thought no more about the
decisive battle, and forgot all else during the hours that she sat and
followed George's movements. Then she sent for huntsmen, for messengers
and for all the professors who studied geography, botany, or geology,
and bade them look into the mirror, and asked them if they knew where
those mountains were, of which they saw the reflection. The smooth
surface showed only the immediate surroundings of the boy, and no one
could tell what the district was where George wandered. Thereupon she
sent messengers towards all points of the compass to seek him.
Thus half the day passed, and when the chancellor came again in the
afternoon to inquire after the fortunes of the battle, the duchess was
frightened, for she had entirely forgotten the conflict.
She therefore commanded the mirror to show her again the army and
Moustache, the field-marshal, who was a cousin of her late husband. She
beheld with dismay that the ranks of her soldiers were wavering. The
chancellor saw it, too; he put his hand to his narrow forehead and
cried:
"Everything is lost! My office, your Highness, and the land! I must to
the treasury, to the stables! The enemy--flight--our brave soldiers--I
pray your Highness to keep a watch over the battle! More important
duties...."
He withdrew, and when half an hour later he returned, very red in the
face from all the orders that he had given, and looked over the duchess'
shoulder, unperceived into the mirror, he started back and cried out
angrily, as no true courtier ought ever to allow himself to do in the
presence of his sovereign: "By the blood of my ancestors! A boy climbing
a mountain. And there is such dire need to know..."
The duchess sighed and called the battle once more into view. During the
time that she had been watching her son, things had taken a better
turn. This pleased her greatly, and the chancellor exclaimed: "Did I
not prophesy this to your Highness. The circumstances were such that the
victory was bound to be ours. Brave Moustache! I had such confidence in
him that I saw the caravans bearing the treasure depart, without a pang
of uneasiness. Will your Highness be good enough to have them recalled."
After this the duchess had no further opportunity to see the reflection
of her boy until the battle was decided and the victory theirs beyond a
doubt; then she could use the mirror to gratify the desire of her heart.
When George walked along dejectedly, she thought: "Is that my heedless
boy?" and when he looked about him gaily once more to see what mischief
he could get into, she rejoiced, yet it troubled her, too, to have him
appear so free from all grief, she feared that he might have entirely
forgotten her.
All the expeditions that she sent in search of him were fruitless; but
she knew from the glass that he had become apprentice to a stone-mason
and had hard work to do. This made her very sad. He was indeed a child
born to misfortune, and when she saw him eat out of the same bowl with
his companions, food so coarse, that her very dogs would have despised
it, she felt that the misery into which he had fallen was too deep, too
awful. Yet, strange to relate, he always seemed gay, despite these ills,
whereas Wendelin, the heir to the throne, grew more peevish every day.
The duchy of this fortunate youth had been enlarged by the late
successful war, and the assembly of the states of the empire was
debating whether it should not be made a kingdom. He possessed
everything that it was in the power of man to desire, and yet, with each
new month, he seemed to become more unhappy and dejected.
When the heir to the throne drove out in his gilt coach and the duchess
heard of the enthusiasm exhibited by the people, or saw him sitting at a
feast of pheasants, smacking his lips and drawing the asparagus between
his teeth, she reflected on his brother's hard lot and could not help
feeling angry with her fortunate son for possessing all the gifts that
Destiny refused to her poor outcast George.
Once when the duchess looked in the mirror, she saw George who had
carefully taken a clock to pieces, trying to put it together again. A
moment later the chancellor and the master of ceremonies came up behind
her in order to look into the glass also. No sooner had they done so
than they set up a loud outcry, and behaved as if the enemy had invaded
the land again.
"The poor, miserable, pitiable, ill-starred princeling!" one of them
exclaimed. "A Greylock, it is unheard of, abominable, sacrilegious," the
other moaned. They had indeed beheld a dreadful sight, for they had seen
the son of Wendelin XV. beaten over the back by a common workman with a
stick. The duchess had to witness many similar outrages later when she
saw George in the school to which the stone-mason sent his promising
apprentice. Alas! how long the poor child had to bend over his
drawing-board and his slate doing dreadful sums, whereas Wendelin only
studied two hours a day under a considerate tutor who gently coaxed
him along the paths of learning. Everything that seemed difficult was
carefully removed from his way, and everything that was unpalatable was
coated with sugar before being presented to him. Thus even in school the
fortunate child trod a path strewn with roses without thorns, and if
he yawned now and then in his tutor's face, the latter could flatter
himself that the young prince yawned much more frequently over what
other people considered pleasures and amusements.
When he attained his sixteenth birthday, he was declared to be of
age, for princes mature earlier than other men. Soon afterwards he was
crowned, not duke, but king, and it was remarked that he held his lace
handkerchief oftener than ever to his mouth.
The state prospered under his government; for his mother and councillors
knew how to choose men who understood their work and did it well. These
men acted as privy council to the king. One of them was put in charge of
the army, a second of the Executive, a third of the customs and taxes,
a fourth of the schools, a fifth exercised the king's right of pardon, a
sixth, who bore the title the Chancellor of the Council, was obliged to
do the king's thinking. To this experienced man was also confided the
responsibility of choosing a wife for the young king. He acquitted
himself wonderfully well of this duty, for the princess whom Wendelin
XVI. espoused on his twentieth birthday, was the daughter of a powerful
king, and so beautiful that it seemed as if the good God must have made
a new mould in which to form her. No more regular features were to be
seen in any collection of wax figures; the princess also possessed the
art of keeping her face perfectly unmoved. If anything comic occurred,
she smiled slightly, and where others would have wept, and thus
distorted their features, she only let her eyelids fall. She was
moreover very virtuous and, though but seventeen, was already called
"learned." She never said anything silly, and also, no doubt out of
modesty, refrained from expressing her wise thoughts. Wendelin approved
of her silence, for he did not like to talk; but his mother resented it.
She would have liked to pour her heart out to her daughter-in-law,
and to make her son's wife her friend and confidante. But such a
relationship was impossible; for, when she tried to share with her
daughter the emotions which crowded upon her, they rolled off the queen
like water off the breast of a swan.
The people adored the royal pair. They were both so beautiful, and
looked so noble and princely as they leaned back in the corners of
their gilt coach during their drives and gazed into vacancy, as if their
interests were above those of ordinary mortals.
Years passed, and the choice of the Chancellor of the Council did not
turn out to be so fortunate as had at first appeared, for the queen gave
her husband no heir, and the house of Greylock was threatened with the
danger of dying out with Wendelin XVI. This troubled the duchess indeed,
but not so much as one would have supposed, for she knew that yet
another Greylock lived, and the mother's heart ceased not to hope that
he would return one day, and hand down the name of her husband.
She therefore persisted in sending messengers to those lands where, to
judge by the costume of the people, the appearance of the country and
buildings, as shown in the magic mirror, George was most likely to be
found.
Once she allowed her daughter-in-law to look into the smooth glass with
her; but never again, for it happened that the queen chanced upon a time
when George, poorly dressed, and with great beads of perspiration on his
forehead, sat hard at work over his drawing in a miserable room under
the roof; her delicate nostrils sniffed the air disdainfully, as if
afraid that they might be insulted by any odour of poverty, and she
said coldly: "And you wish me to believe that person is a brother of my
highbred husband? Impossible!"
After this the duchess permitted no one save old Nonna to look into
the glass; she, however, spent many hours each clay in following the
miserable experiences of her unfortunate child. Sometimes indeed it
seemed to her as if a little happiness were mixed with the misery of his
existence, and it also struck her that her little imp of a George was
gradually growing to be a tall, distinguished-looking man with a noble
forehead and flashing eyes, whereas Wendelin, despite his beauty and his
grey lock, had become fat and red in the face, and looked like a common
farmer.
Great was her solicitude for him, and her heart bled when she saw him
suffer, which was not seldom; but then, on the other hand, she often had
to laugh with him and be merry, when he gave himself up to the strange
illusion of being happy. And had she ever seen a face so beaming as his
was when one day, in a splendid hall, a stately grey-haired man in a
long gown embraced him and laid a laurel wreath on the design for a
building, at which she had seen George work. And then he seemed to have
gone to another country, and to be living in the midst of the direst
poverty, yet somehow the world must have been turned upside down, for
he was as lighthearted and gay as if Dame Fortune had poured the entire
contents of her cornucopia over him.
He lived in a little white-washed room, which was not even floored, but
only paved with common tiles. In the evening he ate nothing save a piece
of bread, with some goat-cheese and figs, and quenched his thirst with
a draught of muddy wine which he diluted with water. A squalid old woman
brought him this wretched supper, and it cut the duchess to the heart to
see him hunt about for coppers enough to pay for it. One day he seemed
to have exhausted his store, for he turned his purse upside down and
shook it, but not the smallest coin fell out.
This grieved her sorely, and she wept bitterly, thinking of the ease of
her other son, and resenting the injustice with which blind and cruel
Fortune had bestowed her gifts.
When she had dried her eyes sufficiently to be able to see the picture
in the mirror once more, she beheld a long low house by the side of
which there was a large space roofed over with lattice work. This was
covered by a luxuriant growth of fig-branches and grape-vine. The moon
shed its silver radiance over the leaves and stems, while beneath it a
fire cast its golden and purple lights on the house, the trellis roof,
and the gay folk supping under it.
Young men in strange garb sat at the small tables. Their faces were
wonderfully animated and gay. Before each one stood a long-necked bottle
wound with straw, cups were filled, emptied, waved aloft or clinked.
With every moment the eyes of the drinkers grew brighter, their gestures
freer and more lively; finally one of them sprang up on a table, he was
the handsomest of them all,--her own George, and he looked as if he were
in Paradise instead of on this earth, and had been blessed by a sight of
God and his Heavenly host. He spoke and spoke, while the others listened
without moving until he raised a large goblet and took such a long
draught that the duchess was frightened. Then what a wild shout the
others sent up! They jumped to their feet, as if possessed, and one of
them tossed his cup through the lattice work and vines overhead.
When George got down again, young and old surrounded him, a few of them
embraced him, and then the whole gay company began to sing. Later the
duchess saw her son whirling madly in the dance with a girl dressed in
many colours, who, though beautiful, was undoubtedly only the daughter
of a swineherd, for she was barefoot, and kiss her red lips--which
indeed no Greylock ought to have done, yet his mother did not begrudge
him the amusement.
It looked as if that were happiness, but true happiness it could not be,
for such was not granted to a child born to misfortune. Yet what else
could it be? At any rate, he had the appearance of being the most
blessed of mortals.
He was in Italy; of that she became more and more assured, and yet none
of her messengers could find him. A year later, however, her son began
to busy himself with matters that would certainly give some clue to her
more recent envoys.
George had left his poverty-stricken room and dwelt now in a handsome
vaulted chamber. Each day dressed in a fine robe and with a roll of
parchment in his hand, he superintended a great number of builders.
Often she saw him standing on such high scaffolding that he seemed to
be perched between heaven and earth, and she would be overcome by
giddiness, though he seemed proof against it.
Once in a while a tall princely-looking man, with a beautiful young
woman and a train of courtiers and servants, came to inspect the
building. George would be sent for to show the gentleman and the young
woman, who seemed to be his daughter, the plans, and they had long
conversations together. At these interviews George was not at all
servile; and his gestures were so manly and graceful, his eyes shone so
frankly, yet so sweetly and modestly, that his mother yearned to draw
him to her heart and kiss him; but that, alas! could not be, and little
by little it dawned upon her that he longed for other lips than hers,
for the glances that he bestowed upon the maiden bespoke his admiration,
which, the duchess noticed, did not seem to displease her.
Once, during an interview with George, she dropped a rose, and when he
picked it up, she must have allowed him to keep it, for she gave no sign
of disapproval when he kissed it and hid it inside the breast of his
doublet. The large architectural drawing had screened this little comedy
from curious eyes.
One evening, in the moonlight, the duchess saw him climb a garden wall,
with a lute in his hand, then the sky became overcast, and she could
distinguish him no more; she could only see a lighted window where a
beautiful girl was standing. The maiden charmed her beyond measure,
and she grew hot and cold with the pleasurable anticipation that George
might win her for his wife some day and bring her home. But then she
reflected that he was a child born to ill-luck, and as such would never
be blessed with the love of so exquisite a creature.
What she saw in the next few weeks confirmed this opinion. His manner
was usually decisive, abrupt and self-reliant, but now he seemed to her
like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another. At the
works he gave his orders as firmly and decidedly as ever; but as soon as
he was alone, he looked like a criminal sentenced to death, and either
sat bowed down and miserable or else paced up and down the floor
restlessly, gesticulating wildly. Often when he beat his forehead with
the palm of his hand or struck his breast with his fist, his mother was
frightened.
Once, after a garden party, where he had been fortunate enough to walk
alone for a full hour under a shady pergola with the daughter of the
gentleman who owned the building in progress, and to kiss her hand
many times, he burst into tears as soon as he was in his own room,
and behaved so wildly that his mother feared for his reason and wept
bitterly also. Just at this time she ought to have felt nothing but joy,
joy, heart-felt and unadulterated, for it appeared that the chief of the
councillors had in truth been more far-sighted, than other people and
had not made a mistake in his choice of a queen, for she had just borne
a son, and, moreover, one that was a true Greylock. His grey lock was
indeed somewhat thin and lacked the firm curl of the former ones; but
every one who was not colour-blind must acknowledge that it was grey.
The duchess would have liked to rejoice sincerely in her grandchild, but
her affections were divided, and even when she held it in her arms, she
yearned for the magic glass and a sight of her unlucky son.
Wendelin XVI., who had long been satiated with the pleasures which his
position offered him, finding them all flat and insipid, experienced
for the first time in twelve years a sensation of delight, like any one
else, when he heard the faint cry of the infant and learned the good
news that his child was a son. Hitherto his greatest satisfaction had
been to hear the clock strike five when he had imagined that it was only
four.
The child, however, was something entirely new, and his heart, which
usually beat as slowly as a clock that is running down, quickened its
pulsations whenever he thought of his son. During the first weeks of
its life he sat for hours at a time beside the gilt cradle, staring
thoughtfully through his eye-glass at the future Wendelin XVII. Soon
this occupation ceased to interest him, and he drifted along once more
on the sluggish waves of his former existence, from minute to minute,
from hour to hour.
The queen, his companion on this placid journey, had grown to be like
him in many ways. The two yawned as other people breathe. They knew no
desires, for as everything they possessed was always the best that could
be had, to-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day. Their life
was like a long poplar alley through which they wandered lazily side by
side.
Pepe, the major-domo, after Wendelin came to the throne, was made
body-servant to the king; he, above all others, was inclined to regard
his master, born under a lucky star and possessing everything that
one could desire, as a person favoured by Fortune; yet, after he
had listened to his sighs and murmurs through many a quiet night, he
reflected: "I am better off in my own shoes."
Pepe kept his own counsel and confided to no one save old Nonna what
he knew. She, too, had learned to be discreet and consequently did
not repeat his confidences even to the duchess, who had enough to bear
without that additional burden.
How pale her darling seemed to her when she saw him in the glass! Yet,
even on the worst days, he was busy at his place in the piazza, where
the cathedral, which he had been building for three years, was nearing
completion. The greatest energy at that moment was being expended on the
dome, which rose proudly over the crossing of the nave and transepts.
Whenever Nonna looked over the duchess' shoulder to get a glimpse of
George, he was always seen there so long as the sun was in the heavens.
Many times the hearts of the two women stood still when they saw him
climb to the highest point of the scaffolding in order to direct the
work from there. Fate had only to make his foot slip one little inch or
decree that a wasp should sting him on the finger to put an end to
his existence. The poor mother was doubly anxious because he seemed so
unconscious of the risk he ran up there and looked about him even more
boldly and self-reliantly than usual.
The dome was already perfectly round. Why wasn't it finished, and why
must he go on climbing again and again that frightful scaffolding?
"Nonna, Nonna, you must look, I can stand it no longer," she cried one
day after she had been regarding the glass for a long time. "Hold me--he
is going to jump. Nonna, is he safe? I can no longer see." And the glass
shook in her hand.
"Oh!" the old woman answered, heaving a sigh of relief, "there he stands
as solidly and firmly as the statue of Wendelin I. in the market-place.
See...."
"Yes, yes, there he is," the duchess cried and fell on her knees to
thank Heaven.
The nurse continued to look in the glass. Suddenly she shrieked aloud
and her mistress sank together and covered her face with her hands. "Has
he fallen? Is he dead?" she groaned.
But Nonna, despite her gout, sprang up and ran to her mistress with the
mirror in her hand and stammering, half laughing and half crying, like
one drunk yet possessed of his senses: "George, our George, look. Our
prince has the grey lock. Here, before my very eyes I saw it grow."
The duchess jumped up, cast one glance into the glass, saw the grey lock
distinctly, and then forgetting that she was a princess and Nonna but
a humble servant, threw her arms about her and kissed her on the mouth,
above which grew so luxuriant a moustache that many a page would gladly
have exchanged his young upper lip for her older one. Then the duchess
reached once more for the mirror to assure herself that her eyes had
not been deceived, but her fingers trembled so with excitement that the
glass slipped from her hand and fell to the floor where it broke in a
thousand pieces.
What a fright it gave them! Fortunately Nonna, after a lifetime spent
in the care of babies, had laid aside what we call nerves, else she had
certainly fallen in a swoon like her mistress; she was consequently able
to support the duchess and soothe her with gentle words.
In the meanwhile the young architect from the staging inspected the
stone which crowned the dome and found that it had been well set. But
he had no suspicion that the grey lock had grown on his head. Older
architects came and absorbed his attention. They pressed his hand,
praised him and said that he had just finished a marvellous work of
art. They examined, with him, the interior of the cathedral, and then
appeared the prince for whom George had built the church, and to him the
architects explained how solid and well proportioned was the dome which
had been finished a few hours before. The noble prince listened with
comprehension; after he was satisfied he drew George to his breast and
said: "I thank, you my friend. Despite your youth I entrusted you with
a great undertaking and you have more than fulfilled my most sanguine
expectations. At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed, and
the day when our expectations are not only fulfilled, but surpassed we
number among our festivals. Your work will be an ornament to the city
and state, and will insure you undying fame. Take this from a man who
wishes you well."
The prince took the golden chain from his own neck, hung it about
George's, and continued:
"Art is easy, some say; others, that it is difficult. Both are right. It
must be delightful and ennobling to design such a work but the carrying
out must be laborious and attended with many perplexities. I can see
that you have found it so, for only yesterday I remarked with pleasure
the youthful glint of your brown hair and today,--no doubt while you
were superintending the laying of the dome's crown,--a lock of hair
above your left temple has turned grey, Master Peregrinus."
George reeled at this sudden and unexpected fulfilment of the dearest
wish of his soul. He had gone out into the world under this name of
Peregrinus and had never betrayed the fact that he was a prince's son.
For several years his heart had been overflowing with love for the
daughter of the prince and he had known that she reciprocated his
affection sincerely, yet for the sake of his own family he had battled
bravely with his passion and had borne his heartache and longing in
silence.
Proofs had not been wanting to show hint how devoted the prince was to
him, and if he had been able to say to his patron, "I am a Greylock,"
no doubt his lord would gladly have accorded his daughter's hand to
him. George had repeated this to himself a thousand times, but he had
remained firm, had kept his counsel and had not ceased to hope that by
righteous energy and industry he might accomplish the "great and good
task" which had been required of him in Misdral's cave. When his grey
lock grew, the fairy Clementine's fish had said to him, then would he
know that he had achieved something great and good, and that he might
bear once more the name of his proud race and return home without
exposing his family to any danger. He had reached the goal, the task
was completed, he might call himself a Greylock once more, for the curl
which was the pride of his race now adorned his head too.
The prince watched him turn very red then very pale and finally said
inquiringly "Well, my Peregrinus?" The architect fell upon his knee,
kissed the prince's hand and cried:
"I am not Peregrinus. Henceforth I am a Greylock, I am George, the
second son of the Duke Wendelin, of whom you have heard, and I must
confess to you, my noble lord, that I love your daughter Speranza, and
I would not exchange places with any god if you would but give us your
blessing."
"A Greylock!" the prince exclaimed. "Truly, truly this day should not be
reckoned among the feast-days but should be regarded as the best day in
all the year. Come to my arms, my dear, my worthy son!"
An hour later the architect held the princess in his arms. What a
wedding they had! George did not return immediately to his own home. He
wrote to his mother that he was alive and well and intended to visit her
in company with his young bride as soon as he had finished a great work
with which he was occupied. He sent with the letter a portrait of his
wife and when the duchess saw it and read the letter she grew ten years
younger from pure delight, and old Nonna at least five. When Wendelin
XVI. was informed that his brother still lived, he smiled and the queen
followed his example, but as soon as they were alone she cried: "The
land of the Greylocks will be smaller than ever now and even before it
was not so great as my father's."
When Speranza presented her husband with a son the duchess and her
faithful attendant Nonna went to Italy, and the meeting between mother
and son was beyond all measure joyful. Two months she spent with her
dear children and then she returned home, George and his wife having
promised to visit her the following year in the capital of the
Greylocks.
The cathedral was finished. There was no finer building under the sun
and artists and connoisseurs flocked from all parts of the world to see
it. George received the commendations of the most critical and his name
was ranked among those of the greatest architects.
Proud of his work, yet ever modest, he together with his wife and child
returned to his home.
He found great rejoicings in progress when he crossed the frontiers, for
Moustache, the field-marshal, had just conquered another enemy, and by
the conditions of the treaty of peace another province came into the
possession of the Greylocks, making their kingdom then as large as that
of the queen's father.
When George entered the capital he found flags flying, heard bells
pealing, the explosions of mortars and firing of cannon, sometimes one
shot after another, sometimes a deafening salvo of many guns together,
and a thousand voices shouting "Hurrah, hurrah! Long live Wendelin the
Lucky!"
The Assembly of States had decided the day before that the king by whom
the land had been so wonderfully extended, and whose government had been
so prosperous that not even a shadow of misfortune had fallen across it,
should be called: "Wendelin the Lucky."
This title of honour was to be seen on all the flags, triumphal arches,
transparencies, and even on the ginger-bread cakes in the cook-shops.
George and his lovely wife rejoiced with the other jubilant people, but
they were happiest when they were alone with his mother.
Wendelin XVI. received his brother and his brother's wife in the great
reception room, and even went further forward to meet him than the
point prescribed by the master of ceremonies; the queen made good this
violation of etiquette by remaining herself well within the boundaries
laid down. After the feast Wendelin went with his brother onto the
balcony, and as he stood opposite to George and looked at him more
closely he let his languid eyelids droop, for it seemed to him that his
brother was a man of iron, and he suddenly felt as if his own backbone
were made of dough.
In the evening the lake was beautifully illuminated, and the day was
to end with a boating party on the water enlivened with music and
fireworks.
In the first boat, on cushions of velvet and ermine, sat Wendelin XVI.
and his queen, in the second George and his beloved wife. His mother
could not bear to be separated from these two, or to miss for even an
hour the happiness of having them with her.
The weather for the festivals was as perfect as they could have wished.
The full moon shone more brilliantly than usual, as if to congratulate
the king on his new title, the bells pealed forth their chimes again, a
chorus of maidens and boys in skiffs followed the state gondola of the
royal pair, singing the new song which had just been composed in their
honour, and which consisted of twenty-four stanzas, each one ending with
the lines:
"The luck and glory let us sing Of lucky Wendelin, our king!"
By his side sat his wife, who continued her complaints against the
newly-found brother, and urged her husband to make investigations as to
whether or not this architect were a true Greylock, "To be sure, both
he and his son have the grey lock," she said, "but then they both have
light hair, and the barber's craft has made great strides lately; and
certainly that fat-cheeked baby looks as if it belonged in the cradle of
a peasant rather than in that of a prince." Wendelin XVI did not listen
to what she said; his heart was very heavy, and every time one of the
bells rang out above the others, or the chorus sang, "lucky Wendelin,
our king," particularly distinctly and enthusiastically, he felt as if
he were being jeered at and ridiculed. He longed to cry aloud in his
shame and pain, and to fly for comfort to his sympathetic mother and
strong brother in the other boat. When he stared into the water it
seemed as if the fish made fun of him, and if he looked at the sky
he imagined the moon made a mocking grimace at him, and looked down
scornfully at the wretched man whom they called "fortunate." He knew not
where to gaze, he withdrew within himself, and tried to shut his ears,
while he wished to Heaven that he could change places with the active
sailor opposite who was setting the purple sail with his brawny arms.
A light breeze wafted the royal gondola towards the island where the
fireworks were to be displayed. The second boat followed at a short
distance. George held his mother's hand and his wife's in his own, few
words were spoken, but their very silence betrayed the great treasure
of their love and happiness, and spoke more plainly than long discourses
how dear these three persons were to one another.
The royal gondola floated quietly past the cliff that separated the
southern from the northern part of the lake; no sooner had the second
boat approached it, however, than an unexpected and fearful gust of
wind blew suddenly from the clefts of the rocks and struck the boat,
and before the sailors had time to lower the sail threw it onto its beam
ends. George sprang forward instantly to help the sailors right her,
but a second gust tore away the flapping sail, and capsized the gondola,
which was caught and carried to the bottom by a rushing eddy. Both of
the women rose from the waves at George's side. He grasped his mother,
and struggled bravely against the wind and current until he laid her on
the beach at the foot of the cliff. Then he swam back as rapidly as he
could to the place of the accident. His mother was safe, but his wife,
his beloved, his all? To rescue her, or to drown with her was his sole
idea.
At that moment he perceived a long golden streak rising and falling with
the waves. It was a lock of her hair, her wonderful silken hair. With
mighty strokes he sped towards it, reached it, grasped it, then his
trembling hands felt her body and lifted her up. She breathed, she
lived, and it depended on him to save her from the evil spirit, from
death. With one arm he held her to him, with the other he parted the
waters; but the lake seemed to turn to a mighty torrent that bore down
upon him with its heavy waves. He struggled, he fought with panting
breast, yet in vain, always in vain. He felt that his strength was being
exhausted. If no one came to his aid, he was lost; he raised his head to
look for help.
He saw his brother's gondola sailing as peacefully and undisturbed from
storm or accident as a swan in the moonlight, and the bitter thought
passed through his mind, that Wendelin was the lucky one, and that he
had been born to misfortune.
His arm was struggling with the tide once more, and this time more
successfully. Then Speranza opened her eyes, recognized him, and,
kissing him on the forehead, murmured: "My own love, how good you are!"
From the cliff the duchess called to him: "George, my best, my only
son!" His heart warmed within him, all his bitterness disappeared, and
the waves seemed to rock him and the burden in his arms as in a cradle.
The picture of his mother floated before his vision, that of his child,
and of his beautiful work, the great indestructible cathedral, which he
had erected to the honour of God. He reflected what sweet joy each
new spring had brought him, how he had been blessed in his work, what
exquisite delight he derived from all that was beautiful in the world.
No, no, no. Of all the men on this earth, he, the child destined to
misfortune, was the happiest. Overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude,
he returned his wife's kiss. Saved! She was saved! He felt firm ground
beneath his feet; he lifted her on high; but, just as he laid her in the
strong arms that reached down from the cliff to receive her, a high wave
caught him and dragged him back into the deep, and the waters closed
over him.
The next morning a fisherman found his body. George's wife and mother
were saved. The wise men of the land said that the ill-starred child had
perished, as they had foreseen, and the people echoed their words.
In the mausoleum of the Greylocks only two places remained empty, and
these had to be kept for Wendelin the Lucky and his queen, consequently
the ill-omened son might not even rest in the grave of his fathers, and
George was buried on a green hillside, whence there was a beautiful view
of the lake and distant landscape.
King Wendelin the Lucky and his wife lived to a good old age. After the
king became childish, he ceased to groan and whimper in the night, as he
had formerly done. When he died, he was interred next to Queen Isabella,
in the coldest corner of the marble mausoleum, and no ray of sun ever
rested on his stone sarcophagus. His son, Wendelin XVII., visited his
father's grave once a year, on All Saints' Day, and laid a dry wreath of
immortelles on the lid of the coffin.
George's resting-place was surrounded by bushes and flowers. His mother
and wife and child visited it and cared for it. When the spring came,
nightingales, redbreasts, finches and thrushes without number sang their
merry notes above the head of the unfortunate one who lay there. His son
George grew to be the pride of his mother, and became a noble prince
in beautiful Italy. Centuries have passed since then, yet to-day
enthusiastic artists still make pilgrimages to the hillside where
the sun shines so brightly, to lay wreaths on the grave of the great
architect George Peregrinus of the princely house of the Greylocks.
They at least do not regard him who lies there as one born to
misfortune.
THE NUTS
A Christmas Story for my Children and Grandchildren
By Georg Ebers
The wounded colonel, whom we were nursing back to health in our house,
was not allowed to walk long, and in the after noon, after he had
pottered about a little, he was obliged to rest in the comfortable old
easy-chair, which was known as grandfather's chair.
When twilight fell, our dear guest lighted the last of the three pipes,
which the doctor permitted him to smoke every day, and made a sign to
the children, which the young people obeyed gladly, for they loved to
listen to his stories.
The convalescent was under orders not to talk for more than half an hour
at a time, for his wounds were so severe that our experienced physician
declared it to be contrary to the laws of nature and quite phenomenal
that he should be among the living at all.
As for his stories, they had never failed to hold the attention of his
audience; this was partly due to the fact that he usually had to
break them off at the point where the interest had reached its climax.
Moreover, the deep voice of the narrator was much gentler than one would
have expected, after looking at the broad-shouldered, heavy figure, and
there lay in his suppressed, and often whispered tones a secret charm,
which the children were not the only ones to feel; besides which his
eyes produced their share of the profound impression, for every emotion
that disturbed his easily-excited soul found a reflection therein.
That the colonel openly preferred our six-year-old Hermy to his brothers
and sisters was due to the circumstance that the child had once burst
into tears at a look from the officer, which the latter employed to call
the children to order, if they were inattentive, or exhibited signs of
unbelief when he had not expected it. After this Hermy was so evidently
his darling that there was no further chance for Hermy's younger sister,
who had at first promised to be the favourite, and I shall never
forget the soft, almost motherly, caressing tones that came from that
grey-bearded man with the large round head and strong face, when he
sought to comfort the child.
It was remarkable to see how easily this man, who was accustomed to
obedience, and famous for his bravery and keen energy, could become a
child among children. He had lost a beloved wife, a little son, about
Hermy's age, and a young daughter, and no doubt our numerous family
reminded him of these departed ones. As for his tales, he separated them
into distinct categories. Some of them he began with the words: "Here I
am," and then he held himself strictly to the truth. Others began: "Once
upon a time." While the former were drawn mostly from his own full and
eventful life, the latter were fairy stories, pure and simple, sometimes
already well known, sometimes made up, wherein fairies, ghosts, elves,
gnomes, goblins and dragons, will-o'-the-wisps, nixies, kelpies and
dwarfs disported themselves.
Christmas was approaching, and the next day, Christmas-eve, the tree was
to be lighted. On the twenty-third of December, a little while before
the hour for story-telling, Hermy came home, and exhibited to his
brothers the trifling presents, which he had chosen: an eraser for his
father, a lead-pencil for his mother, a bag of nuts for his grandmother,
and similar trifles which, though insignificant in themselves, had
nevertheless exhausted his little store of savings. His elder brothers,
to whom he had exhibited with great pride these purchases, expressed
none of the admiration which he had expected, but began to tease him by
calling the things "trash," as indeed they were, and poking fun at the
"wonderful presents" of their small brother; they would have been less
cruel, perhaps, had he been one of their sisters.
Karl wanted to know what their father, who never was known to make a
drawing, would do with an eraser, and Kurt added that he did not see
the use of giving their grandmother nuts, when she had more in her
own garden than all of them put together would receive on ten
Christmas-eves.
Bright tears gathered in the eyes of the little one, and he cast a
troubled look at his despised treasures, in which he had rejoiced so
heartily only a short time before.
He began to sob quietly, and saying dejectedly: "But I hadn't any more
money!" he stuffed his gifts, shorn of their glamour into his pockets.
The colonel had watched the scene in silence; now, however, he drew
his favourite to him, kissed him, and caressed his fair curls. Then he
invited him gaily to sit right close to him on the footstool, and bade
the other children to sit down, too, and told Karl and Kurt to keep
their ears wide open.
My wife and I entered at this moment--we heard later of what had
happened--and begged the colonel to allow us to listen also. The
permission was willingly granted; after the lamp was brought, for it was
later than usual, and we had settled ourselves on the sofa, the colonel
stroked his moustache for some time, and began, after he had gazed
quietly before him for a moment: "To-day my story shall be called, 'The
Nuts.' Does that please you, Hermy?"
The little one smiled at him expectantly and nodded his head. The
colonel continued:
"You believe, no doubt, children, that no one ever came back from the
dead, and that therefore no mortal knows what Heaven looks like, nor
Hell. But I--look at me well--I can tell you something about it."
Here he made a short pause while my wife handed him his pipe and a
match. The children looked at one another in doubt and suspicion, for
this was the first story of the colonel which had not begun with, "Here
I am," or, "Once upon a time," and they were consequently uncertain
whether it was a true story or one that he had made up. Wolfgang, who is
thirteen and my oldest boy, and who already calls his younger brothers,
"the young ones,"--and promises to be a true child of the times,
inclined to believe it the latter, but even he sat up straighter and
looked puzzled as the colonel continued:
"The two balls that I have in here, and the sabre cut on my
shoulder,--but you know how and where I received them--to be brief, I
sank from my horse onto the grass in the afternoon, and not until the
following morning was I found by the ambulance corps and carried to the
hospital. There they brought me to life again. In the interim--which
lasted for the half of a day and one whole night--I was certainly not
alive like one of you, or any other two-legged creature endowed with
five senses."
With these words his penetrating eyes glanced from Karl to Kurt; the
girls caught hold of one another's hands and one could plainly read
in their expressions that they considered it rash to be in such close
proximity to a person who had erstwhile been dead. It was fortunate for
them that the resuscitated colonel was so good, and that there was no
doubt about his actual existence, which was proved by his voice and the
smoke that he puffed into the air during every pause.
"Yes, children," he began anew, "a great wonder was worked on me, an old
man. This long body here lay on the bloody ground among groaning
men, dying horses, broken gun-carriages, ammunition wagons, exploded
bombshells, and discarded weapons; but my soul--I cannot have been
too hardened a sinner in this world--my soul was permitted to soar to
Heaven. One, two, three, as fast as you can say, 'That is an apple,'
or 'The fair Ina has a pretty doll in her lap,' and it had arrived. And
now--I can see it in your eyes--you would like to know how it seems
in Heaven, and God knows I cannot blame you, for it is beautiful,
marvellously beautiful, only unfortunately I am not allowed even to
attempt its description. That must ever remain a mystery to the living
because--but that is no matter, and evil would befall me if I were to
chatter."
At this point the colonel was interrupted by many expressions of
disappointment, but he was resolute, and continued in a peremptory tone:
"That will do. Description indeed is forbidden to me; but there are
certain of my experiences about which I may tell you. So listen! That
Hell lies underneath Heaven you have doubtless heard from some one or
other. Naturally the holy dead see and hear nothing of the pains of the
lost, for that would entirely spoil the joys of Paradise for them; but
now and then--I believe once a year--it is given to the blessed to look
down into Hell. There is, however, one condition in particular attached
to this privilege. When the dome which conceals Hell from the sight of
the angels is opened, it is for the relief of the condemned. God in
his mercy has decreed that the saints shall look down into the abyss in
order to tell St. Peter if they see among the damned any one from whom
they have received any benefit, or of whom they have even heard any
good. If the keeper of Heaven's gate is pleased with the generous
action which the lost soul performed while on earth, he has the power of
shortening the time of punishment, or can even pardon it altogether, and
bid it enter into Paradise.
"As for me, I arrived in Paradise on a day when Hell was open to view,
and came to know, thereby, many strange things. Ah! That was the hardest
part of my story; I trust that you have understood it?"
The narrator's glance sought the children's eyes once more; but this
time questioningly rather than peremptorily. When the young lips
all cried "yes," and "of course," he smiled, nodded his massive head
amiably, and continued:
"That the angels are full of pity, and glad to relieve the misery of the
unfortunate, whoever they are, and wherever they may be, goes without
saying, and it will not be necessary to tell you how diligently they
sought to remember some one good deed that might redound to the credit
of one of the lost. But St. Peter is a mild and just judge, and the
gleaning yielded but a small return, for only a few of the angels could
recall any act that was worth mentioning. It was also granted to me
to look into the place of torment, and the things I saw there were too
awful. Picture it to yourself as you will! When I recovered from the
horror that fell upon me, I recognized many men and women whom I had
known on earth. Among them were many whom I had been accustomed to
consider pious and virtuous, and whom I had expected to find in a high
place in Heaven, rather than there below, and yet of those very persons
the Elect could recall the fewest deeds that had been done from purely
generous motives. An act was mentioned of this one or that, which on
the surface seemed good, sometimes even great,--but there on high the
springs of human actions are open to view, as well as the real end,
which the author had in mind, and these were always such that those
who had performed the best deeds could be accredited with the least
charitable intention. Their pious works had always been executed in
order to make them conspicuous in the eyes of men, or to attain for
themselves some distinction, or to flatter their vanity, or to arouse
the envy of their neighbours, or to contribute in some indirect way to
the increase of their riches. Perhaps you may not altogether understand
what I mean; but no matter, your mother may explain as much as she
thinks good for you.
"The poor things who were disappointed, as well as the unfortunate
ones for whom no voice was raised, made me very unhappy; but I could do
nothing for them.
"Among the latter I noticed a woman whom I had known well on earth, and
who deserved to be among the lost, I thought. I had never anticipated
any other sentence for her. You do not understand, children, what a
cold heart is; but hers had been either ice or stone. Although she had
possessed more than was needed to gratify her own wants, she could never
be moved by the most touching appeals of the poorest to relieve their
distress. She had used other people to satisfy her selfish desires and
then discarded them ruthlessly. She had gone through life without loving
one single soul--of that I felt convinced--and no one had loved her, and
she had died unregretted. She must have been as wretched on earth as she
was there in Hell; for which of us can be happy here, if we do not love
and are not loved?
"'There is no chance of a voice being raised in her favour,' I said to
myself. But I was wrong; for at that moment a lovely angel-child flew
past me on its blue and white wings. Without any sign of fear it flew
direct to St. Peter, who looked formidable enough with his long
beard and great keys, and, pointing with its little forefinger to the
hard-hearted woman, cried: 'She once gave me a handful of nuts.'
"'Really,' answered the keeper of Heaven. 'That was not much, and yet
I am surprised; for that woman would not part with so much as a pin,
during her life. But you little one, who were you on earth?'
"'Little Hannele was my name,' answered the angel. 'I died of
starvation, and only once did any one give me anything in my life to
make me happy, and that was that woman yonder.'
"'Marvellous,' answered Peter, stroking his white beard. 'No doubt the
nuts were given as a miserly payment of some service you did her.'
"'No, no,' the angel answered decidedly.
"'Well, tell us how it happened then,' the apostle commanded, and the
dear little soul obeyed:
"'My sick mother and I lived in the city all alone, for father was dead.
Just before Christmas we had nothing more to eat. So mother, though she
lay in bed and her head and hands were burning, made some little sheep
of bits of wood and cotton and I carried them to the Christmas market.
There I sat on some steps and offered them for sale to the passers-by;
but nobody wanted them. Hours passed, and it was very cold; the open
wound in my knee, which no one saw, pained me so, and the frost in my
fingers and toes burned and itched dreadfully. Evening came, the lamps
were lighted, but I dared not go home; for only one person had thrown
a copper into my lap, and I needed more to buy a bit of bread and a few
coals. My own pangs hurt me, but that mother lay at home alone, with
no one to hand her anything, or support her when her breathing became
difficult, hurt me still more. I could hardly bear to sit on the cold
steps any longer, and my eyes were blind with tears. A barrel was set
down in front of the house, and while a clerk was rolling it over the
sidewalk into the shop, the stream of passers was stopped. That woman
there--I remember her well--stood still in front of me. I offered her
one of my sheep, and looked at her through my tears. She seemed so hard
and stern, that I thought: 'She won't give me anything.' But she did.
It seemed suddenly as if her face grew softer, and her eyes kinder. She
glanced at me, and before I knew it, she had put her hand in the bag
which she carried on her arm, and thrown the nuts into my lap. The cask
had been rolled into the shop by this time, and the throng of people
carried her along. She tried to stop. It was not easy, and she only did
it to toss me a second, third, and fourth handful of the most beautiful
walnuts. I can still see it all, as if it were to-day! Then she felt in
her pocket, probably to get some money for me, but the press of people
was too strong for her to stand against it longer. I doubt if she heard
that I thanked her.'
"Here the angel broke off, and threw a kiss to the condemned woman, and
St. Peter asked her how it happened that she, who had been so deaf to
all appeals from the poor, had been so sweetly generous to the child.
"The tormented woman answered amid her loud sobs: 'The tearful eyes of
the little one reminded me of my small sister, who died a painful death
before I had grown to be hard and wicked, and a strange sensation--I
know not how it happened myself--overpowered me. It seemed as if my
heart warmed within me, and something seemed to say to me that I would
never forgive myself as long as I lived, and would be even unhappier
than I was, if I did not give the child something to rejoice over at
Christmas time. I longed to draw her towards me and kiss her. After I
had tossed her half of the nuts, which I had just bought, I felt happier
than I had for many a day, and I would certainly have given her some
money, though only a little....'
"But Peter interrupted her. He had heard enough, and as he knew that
it was impossible for any one in Heaven or Hell to tell an untruth, he
nodded to her, saying: 'That was, beyond dispute, a good deed, but it is
too small to counterbalance the great weight of your bad deeds. Perhaps
it may lighten your punishment. Still great riches were meted out to you
on earth, and what were a few nuts to you! The motive that urged you to
bestow them is pleasing in the sight of the Lord, I acknowledge; but as
I said before, your charity was too paltry for you to be released from
your pains because of it.'
"He turned to go, but a clear voice of wonderful sweetness held him
back. It was that of the Saviour, who advanced with majestic dignity
towards the apostle and spoke: 'Let us first hear if the alms-giving of
which we have just learned was really too small to plead for leniency
towards this sinning soul. Let us hear'--turning to the angel--'what
became of the nuts.'
"'O dear Saviour,' answered the angel, 'I ate half of them, and I was
grateful to you, for I felt that I owed them to your bounty as they were
my 'little Christ child' as the people in the city where we lived called
a Christmas present.'
"'You see, Peter,' the Saviour interrupted the angel. 'Do we not owe it
to the nuts of that woman that a pure child's soul was led to us? That
in itself is no small thing! Tell what further happened to you?'
"'I ate most of them,' the little girl answered, but I had still more to
eat by Christmas-eve; for the people who had looked at me when the woman
threw something into my lap were interested in my suffering, and soon I
had sold all six sheep, and besides many pennies and groschen, one big
thaler had flown into my lap. With these I was able to buy mother many
things that she stood in sore need of, and, though she died on New
Year's morning, she had had many little comforts during her last days.'
"The Anointed cast another look full of meaning at Peter, when a large
and beautiful angel, the spirit of the mother of the cherub, began: 'If
you will permit me, O, holy Jesus, I, too, would like to say a word in
favor of the condemned. Before Hannele came home with the nuts, I lay in
bed without hope, or help in my great suffering. I had lost all faith,
for my prayers had not been heard, and in the bitterness of my heart,
it seemed that you, who were said to be the friend of the poor on
earth, and God the Father, had forgotten us in our misery, in order to
overwhelm the rich with greater gifts. In my distress, and that of the
child; I had learned to curse the day on which we were born. Oh! how
wild were my thoughts during the time that Hannele was trying to sell
the sheep, and did not come home; though I needed her so sorely. I was
often so thirsty that my mouth burned as with fire, and the moments when
I gasped for breath were frequent, and almost unbearable when no one was
there to lift me up. I called those people liars who would persuade the
poor that they had a merciful Father in Heaven, who looked upon them
as his children, and cared for them. But when Hannele came home, and
lighted the little lamp, and I saw her tiny face, where for a long time
I had seen no smile, but only pain and grief, now beaming with joy, when
I saw the nuts and the other good things which she had brought, and saw
her pleasure in them, my belief in thee, O Lord, and in the kind Father
returned, and I ceased not to be grateful to the end. If now, in the
glory of thy magnificence, I know bliss unutterable, I owe it to that
woman, and to the fact that she was good enough to throw the nuts into
Hannele's apron.'
"Peter nodded affirmatively. Then he bowed before the Saviour and said:
'The little gift of the condemned soul has indeed borne better fruit
than I imagined; yet when I tell you what a great sinner she was on
earth....'
"'I know,' the Son of God interrupted him. 'Before we decide upon the
fate of this woman, let us hear what the child did with the rest of the
nuts, for we know that she did not eat them all. Now my little angel,
what became of the last of them? Speak on. Gladly will I listen to you.'
"Hannele began anew: 'After they had buried mother, they sent me into
the country among the mountains, for they said it was not the duty
of the city to care for me, but that of the village parish, where my
parents were born. So I was taken there. The six nuts that I had saved
I took with me to play with. This I most enjoyed doing in the spring,
alone on the little strip of grass behind the Poor-house, in which I was
the only child. Besides me there were but three old women 'being fed to
death,' as the peasants used to say. Two of my companions were blind,
and the third was dull-witted and gazed ever straight before her. Not
one of them noticed anything that happened around them, but my heart
used to grow light when everything about me budded, and sprouted, and
burst into bloom. My body was always aching but my pains could not
lessen my enjoyment of the spring. Wherever I looked, men were sowing
and planting. It was the first time that I had ever seen it, and the
wish came over me to confide something to the good earth that would take
root, and sprout, and grow green and high for me.
"'So I stuck four of my nuts into the ground. I put them as far apart in
the small space as I could, so that if big trees came from my seeds they
might not stand in one another's way, but might all enjoy the air and
the sunshine that I was so thankful for. I saw my seeds sprout, but what
became of them afterwards I did not live to see. Two years after I sowed
them a famine fell upon us. The poor weavers who lived in the mountain
village had all they could do to nourish wife and child. There was
little left for the Poor-house. As I was already ill I could not stand
the misery, and I was the first to die of the dreadful fever caused by
hunger. Only one of the blind women, and the dull-witted one followed
the sack in which I was buried--for who would have paid for a coffin?
The last two nuts I divided with the old women. Each one of us had a
half, and how gladly we ate the little morsel, for even a taste of any
dainty seemed good to us, after we had lived on nothing but bread and
potatoes. From here I watched the other nuts grow to be trees. All four
had straight stems and thick crowns. Under one of them that stood near a
spring, which is now called the Fresh Spring, an old carpenter who came
to the Poor-house built a bench.'
"Here another angel interrupted the little narrator with the question:
'Do you mean the nut-tree in Dorbstadt?' and, receiving an answer in the
affirmative, he cried: 'I, Master, I am that old carpenter, and during
my last summers, I had no greater pleasure than to sit by the Fresh
Spring under the nut-tree, and while I smoked my pipe to think of my old
wife, whom I was soon to find again with you. In the autumn, too, many a
dry brown leaf found its way among the more expensive tobacco ones.'
"'And I,' cried a former peddler, breaking into the carpenter's story,
'I assuredly have not forgotten the nut-tree, where I always set down my
pack when my shoulders were nearly broken, and under whose shade I used
to rest my weary limbs before entering the village.'
"'I, too! How often have I stopped under the spreading branches of
that tree on a hot summer day and found refreshment!' cried a former
post-messenger of Dorbstadt. A porter who had also lived there added his
praises.
"'But the nut-trees were cut down many years ago,' the latter added.
"'I saw it,' cried the spirit of little Hannele, and one heard from
her tone how she deplored it. 'They were felled when the Poor-house
was given up. 'But the great Son of God has now heard what he wished to
know.'
"'No, no,' the Saviour answered, 'I should still like to know what
became of the wood of these trees.'
"The voices of several angels were heard at the same moment, for many of
the poor weavers of Dorbstadt were to be found in the Heavenly Kingdom.
St. Peter, however, bade them to be quiet, and permitted only the one
who had last entered the Abode of the Blessed to speak.
"'I was the village doctor,' this one began, 'and I quitted the earth
because I, too, fell a victim to the pestilence of which many of the
poor people were dying, and against which I fought with all my powers,
but with small success. I can tell you all that you wish to know, my
Master, for, during forty-five years, I devoted my humble services to
the sick poor there. When Hannele died in our Poor-house--it happened
before my time--the misery was even greater than at present. The weavers
were ground down by the large manufacturers, until an energetic man
built a factory in our village, and paid them better wages. As the
population then increased, and consequently the number of patients,
space was wanting in which to house them, for the dilapidated
Poor-house--whither they were carried--was no longer large enough to
accommodate them all. Therefore the parish, aided by the owner of the
factory, built a hospital for the whole district, and the site of the
old Poor-house was chosen for it. The beautiful nut-trees which Hannele
had planted had to be destroyed. I was sorry to be obliged to give
the order, but we needed the ground where they stood. As we had to be
economical in everything, big and little, we had planks sawn out of the
trees for our use.'
"At this point another spirit interrupted the physician. 'I have lain
in one of the beds made from the wood. At home I slept on a bundle of
straw, and very uncomfortable it was when I was shaken by the fever. In
the hospital all was different, and when I lay in my comfortable bed, I
felt as if I were already in Heaven.'
"'And I,' cried another broad-winged angel, 'for ten years I walked
with the crutches that were made for me from the nut-tree by the Fresh
Spring, and old Conrad, below on the earth, is still using them.'
"'And mine also,' another continued, 'were of the same wood. I had lain
for a long time on my back; but after I got them, I learned to walk with
them and they enabled me to stand before the loom, and to earn bread
once more for my family. That man yonder from Hochdorf has had the same
experience, and the wooden leg of William, the toll-gate keeper, who
entered here shortly before me, was made of wood from the nut-tree.'
"'I owe it a debt of gratitude, too, but for an entirely different
service,' said a beautiful angel, as it bowed its crowned head
reverently before the Son of God. 'My lot below was a very hard one. I
was early left a widow, and I supported my children entirely by the
work of my hands. By dint of great effort I brought them up well, and my
three sons grew to be brave men, who took care of themselves, and helped
their mother. But all three, my Master, were lost to me, taken away by
the unfathomable wisdom of the Father. Two fell in war, the third was
killed by the machinery while at his work. That broke my strength, and
when they brought me to the hospital I was on the verge of despair, and
life seemed a greater burden than I could bear. Your image, my Saviour,
had just been finished by a sculptor, who had carved it from the wood of
the nut-tree by the Fresh Spring. They put it up opposite to my bed. It
represented you, my Lord, on the cross, and your head bowed in agony,
with its crown of thorns, was a very sorrowful sight. Yet I paid but
small heed to it. One morning, however--it was the anniversary of the
death of my two dear sons, who had lost their lives, fighting bravely
side by side for their Fatherland--on that morning the sun fell upon
your sad face, and bleeding hands pierced by the nails, and then I
reflected how bitterly you had suffered, though innocent, that you might
redeem us, and how your mother must have felt to lose such a child. Then
a voice asked me if I had any right to complain, when the Son of God
himself had willingly endured such torments for our sake, and I felt
compelled to answer no, and determined then to bear patiently whatever
might be laid upon me, a poor, sinful woman. Thenceforth, my Lord, was
your image my consolation and, since the wood of which it was made came
from the tree planted by Hannele near the Fresh Spring, I owe beyond
doubt the better years that followed, and the joy of being with you in
Paradise, my Saviour, to the nuts which that condemned woman gave to the
child.'
"Humbly she bowed her head again. The Son of God turned to St. Peter,
saying: 'Well, Peter?'
"The latter called to the guardians of Hell: 'Let her go free, the gates
of Heaven are open to her. How rich and manifold, O Lord! is the fruit
that springs from the smallest gift offered in true love!'
"'You are right,' answered the Saviour, gently, and turned away."
The colonel had talked for a longer time than was allowed him by his
doctor, and he needed rest. When he appeared again at supper time, in
order to help us eat our Christmas carps, he found little Hermy standing
with Karl and Kurt before the fire, and he noticed how his favourite's
eyes rested with pleasure on the nuts which he had bought for his
grandmother; and how the older boys, who were only too prone to tease
their younger brother, treated him with a certain tenderness, as if they
had something to make up for.
At table we overheard Kurt say to Karl: "Little Hermy's present for
grandmother was not a bad idea," to which Karl answered quickly: "I
am going to put away some of my nuts to-morrow, and plant them in the
spring."
"To make a pair of crutches for me, or in order that you may go to
Heaven?" asked the colonel.
The boy blushed, and could find no answer; but I came to his rescue,
and replied: "No, his trees shall remind us of you, Colonel, and of your
stories. When we give, we will, in remembrance of you, give in all love
and willingness, and when we receive, even the smallest gift, we will
only ask in what spirit it was offered."
THE END
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE SHORT WORKS OF GEORG EBERS:
Absence of suffering is not happiness
Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone
At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed
Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future
Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time
Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment
Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them
Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'
Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world
Had laid aside what we call nerves
Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment
If speech be silver, silence then is gold!
Laughing before sunrise causes tears at evening
Like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another
Mirrors were not allowed in the convent
Ovid, 'We praise the ancients'
Pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains
People see what they want to see
Repeated the exclamation: "Too late!" and again, "Too late!
Seems most charming at the time we are obliged to resign it
To-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day
Who watches for his neighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes
Who gives great gifts, expects great gifts again
Wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's