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VINZI
A STORY OF THE SWISS ALPS
The Stories All Children Love Series
“This edition should be in every child’s room.”--_Wisconsin Library
Bulletin._
ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. BY LEWIS CARROLL.
GRITLI’S CHILDREN. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
EVELI, THE LITTLE SINGER. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
“CARROTS.” BY MRS. MOLESWORTH.
LITTLE ROBINSON CRUSOE OF PARIS. BY EUGÉNIE FOA.
CHILDREN OF THE ALPS. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
RIP VAN WINKLE AND THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. BY WASHINGTON IRVING.
DORA. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
VINZI. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
HEIDI. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
MÄZLI. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
CORNELLI. BY JOHANNA SPYRI.
A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES. BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE AND OTHER STORIES. BY MISS MULOCK.
GULLIVER’S TRAVELS. BY JONATHAN SWIFT.
THE WATER BABIES. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.
PINOCCHIO. BY C. COLLODI.
ROBINSON CRUSOE. BY DANIEL DEFOE.
THE CUCKOO CLOCK. MRS. MOLESWORTH.
THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN. BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
THE PRINCESS AND CURDIE. BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND. BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
A DOG OF FLANDERS. BY “OUIDA.”
BIMBI. BY “OUIDA.”
MOPSA, THE FAIRY. BY JEAN INGELOW.
TALES OF FAIRYLAND. BY FERGUSON HUME.
HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.
THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.
[Illustration: WHEN VINZI SAT ON HIS THRESHOLD HE HAD A GREAT MANY
THINGS TO THINK OVER
_Page 164_]
VINZI
A STORY OF THE SWISS ALPS
BY
JOHANNA SPYRI
AUTHOR OF “HEIDI,” “MÄZLI,” ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
ELISABETH P. STORK
_ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY_
MARIA L. KIRK
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1923, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
FOREWORD
The story of _Vinzi_ is one of the freshest and most attractive to
be found in modern literature, yielding not at all to the author’s
better-known _Heidi_. It is sure to delight all children and as many of
their elders as have retained their youthful sympathies. The revival
of other stories by Madame Spyri has shown that her simple charm
never fails to win an increasing audience, but in _Vinzi_ her gift is
positively at its best. In none of her books is the interest centered
and sustained more perfectly.
There are few things more enjoyable or profitable for children than
to learn how children live in other countries. It stimulates their
imaginations and enlarges their emotional powers in the healthiest
manner possible. For this purpose the Swiss background of Madame
Spyri’s books is particularly good, with its flood of sunlight over
Alpine peaks and flowery meadows. And as the background, so the people;
there is an unforced kindliness and heartiness in the characters that
makes them lovable in a special way of their own. Their foibles and
limitations merely increase the genuineness of their appeal.
Two themes are stressed in _Vinzi_, trust and the power of music. Both
of these are timely today. We hardly need Monsieur Coué to tell us that
a brave confidence in the future is one of the most valuable qualities
of character, especially for a child. Philosophers, both theoretical
and practical, dilate on the importance of freeing ourselves from fear
and discouragement as early in life as possible. This is just what the
story of _Vinzi_ tends to do by presenting the small hero as a natural
example of the well-known principle. No less practical is the influence
of good music upon children, the value of which is just beginning to be
properly recognized in school and home.
But no moralizing ever interferes with the course of the narrative,
which flows along with a delicate intuition as to suspense and climax.
The boy Vinzi’s love of music and his father’s determination to make
a farmer of him provide the central motive. It is noteworthy that the
father, who with a less skilful author would be the villain of the
tale, is never made to lose our respect. But the best feature of the
book is the joyous life of the children, which occupies by far the
most space. Madame Spyri’s panacea for the ills of life is an old
one, but it is doubtful whether anything better can be found than her
combination, which is: Faith in God, active helpfulness toward all
around, love of beauty, fresh mountain air, and good food. Surely so
much happiness has seldom been packed within the covers of a children’s
book as may be found in _Vinzi_.
CHARLES WHARTON STORK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN LEUK 13
II. ON THE PASTURE 31
III. UNLOOKED-FOR EVENTS 53
IV. A DEPARTURE AND AN ARRIVAL 75
V. BANISHMENT 98
VI. HIGHER UP THE MOUNTAIN 134
VII. STILL MORE MUSIC 166
VIII. UNEXPECTED HAPPENINGS 199
IX. SURPRISES, BUT NOT ONLY FOR RUSSLI 225
X. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW LIFE 240
XI. THE OLD SONG ONCE MORE 272
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
When Vinzi Sat on His Threshold He Had a Great Many
Things to Think Over _Frontispiece_
The Shiny Black Cow Was Going in Big Leaps Toward the
Rushing Stream 34
Vinzi Stared at Her Fingers as if Her Playing Were a Miracle 48
“What Will It Be When It’s Finished?” Asked Russli 121
Vinzi, Taking Up His Pipe, Had Begun to Play a Melody 157
“What Is It, Vinzi?” She Asked, Terribly Frightened on
Hearing His Sobs and Groans 209
Stefeli Always Spread Out Their Lunch Under the Ash Tree 255
Rich, Powerful Tones Floated Through the Quiet Church 285
CHAPTER I
IN LEUK
The June sun was streaming down upon the green slope above the village
of Leuk, and the fresh green grass which covered the heights as far as
the eye could see filled the air with fragrance. At an isolated house
along the path which led to the baths of Leuk, two women were lost in
lively talk; indeed it seemed as if they could never come to the end of
everything they had to say to each other.
“Yes, Marianna,” said the more talkative of the two, “if you could
furnish a couple of rooms the way I did, you would soon realize a good
profit. You could soon get boarders among the people who have relatives
at the baths. You know some of them do not want to go there, or are not
allowed to, just like the three who are staying with me. You really are
a little too far down, for people like to go a little higher up in the
summer. If only you were living where those people over there do. They
certainly have the best spot on the slope and own all the very best
meadows. But I do not think much of them,” the woman concluded with an
unfriendly glance toward the house which stood a little higher up and
away from the road. “They are nearly eaten up with pride, especially
she, and you ought to see her.”
“In what way do they show it?” Marianna asked.
“In what way? You might just as well ask in what way they don’t show
it,” Magdalene replied quickly. “They show it in everything. In
everything they do and in the way they dress as if it were always
Sunday with them. She has brought up the children to be just as
particular as she is. The boy’s black hair is always curled as if he
were going to the church fair and the little one always carries her
nose high in the air as if she meant to say, ‘Watch out, here I come!’”
“How can the little one help it if her nose has grown that way?” was
Marianna’s opinion. “And the boy can’t help his curly hair either.
Doesn’t the woman speak to you when you meet her?”
“Oh yes, she does, and I would not exactly advise her to let her pride
go as far as that,” said Magdalene in a threatening manner, “but you
are mistaken if you imagine that she ever stops a minute to say a few
words to a neighbor. If one starts to talk with her, she just gives a
short answer and hurries away as if she did not think one her equal.
She can wait awhile before I ever say anything to her again.”
Marianna looked at the house in question and exclaimed full of
astonishment, “How is that? As long as I can remember, the house over
there looked old and gray, not a window was ever opened, and all the
panes were dirty and dull from age. It looked like a robber’s den. Now
it is snow-white and the windows shine in the sun. It can’t be the same
house!”
“It certainly is! Now you can see how proud they are,” replied
Magdalene eagerly. “Old farmer Lesa lived there with his old
housekeeper more than fifty years; all that time he did not hammer in
a single nail, for he was satisfied with the way it had been in his
father’s and his grandfather’s time. Just as soon as his eyes were
closed, his heir came across the Gemmi[A] and things were torn down,
cleaned and renewed until one might think a count was moving in. Of
course the woman was the cause of it all, for nothing that the parents
had admired was good enough for her.”
“But I should think that it was not unnecessary to clean and straighten
up a bit if the last owner had not fixed up a nail in the house for
fifty years and had let things go as his father and grandfather had
left them,” replied Marianna. “The old house certainly was ugly, and
how changed it is! Why did you say that his heir came from across the
Gemmi? Are the Lesas not from our parts?”
“Yes, they are, and there are several of that name hereabouts,” replied
Magdalene, “but one of them is supposed to have married across the
Gemmi and to have stayed there with his wife near Berne or Freiburg.
But I only know this from hearsay, for it was either a hundred or two
hundred years ago. When old Lesa died, it was found that his nearest
relatives were the same we were talking of, so it happened that Vinzenz
Lesa moved here with his wife and two children about two years ago.
I heard that there too they have a fine house and a lot of cows, and
that their pastures over there are very fine, as well as their breed of
cattle. I think Vinzenz’s brother now takes care of the other place. I
do not know whether Vinzenz is going back there again when he has put
everything here in good shape, nor whether he means to sell this place,
for he does not say much.”
“Dear me, I must go,” Marianna exclaimed, quite startled when she heard
the sound of a bell from the village below. “I have to go up to the
baths, and I must not get back too late, because my husband and the
children don’t like to be kept waiting for supper. Where did old Lesa’s
housekeeper go?”
“She was his cousin and died a short time after him,” Magdalene
informed her. “She had been with him fifty years and was well past
seventy, so she could not very well have started on anything new. Look,
there they come towards us across the meadow. Now you can see for
yourself Lesa’s wife and her dressed-up children; just wait till she
comes.”
Marianna needed no further urging for she was curious to see the people
they had been discussing.
They were coming close, and one could see that the children had a
great deal to tell their mother. They talked to her steadily so
that one might have thought the woman could not possibly see or hear
anything else. As soon, however, as she reached the house where the two
women had withdrawn a little into the open doorway, she greeted them
pleasantly. The boy immediately pulled off his cap and the girl called
out “Good-day” with a ringing voice. When they had gone a few steps
further, their lively conversation began anew.
“I must say they look nice,” said Marianna, gazing after the group with
visible satisfaction. “I see no pride there, Magdalene, but neatness
and cleanliness in the children as well as in the mother. Everything
looks well on her and I wonder how she does it. She just wore what we
do, only it looks better on her. Didn’t the boy’s black curls tumble
out from his cap in a nice way! And I like the way the little one with
the snub nose has her brown hair braided about her head. She looks as
bright and happy as a little bird.”
“What else have you to say?” retorted Magdalene, slightly annoyed.
“You are right; I should do better to go my way instead of idly
talking,” said Marianna, getting ready to leave. “It does one good
to see people who teach their children good manners and keep them as
if they meant to make them into something decent. There are too many
of the other kind, and one often wonders if it is possible to raise
children to anything good. That woman has given me a mind to imitate
her as far as I can, for I’d like my children to look as nice and speak
as politely as hers. I must go now. Do not take amiss anything I said.
Good-bye, Magdalene.”
Marianna set out now and hurried along towards the height. Mrs. Lesa in
the meantime climbed up the mountain slope with her children. They kept
on talking steadily, sometimes the boy alone or the girl, and sometimes
both at once.
“Just think, mother,” the boy informed her, “the child is hardly
any bigger than Stefeli. When we passed Mrs. Troll’s house yesterday
evening we first saw her standing before the door, then she ran into
the house and suddenly we heard the most beautiful music through the
open window. I asked the brother who had stayed outside with a book
what it was and he said, ‘Alida is playing the piano.’ Imagine, such a
young child! I should have loved to listen a while, but I was afraid
to, because Stefeli said that it was late and we had to go home.”
“And so it was,” Stefeli affirmed. “I should have loved to stay, too,
but we had to go home. Don’t you remember, father was already at table
when we came? I found out that the boy’s name is Hugo and that the
crooked lady lives with them, because I heard Alida say to her brother,
‘I simply have to go in now, otherwise Fraulein will fetch me in and
everything will go crooked.’”
“No, no, Stefeli, it was not meant that way,” said the mother. “I don’t
think the lady is crooked. The idea probably was that things would go
crooked with Alida if she did not obey. Are not the children’s parents
with them?”
“No I don’t think so, but I am not sure. What do you think, Vinzi?”
asked Stefeli, turning toward her brother.
He gave no answer.
“What makes you stare into the distance, Vinzi, and why don’t you
answer?” now asked the mother.
“Listen, mother, listen!” Vinzi replied in a low voice. “Can you hear
those beautiful sounds?”
The mother stood still. The wind was wafting up the sounds of an
evening bell from the valley, which, as they reached the heights, faded
away only to rise more loudly from far below. The wind must have come
straight from that direction, for one could hear them very plainly. Now
the tones had died away.
The mother’s glance rested on the boy with a mingled look of anxiety
and surprise, while he was lost in listening. She remained quiet a
while longer for Vinzi had not yet moved. He still seemed to listen
eagerly to something he heard from far away, despite the fact that no
more sounds reached her ear.
“Vinzi, can you hear us again now?” Stefeli asked, not in the least
surprised at her brother’s ways.
“Yes,” he responded as if awakening from a dream.
“Is the lady who lives with Alida and Hugo really crooked?” asked
Stefeli, for she was anxious to have that question cleared up.
“Yes, perhaps,” the brother replied with a slightly abstracted air.
But Stefeli did not tolerate such uncertainty.
“If she is not crooked, she is straight, but you must not say perhaps,”
she exclaimed, a little angry. “We can easily go down right away to
Mrs. Troll’s house, can’t we, mother, and then we’ll find out what the
lady is like.”
“No,” replied the mother, “we shall certainly not go back to the house
on account of that. It is, however, time to turn back, otherwise father
will get home sooner than we do and that must not happen. We had better
return the way we came, it is the shortest way. But, Stefeli, you must
not think that we’ll stop at Mrs. Troll’s house till we see those
people.”
“They may be sitting in front of the house,” said Stefeli, holding fast
to her intention.
As the mother turned back the little girl ran ahead; she wanted to see
the house as soon as possible in order to discover anybody who might be
sitting there. The question they had been discussing was not however
the only thing on her mind. Stefeli longed most of all to see the two
strange children who had moved into the house and whom she had seen the
evening before.
Vinzi quietly wandered along at his mother’s side. He was not talkative
any longer, but his mother was well accustomed to these changes in her
boy.
“Tell me, Vinzi,” she asked now, “why did you keep on listening after
the sound of the evening bells had died away?”
“I could still hear them,” Vinzi answered. “I suddenly heard such a
wonderful song, which came down from the hills; the black fir trees
seemed to join in with a deep bass and through it all the bells were
tinkling their sparkling melody. Oh, it was beautiful! If only I could
repeat it!”
“Wasn’t it a song you have heard before?” the mother asked
sympathetically, seeking to understand. “If you sang me part of it I
might find out which song you mean and tell you the words of it.”
“No, no,” Vinzi remonstrated, “it is no song I ever heard. The melodies
were all entirely new. I still hear them but can’t repeat them.”
Meditating deeply the mother remained silent, for she could not
understand what Vinzi meant. She herself had always found much pleasure
in music and singing. She had taught her children to sing as soon as
they were able to talk, and her boy had always enjoyed their daily
evening song.
“Come, Vinzi,” she said at last, “let us sing a song now; then we’ll
both feel happy again. Which one do you want to sing?”
“I don’t know, mother; if only I could sing the tune I hear,” he
answered.
“I suppose you have some music running in your head. Sing out and you
can’t help enjoying it,” said the mother, starting up a song Vinzi knew
well.
At first he hesitated, but soon the well-known melody carried him
along. His clear, sure voice joining hers, they finished the song
before they reached Mrs. Troll’s cottage. Stefeli suddenly leaped
forward from behind a tree, from which hidden spot she had watched the
two children who were both sitting in front of the house with a book.
It had not escaped Stefeli that Alida did not look much at her book and
was constantly turning her head from side to side to see what might be
going on. Stefeli was dreadfully anxious to run over to Alida and start
a friendship with her. But suddenly the governess, who was not crooked
at all, but on the contrary very stiff and straight, came out of the
house. This intimidated Stefeli so much she hid further and further
behind the tree in order not to be discovered. Stefeli told her mother
and brother of these things and was glad to have them by her side when
passing the house, because the governess was still sitting there. When
closer, all four children eagerly examined each other, for they were
very much interested.
“They are the same ones we saw yesterday,” Alida said with half-raised
voice. “I think I’ll go over and make their acquaintance.”
“Indeed you won’t Alida! We don’t even know who they are,” quickly
replied the governess.
Despite the fact that the words had been spoken under her breath, those
who were passing had been able to hear them.
“She doesn’t want Alida to talk with us, did you hear it, mother?” said
Stefeli when they had gone a little further.
“Yes, I did,” the mother replied. “It is lucky that you didn’t run over
to them. You must never do it, Stefeli; do you hear?”
“Yes, but then we’ll never meet and Alida wanted to so much,” Stefeli
said rebelliously.
“You see, Stefeli, the governess probably has charge of the children’s
education and is responsible for what they do and with whom they play.
They might hear and learn from others all kinds of things that they
shouldn’t do,” the mother explained. “Maybe Alida is a little like
you, Stefeli, and likes to stick her little nose into every opening and
look through every hole in a hedge. That is probably why the governess
has to watch her and choose her friends very carefully.”
This made Stefeli more eager than ever to meet Alida and be her friend.
“I see father over there,” said Vinzi. “We ought to hurry if we want to
get home at the same time as he does.”
This was the mother’s intention, and, walking fast, they joined the
father not far from the house. Soon afterwards the little family sat
down to supper in their comfortable room.
The meal passed very quietly because the children knew that they had
to be silent, and the parents themselves said little. As soon as the
children had finished, Vinzi asked, “Can we go out?” As the request was
readily granted, they hurried over to the barn, where many delightful
corners could be found for playing hide and seek.
It was a bright, warm June evening. Vinzenz Lesa had leisurely risen
from the table, and going out he lit his pipe and settled himself on
the bench before the house. His wife soon afterwards came out and sat
down, too. Now he grew talkative and told her of a visit he had made to
an acquaintance of his in the valley whose meadows, fields and cattle
he had examined. He had compared his own property with what he saw, and
when he had thoroughly looked everything over he could not help saying
to himself, “Vinzenz Lesa, you are blessed with a fine property.”
“Yes, we certainly ought to be grateful and I am sure we are,” said his
wife.
“Yes, it is true,” he continued, “but whenever I am very happy about it
and begin to plan how to improve and develop the farm it always seems
as if some one were throwing an obstacle before my feet and keeping me
from going further. I mean Vinzi. For whom should I do all of it if
not for him, and what kind of a boy is he? He has no eyes in his head
and shows not the slightest pleasure or interest in taking to pasture
the most beautiful cows that can be found far and wide in the whole
neighborhood. If I say to him, ‘Just look what wonderful fodder is in
this meadow!’ he says ‘yes’ and stares into the distance so one can
see that he has neither listened nor really looked at the meadow he is
standing in. I am afraid there is something wrong with him.”
“No, no, Vinzenz, you must not say that,” his wife interrupted
eagerly. “If Vinzi does not always listen and has his thoughts
elsewhere and does not show the real pleasure he should have in
farming, he has never done anything wrong. You must not say that.”
“I don’t say it,” the man went on, “but what is wrong is wrong, and
when a boy has no feeling for such meadows, fields and cows as we own,
and everything connected with a farm, something must be wrong. But I am
sure I don’t know how to help it.”
“He may yet change; just think how young he is!” said the wife
comfortingly, though her secret anxiety about the boy had grown again
that day during her stroll. She knew well enough that there was
something about the boy difficult to understand and she also realized
that his thoughts never were on the objects before him. Deeming it wise
to change the subject, she talked about seeing the strangers who had
taken the upstairs rooms at Mrs. Troll’s cottage for the summer. She
told him that the children had looked so nice that she would not mind
taking them into her own home. This might easily be managed in their
big house, where a few nice rooms could be fitted up for that purpose.
“Well, what on earth will you say next, and can’t we even have peace in
our own house?” said the man, half frightened, half angry. “Why should
we take other people’s children into our house when we have children of
our own?”
“If they are as nice as those we saw, and as well brought up, ours
could only learn good things from them,” answered the woman. “We all
like to see our children clean and well-behaved rather than tumbling
about like little pigs and using rough words.”
“Oh, well, all children have bad manners, and when they get too bad
one can let them know. I know quite well what you are aiming at, but
you might just as well give it up because there is no use,” the farmer
said. “I shall not tolerate strangers in the house. I mean to live
by myself and I absolutely forbid the children to have anything to
do with those city folks. Don’t let them go over there or our girl
will soon become as spoilt as the boy. I am glad to say she is still
different from him. She runs after the cows and strokes them like
friends and the young cattle run after her, eat from her hand and rub
their heads against her like comrades. If one says anything, the child
pays attention and minds her business and uses her own eyes besides.
She knows exactly what is lacking in the barn or stable and knows how
everything should be. But the boy neither sees nor knows anything. It
would be quite different if I could change those two around, make the
girl into the boy, and the boy into the girl. But as long as things
have to be as they are, I have no inclination to have her changed, too.”
“The way you talk, Vinzenz, one might think you consider it a sickness
to be well brought up,” the woman replied calmly. “But you need have no
fears; a governess is looking after those children who is going to see
to it that hers don’t come near ours. It is late, we had better go in
now.”
At the same time she called to the children to sing their daily evening
song. As soon as they arrived the mother began, and both joined in
with clear, sure voices. They knew the song well and each apparently
had a good ear for music. Even as little children they had been able
to repeat the mother’s songs correctly. As the beautiful melody was
resounding through the calm, peaceful evening air, father Vinzenz
regained his usual composure, which had been so disturbed that day by
anxious thoughts and fears.