If our task as story-teller had not other claims on us, we would gladly
linger with Nelly Dalton, as, in company with Hanserl and old Andy, she
wended her slow way through the deep valleys of the Schwartz wald. The
little party might have created astonishment in even more frequented
districts than the primitive tract in which they journeyed, and have
suggested many a puzzling doubt as to what rank or condition they
belonged to. For Andy's convenience Hans had purchased an ass and a
small cart, such as are sometimes used by the travelling beggars of
every land. Seated in this, and in his old hunting-cap and scarlet
coat, the old man fancied it was some pleasure excursion, or that he was
“trundling along” to “cover,” as he used to do sixty years ago. Nelly
walked at his side, now roused from her deep musings to reply to some
meaningless question of the old man, or now feeding her sad memories
as she listened to the little snatches of song which occasionally broke
from him. Hanserl formed the rear-guard, making with his redoubted
battle-axe and a most formidable old Turkish pistol, not the least
singular figure in the procession. Their very baggage too had something
strange and incomprehensible to common eyes; for, amidst stray scraps of
old armor, the little remnants of Hanserl's collection, were to be seen
an unfinished figure by Nelly's hand, or the rude beginning of some new
group. Along with these were books and tools, and an infinity of queer
costumes, of the dwarfs own designing, for various seasons of the year.
Still, there was no impertinence in the curiosity that met them. If
Andy's strange equipage and stranger dress might have raised a smile,
Nelly's gentle look and modest air as rapidly checked it, and they who
would have laughed outright at Hanserl's mock-chieftainship were subdued
to a respectful deference by the placid dignity of her who walked before
him. It was in that memorable year whose doings are recorded in our
memory with all the solemn force of History, and all the distinct and
vivid effect of events passing before our own eyes; that era, when
Thrones rocked and tottered, and kings, who seemed destined to transmit
their crowns to unborn generations, became exiles, and cast away, their
state a mockery, and their princely homes given up to pillage; when
the brightest day-dreams of good men became bound up with the wildest
imaginings of the bold and the bad, and the word Freedom comprehended
all that was most glorious in self-devotion, and all that was most
relentless in hate,----in that troubled time, Hanserl wisely sought
out the districts of mountain and crag--the homes of the hunter--in
preference to the more travelled roads, and prudently preferred even
the devious windings of the solitary glens to the thronged and peopled
highways that connected great cities.
His plan was to direct their steps through the Vorarlberg into the
Tyrol, where, in a small village near Meran, his mother still lived.
There, in case of need, Nelly would find a refuge, and, at all events,
could halt while he explored the way to Vienna, and examined how far it
might be safe for her to proceed thither. Even in all her affliction,
out of the depths of a sorrow so devoid of hope, Nelly felt the glorious
influence of the grand scenery through which they travelled. The giant
mountains, snow-capped in early autumn; the boundless forests that
stretched along their sides; the foaming cataracts as they fell in
sheets of hissing water; the tranquil lakes that reflected tower and
cliff and spire; the picturesque village, where life seemed to ripple on
as peacefully as the clear stream before the peasant's door; the song of
the birds, the tolling of the bells, the laugh of the children; the Alp
horn answered from cliff to cliff, and dying away in distant echo,--all
these were realizations of many a girlish hope, when she wished her
father to seek out some secluded village, and pass a life of obscure but
united labor. There was no Quixotism in the fancy. She knew well what
it was to toil and work; to rise early, and go late to rest; to feed on
coarse fare, and be clad in mean attire. All that poverty can inflict
of privation she had tasted, but fearlessly and with a bold heart;
self-reliance elevating her thoughts above every little adverse
incident, and giving to her struggle that character of a task, a holy
and a righteous task, which made at once her life's purpose and reward.
Scarcely a village at which they halted that did not strike her as like
what her mind had often pictured for “their own,” and many a quaint old
house, with its carved galleries and latticed porch, she stood to gaze
on, fancying it their home and peopling every spot with the forms of
those she loved. Oh! why had they not chosen this humble road?--why had
their “Paths in Life” separated?--were the bitter reflections which now
filled her eyes with tears and made her bosom heave almost to bursting.
She did not foolishly suppose that the peasant can claim exemption from
the trials and crosses of life, and that sorrow finds no entrance into
remote and unfrequented tracts, but she knew that such burdens would
not be too heavy for their strength, and that, while living a life of
unpretending poverty, they should be free from the slavery of an assumed
position, and able to combat the world fairly and honestly.
Of all lands the Tyrol is best suited to foster such feelings as
these. There is a harmony and a keeping about it that is rarely found
elsewhere. The dwellings of the people, so according with the character
of the scenery; the costumes, the greetings, the songs of the
peasantry; their simple and touching piety; their manners, so happily
blending independence with courtesy, are felt at once as a charm, and
give a color to the enjoyment of every one who sojourns amongst
them. These were the sights and sounds which, better than all the
blandishments of wealth, could soothe poor Nelly's sorrow, and make her
thankful in the midst of her afflictions even to have witnessed them. As
for Hanserl, his excitement grew daily higher as he passed the Arlberg
and drew near the spots he had seen in childhood. Now preparing some
little surprise for Nelly, as they turned the angle of a cliff and gazed
down upon a terrible gorge beneath; now apprising her of some little
shrine where pious wayfarers were wont to halt and pray; now speculating
if the old host of the village inn would be alive, or still remember
him, he went along merrily, occasionally singing some “Alp Lied,” or
calling to mind some ancient legend of the scene through which they
journeyed. Above all, however, was his delight at the thought of seeing
his old mother again. No sense of disappointment dashed this pleasure
because he was returning poor and penniless. Home and the “Frau Mutter,”
as he reverently called her, had their hold upon his heart quite
distinct from every accident of fortune. To tell her of all he had seen
in far-away lands,--for Hanserl thought himself a great traveller; to
describe the great Cathedral of Worms, its vaulted aisles and painted
windows, its saintly effigies and deep-toned organ, and the thousands
who could kneel before the high altar! Then, what marvellous relics were
there to describe!--not to speak of the memorable valley at Eschgau,
where “Siegfried slew the Dragon.” Poor Hans! the scenes of his youth
had made him young again, and it was the very triumph of his joy when he
could interest Nelly in some story, or make her listen with attention to
the rude verses of some “Tyroler” poem.
Gladly would we linger with them as they went slowly along through the
deep valley of Landech, and, halting a day at the Pontlatzer Brücke,
that Hans might describe the heroic defence of his countrymen against
the French and Bavarian forces, and then, skirting along the Engadine,
came in sight of the great Orteler Spitze,--the highest of the Tyrol
Alps. And now they reached Nauders, and traversing a wild and dreary
mountain tract, where even in autumn the snow is seen in clefts and
crevices of the rock, they gradually gain the crest of the ridge, and
look down at length on glorious Meran with the devotion of the pilgrim
in sight of the Holy City. Hans knelt down and prayed fervently as his
eyes beheld that garden valley with its vine-clad slopes and waving
woods; its silvery river gliding along beneath bright villages and
feudal castles. But soon he saw them no longer, for his eyes swam over
with tears, and he sobbed like a child.
“There, Fräulein, yonder, where you see the river winding to the
southward, you see an old tower,--'the Passayer Turm,' it is called; the
'Fräu Mutter' lives there. I see some one in the garden.” And, overcome
by emotion, he hid his face and wept.
Near as they seemed to the end of their journey, it was night ere they
gained the valley at the foot of the mountain. The cottages were closed,
and, except in the town--still about a mile distant--not a light was to
be seen. The Tyrolers are an early race, and retire to rest soon after
dusk. Hanserl, however, wanted no guidance to the way, and trudged along
in front of the cart, following each winding of the track as though he
had gone it but the day before. Except a chance caution about the road,
he never spoke,--his heart was full of “home.” The fatigue of a long
day's journey, and the cold of the night air, had made Andy querulous
and discontented, and it was all Nelly could do to answer the fretful
questions and soothe down the irritation of the old man; but Hans heard
nothing of either. At last they reached a little open space formed by a
bend in the river, and came in sight of the old tower, at the foot of
which, and abutting against it, stood a small cottage. A light gleamed
from a little window, and no sooner had Hans seen it than he
exclaimed,----
“Gott sey dank! Fräulein, she is well. That is the Fräu Mutter.”
Poor Nelly's lip quivered as she tried to speak, for, humble as it
was, what would she have given to have had even such a “home”? And now,
passing through a little garden, Hans halted, and assisted Andy from the
cart.
“Where are we, at all? Sure this is n't a place to stop the night in!”
cried the old man, querulously.
“Hush, Andy, hush!” whispered Nelly.
“'Tis thieves and vagabonds, maybe, lives here, Miss Nelly,” said he, in
a low voice.
“No, Andy, no; it is a kind welcome that awaits us.”
“Ayeh!” exclaimed he, “I know betther than that!”
Hans by this time had approached the door and raised the latch,--for in
the Tyrol the night rarely calls for other fastening. Nelly heard
the sharp, clear sound of an old woman's voice above the hum of a
spinning-wheel, and then the glad burst of joy as the mother recognized
her son. Unwilling to interrupt their happiness, Nelly moved away out of
hearing, when Hanserl came running out, followed by the old woman.
“This is the Fräulein, mother,” cried he, with a burst of delight; and
the old woman, taking Nelly's hand, kissed it with deep respect.
With native courtesy she welcomed Nelly, and, as she entered her house,
pointed with pride to a Madonna of Nelly's own carving, which stood on a
bracket against the wall.
“You see, Fräulein,” said she, “how I have known you for many a day
back; and there is your Saint Christopher, and there the 'Blessed Agnes
at the Well.'” And so was it. The groups and figures which she believed
to have been sold by Hanserl, were all stored up here and treasured
like household gods. “Many a traveller has come here just to see these,”
continued the old peasant-woman, “and many a tempting sum have they
offered if I would sell them, but in all my poverty I did not stoop to
this.”
“Frau Mutter, Fräu Mutter,” said Hans, rebukingly, and trying to cut
short what he feared might offend Nelly.
“Nay, Hanserl, it is but the truth,” said she, firmly; “I will not say
that I did not do more wisely too, for they who came left me always some
little present. Even the poor gave me their blessing, and said that they
were happier when they had prayed before the blessed Agnes.” While thus
running on in all the garrulity of old age, she never neglected the
care of receiving her guests with suitable hospitality. Old Andy was
accommodated with a deep straw chair near the stove. The little chamber,
which, for its view upon the Passayer Thai, had been specially devoted
to receive travellers, was got ready for Nelly; and Hans, once more at
home, busied himself in arranging the household and preparing supper.
“You are wondering at all the comforts you find here, Hanserl,” said
the old woman, “but see here, this will tell you whence they came;” and,
opening an old ebony cabinet, she took out a large square letter with a
heavy seal. “That reached me on a Christmas-day, Hanserl; the paper was
from the Imperial Chancellerie of Vienna, setting forth that, as the
widow of Hans Roeckle, of Meran, born of Tyrol parents, and married to a
Tyroler, had attained the age of eighty years, and never asked alms, nor
sought for other aid than her own industry, she was now entitled to the
Maria Teresa pension of twelve kreutzers a day for the rest of her life.
I told them,” said the old woman, proudly, “that my son had always taken
care to provide for me, and that there were others that might want it
more than I, but the kreis-hauptman said that my refusal would be
an offence to the Kaiser, who had heard of my name from one of the
archduchesses who travelled this way, and who had seen these blessed
images and wished to buy them; so that I was fain to yield, and take, in
thankfulness, what was offered in generosity. You see, Hanserl, how true
is it, the Fräulein has been our good angel; we have never had bad luck
since the Madonna came here!”
Nelly slept soundly that night, and, for the first time since her
calamities, her dreams were happy ones. Lulled by the ripple of the
river beside her window, and the ceaseless murmuring of the old woman's
voice as she sat up talking with her son the whole night long, she
tasted at length the sweets of deep and refreshing sleep. And what a
gorgeous scene burst upon her waking eyes! Around, on every side of
the little plain, rose the great mountains of the Tyrol; some green
and tree-clad to their summits, others snow-capped or hid in the
azure-colored clouds above them. Ancient castles crowned the crags, and
foaming cataracts leaped from each fissured gorge; while below, in the
valley, there lay a garden of rich profusion,--the vine, the olive,
and the waving corn,--with villages and peasant-houses half hid in
the luxuriant verdure. From the lowing cattle beside the river to the
re-echoing horn upon the mountains, there seemed to come greeting and
answer. All was grandeur and sublimity in the scene; but, more striking
than these, was the perfect repose, the deep tranquillity of the
picture. The sounds were all those of peasant labor, the song of the
vine-dresser, the rustling noise of the loaded wagon as it moved through
some narrow and leafy road, the hissing of the sickle through the ripe
corn.
“And yet,” said Hanserl, as Nelly stood in silent enjoyment at the
little porch,--“and yet, Fräulein, beyond those great mountains yonder,
there is strife and carnage. Here all is peaceful and happy; but the
whole world of Europe is tempest-torn. Italy is up,--all her people are
in wild revolt; Hungary is in open insurrection. I speak not of other
lands, whose fortunes affect us not, but the great empire of our Kaiser
is convulsed to its very centre. I have just been at Meran, troops are
marching in every hour, and every hour come new messengers to bid them
hasten southward. Over the Stelvio, where you see that dark line yonder,
near the summit of the mountains, on they pour! They say, too, that
Upper Austria is in rebellion, and that the roads from Innspruck are
unsafe to travel. We are safe here, Fräulein, but you must not venture
further. We will try, from some of the officers who pass through, to
glean tidings of the Count, your grand-uncle, and where a letter may
reach him; but bear with this humble shelter for a while, and think it a
home.”
If Nelly was disappointed and baffled by this impediment to her journey,
she was not one to pass her time in vague regrets, but at once addressed
herself to the call of new duties with a willing mind and a cheerful
spirit.
Resuming her long-neglected tools, she set to work once more, stimulated
by the new scenes and subjects around her. To the little children who
often formed her “studies,” she became the schoolmistress. To the old
who were stricken with sickness or the helplessness of age she used to
read for hours together. Every little pathway led her to some office of
charity or kindness, till the “good Fräulein” became a village byword,
and her name was treasured and her footstep welcomed in every cottage
around.
Her humble dress, her more humble manner, took nothing from the
deference they yielded her. They felt too intensely the inborn
superiority of her nature to think of any equality between them, and
they venerated her with something like devotion. A physician to the
sick, a nurse to the bedridden, a teacher to the ignorant, a blessing
and an example to all, Nelly's hours were but too short for the calls
of her duties, and, in her care for others, she had no time to bestow on
her own sorrows.
As for Hanserl, he worked from daylight to dusk. Already the little
garden, weed-grown and uncared-for before, was as blooming as his former
one at the Alten Schloss. Under Nelly's guidance many a device was
executed that seemed almost miraculous to the simple neighbors; and the
lichen-clad rocks, the waving water-lilies or trellised creepers, which,
in the wild wantonness of nature they had never noticed, now struck
them as the very creations of genius. Even old Andy was not forgotten in
their schemes of happiness; and the old huntsman used to spend hours in
the effort to tame a young fox a peasant had brought him,--a labor not
the less interesting that its progress suffered many a check, and that
many a laugh arose at the backslidings of the pupil.
And now we leave them for a brief season, all occupied and all happy;
nor do we like the fate that calls us away to other and very different
associates.