"Such let my life be here:
Not marked by noise but by success alone,
Not known by bustle, but by useful deeds;
Quiet and gentle, clear and fair as light,
Yet full of its all-penetrating power,
Its silent but resistless influence;
Wasting no needless sound, yet ever working,
Hour after hour, upon a needy world."
--H. BONAR.
The last day of the year had come. But such a struggle and event as
it brought with it none of the preceding three hundred and sixty-four
had witnessed. The dunes looked around in surprise, rubbing with one
hand the snow from their eyes, and thinking Summer had returned
again. They could not imagine why there was such a concourse of
people moving to and fro. What had occurred in this quiet spot of
the world that it had been transformed into such a place of
excitement?
Nothing had happened as yet; but on the morrow Martin's father had
decided to give a festival in honor of his son's return, such as had
never been witnessed on sea or land. All the people round about
should participate in it; great and small should rejoice with him.
There was no public house large enough to accommodate every body; but
this did not trouble Herr Niederog's mind. Did not the sea spread
itself out to unseen width, and arch her bosom with ice as firm as a
ship's deck? Did it not sparkle and beam in dazzling whiteness? On
the ice, then, they would go; play, eat, drink, skate, sled--all
partake of the joy which the father entertained.
Great preparations were begun. Herr Niederog hastened them as much
as possible; for while the ice now stood firm and hard as marble, the
banks here and there began to give signs that probably in several
days water would flow between the main-land and the ice-plain.
To-day all was safe and beautiful. The finest weather greeted the
festival, to which every body was invited. O, how the children
anticipated, with longing eyes, the preparations of the refreshments
yonder, in a gayly decorated tent! For once noon-time came too late;
but a half hour after, no one was seen in the houses; old and young
were out. Those who could not play and skate looked merrily on, and
not a single person remained behind save the solitary invalid of the
village, Frau Ericksen. Karen would have gladly remained with her;
but, being Martin's betrothed, she was one of the chief personages of
the festival. At length she, too, was gone, and the paralytic one
lay in a position which enabled her to look out on the sea, and at
least share with her eyes in the general enjoyment. Had Ingeborg
been here, she would have remained at the bedside, as such pleasures
were indifferent to her; but she was at Berlin, having written a few
lines to Mother Esther, after her arrival, to the effect that she had
reached there safely; had seen Wulf; he was no longer ill, and should
soon return with her. Further Mother Esther knew nothing.
Quietly she lay there, thinking, recalling the occurrences of her
life. With what pleasure she would have witnessed her happy daughter
on the arm of the joyful bridegroom! Then her thoughts reverted to
Berlin. Her beloved son was there, and she could not help him. How
gladly she would have hastened to him, embraced and rescued him! But
alas! she was lying here, helpless. Through the clear air came
shouts of laughter, and Mother Esther looked out upon the gay picture
in the distance. But it was too far away to recognize any one. Much
easier could she read the beautiful inscription on the wall, which,
as a child, had been deciphered with so much difficulty, and which
had silently witnessed all the joy and sorrow of her life. It had
stood there as long as the house, and would accompany Karen, also,
through her new life, helping her to bear the good and evil days
which might recur to her in this little abode:
"In storm and tempests high,
Great God, protect my life!
And from my little home,
Keep distant rage and strife.
Let angels hover near;
Then shall we never fear!"
Several hours passed in this way. Early evening came, and moonlight
fell upon the pretty picture of merry-makers. Suddenly, as Frau
Ericksen looked out over the sea, she perceived a little white cloud
rising near the horizon. It gave her unspeakable anxiety, as she
understood so well weather signals. In about an hour there would be
a frightful storm, which would disturb the water, cause the ice to be
flooded and all would be lost. "O God!" she thought, "is there not
one among them wise enough to interpret that little peculiar cloud,
that will soon become monstrous, and bring destruction in its path?"
No; all are happy, living only in the present enjoyment. How well
she knew this class of people! Quiet, thoughtful, difficult to
arouse to mirth, but doing every thing heartily and thoroughly--work
or play. No one would dream of danger, and suddenly it will come
upon them all!
Mother Esther's solicitude gave vent in a loud cry, which was
followed by successive ones. Alas! her shrieks did not reach beyond
the little room. They were all in vain; no head turned away from the
strand; there was no cessation of pleasure, and the cloud grew larger
and larger.
There is no time to lose; many lives hang on thy efforts, thou poor,
lame woman!
She looked once more out of the window. The moonlight threw its pale
beams over all, and only showed to her more plainly the gathering
blackness. Now life hangs on a moment to attract these merry
unfortunates. Then, a fearful conclusion: the power of the will
controls the body. Frau Ericksen, who, but a few moments before had
been unable to stir, crept out of bed, crawled to the stove on hands
and knees. God be thanked, there is still some fire there! Seizing
a brand she threw it upon her bed, and in a moment it was wrapped in
flames. Now she must reach a place of safety herself. With
superhuman effort she gained the door, and then, a few feet from her
home, she saw the red flames leap from the window and seize the straw
upon the roof. Only partially clothed, she knelt in the snow, her
whole spiritual strength concentrated in her eyes. She gazed
intently hither and thither. Yes, yes! now they see the clear
fire-light, and in wild haste all rush to the land. Then the wind
sprang up and accelerated the destruction of the widow's dwelling,
and still more the approach of the villagers, who now recognized
their double peril. The sky had grown dark; the ice cracked and
snapped; the wind is become a storm, flapping the flaming tongues
like whips, but in the wild escaping all are there; and as the last
foot presses the strand the ice breaks, and the furious waters rush
and roar as if in rage that their victims have escaped. All are
saved, every one.
Martin and Karen outran the others. They were the first to discover
the motionless form of their mother, prostrate on the ground.
Nothing could be saved from the house. The situation was grasped by
all, and one feeling animated every heart. At the same time, from
another direction, with flying feet, came Wulf and Ingeborg. They
had seen the light of the fire, and had hastened thither as rapidly
as the approaching storm. They do not ask what has happened. The
condition of Mother Esther permits no time for questions.
"Take her immediately to my house," says Ingeborg.
"No, to mine," "to mine," is heard on all sides.
"I have plenty of room, and it is not far," says Ingeborg, firmly.
Every one offers to carry tenderly the old mother; every hand would
render some immediate service; every eye would see her; every lip
would bless her.
Now she lies feeble and pale in Ingeborg's comfortable bed and warm
room. All signs of lethargy have flown from Wulf, and as yet he does
not grasp the situation, as his professional skill is wholly claimed.
But there is nothing to hope. A second paralytic stroke has affected
the whole body; a third will not be long delayed, and it will end her
life.
But Mother Esther is not unconscious. She looks up and recognizes
Wulf, Karen, Ingeborg, and Martin. Through the open door many enter.
She knows them all, and receives their grateful thanks for their life
and her love. Many eyes are wet with tears; many hard palms press
the stiffened hands of the old mother. She looks up so inquiringly,
that, comprehending her expression, they tell her all are returned
safely, and that she has rescued them. Tears of joy fill her eyes as
she seeks to read the faces of Karen and Martin. She had destroyed
their home, and now her daughter is portionless. They embrace her
assuringly, while Herr Niederog advances and says:
"Make no apology, Mother Esther; we owe our lives to you, and I will
establish Karen as a princess."
"I will also contribute my share." exclaims an old seaman; "but for
you I should be in a watery grave."
"The poor girl has lost mother and home for us," added another. "A
shame to any who will not do what he can."
At length the room is cleared. Wulf requests rest and quiet for his
mother, he alone remaining at her side until she fell asleep, when he
went out to learn the particulars of the affair.
Without words, without ostentation, a simple old woman had done a
heroic deed, which was crowned with success. With her own life she
had purchased many, and yet there lay upon her face an expression
which seemed to ask forgiveness for having destroyed her child's
home. Wulf heard the story of the day. And yet this faithful mother
he had overlooked and neglected; had given her anxious care instead
of joy, and had imagined himself to be better than she! Youthful
confidence in unbridled strength on the one side, selfish compliance
to every allurement and impression on the other side, had engendered
the bitter disappointment in a struggle that had not been able to
discriminate between the real and the unreal. Made recreant to his
faith, disappointed in his love, he had witnessed the downfall of
every thing that had at first seemed beautiful and only worthy of
attainment. The usual currents in which he moved had shown their
inner falsity and ended in a precipice. Finally he was weary of the
chase. He had recognized his want of decision--he who had desired so
much and attained so little; but his strength to resist was broken.
Knowledge and theory, words, and even experience, could not help
him--only deeds and life. Here was a deed; it thrilled him. God be
thanked, it created dissension within him. And now his heart was a
purgatory in which good and evil struggled for the mastery. What
would he not give, now, to have his mother again? He needed her more
than ever. "Mother, leave me not," he cried. "Alas! that I followed
the false thirst which enticed me from this peaceful calling here!
What do I bring as a compensation?"
Mother Esther slept long. Even the raging of a furious storm without
did not disturb her. When the angel Gabriel shall sound the trump at
the day of judgment she will awake out of her sleep and hear the
voice which called "Lazarus, come forth," say to her: "Well done,
good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things,
I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of
thy Lord."
Her funeral was like that of a princess and a heroine. As in the few
days previous all had gone forth to the merry-making, so now no one
remained behind from this festival of sorrow.
Wulf stood by the open grave, and looked into the narrow place which
should henceforth be his mother's resting-place. What equipment had
he, with all his thinking and striving for eternal life? She had
never aspired to do great things, and yet she had accomplished the
noblest. He, whose ambition would lead him to bless the whole world
with startling effect, would he be mourned as a benefactor like this
one? Wulf was deeply moved, and these days of heaviness continued
their work as they led him to contemplate the months and years of his
early life. The corn was laid in the earth.
"Karen, Wulf," said Ingeborg, several days later, "your mother was
also my mother; we are brother and sisters. This house belongs to
me. It is large and empty. For my sake remain here."
"We will thankfully accept your kind and generous offer, at least for
a time," they both replied.
So the three remained together, and faithful Johanna occupied a
mother's place among them.
It was decided that Karen and Martin should be married here, and the
wedding should be a quiet one; for no grass as yet sprang from Mother
Esther's grave. But all the rich love and sympathy which the bride
received from the villagers on her wedding-day, was it not typical of
the more beautiful flowers springing and growing from that suggestive
spot?