WHERE IS JOSEPH?
"Where is Joseph?" asked Schilder-David when he came home.
"He is not here."
"I sent him home however, when I went to speak to our Pastor."
"He is not come home."
"I daresay he is gone to see Haespele again; I will go and fetch him,"
said Martina rising from her chair.
"Don't fail to give him a good box on the ear, for running about alone
in such an independent way," said David to his daughter as she was
leaving the house.
Martina soon came back and said, "Joseph is neither at Haespele's nor in
the workshop."
"Where on earth can that tiresome boy be? I will go and look for him
myself."
The grandfather went out, and enquired for Joseph from house to house;
no one knew anything of him; Schilder-David went home again, thinking
that no doubt he should find the boy arrived before him.
"But where is Joseph?" said Martina to her father, when he entered the
room on the ground floor, that served as a kitchen.
"He is sure to be here very soon," said the grandfather; going however
through the whole house, and searching every corner of it; he called up
to his workshop in the loft the name of Joseph, and felt quite startled
by the hollow echo; he shoved aside presses, behind which neither man
nor boy could have been hidden, and he even opened the cover of the
watercourse, behind the house, forgetting that it was frozen over, and
nobody could possibly fall into it. Just as he returned to the house he
met Haespele, bringing home Joseph's new boots: he told him privately
that he was looking for the boy, and that he was in great trouble lest
something should have happened to the child; he did not know what, but
he felt very uneasy about him.
"Did you look for him at the old Bugler's? I heard him blowing away,
and beautifully too; at this moment, depend upon it, Joseph is with
him; here are his boots, I will go and fetch the boy."
The worthy Haespele ran quickly down the village, to a stocking weaver's
who was seated in his room, practising some new tunes on the French
horn. It sounded very pretty through the stillness of the night, when a
man's own footsteps were inaudible in the thick snow.
It was very natural that Joseph should prefer being with the old horn
player, to sitting at home; but he was not there either. On his way,
Haespele mentioned to his neighbours that he was in search of Joseph; no
one had seen him, and nowhere was he to be found! Haespele returned to
David with this distressing intelligence, and the latter said, "Keep
quiet, and not a word before the women, or there will be a fine
howling; stay here for a little, he has very probably hid himself, and
perhaps intends to come here with the Three Holy Kings--I mean the
masks, who go about on this evening--I daresay he thinks it would be
fine fun; but I'll show him another sort of fun when I catch him."
David sat down again, and with apparent composure, whistled, and kept
waving his hand in the air, as if in anticipation of the strokes of the
birch rod he fully intended to administer to the little culprit.
"I will stay quietly where I am," said he, as if addressing himself; so
he filled his pipe and went on smoking, muttering occasionally, what a
good-for-nothing little scamp Joseph was, but he would take care he
should be well punished for all the anxiety he had caused. David took
up his Bible, and continued to read on from the place where he had
stopped the day before; it was in the 2nd book of Samuel, 12th chapter,
where King David mourns for his sick child. This did not contribute to
tranquillize the reader, so he got up and went out and in, listening
anxiously. The bells were all merrily ringing in the Festival--surely
he must come soon now--but no one came. There was no longer a
possibility of secresy; David went to every house in the village to the
right, and Haespele the same to the left. They both met again at David's
house. The procession of the Three Holy Kings passed along; Joseph was
not with them; concealment was now out of the question.
"Martina, our Joseph has disappeared," said the grandfather, and
Martina uttered a loud cry of grief, exclaiming:--
"This was why he woke me three times last night and asked; 'Mother, is
it not yet light?' Joseph! Joseph! Joseph! where are you?" shouted she
through the whole house, up the hill, and all along the village, in the
garden, and among the fields.
"Oh! if he is lost, I shall die," said David; "I shall never hear the
New Year rung in, and the tree I bought to make clock cases of, may be
sawed up for my coffin, and I laid in it."
But Martina did not hear her father's lamentations, for she had rushed
out of the house long since; David's neckcloth felt too tight, and he
snatched it off, his face looking quite distorted, for he wished to
suppress his tears, and yet could not. Suddenly he thought to himself,
"Joseph must be in the church!" he hurried to the church, the door of
which was open, as they were preparing it for midnight service. The
schoolmaster was walking about alone, with a single candle, and placing
quantities of lights on the altar.
"Joseph! Joseph! are you here?" cried David, on the threshold of the
church; the sound vibrated loudly. The candle fell out of the
schoolmaster's hand, and he answered, trembling, "There is no one here
but myself--what is the matter?"
"You allowed the children to give him the nickname of 'The Foal,' so it
is your fault that he is gone off, and is nowhere to be found," cried
David, and hurried away. The schoolmaster was as much in the dark about
this reproach, as he now was in the church, where, after much groping
about, he at last found the wax taper.
The whole village collected together, and even the stocking weaver came
with his French horn, which, however, he quickly put under his old
military cloak, to prevent its getting wet. "I will blow the horn all
through the village," said he, "and then he will come."
"No!" said one. "The old Roettmaennin has no doubt caused him to be
stolen, hoping to force you, Martina, to give up Adam, for this very
afternoon he was betrothed to the Forest Miller's Tony; one of the
miller's men was here, and told us all about it."
"Don't drive me out of my senses," cried Martina. "Joseph! Joseph!
come! oh, come! your mother is calling you!"
While they were still standing clustered together, a strange looking
little man was seen coming up the valley, hung all round and round with
huge bundles protruding on every side. It was the hatter from the next
town, bringing for the holidays, a collection of newly dressed
three-cornered hats into the village.
"What is going on here?" asked the little man.
"We are looking for a child--Joseph--he has disappeared."
"How old is the child?"
"Six years old."
"I met a fine boy with a rosy face, and fair curly hair."
"Yes, yes, that must have been Joseph; for God's sake tell me where he
is," said Martina, rushing up to the man so eagerly, that all his hats
tumbled down into the snow.
"Gently, gently! I have not got him in my bundles. Below there, in the
wood, I all at once met a boy; I asked him: 'What are you doing here
alone, and night beginning to fall? where are you going to?' 'To meet
my father, who is coming up this road; did you not see him?' 'What is
your father like?' 'Big and strong.' 'I have not seen him--come home
with me, child.' 'No, I am coming home with my father.' I took hold of
the child, and tried to bring him with me by force, but he being wild
and obstinate, gave me the slip, and darted off like a deer, and I
heard him still calling, far into the wood, 'Father! father!'"
"That was certainly Joseph; for God's sake let us go after him."
"We will all go--all!"
"Stop!" said Schilder-David, coming forward; "hatter, will you go with
us?"
"I cannot, for I am so weary, I can scarcely set one foot before the
other; besides, it would be of no use, for it is more than an hour
since I saw the child; I stopped for some time at the Meierhof; and who
knows where the child may be now; I can tell you exactly where I met
him--in the Otterswald Wood, close to the river, where the large
spreading beech stands. It is the only very large tree there, and you
all know it."
"Very well," said Schilder-David, striving to be composed; "I shall
take good care to break a branch off that tree, to make Joseph remember
it."
"No! no, you are not to beat him!" exclaimed Martina--she did not like
to say, that this was the very same beech tree, where Adam had spoken
to her for the first time; and perhaps her child might at that very
moment be lying under it--frozen to death.
"It is night, and we can see nothing, and the snow is falling faster
than ever," cried Haespele; "fetch torches, ring the alarm bell; we must
ask the Pastor to let us do so; come straight to the Parsonage."
Martina, however, was taken home, and when she saw the boots on the
table, she sobbed more than ever, saying: "Alas! how proud he was of
them, and now his dear little feet are frozen--cold--dead!"
The women round Martina tried to comfort her, and one of them said,
with the kindest intentions, that to be frozen to death was the easiest
of all deaths; it was simply falling asleep, and never awaking.
"He would fall asleep on earth, to awake in Heaven," said the poor
mother, weeping bitterly. "My Joseph prophesied it himself; he was too
wise, too good, and went to meet his father. No, I will not die! when
Adam goes to church with his bride, he shall hear my Joseph cry out
from above, 'No!' and--he called 'father! father!' his father did not
answer him; he did not know his voice--but day and night he will know
it now. So long as he lives it will sound in his ears, that his child
was frozen to death in his own wood; he need not go out and try to wrap
him up now--too late--too late! his heart must be as hard as a stone!
and there is the wooden horse my boy played with; it looks pitifully at
me, though only wood; but the father is of wood too, he has no pity, he
has killed his child. How often have I seen him holding out bread to
his wooden horse! Oh! he had such a kind heart! oh! Joseph, Joseph!"
One of the women whispered to the other: "It would be a happy thing if
he were only frozen to death, for a huge wolf is prowling about in the
wood, and who knows if it has not torn the child to pieces." Though
this was said in so low a voice, the ears of those who grieve are
wonderfully acute; in the midst of her loud lamentations, Martina
caught the words, and suddenly screamed out "The wolf, the wolf!" she
clenched her hands and said, convulsively, "Oh! that I could strangle
it with my own hands!" and looking at Leegart, she said, sobbing, "Oh!
Leegart! Leegart! why do you sit sewing there at the darling's jacket,
when the child is dead?"
"I did not hear a syllable; don't blame me; I heard nothing; you would
not say a word; I asked three times, and no one answered. You know I
have no superstition--nothing is so silly as to be superstitious; still
there is no doubt of the fact, that so long as you go on either sewing
or spinning for any one, that person cannot die. There was once a
king----" and in the midst of all the distress and confusion, Leegart
coolly related the story of Penelope and Ulysses, with some singular
additions of her own; saying that Penelope had worked indefatigably at
her web, but undid at night what she had done by day, and thus saved
the life of her husband, who was in America.
Leegart was afraid, and not without cause, that in the agitation of the
moment, her tale was not very distinctly heard; she acted, therefore,
prudently, in proceeding with her story without pausing, or even
looking up. When she was once seated, it was well known that she never
left her chair till her time was up, and when she once began to tell a
story, she went on steadily to the very end; indeed, if the house had
taken fire, it was very doubtful whether she would have moved. We must
hope, therefore, that the fire will be kind enough to wait till
Leegart's hour for departure is come.
While Martina was lamenting with the women in the house, the whole
troop of men, had arrived at the Parsonage, and Haespele offered to be
spokesman. The children, too, begged hard to be allowed to go with the
rest to look for Joseph, but their mothers began to cry and to hold
them back, while the fathers shook them off impatiently, and scolded
them soundly into the bargain. The decrepit old men, who had crept
forth from their snug corners beside the stove, took the women and
children home with them.
It looked like the vanguard of an army advancing on the foe--but where
was the foe? There were some, however, who declared that it was utterly
absurd to seek a child in the forest, in such a storm and in such
blinding snow; it would be exactly like looking for a needle in a
haystack. Haespele, however, called out, "Those who don't like to go
with us can stay behind, there is no need to coax any one to go." Not
one person left them. Haespele went up stairs and entreated the Pastor
to allow the alarm bell to be rung. The Pastor was much distressed on
hearing about Joseph, but said, he could not permit the alarm bell to
be sounded, for it would terrify the neighbouring parishes without
sufficient cause, and make them reluctant perhaps to give their
assistance on some future occasion.
"It is good of you to go in such numbers to seek Joseph; I am glad to
see it," said he in conclusion.
"There is not a single young healthy man in the village staying
behind," said Haespele.
"I, however, am obliged to remain here," said the Pastor with a smile;
"the Roettmaennin occupied all my time last night, and I must be ready
for midnight service in the church--but we will all pray for those who
are in the forest."
"I will go instead of you," said his brother-in-law. "Who is your
leader?"
"We have none; will you be so good as to be our conductor, Herr
brother-in-law?"
All laughed, for Haespele, not knowing the young farmer's name,
designated him simply as the Pastor's brother-in-law.
"My name is Brand," said Edward; "I know the path, for I was there
to-day."
"The Pastorin's brother is going with us," was soon whispered into the
street, and everyone was pleased. Haespele was right; with the exception
of the sick and decrepit, every man in the village was present--they
were all standing at the door with torches, iron spikes, ladders, axes,
and long ropes.
"Is there any one here who can make a signal?" asked Edward. The
stocking weaver drew his horn from under his cloak. The instrument did
not shine brighter in the torchlight than the face of the stocking
weaver, who had suddenly become so important a personage.
"Good! keep close to me. According to my ideas this is the best plan:
the bugler is to go with me to the Reitersberg, where we will light a
fire, and then let all disperse two and two; not one alone. Whoever
finds Joseph, must either bring him to us on the Reitersberg, or at
least any tidings of him. Three loud long blasts of the horn will be
heard at intervals, so long as Joseph is not found; but as soon as we
find him, three short notes will be sounded, and continued till we are
all reassembled. But what would be still better; I have my gun with me,
are there any others in the village?"
"Certainly there are."
"Then go and fetch several, and when Joseph is found, we will fire
three consecutive shots. If we were not to do that, very possibly some
of your good people might still be running about in the snow and cold,
long after Joseph was found."
"He is right--a capital notion! Just like the brother of our Frau
Pastorin."
The young farmer smiled, and continued: "One thing more: we have
coverlets and mattrasses with us. Is there any dog in the village that
knows Joseph?"
"They all know him, and love him. You know Joseph, don't you, Blitz?"
said Haespele to a large dog at his heels.
The huge yellow dog answered by a loud bark, and a wag of his tail.
"Very well," exclaimed Edward, "let loose the dogs then."
"And we will hang lanterns round their necks, and round our own the
bells of the cows, and those of our teams."
Every one had a fresh suggestion to make, so it was fortunate that the
various opinions were concentrated into one by their leader.
"Now give us once more the signal, that we may all know it thoroughly,"
said Edward; and the stocking weaver blew his horn with all his might.
Scarcely had the sound died away, when Martina came running up and
exclaimed: "Here are his clothes."
"Let the dogs smell the clothes," said Edward.
Martina would have been almost knocked down by the dogs who surrounded
her, if Haespele had not had the sense to take the bundle from her.
"Call to the dogs,--'Seek Joseph'!" commanded Edward; "and now forward!
march! Joseph is our battle cry."
"Halt!" shouted a deep powerful voice from the opposite side, "what is
the matter?"
"Adam," cried Martina, rushing up to him, "what have you there? have
you found our Joseph?"
"Our Joseph! what do you mean? This is the wolf that I killed with my
cudgel."
"The wolf that tore our child to pieces," cried Martina, clenching her
hands in agony, and staring down at the dead animal. Haespele, very
properly, told Adam in few words what had occurred. Adam was still
holding the animal by the neck, and now he shook the dead creature
violently, and hurled it with superhuman strength far away over the
ditch into the field. Then he said:--
"I make a solemn vow here, before you all, that whether our child is
found or not, my Martina is mine for life or death. May God forgive me
for having been so long a weak undecided, good-for-nothing fellow! but
listen to me, men all. Each of you may strike me in the face if I do
not take my Martina to my own house, even if father, mother, and the
whole world are against it."
"For heaven's sake, don't talk of this just now," said Martina, hiding
her face on Adam's breast, and bursting for the first time into tears;
Adam laid his hand fondly on her head, his breast heaving with the
thick sobs which closely followed each other. Never did any one see
Adam weep but that once.
The whole assemblage, at a silent signal from Edward, had gone forward
with their bells, dogs, and torches; Haespele alone stayed behind with
the unhappy parents, and when Adam looked up, large tears were
glittering in his eyes in the light of the torch. Adam, however, stood
erect, and said energetically: "Come, Martina, we shall certainly find
him. I cannot think that he is dead; I heard him calling in the wood; I
could not believe that it was really a human voice, and yet it was the
voice of my child."
"And how often he called you during the night, and you could not hear
him!"
"If he is still alive, I will cherish henceforth every word of his."
"God grant it! Amen," said Haespele in a low voice, and went on before
them with his torch; and the two followed him close together.