STORY-TELLING
The next day was so beautiful, and Honor’s ankle was so much better,
that Gretli declared she must not stay in the house. The reclining
chair was brought out on the green plot, and there Honor was
established, an improvised awning (two sticks and a counterpane) over
her head, a table beside her, a piece of knitting to occupy her hands.
Here she was spending the happiest of mornings, Zitli on one side, with
his table and tools, on the other William Tell, who had been introduced
to her only that morning, but who was already her faithful friend
and--I was going to say “slave,” but there was nothing servile about
Tell. He happened to have four legs and a tail, and he had not learned
articulate speech; otherwise, he was a gentleman and a scholar--in
various lines neglected in most schools.
Gretli came out from the châlet, with her inevitable tray; it was time
for _goûter_, she announced; a glass of buttermilk, a fresh roll, a bit
of cheese. Like that, mademoiselle would not grow thin, was it not so?
“Indeed, Gretli, I shall grow fat!” cried Honor. “So fat that I can’t
move, and shall have to stay here always. Wouldn’t that be lovely? How
I wish I could!”
Gretli, arms akimbo, watching with satisfaction every mouthful Honor
took, glowed responsive. For example! that would be a pleasure indeed
for them; the honored Ladies, it was to be feared, would regard the
matter differently. Ah! pardon! mademoiselle must not do that! unless
the cheese was not to her taste?
Honor looked up wondering. “It is delicious!” she said. “I was only
taking out these green spots, Gretli.”
“But--a thousand pardons, Mademoiselle Honor! The green spots, that is
the best part of the cheese. He is an old one, you understand; ripe,
but of a ripeness! I chose him with peculiar care, that mademoiselle
might note the rich flavor that comes with age. With cheese as with
man, my sainted mother used to say, the time of ripeness should be the
best of life. Taste, then! but taste the green spot, mademoiselle!
_n’est-ce pas?_ Am I not right?”
Honor tasted the green cheese; gingerly at first, then with confidence,
finally with eagerness.
“And I have always cut it out!” she lamented. “Why did no one ever tell
me before? It is the best part, of course!”
“Mademoiselle resembles the good Emperor!” said Zitli, looking up with
a smile.
“For example! of a surety!” exclaimed Gretli. “Tell her that, Zitli. I
have to prepare the _soupe_.” She vanished into the house.
“What _do_ you mean, Zitli?” asked Honor. “Why am I like an emperor,
and how? And what emperor?”
“The Emperor Charlemagne; who else? That great and good prince was
fond of cheese, as was natural in a person of taste. There is an
old story that traveling once through our beloved country, he came
to the dwelling of a certain bishop and there took shelter for the
night. The day was Friday; the good bishop was poor, the sea far off.
Briefly, he had no fish. He served for the emperor’s supper some
poor fry of vegetables, and a piece of old cheese, with bread of the
country, and good whey. The emperor, being in royal appetite, hurled
himself, as one might say, upon the cheese, but seeing green spots in
it, began even as mademoiselle just now, to pick them out with his
knife. Thereupon the bishop, like our Gretli, made respectful protest,
telling his sovereign that he was discarding the best part; like
mademoiselle again, Charlemagne tasted and found this to be the case.
Thereupon he commanded the bishop to send him yearly, at his palace of
Aix-la-Chapelle, two cases of cheese of that same kind. ‘And be sure
that all have green spots!’ said the emperor.
“‘But, Majesty,’ the bishop protested, ‘how can I do that? It is only
when a cheese is cut open that one can tell whether it has green spots
or not!’
“‘Nothing is easier,’ replied the emperor, who saw an obstacle only to
overcome it. ‘Cut every cheese in two! When one has green spots, lay
the two halves together, pack them up, and send them to me!’
“The amiable sovereign! a good cheese was to him the finest of all
feasts.”
“Oh, splendid!” cried Honor. “Do you know any more stories about
Charlemagne? He is one of my favorite heroes.”
The boy’s face kindled, his eyes flashed.
“Of mine also!” he cried. “So great a king, mademoiselle! so brave, so
wise!”
“So kind and generous!”
“And so--_tenez_! ready always to laugh. He could conquer with a sword
or a smile, as he would, is it not so? Mademoiselle knows the story of
the mouse? No? Ah! that is a good one. There was a certain bishop, very
different from that good poor prelate of the cheese. This one was vain
and greedy, loving fine things, and caring more to feed his own stomach
than the souls of his people. The good emperor marked this, and laid
his plans accordingly. He called to him a certain Jewish merchant, who
traded in rare and costly objects. ‘Take,’ he said, ‘a mouse alive in a
trap; paint it all over with lively colors; then go to that bishop and
offer it for sale, saying you have brought it from far Judea.’
“The Jew obeyed the royal command. The bishop at sight of the painted
mouse was filled with joy, and offered three silver pounds for it; but
the Jew replied he would rather throw it into the sea than sell it for
such a price. The bishop then offered ten pounds, but no! then twenty;
all in vain. The merchant made no further answer, but wrapping his
mouse tenderly in a precious silk, turned his back to depart.
“‘Come back!’ cried the bishop. ‘I must have this rare creature! Leave
him with me and you shall have a full bushel of silver!’
“To that the merchant agreed, and leaving the bishop enchanted with his
mouse, took the money to the emperor, who rewarded him suitably for
his service. Then Charlemagne sent for all the bishops and priests of
the province, among them the vain and greedy one, and laid the matter
open before them. ‘My bishops and pastors,’ said the emperor, ‘you are
supposed to minister to the poor, not to expend the revenues of your
office upon vain and foolish things; yet there is one among you who
has paid to a Jew more silver than would feed many worthy families,
and that for no precious object, but for a common mouse painted divers
colors.’
“Upon that, the guilty bishop fell at his feet, confessing his sin and
praying for pardon, which the gentle emperor gave him, suffering him to
depart without further punishment.”
Honor laughed heartily. “I think perhaps he had enough!” she said. “He
must have been laughed at all the rest of his life. Do you suppose they
called him the mouse-bishop? Oh no! that was Bishop Hatto, the dreadful
one, you know, in the Mouse Tower on the Rhine. That story always
frightens me, doesn’t it you, Zitli?”
But Zitli, who knew so many stories and legends, had never heard that
one. So then Honor must tell the fearful tale of Hatto, archbishop of
Mentz; how when the grain harvest was blighted and the starving people
cried to him for food, knowing his granaries to be well-filled, he
summoned them to his great barn to receive a dole, and then shut them
up and burned them to death.
“And then--” Honor’s eyes deepened till they were almost the black
she sighed for, “the wicked bishop laughed, and said it was a good
bonfire; he went laughing to bed, and slept as if nothing had happened.
But--Zitli, next morning, when he came to where his own portrait hung,
he turned pale, for _the rats had eaten it out of its frame_!”
“My faith!” cried Zitli. “For example! that was well done of them. And
what happened then, mademoiselle?”
“Oh, his people came running, one by one, and told him dreadful things:
first, that the rats had broken into his granaries and eaten all the
corn; then that a great army of rats was coming, coming, nearer and
nearer. When Bishop Hatto heard that, he fled away, to a strong tower
he had, on a little island in the Rhine. It is there still, Zitli,
think of it! Madame Madeleine has seen it. Of course it is ruined,
but--well, the tower was very strong and he shut himself up in it, and
barred all the doors and windows, and there he stayed, trembling and
saying his prayers.”
“_Saperli poppette!_ fine prayers those must have been!” said Zitli.
“As if the good God had no knowledge, _hein_? Proceed, Mademoiselle, I
beg of you!”
“They swam across the Rhine; they climbed up to the tower; he heard
their sharp teeth gnawing, gnawing at the woodwork; they seemed even
to gnaw at the stones; and nothing could stop them! They gnawed their
way through, and they swarmed up the stairs, and there was the wicked
bishop, and they ate him _all up_! Did you ever hear of anything so
dreadful?”
“For example!” said Zitli in a tone of great satisfaction. “Bravo,
Brother Rats! That was well done indeed. Good appetite to you!”
“But, Zitli!” Honor was shuddering even while she told the ancient tale
that has existed in many forms, in many lands, for hundreds of years.
“It is _terrible_! How can you laugh?”
“_Saperli!_ I can laugh well. He was rightly served, that one. To burn
up people like straw, did he deserve better? No, my faith! I am all for
Brother Rats, mademoiselle. And in these ancient things,” added the boy
with sudden gravity, “we see the finger of God, is it not so? If we
would trust more in Him, it would be better for us, as my sister says.
He for the great things, we for the little ones. As my grandfather in
Botzen--Ste. Gêneviève have him in her holy keeping--inscribed over the
door of his shop:
“‘I trust in God, and let Him reign;
I make new files, and mend the old again.’”
“Is Ste. Gêneviève your patron, Zitli?”
“Assuredly, mademoiselle! that holy saint was a shepherdess, you
understand. It is true that we have chiefly cattle and goats, and only
a few sheep, which besides are stupid creatures. A goat is at least
amusing, if he has no conscience, as my brother says. But since there
is no sainted goatherd in our knowledge, we commend ourselves to the
protection of the holy Gêneviève.”
“I thought she became a nun before she was seven!” said Honor,
thoughtfully. “Could she have been a shepherdess before that, do you
think, Zitli?”
“With the blessed saints,” replied Zitli gravely, “many things are
possible which would be difficult for ordinary persons. Is it not so,
mademoiselle?”
* * * * *
Atli came home to dinner that day; they must make a _festa_, Gretli
declared, for he seldom appeared at the noon meal. Accordingly, the
table was brought out on the green; Zitli, who was extraordinarily
active on his crutches, brought green boughs from somewhere to adorn
the table; from her precious, carefully tended little flower bed,
Gretli produced a bright blossom to lay by each plate.
Atli, when he came up the mountain path, had held his hands carefully
behind him, and had vanished into the cellar without coming to greet
Honor; now he appeared smiling broadly, carrying a basket of Alpine
strawberries, crimson and fragrant.
“My contribution to the _festa_!” he announced. “They are the first of
the season, mademoiselle! May you enjoy our mountain fruits, the gift
of the Father of all fruits!”
“Oh, how beautiful they are!” cried Honor. “And--oh, how sweet! they
perfume the whole air. I wish _I_ had something to bring to the
_festa_!”
“Mademoiselle brings herself!” said Atli, with a quaint bend of his
broad shoulders. “That in itself makes a _festa_ for the _Châlet des
Rochers_!”
How gracefully he said it! How wonderful, Honor thought, that these
simple shepherd people should speak and move with such grace and
dignity. No prince, surely, could surpass Atli!
Here was another picture for memory to treasure. The simple feast
spread in the open, on the little space of gold-green turf: the Twins
in their massive beauty, beaming friendliness; the lame boy, his plain,
keen face no less radiant; the goats nibbling and frisking, the great
dog watching all with calm benignity.
It was a pity Honor’s picture could not include herself, softly glowing
with happiness, the faint wild-rose color in her cheeks, the lovely
light in her dark blue eyes, the glory of red gold rippling on her
shoulders; she might possibly have ceased for the moment to sigh for
night-black tresses (lying in piles on the velvet carpet!) and eyes
that were starry pools of night. Dear little Honor!
And from the friendly, smiling spot of brightness one had but to look
up, and all around stood the mountains in their majesty; height upon
height, peak upon peak, soaring into the intense blue of the sky.
“Oh!” sighed Honor, drawing a long breath of delight. “How wonderful it
is! How can anyone ever live anywhere else?”
Zitli’s eyes twinkled. “Nevertheless, mademoiselle,” he said, “other
places are perhaps necessary. Our country is without doubt the fairest
country in the world, but to place here all the various nations, it
would be perhaps a little crowded.”
“Other countries are doubtless necessary, since they exist!” Atli
spoke with grave conviction. “But Mademoiselle Honor is also right; no
one--no Swiss, at least,--would ever wish to live elsewhere. Without
mountains, it is to make life flat, not so? Like a pancake!”
“Speak no ill of pancakes!” cried Gretli merrily. “We are going to have
them for supper to-night.”
Atli’s face fell, like that of a disappointed child.
“To-night?” he repeated. “When I shall be away? Gretli, that is ill
done!”
“Take courage, dear one!” Gretli replied. “Shalt have them the next
night, thou! And who knows,” she added slyly, “what Madelon may have
for thee to-night?”
Atli smiled, a little sheepishly; then lifted his glass of whey.
“Let us drink a toast!” he cried; “to our mountains! the home and the
heart of the Switzer; the good God’s guard and rampart around the
fairest country of the world!”
All drank the toast: as they did so, Honor looked across the plateau
at the _Dent du Midi_, towering in noonday splendor so bright that it
dazzled her eyes, and she shaded them with her hand. As she looked,
a gleam of still brighter whiteness sprang from the mountain side,
flashed downward, and was lost among the dark pines at its foot; a
moment after, a sound came to their ears as of distant thunder, or the
sea breaking on a rocky shore.
“Ah!” cried Zitli, whose eyes had followed Honor’s. “Our father
Mountain replies, he pledges us! To thee again, thou great Beloved!” He
waved his glass and tilted it to get the last drop.
“An avalanche!” said Gretli, in reply to Honor’s eager question. “Often
they seem to answer us, our beloved mountains. It may be chance, as
brother Atli thinks; Zitli, on the other hand--”
“Zitli knows what he knows!” The boy nodded soberly. “It would be
strange indeed if so great a lord as our father yonder had not the
courtesy to respond to a toast. He has not to learn manners, that one;
on the contrary, he teaches them.”
After dinner, and when he had carried in table and dishes (as if they
were toys!) Atli disappeared for a while. When he came out again, he
was resplendent in a huge green coat with tails and brass buttons,
a brand new hat, and shoes polished like mirrors. In his snowy
shirt-front was stuck a curious nosegay of brightly dyed _edelweiss_,
tied with a scarlet ribbon. His hair was shining with pomatum, and
brushed as nearly smooth as its nature allowed. Honor felt a pang of
disappointment; he was not nearly so handsome, dressed up in what was
evidently his best, as in the loose shirt and breeches of every day.
But Gretli gazed at him with fond delight.
“Magnificent! Superb!” she cried. “What heart could resist thee, my
Atli? Surely none that thou wilt meet to-day! A happy time, a safe
return, and God be with thee!”
“God be with thee!” cried Zitli, waving his crutch, and Honor, blushing
crimson, murmured the wish under her breath as she watched the shepherd
striding off down the path.
“Where is he going, Gretli?” she asked timidly.
“Where but to see his maiden?” cried Gretli, laughing. “Does one dress
like that for any other thing? Our Atli goes a-wooing, Mademoiselle
Honor! Seest thou that brown roof yonder, where the sun shines on
something red? That is Madelon’s red scarf; she hangs it from her
window every Thursday afternoon if all is well with her and the mother
can spare her from the cheese-making. Then--zip! like a chamois goes
our Atli leaping--as you see!”
Lying in her little white bed, that night, the moon a gleaming crescent
over the _Dent du Midi_, the whole world turned to black and silver,
Honor began another chapter of her story.
“Years passed. Silver threads shone in the raven mantle of my tresses.
The stars in my eyes were drowned in tears; time and sorrow had
chiseled lines in the smooth ivory of my brow. My heart alone was ever
young, ever young, ever faithful; with every throb it pledged its troth
anew to the one who--”
Here, I regret to say, Honor fell asleep.