STILL MORE MUSIC
A great song rehearsal now took place every day on the pasture. Vinzi
had formed a chorus of all the boys having good voices. Some, of
course, could not sing, while others did not care to do it; also some
of the cow-herds had to remain with the cattle. The rehearsals took
up a lot of time because Vinzi demanded the little bit he taught them
every day should be perfectly sung. He could not bear false notes and
whenever he heard one he cried out as if a wasp had stung him. He then
made them repeat the whole passage again. Vinzi had long known that
Jos and Vereli had the best and truest voices and so he chose Jos as
leader for the high voices and Vereli for the alto voices. Besides
doing splendid work in singing, the two boys proved most helpful in
keeping the other singers in order. When any of the boys knew anything
by heart, they wished to sing right out as soon as Vinzi began to play.
But Jos and Vereli realized that this would not do, so they had to
restrain the eager singers till their time came.
The following Sunday had been chosen by Vinzi for the performance. He
would have gladly waited, if it had been necessary, but his chorus was
perfectly trained. It was the most suitable day in the week, as most of
the boys had their freedom that afternoon.
Jos and Vinzi wandered up the mountain-side with their little troupe
of singers. On their journey up, other boys from neighboring cottages
joined them. Many even wanted to go along as listeners. In that way a
considerable number had gathered together before they all approached
the tower.
The grandfather was sitting, as usual, in the sunshine on his bench,
and a cool mountain breeze was fanning his deeply-tinted cheeks. He
looked questioningly at the approaching boys. Vinzi, Jos and Vereli,
the leaders, came to within a few feet of the old man, and the others
grouped themselves about in a semi-circle. Now Vinzi began to play. At
first he seemed to begin a gay tune, but soon the instrument took up
a sad and serious air. Finally the tones seemed to weep and sob as if
some one were pleading for mercy.
At this point the chorus took up the following words, quietly giving a
ray of hope:
“But the blessed song of mercy.”
The lamenting tones of the pipe vibrated anew till the chorus sang a
second time, this time louder and in fuller tones:
“But the blessed song of mercy.”
Once more the pipe took up its pleading melody, but the chorus now took
up the refrain with full strength and the words this time sounded like
the veriest jubilation:
“But the blessed song of mercy
Resounds through all eternity.”
The pipe joined in here with notes of triumph, and together with the
voices all ended in a happy song of joy.
Everything was quiet as the grandfather sat motionless with his hands
folded on his knees. One of the boys started to run away, then more
followed, and soon all of them were hurrying towards the green meadow
where the cows from the valley were grazing. Here they found their
comrades who were in charge of the cattle. Vereli alone had remained
beside Jos and Vinzi, but he also disappeared, because such quiet was
not long to his taste.
When the grandfather raised his glance he seemed to return from some
far-away place.
“You sang me a beautiful song,” he said kindly. “Where did you find it?
I suppose you taught it to the others, Vinzi?”
“I got the idea from you,” replied Vinzi.
“Hm, hm,” said the grandfather, “you seem to comprehend pretty well
what one says to you. But where did you find the music?”
“It came to me because I wanted to sing you the song you could not
remember,” said Vinzi.
“It is very good of you to give an old man such pleasure. But wait! I
nearly forgot something,” said the grandfather, searching about in his
pockets. “I have thought of you, too, for I told Pater Silvanus about
your wanting a certain kind of song. You can see how good he is, for
look! he brought it to me. The only condition he made is that you are
to sing him the song when you have found the tune for it. Oh, here it
is at last.”
The grandfather now pulled out a long sheet of paper, which he gave to
Vinzi. A song was written on it in firm large letters.
“I have to say something else, boys,” continued the grandfather. “Jos,
you know where the cellar is. Bring me the cheese which has been cut,
and one of the largest loaves of bread. Vinzi must go with you, because
it is too heavy for you alone. Take it down to the boys who have sung
for me today. You can have a little feast together, for you have made
one for me, too. Take a cup out of the kitchen so you can take turns
drinking. Xaver can milk for you the cows that give the best milk.”
The grandfather always called Vereli by his real name, for the boy’s
father and grandfather had been called the same before him.
The two now ran away to do his bidding and found themselves puffing
hard under their load while climbing the cellar-stairs. But they did so
with radiant faces, for they happily looked forward to arriving at the
pasture.
“Come again, boys,” said the grandfather, gratefully shaking their
hands. “Make some other Sunday happy for me sometime with your
beautiful singing.”
All the singers had remained on the huge pasture with the Tower Boys,
and yells of delight greeted the laden couple. They settled down
immediately to begin the feast. Their appetites proved astonishing, for
many of the boys from the small cottages thereabout usually got only
potatoes for their daily fare.
Vinzi had settled a little behind the close circle. He wished to be
alone in order to read the words of his song. The melody was still
haunting him, and he wondered if the words and music would harmonize.
Pulling out the paper, he found that he could read the fine clear
writing without trouble. He read it over and over again. Suddenly a
terrific longing drew him up to the field of roses, a longing which he
found impossible to resist. Getting up, he quietly slipped away from
the busy feast-makers. Without stopping he ran up the slope into the
midst of the marvellous rose field and settled down on his chosen spot,
surrounded on every side by thick clumps of bloom. Here he could hear
his song again and sing it to himself. He pulled out his sheet and read:
Behold there in the evening light
The clouds like roses glowing!
No thorns have these, their grace to spite,
No briars mar the roses bright
That in the clouds are glowing.
And in this light how full of glee
Outfoams the sparkling brooklet!
White as the snow its garment free.
How pure it is, how fair to see
The gaily foaming brooklet!
Majestic in the sunset’s ray
The ancient peaks are standing.
For though poor mortals go astray
And like the grass must fade away,
The mountains still are standing.
Within the golden gleaming sky
Full many a grief is melted.
Ye valley dwellers, come on high,
Come all, for here, where heaven is nigh,
Full many a grief is melted.
That evening Vinzi came tearing down the mountain-side so late that the
whole family had been gathered together before the house looking for
him on every side. Jos had returned several hours ago and had related
to them the grandfather’s delight at the music, also how he had treated
them to a feast and how Vinzi had suddenly disappeared, no one knew
whither. They had all vainly guessed where he might be. One member of
the family after another had gone outside to see if he was coming home,
till finally all of them were on the lookout. He came running along at
last.
“Vinzi, Vinzi,” the uncle called to him, “we almost thought you had run
away.”
“Oh, I’ll never do that,” Vinzi assured him, panting hard. “I was
sitting among the alpine-roses and entirely forgot the time.”
“I’d do just the opposite,” declared Faz. “If I had to sit up there
away from everybody and with not even a cow to talk to, I’d have to
think all the time, I wonder how late it is?”
“Perhaps you made some pipes?” Russli wanted to find out.
“No, Russli, I’ll make some more tomorrow,” Vinzi replied with
understanding.
The father urged them to go into the house, for he longed for a little
Sunday music, and first of all for supper, because the mother had
refused to give them any till Vinzi should come back. They were all
very hungry.
During the next few days Vinzi spent many a happy hour in his beloved
rose field, which he could do with a clear conscience. Jos knew what
was going on and he saw to it that Vinzi got the fine morning hours
to himself. He therefore sent him up as soon as they reached the
pasture, for he was dreadfully eager to learn a new song. After a few
days Vinzi called his chorus together, and by this time they made such
rapid progress that he had to wonder at them. All they had to do was
to follow the melody the pipe was playing, which was most pleasing,
besides being easy to remember. The chorus sang with great enthusiasm,
for the words were easily understood and stayed in their memory without
difficulty. They always hated to stop when the time came. Vinzi had
only to accompany the song a few times with Jos and Vereli as leaders
and all the boys on every pasture could sing it.
When they got together in the morning one would cry to the other:
“Let’s sing our song,” for they fully felt that it was their very own.
When Sunday came, all the musicians proceeded up to the grandfather,
who having already got wind of the affair, looked forward eagerly to
their visit. The number was even larger than the first time, and the
performers in their eagerness had barely reached his bench when they
began their song. The volume of their voices increased till the end.
“Bravo, bravo!” exclaimed the grandfather delighted. “Once more! Once
more!”
With undiminished enthusiasm the whole performance was repeated.
When Vinzi saw that the singers went on smoothly without him, he
signalled to Jos and Vereli. Lightly as lizards the three slipped
quickly away.
This had been planned beforehand, for Vinzi was eager to do what the
grandfather had bidden him do; but as he was convinced that so much
noise would be unseemly for the hospice, he had decided not to let the
others know where he was going. If they had known, he probably could
not have prevented the boys from running after them.
As soon as they had reached the road, the three boys were able to
wander along a little more slowly, and they soon saw the large building
of stone which Vinzi remembered so clearly. What a terrible impression
it had made on him! How silently it lay there, and how frightened
he had been when he had thought it might be his uncle’s home! How
different it looked now as it lay peacefully in the sunshine, and
seemed even to beckon to the boys! Vinzi knew now that here lived
the good monks who helped half-frozen travellers in winter as they
struggled up the mountain in bad weather. When they stood before the
door, Vereli pulled the bell-rope so mightily that they could hear it
re-echo inside. Soon after a very small old man opened the heavy door a
trifle.
“That’s the porter,” said Vereli.
“What do you want?” asked the old man.
“We want to see Pater Silvanus,” quickly replied Vereli.
The old man, after examining the three suspiciously, said finally in
a measured tone: “Well, boys, Pater Silvanus can’t be brought out for
a joke. He has usually very different customers from you. What do you
want from him?”
“We had better go if Pater Silvanus has no time for us,” said Vinzi
timidly.
But Vereli could not be disposed of so easily. “We have a message for
him from grandfather,” he said unruffled. “Grandfather told us to give
it to Pater Silvanus himself.”
At this the old man opened the door a little wider and let the three
boys enter. “You can wait here,” he said curtly, leaving them and going
down a dim, long corridor, where they could still hear his dragging
footsteps after they could not see him any more.
After a while a firm and rapid step came towards them.
“Here he comes,” said Vereli, unabashed, when the monk with a long
garment stood before them and examined them with penetrating glances.
“You are one of the boys from the tower, you carry their stamp about
you,” he said, turning to Vereli. “And who are your companions?”
“He belongs to Lorenz Lesa, near the chapel, and he is his cousin,
Vinzi Lesa, from Leuk,” explained Vereli.
A curious smile flitted over the monk’s features at the mention of the
last name. Looking at Vinzi once more, he said pleasantly, “Come with
me.”
Then he led them through the long, echoing corridor, and after opening
a door in the rear, bade them enter. It was a very large room with dark
panelled walls, against which ancient leather chairs with high backs
were ranged. In the middle of it stood a huge square table, but Vinzi
could not take his eyes from an object he had noticed in a corner. It
looked slightly like a high cupboard and somewhat resembled Alida’s
piano, but was a trifle higher. Standing in front of the trio, the monk
asked the grandfather’s wishes.
Vinzi felt that it was for him to speak. He expressed himself as
willing to sing the song which the kind Father had sent him through the
grandfather.
“Good, I’ll be glad to hear it,” said the monk. Upon noticing that
Vinzi still hesitated, he added: “What else do you want to ask me, boy?”
“Shall I sing it or may I play?” asked Vinzi.
“Play, for I must hear your pipe,” Pater Silvanus replied with a
friendly smile.
They lost no time and began. Vinzi, entirely sure of his two singers
and much encouraged by the monk’s great kindness, played, not the
melody, but a little accompaniment which he had practiced for himself.
At the end of the song Pater Silvanus glanced at Vinzi affectionately.
Then laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looking him in the eyes
he said, “I’d like to know something, boy, and you must be sure to tell
me the truth. Have you ever heard this melody before or one that was a
little like it to some other words?”
“No, it belongs to this song. I only found it when I got your words
from the grandfather,” Vinzi replied guilelessly, looking up at the
questioner with wide, honest eyes.
“I’d like to hear the song once more,” said the monk. “Don’t leave out
either the verses or the accompaniment.”
The three began again, happily, for to be asked to repeat it was a
sign that it had pleased the monk.
“Now,” said Pater Silvanus, when they had come to the end, “You must
hear how my harmonium sounds to it. I wonder if you’ll like it?”
Going up to the big high box, he opened it and began to play.
Vinzi listened breathlessly. What wonderful deeply gripping tones! His
whole heart was shaken.
And was it possible? It sounded so strangely familiar; yes, it was
his own melody with the accompaniment the pipe had played. But how
different, how full and rich!
Vinzi stood still in silent rapture when the tones had died away.
“Oh, that was beautiful, much more beautiful than our music,” he said,
quite carried away with the beautiful sounds.
“It was your song, boy, and I did not have to add much,” said the monk
kindly. “Come nearer; have you never before heard such an instrument?”
“No,” answered Vinzi, after stepping quite near to the harmonium. “But
I have heard a piano.”
The monk asked Vinzi what music he had heard on the piano and Vinzi
related the story of the short music lessons which he had enjoyed so
much.
Stroking Vinzi’s curly hair a few times, the monk smiled
sympathetically. Then he asked, “Do you think you would get pleasure
from learning how to play my instrument?”
Vinzi hardly knew if he had heard aright, he was so thrilled. With
glowing eyes he looked silently at the monk.
“Well, I suppose you mean yes.”
“A thousand times yes,” Vinzi finally was able to say.
“Good! Tell your uncle Lorenz about it and let me know tomorrow morning
what he says. If he doesn’t object, we can play a little every morning.”
Giving his hand to the boys, Pater Silvanus, after saying a kind word
to each of them in turn, opened the door and let them out, and they
strolled gaily down the mountain-side. Vinzi was walking in a perfect
dream beside his companions, who were both talking with animation.
He kept on hearing Pater Silvanus’ words, “Would you get pleasure
from learning how to play my instrument?” Give him pleasure? It was a
happiness he could hardly comprehend.
Vereli had turned off and gone back to the tower without Vinzi’s
noticing it, and before long the other two were home. During supper
time Jos related to his parents how friendly Pater Silvanus had been
and what he had proposed to do for Vinzi, if his father did not object.
“Of course not,” said the latter at once, “I am glad that Vinzi has the
chance to learn something fine.”
Early next morning Vinzi came to Pater Silvanus and repeated his
uncle’s words with a radiant face.
“Then let us begin at once,” said the monk, leading the boy to the
great room with the harmonium.
These lessons differed considerably from Alida’s, and the teacher
seemed to forget the time as much as his pupil. One hour and a second
hour had gone by, when the sudden sound of a bell reminded Pater
Silvanus how late it really was. Quickly closing his instrument and
giving the boy his hand, he said, “We’ll go on tomorrow, but be sure to
come as early as today.”
Vinzi went away so filled with happiness that he must run right over
to the grandfather and tell him all the wonderful and unexpected things
that had happened to him. No one could have been able to share his
joy better than the grandfather, who was as pleased as if it had all
happened to him.
Vinzi told of everything that the Pater had already explained and
taught him, and he did not leave without giving his solemn promise
often to bring reports of his progress and at the same time pipe the
old man a little song. A glorious succession of days followed for
Vinzi, and the further Pater Silvanus took him the more his burning
desire grew to get still further. Pater Silvanus himself seemed to
find pleasure in the lessons, for he taught his pupil every morning,
and sometimes the lessons lasted fully three hours. When the monk had
to leave for other duties, he let Vinzi stay and practice what he had
prepared with him. The boy sat many an hour in the quiet house. No
noise ever interrupted him, and the time flew by unnoticed. When the
sun finally slanted across the harmonium through a certain window,
he knew that evening was near. Quickly shutting the instrument, he
noiselessly went down the long corridor and out to the road. This gave
him time enough to visit the grandfather and find his cousins and their
comrades still gathered together. He was greeted with fresh enthusiasm
every time. A chorus of various frightful noises always followed his
arrival, because every owner of a pipe wanted to show him what he had
learned to play. Vinzi could not help wondering at the number of boys
who owned pipes since he had left the pasture. The boys had possibly
found out how to make them themselves.
His bargain with Russli had been firmly kept. Every morning going up or
in the evening coming home the little one was inseparable from Vinzi.
“Russli, you have enough pipes now,” said Vinzi one day while he was
wandering home with his little comrade behind the cows. He had just
delivered his daily pipe and added: “In all this time you should have
learnt not to tickle the cows, Russli, without always expecting a
reward.”
“And so I have,” Russli agreed, “Because I have so much to do nowadays.”
Vinzi could not help wondering at Russli’s quick response; in fact all
the little boy’s mischievous deeds had really come only from idleness.
“What keeps you so busy?” asked Vinzi.
“I’ll show it to you, but no one else must know about it,” replied
Russli mysteriously.
He led Vinzi away from the road to the old larch trees, where the two
used to sit in the old days when Vinzi had made his first pipes.
“Tell me something, Russli,” Vinzi began again, “did you put all your
pipes in a pile together or did you give them to the boys who had
none. So many have good pipes now and not the kind they used to make
themselves.”
“I don’t ever give away my beautiful pipes,” replied Russli, quite hurt
at a supposition throwing doubt on the sensibleness of his actions.
“Come, you can see for yourself.”
They were standing at the exact place where Vinzi used to sit on a
high mossy place beside the fragrant violets. Stooping down, Russli
picked up several pieces of moss-covered earth which lay there cleverly
joined together. He put them aside and shovelled away the loose earth
underneath with both hands, disclosing a rather large hole. After
lifting out a strong folded paper serving as cover, Russli asked his
companion to look in. To his intense surprise Vinzi saw a collection
of most varied objects: piles of nuts and dried prunes, match boxes,
colored marbles, old knives and tobacco boxes, a little pump, a
leather purse and a watch-chain of brass.
“What is this, Russli? To whom do all these things belong?” asked
Vinzi, truly astonished.
“They all belong to me. I traded one of these things for every pipe
you gave me. Do you see now?” asked Russli, proudly glancing at his
storehouse.
“But what are you going to do with them all?” Vinzi inquired, still
puzzled.
“I’ll keep them and then I’ll trade them again for something better.
You see the pipes are only common wood, after all,” Russli said
confidentially.
Vinzi had to laugh.
“You must become a tradesman, Russli, for you seem to understand all
about it. But you won’t have anything more to do now, since our bargain
is off.”
“Oh yes, I’ll have just as much work as ever. I first uncover my hole
every morning, dig away the earth and count everything to see if
anything has been stolen in the night. Then I have to pack and cover
them up and put on the moss in such a way that no one can find the
place. In the afternoon I have to sit on the lookout so that no one
finds my cave and takes my things.”
Vinzi could not comprehend these watchful exertions on behalf of such
treasure, for he totally lacked the tradesman’s spirit. He was glad,
however, that this new activity kept the little fellow busy. He was
convinced that he would leave the cows in peace now, even without his
usual reward.
The month of August had passed and the first fog was drifting over the
mountains. Several times messages had been brought up from Leuk to
say that the time was drawing near for Vinzi to come home. The boy’s
parents felt that they had taken advantage of their relatives’ kindness
long enough and they begged their cousin to take the next opportunity
of sending the boy home with someone. Word had always been sent back to
Leuk to the effect that the summer was not over and that no one wanted
to let Vinzi go. Furthermore he was so well and happy that the parents
might let him prolong his stay on the mountain. Father Lorenz was just
entering the room where his wife was preparing the evening meal with
her accustomed calm. He sat down on a chair, for no special work had to
be done till the boys returned with the cattle and after a moment’s
thought, said, “Have you noticed how much Vinzi has changed lately?”
“In what way?” asked his wife.
“He seems suddenly to have grown a whole year or two older,” said
Lorenz, “ever since he began to spend most of his time with Pater
Silvanus. I notice it in the way he plays his pipe and the way he
sings and talks. It is as if the boy had been transplanted from the
shadow into the sunshine. Everything in him seems to have blossomed out
suddenly.”
“I don’t quite understand what you mean,” replied the woman, “but I
always said that Vinzi looks as fresh and neat as a young appletree in
bloom. And I say another thing besides. If Vinzi were a beggar-boy, I’d
adopt him right away and I’d love him just as much as my own boys. I
can say that and I’ll stick to it.”
“Well, so you can,” said the man with a smile. “But do you know, if
Vinzi had been a vagabond without the kind of mother they say he has,
he would never have been the same. He belongs to a well-brought-up
family and comes from parents who look after their children. That’s the
reason why he is so nice.”
Heavy steps approached the door at that moment--clearly not the
pattering the boys usually made, which was always accompanied with loud
yodels and cries.
“Who is outside?” asked Lorenz, opening the door.
A well-knit man whom he knew as a fruit merchant from Leuk stood
outside. Lorenz immediately offered him his hand.
“I haven’t seen you for a long time, Lesa. How are things with you? I
come with a message from your cousin down there and he sends you his
love,” said the man heartily, shaking Lorenz by the hand.
The latter was a little startled, because he felt sure that the visit
had been made on Vinzi’s behalf. The man had often travelled over the
mountain before and had practically never come to see him. He invited
him to step inside and make himself at home. But this could not be done
as the merchant had a wagon and two pairs of lively horses waiting for
him. He only wanted to deliver his message from Vinzenz Lesa, who had
only heard yesterday that a team was going across the mountain. He had,
therefore, not had time to write a letter. The farmer had been anxious
to use this good opportunity of having his boy brought home. All the
fruit dealer added was that he expected to return in two days, when his
business was done, and take the boy along.
Lorenz took the matter so much to heart that he could say nothing. He
saw that Vinzi must leave in two days.
“I’ll be here on Tuesday at eight in the morning, Lesa,” concluded the
man, casting a questioning look at the silent farmer. “I suppose you
understand me.”
“Oh, yes, only too well,” replied the other. “The boy will be ready for
you in time, you can count on that.”
He followed the man to the road, where stood a great wagon loaded
with sacks and harnessed to four strong horses. Just as the big team
drove off with loud tinkling of bells, the boys came down singing and
shouting with the cattle.
Lorenz walked towards them with a heavy heart. Should he give his
merry boys the unwelcome news at once? Then all their happiness would
vanish at once. Lorenz had a soft heart and found himself unable to do
it. Greeting the boys in a carefree manner, he let everything go its
accustomed round.
After supper the singing began as usual, and they sang one song after
another, as had grown to be the custom of the house. They sang as
merrily as larks in spring, only the father could not quite join in
heartily, for a heavy load was on his heart.
He realized that he must tell them that evening, as the time was
already so short. Just after the mother had said the customary words,
“I suppose we have to stop now, nine o’clock has struck,” he made his
announcement in a few clear words. Quite thunderstruck, everyone sat
silent with surprise and sorrow. The mother was the first to regain her
speech.
“Well, I hope you said that it was out of the question and that
we cannot give up the boy at such short notice,” she said with an
animation not usual to her. “I’d like to know what he means in coming
here and trying to rob us of the boy without the slightest ceremony,
the way one might pull off a branch from a hedge. I hope you gave him a
proper talking to.”
“The man has not come to do us harm,” Lorenz said calmly. “You mustn’t
forget that Vinzi’s parents can call him home whenever they please.
Won’t you allow them some interest in the boy? Besides, no one can deny
that the opportunity is splendid.”
By this time the boys also had regained control of their emotions
and lost no time in giving vent to such outcries and objections that
the father suggested they all go to bed. Often good ideas had come
over night during sleep, he said, and these words proved to have an
excellent effect. Each boy thought that a good idea might come to him
which might prevent Vinzi’s departure. The mother was hoping that the
father would find some obstacle to the journey, for all his best ideas
always came over night. But by saying that the best thoughts come over
night the father had meant to say that they would in time realize that
they would have to bear the inevitable.
Vinzi had not said a word. When he sat on his threshold later on,
looking up at the stars, he was conscious of a deep inner conflict.
He looked forward to seeing his mother and Stefeli again, yes and his
father, too. Maybe the latter would be kind to him now as he used to
be in the old days Vinzi remembered so well, when he would let the boy
ride on his knees and would say to him, “Just ride ahead, Vinzi; as
soon as you can ride you shall have a horse.” Vinzi could not quite
remember when his father had begun to treat him less kindly. He hardly
even knew the reason why.
On the other hand was the full realization that all his marvellous life
on the mountain with these kind people had come to an end. Yes, and the
music, all the music, too. There was no one who would be able to help
him at home, no one. Should the whole thing really be over for good
and all? His heart contracted painfully at this thought, but the next
moment he found joy again in the happy anticipation of going home and
seeing his loved ones.
Even if the music must stop when he got home, he would not entirely
lose his good teacher, Pater Silvanus. As consolation remained the hope
that he would probably return some day, and this thought was his last
comfort before he went to sleep.
In the morning there was no time for talk and arguments, for they had
to make an early start. Jos and Faz were wandering off with the cows
and Vinzi was just following with Russli, when Uncle Lorenz drew Vinzi
to one side and said in a low voice, “It can’t be helped Vinzi, and I
am sure you’ll be glad to go home. I specially wanted to tell you so
you can take leave of Pater Silvanus and the grandfather. It’s your
last day, for the wagon will come for you tomorrow at eight.”
This settled it for good. Vinzi went away silently, which was far from
pleasing Russli. “You ought to talk to me,” he said a little crossly
after they had gone quite a distance.
“I can’t talk well today, something seems to choke me,” replied Vinzi.
“But don’t be unhappy. As soon as I get home I’ll send you something
for your collection.”
“You don’t need to go home at all,” Russli said with firm conviction.
“Faz has thought out something to stop your going. He told Jos about it
at the pump. He is going on the street tomorrow morning to wait for the
wagon, and as soon as it stops he means to climb up and say that he is
the boy from Leuk. Then the man will drive off, and only when they come
to the other side of the mountain will Faz jump down and say that he is
not the right boy after all. Then he’ll run back. Do you see now? The
man can’t do anything then for it will be too far for him to turn back.”
Vinzi was not convinced that his trip could be prevented that way, but
he felt quite touched that Faz was so anxious to keep him. He really
had seen the least of Faz.
“What are you going to send me for my collection?” Russli inquired.
“I don’t want to tell you,” replied Vinzi. “If it is a surprise, you’ll
like it so much better.”
“Is it something to eat?” Russli asked, nevertheless.
“No, and not anything to drink, either,” said Vinzi, “but I won’t tell
you anything more about it or it won’t be a surprise.”
After taking leave of Russli at the pasture Vinzi went up to the
convent as usual. He had been told always to go straight to the large
room and wait for Pater Silvanus there. This was usually only a short
time, but when the Pater entered today, Vinzi did not stand in his
usual mood of happy anticipation at the harmonium, and his eyes did
not glisten. On the contrary he came up to the monk quite crushed, and
after a questioning look sadly informed him that this was to be the
last lesson, as he was going home tomorrow.
“Oh, what a shame, what a shame!” said Pater Silvanus slowly. “But
won’t you be able to keep up your music at home?”
Vinzi fought as well as he could to keep back the tears at this
question. Despite his downcast eyes his teacher saw that he had not
been able to restrain them as he answered, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Courage, boy,” said Pater Silvanus, kindly patting him on the
shoulder. “Keep up your spirits! It is always lovely to go home
again, and if God finds that music is the right thing for you, it is
easy enough for Him to send someone into your path who will help you
further. Besides, you are sure to come up to us again and as soon as
you do, we’ll take it up again.”
The monk had seized Vinzi’s hand in a fatherly way and led him out.
In the doorway he gave the boy his blessing and heartily said, “God
protect you!” after which he took leave of his pupil.
The boy had barely been able to mumble his thanks, for the tears were
choking him. He felt intensely grateful that the teacher had made the
leave-taking so short, because he could not possibly have controlled
himself any longer.
Vinzi went toward the place where the dark roses had bloomed. The
bushes were still green, but few roses remained.
He gazed about him once more. The sun had just parted the fog, and all
about him began to gleam, the snow peaks, the mountain streams, the
walls of rock, and above all the deep blue sky. He was glad to see it
once more.
He next ran to the tower where the grandfather occupied his accustomed
seat in the sunshine.
“You come early today; that is right,” he greeted the approaching
figure. “But what is wrong, boy? What is the matter?” he added as soon
as Vinzi stood before him. “That certainly will make us all sad,” he
replied, when Vinzi had informed him of the reason for his early visit.
“Do you know, boy, my hope has been all along that you would come and
sing me my song in case I should die. But I might still be here next
summer, so let us hope that you’ll be here again, too. We’ll part with
that thought now.” The grandfather heartily shook Vinzi’s hand, as he
was unwilling to detain him longer. His relatives probably expected him
home soon, as it was his last day with them.
Vinzi hurried straight home, for the grandfather probably was right.
His aunt Josepha, who had meanwhile come to the conclusion that Vinzi’s
departure could not be prevented, rejoiced when she saw him coming.
She could now talk quietly to him a bit. The suddenness of it all had
destroyed her accustomed calm and she had longed to see him.
Aunt Josepha and Vinzi again sat together as on the day of his arrival.
Her happy frame of mind was fully restored when Vinzi assured her that
he had no better wish than to come back to the mountain again another
year. He hoped that he might be one of her household again and sleep in
his lovely fragrant chamber.
When the family sat together in the evening, Father Lorenz said, “Come
now! Singing is the best remedy against sad thoughts.”
He began a song himself. The others, joining in, kept it up right
through the evening.
Next day Faz’s plan did not succeed. Just as the brothers were ready to
depart and were taking leave from Vinzi, they heard the repeated sounds
of a whip. This warned Father Lorenz that the fruit dealer had arrived
even earlier than he had said. As he could not leave his horses, he
wanted to notify them of his coming and looking at the road a few steps
away from the house, he saw that his signal had been understood.
The whole family including even the inmates of the stable, strolled
over to the street, and the fruit dealer could not help wondering at
the strange procession.
Vinzi climbed up to his high seat, and after he had taken leave of each
separately, the horses started off. All five gazed after Vinzi with
genuine grief, and Russli alone felt slightly consoled by the thought
of the promised surprise.
When the wagon passed the spot where the tower stood in the meadow, the
whole edge of the road was peopled with a crowd of noisy boys. More
and more seemed to gather and finally they thundered a loud “Hurrah!”
and cried “Come again!” which was repeated a second time in such a
noisy way that the four horses actually reared. Black Vereli had been
the instigator of this, and at the last greeting of the Tower Boys his
voice could be distinctly heard above all others.
At his bench alone sat the grandfather, waving his hat high in the air,
and Vinzi replied by swinging his cap.
In the convent a window opened and a hand kindly waved good-bye to
Vinzi. It was that of Pater Silvanus.
After a short upward stretch by wild mountain beeches and old gnarled
fir-trees the drive quickly went downwards into the valley.