"It needs but a steady head and a clear conscience and the thing is
done." Those were old Jacob's words.
"The clear conscience is not lacking, thank God! but all these weeks
of watching by a sick bed, and the scanty meals, have made the head
anything but steady. If it were but three months ago, my courage would
not fail me, but now----"
The boy broke off abruptly, and, stepping back several feet, stood
looking up at the stately spire that towered above him. Fair and
shapely it rose, with gradually receding buttress and arch, until it
terminated at a point over four hundred feet from the pavement.
All day long little groups of men had straggled across the Platz and
gathered in front of the great cathedral, elbowing one another, and
stretching upon tiptoe to read the notice nailed to the massive door.
Many were the jests passed around.
"Does the old sexton think men are flies, to creep along yonder dizzy
height?" asked one.
"The prize is indeed worth winning," said another, "but"--he turned
away with an expressive shrug of the shoulder--"life is sweet."
"When I try to reach heaven 'twill be by some less steep and dangerous
way," laughed a third, with an upward glance at the spire.
"It makes a strong man feel a bit queer to go up inside as far as the
great bell and look up at the network of crossing ladders; but to
stand _outside_ and wave a flag!--why, the mere thought of it is
enough to make one's head swim," said the first speaker.
"Jacob Wirtig is the only man in all Vienna who has the nerve for such
a part."
"But he served a good apprenticeship! He learned the knack of keeping
a steady head during his early days of chamois-hunting in the Tyrol.
But why does he seek to draw others into danger? For so much gold many
a man would risk his life."
"I can understand it, Caspar. Twice before, on some grand occasion,
has old Jacob stood on the spire and waved a flag as the emperor
passed in the streets below. And now, after all the fighting and the
victory, when there is to be a triumphal entry into the city and a
grand review, and such rejoicing as was never known before, he feels
in honor bound to supply the customary salute from the cathedral. And
since this miserable fever, which has stricken down so many in the
city, has left him too weak to attempt it, he is trying, as you see by
this notice, to get some one to take his place. He offers all the
money which the emperor never fails to send as a reward, to say
nothing of the glory. I'll wager a florin that he'll offer in vain!
But come, let us be going. There's too much work to be done, to be
loitering here."
Twice before on that day, once in the early morning, and again at
noon, had the boy stood as if spellbound, with his eyes riveted on the
beautiful spire. And now the setting of the sun had found him a third
time at his post. The Platz was deserted, but the streets beyond were
thronged with people hurrying to their homes. Was it fear, or the
chill of the night air, that sent a shiver over the slender figure of
the boy as he stood, letting his eyes slowly wander from the top of
the spire to the base of the tower beneath, as if measuring the
frightful distance? But as he turned away with a little gesture of
despair, there rose before him the vision of a wan and weary face, as
white as the pillow against which it rested, and he heard the
physician's voice as he gently replaced the wasted hand on the
coverlet: "The fever has gone, my boy, and all that your mother needs
now to make her well and strong is good care and plenty of nourishing
food." The money offered by old Jacob would do all that, and much
more. It would mean comfort for two or three years for both mother and
son, with their simple way of living.
When the lad again faced the cathedral it was with an involuntary
straightening of the shrinking figure. "With God's help I will try,"
he said aloud, with a determined ring to his voice, "and I must go at
once to let Master Wirtig know. Now that I have finally decided, it is
strange how the fear has flown. It is the hesitating that takes the
courage out of one. After all"--he paced back, back, back, until he
was far enough from the cathedral to get a good view of the noble
structure--"who knows? It may look more difficult than it really is.
'Tis but a foothold of a few inches, but 'tis enough. If it were near
the ground I should feel as safe as if I were on the floor of the
great hall in the Stadt Haus. Why, then, should I fear up yonder?"
The flush in the western sky suddenly deepened to a vivid crimson. The
clouds above the horizon, which a moment before had shone like waves
of gold, became a sea of flame. The ruddy glow illumined the old
cathedral, touching rich carving and lace-like tracery with a new
splendor, while far over sculptured dome and stately tower rose the
lofty spire, bathed from finial to base in the radiant light.
The boy made a step forward, and, slipping back the little cap from
his locks, stretched out his clasped hands toward the sky. "O Mary,
tender mother!" he cried, "plead thou for me in my time of need
to-morrow! O Jesu! be near to help and save!"
He replaced the cap, and hurried across the Platz to the crowded
thoroughfare beyond. At the end of three blocks he turned into a
narrow street, and stopped in front of a high house with steep, tiled
roof. The lamp in the swinging iron bracket above the door gave such a
feeble light that he was obliged to grope his way through the hall to
the stairs.
At the second landing he paused for a moment, fancying that he heard a
light footfall behind him, but all was still, and he hastened on to
the next floor. Again he stopped, thinking that he caught the sound of
a stealthy, cat-like tread on the steps below. "Who's there?" he
called out boldly, but the lingering echo of his own voice was the
only answer.
"How foolish I am!" he exclaimed. "It is but the clatter of my shoes
on the stone stairs." Up another flight and down the long, narrow
entry he went, and still he could not shake off the feeling that he
was being followed.
At that moment a door opened and a woman peered out, holding a candle
high above her head. "Is that you, Franz?" she said. "My brother has
been expecting you this half hour." By the flickering light of the
candle Franz could see that there was no one in the entry. He turned,
impelled by a strong desire to search the tall cupboard near the
stairs and see if any one had concealed himself within, but the dread
of being laughed at kept him back, and he followed the woman into a
room where a gray-haired man sat, leaning wearily against the back of
his chair.
"You may go now, Katrina," said the man, motioning to an adjoining
room; and when the door closed he turned to Franz, trembling with
eagerness. "Well, have you decided?"
"I will try, Master Wirtig."
The old sexton wrung his thin hands nervously. "But if you should
fail?"
"In God is my trust," answered the boy, calmly. "But one 'if' is as
good as another. Why not say, if you succeed? It sounds more cheery."
"God grant it!" answered the man, sinking back in his chair. "I had
thought that it would be some hardy young sprig who should accept my
offer--some sailor or stone-mason, whose calling had taught him to
carry a steady head. I never dreamed that it would be a mere lad like
thyself, and worn out, too, with the care of thy sick mother! Even now
I feel I do thee a grievous wrong to listen to thy entreaties."
"Think not of _me_, Master Wirtig; think rather of my mother. Shall we
let her die, when a few moments on yonder spire would furnish the
means to make her well? The kind physician who would have helped me
was smitten with the fever yesterday, and there is no one to whom I
can go."
"Had I been as prudent as I ought, I could have aided thee. But this
lingering illness has used up what I had put aside. Here is a little
for thy present need--some broth for thy mother, and a bite for
thyself, for thy cheeks look as pinched as if thou hadst not eaten a
good meal for a fortnight." He pulled out a covered basket from under
the table, and continued: "I shall arrange with Nicholas--for he has
worked with me so long that he is as familiar with the ladders as
myself--to go with thee up to the little sliding window, and pass out
the flag. Thou must let thyself down _outside_ the window until thy
toes touch the ledge below. Then thou must creep cautiously around to
the opposite side of the spire, and wave the flag. Look always
straight before thee or up at the sky. _Thy safety lies in not
glancing below._ I believe in my heart thou wilt succeed. How I wish
that this graceless Nicholas, this unruly nephew of mine, were such an
one as thou! Then should I have some comfort. But with his evil
companions and bad ways, he brings me naught but sorrow. Listen,
Franz; if all goes well, thou shalt have his place in helping me with
the care of the cathedral. There is no longer any dependence to be
placed on him."
In his excitement old Jacob's voice rang through the room. "What is
it?" he asked, as he saw Franz start and look toward the door.
"I thought I heard a rattling of the latch--as if some one were
outside."
"It's nothing but the wind drawing through the entry."
Franz took up his basket and bade the old sexton good-night. After he
had passed into the street a figure crept out from the cupboard, and
stole softly down stairs. The light by the door showed a boy about
seventeen years old, with an evil scowl on his face. "And so thou art
to take my place, Franz Halle," he sneered. "That is nothing new.
Twice this year has our master, the goldsmith, preferred thy work to
mine, and has set thee over me. Truly, I wish thou mayst fall
to-morrow and break thy neck."
When Franz reached home the kind neighbor who was watching by his
mother's bed motioned for him to be quiet. "The sick one is sleeping
well," she said. "If I had but some good broth to give her when she
wakes." Franz pointed to the basket, and the delighted woman began the
preparations for the evening meal. When the invalid awoke they gave
her a few spoonfuls of the broth, and had the satisfaction of seeing a
faint color come into the white cheeks as she sank into a peaceful
slumber.
"Do thou go to bed, Franz! I will stay with thy mother to-night, and
to-morrow too, for that matter, so that thou canst have the whole day
to thyself. Thou needest it after all thy care and watching. I like
not these parades and these marches of triumph. They remind me too
much of my boy, whose young life helped to purchase the victory," and
the good frau wiped away a tear.
The morning dawned with a bright blue sky and a crisp breeze, which
shook out the folds of the triumphal banners floating from every tower
and turret. The city was one blaze of color. The gorgeous festoons on
column and arch and facade were matched by the rich tints of the
splendid costumes in the streets below. On every side the black eagles
of Austria stood out distinctly from their gleaming orange background.
The procession was due at the cathedral by the middle of the
afternoon, but owing to some delay it was nearly sunset when the
salute from the "Fort" told of the approach of the troops. To Franz,
the hours had dragged wearily on, and he sprang up joyfully when
Nicholas finally appeared in the little room in the tower, with the
furled flag under his arm. "Come," he said gruffly, "you have just
time to climb up and take your stand on the spire." Up the boys went,
as far as the great bell, Franz close behind Nicholas. Thus far the
ascent had been easy, but from this point the steps dwindled to long,
frail ladders terminating in small platforms, and steadied by iron
bars.
Still they toiled upward, more slowly and cautiously now, for the
danger increased with every turn. At last they halted, side by side,
on the little platform under the sliding window. To Nicholas's
surprise Franz stood there, surveying it all without flinching. The
younger boy turned to his burly companion: "Somehow, we've never been
very good friends. I don't think the fault was all on my side, because
you wouldn't let me be your friend. And we have had a good many
quarrels. Won't you shake hands with me now and wish me good luck?
If--if"--and there was just the suspicion of a tremor in the winning
voice--"I should never see you again, I should like to feel that we
were friends at the last. You're very good to come up here with me."
To his dying day Nicholas never forgot the slight, almost girlish,
figure, standing there, with the wistful little smile, and the
pleading tenderness shining in the blue eyes. He touched the slender
outstretched hand with his own, but dropped it suddenly, as if he had
received an electric shock. He tried to say "Good luck," but his
tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.
"Look you, Franz," he murmured hoarsely, "when you are safe outside
I'll hand out the flag. I'll wait till you reach the opposite side of
the spire and call out, 'All's well,' and then I'll go down and leave
you to make your way back. And glad I shall be to leave this miserable
trap in mid air."
Franz's face was deathly pale, but his eyes shone like two stars. He
climbed up nimbly through the opening, let himself carefully down to
the stone ledge outside, and reached up for the flag. A few moments
passed, which seemed like ages to the waiting Nicholas. Then a cheery
"All's well" rang out, without a quiver in the steady voice. The older
boy's face grew black with rage. "What nerve the pale, sickly little
thing has!" he muttered between his set teeth. "I believe he'll do it
after all! And so this baby gets not only the prizes at the
goldsmith's, but the money and the glory of this thing, to say nothing
of his taking my place in the cathedral."
He raised his hand to the window, and stood in front of it for a
moment. Then he began the descent as if some demon were after him. The
frail ladders vibrated and swayed with the dangerous strain, but down
he went, with reckless haste, until he reached the second platform,
when he raised his hands with an agonized gesture to his ears as if he
was trying to shut out the voice of conscience, that kept calling to
him, "Back! back! before it is too late! Stain not thy young soul with
such a crime!"
Still he hurried down with flying step to the landing near the great
bell, where he paused, and stood leaning breathless against one of the
cross-beams of the tower. Into the fierce, turbulent passions of the
troubled face stole a softened expression, lighting up the swarthy
lineaments like a gleam of sunshine. "I will go back and undo the
horrid deed," he cried, as if in answer to the good angel pleading
within his breast. "I am coming, Franz! God forgive me!"
He had turned to make the ascent, and his hand was stretched out to
grasp the side of the ladder, when his toe caught in a coil of rope on
the platform, and, missing his hold, he plunged down, down, into the
space beneath.
In the meantime Franz had made his way safely around the spire, and
stood quietly, with the end of the flagstaff on the ledge beneath,
waiting for the signal. It came in a few moments; the thunder of the
great gun on the Platz, and, bracing his feet firmly, he unfurled the
flag and slowly waved it back and forth. From the answering roar of
artillery, and the cheer upon cheer that floated up through the air,
he knew that his salute had been seen.
With a light heart he began to retrace his steps, edging himself
cautiously, inch by inch, to the window. To his surprise, the sliding
wooden panel was closed! With one hand he grasped the iron ring
fastened to the wall beneath the window, and with the other pushed,
first gently, and then with all his might, but the panel remained
fast. He tried to batter it with the flagstaff, but soon found that,
in his cramped position, it only increased his danger. Again and again
he endeavored to force it open, breaking his nails and bruising his
finger-tips in his frenzy, but to no purpose. Suddenly the conviction
dawned upon him that the window was bolted from the inside. With a
despairing sob he tottered backward, but his grasp on the ring held,
and with a supreme effort he pulled himself up close to the wall, and
tried to collect his scattered wits.
"It is no use to shout," he said aloud. "It is more than folly to
attempt to make myself heard from this height, I might as well save my
strength. All that remains for me to do is to wait patiently. Some one
will be sure to miss me and come to my relief. In God is my trust!"
and his courage rose with the words.
The troops disbanded, and the people hurried off to the brilliantly
lighted cafes and theatres, all unconscious of the pale, silent boy
clinging with desperate grip to the spire, with but a narrow shelf of
stone between him and a horrible death.
The sunset faded into the twilight, and with a sudden wave darkness
drifted over the earth. The noise in the streets grew fainter and
fainter. The minutes lengthened into hours, and still the boy stood
there, as the night wore on, occasionally shifting his position to
ease his cramped and aching limbs. The night wind pierced his thin
clothing, and his hands were benumbed with the cold. One by one the
bright constellations rose and glittered and dipped in the sky, and
the boy still managed to keep his foothold, as rigid as the stone
statues on the dome below.
"Two, three, four," pealed the bells in their hoarse, deep tones, and
when the first glimmer of dawn tinged the eastern horizon with pale
yellow, the haggard face lighted with expectancy, and from the ashen
lips, which had been moving all night in prayer, came the words, "In
God is my trust."
* * * * *
"What is the meaning of yonder crowd?" asked one of two artisans, who
had met while hurrying across the Platz to their work.
"What! have you not heard? All Vienna is ringing with the news! It was
young Franz, the goldsmith's apprentice, who climbed out on the spire
yesterday and waved the flag. In some way, the little window near the
top was fastened on the inside, and the poor boy was forced to stay
out all night clinging to the spire. It is only a short time ago that
he was discovered and brought fainting down the ladders. After working
over him a little while he seemed all right, and was carried to his
home. And there's another strange thing. Nicholas, old Jacob Wirtig's
nephew, was picked up, mangled and bleeding, at the foot of the tower
stairs this morning. He has just been taken to the hospital."
The next day Franz received a summons from the emperor. As he followed
the officer who had been sent to conduct him to the palace, to his
surprise the marble steps and the corridor beyond were lined on either
sides with the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, and as the slender,
boyish figure, with its crown of golden hair, passed between the
files, each mailed and bearded warrior reverently saluted.
On he went, through another chamber, and into a spacious hall with
marble floors and hangings of rich tapestry. On both sides were rows
of courtiers and officers, the rich costumes and nodding plumes and
splendid uniforms, with their jewelled orders, contrasting strangely
with the lad's plain, homespun garments. "It is the emperor,"
whispered the guide as they drew near a canopied throne, and Franz
dropped on one knee.
He felt the hand which was placed on his bowed head tremble, and a
kind voice said, "Rise, my boy! kneel not to me! It is I, thy emperor,
who should rather kneel to do thee homage for thy filial piety. My
brave lad, I know thy story well! Ask of me a place near my person,
aid for thy sick mother, what thou wilt, and it is granted thee! And
remember that as long as the Emperor of Austria shall live he will
feel himself honored in being known as thy friend!"
In a short time another summons came, this time from the hospital. At
the end of a long row of beds lay Nicholas, with his arm bandaged and
strips of plaster covering the gashes on his forehead.
"Oh, Franz!" he groaned, "if God has forgiven me, why cannot you? And
you will believe that I speak the truth when I tell you that I was
sorry for what I had done, and I had turned to go back and unbolt the
door when I tripped and fell."
Franz bent over him with a bright smile. "I forgive you everything,
Nicholas," he said, sweetly, "so please let us say no more about it.
It wasn't a bad exchange. I lost an enemy but I gained a friend," and
the hands of the two boys met in a firm, loving grasp.