Joseph in the snow. A tale

Front matter

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Chapter I

isn’t it morning,

YET ?

C THER, isn’t it morning, yet ? ” asked a child, sitting up in bed.

“No, not for a long time.

What is the matter ? Be quiet, and go to sleep.”

The child was quiet for a short time ; then he asked again, in a low voice, —

“ Mother, isn’t it morning, yet ? ”

“Why do you ask, Joseph? Be still! let me sleep, and go to sleep yourself. Say your prayers again, and then sleep will come to you.”

JOSEPH IN THE SNOW.

The mother once more repeated the child’s evening-prayer to him, and prayed softly herself; then she said, “ Now, good-night ! ”

The child was still for a long time ; but, when his mother moved in bed, he called, half-aloud, 11 Mother ! ”

No answer.

u Mother, mother, mother ! ” u What ails you ? what is the matter ? ”

“Mother, isn’t it morning, yet ? ”

“ You are a naughty child, very naughty. Can’t you let me have my night’s rest ? I have been three times to the woods, to-day, and am very tired. Now, if you wake me again, to-morrow evening the Christ-child will bring you nothing but a switch. Be a good boy, and go to sleep. Hark ! the watchman is calling twelve.”

The child drew a deep sigh, said, “ Good-night, till morning ! ” and quite buried himself in the pillows.

It was a little, dark room, just under the roof, where these words had been spoken. The glass in the small window was so thickly covered with frost that the clear moonlight could not shine through it. The woman bent over the child, who was at last sleeping quietly; but she could no longer sleep herself ; and, after lying some time with her eyes closed, she murmured, “ And if he takes me home ; and I believe, in spite of every thing, that he will isn’t it morning, yet?

— lie cannot help it — lie must — And, if he takes me home, he will do all he can for me and our child. Alas ! the days that are gone will never come back. Oh, if we could only begin our lives again ! if we could wake some day, and find it was not true, that we so — But no : if we have once sinned, we must suffer for it our whole life long. Is it true that I was once as merry as people say ? Why did my child ask three times, 1 Isn’t it morning, yet ? ’ What will the morning bring ? 0

Adam, Adam! you do not know what I suffer ! If you did, you could not sleep now.”

The brook which flowed behind the house was frozen over ; but at night the gurgling of the water under its cover of ice could be heard.

The thoughts of the sleepless woman followed the course of the brook far up the stream, through pathless valleys and deep ravines, till it was stopped at the forest-mill; and as it there leaped and foamed, and whirled over the wheel, so her thoughts leaped and whirled in the night. There, in the mill, she dwelt, whom Adam’s parents had chosen. Toni, the miller’s daughter, had always been called a good, kind-hearted girl; and now she showed herself so cruel ! The woman’s hands were clinched : she felt a knife, as it were, pierce her heart ; and she hissed between her teeth, 11 If he is untrue ! No : he cannot be ! But, if he is, I will not suffer it. I will go to the church with

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my Joseph — no — not that — I will not take him. I will go alone — I will cry, 1 1 will not suffer it ! ’ and then I will see if any priest will marry them.”

The brook now flowed quietly through a meadow : here and there, at its very edge, stood a tree with thick foliage ; but on both sides, extending to the mountains, were dense, high-grown fir-woods. Over rocks the brook again leaped into a solitary ravine, and flowed rapidly once more. Now it passed a mile-stone. “ Here we are at home,” Adam had once said there : and yet it was a full hour’s walk to Köttmann Farm. There was the Otterswanger Forest ; and here was a quiet spot by the brook — the watcher pressed her cold hands to her heated cheeks — where, by the large beech-tree, Adam had first kissed her. Nobody in the world thought, and she herself could hardly believe, that he could be so kind and good, so gentle and so thoughtful.

It was a beautiful summer-day : the day before, there had been a violent storm, with thunder and lightning, — so violent, that no one thought there would be a tree left standing in the forest. It is often thus, both within doors and without : there is such a tumult and confusion that we anticipate a destruction of every thing; and yet, when quiet returns, nothing is changed.

It was a beautiful summer-day. In every furisn’t it morning, yet?

row and crevice, streamlets were flowing, making a loud noise, and hurrying on as though they knew their life was short, and they must make the most of it. The birds were singing, and the girl washing at the brook. What could she do but sing ? Why should she not ? She was still young, and without care ; and she knew many songs which she had learned from her father, who in former days was so happy, and so rich in songs.

Men were coming down the brook, for there was now water enough- for boats. And, look ! there was Adam, the son of the house, upon a single log, which turned constantly: but he was skilful, and stood firm and upright; and, when near the girl, he let the log float as it would, placed his oar in the water, raised himself by it, and sprang with a bold leap to the shore. The girl laughed when she saw the tall young man with the high boots leaping through the air; but she was frightened when he stood before her.

“ I have long wanted to say, 1 Thank you ! ’ ” said he.

«Why? for what?”

“ Because you have borne so much from my mother.”

“ I am only a servant. I receive my wages, and I must bear something. Your mother suffers enough, too: she .is angr} 7 with the Lord, because your brother was killed at the wood-cutting ; she

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is angry with God and the world, and suffers herself moät for it.”

Adam opened his eyes wide in wonder. “-You are — you were” — stammered he: “yes, you!” He shuddered, held his boat-hook high in the air, and suddenly cried, “ Will you go from here, far from here ? ”

He sprang into the brook, dashing the water far above his head, and sending into the stream, with great force, the rafts, which were lying one upon another, in a bend of the brook. Martina watched him in surprise, and wondered what had happened to him. After he was out of sight, she heard him call with the raftsman, for a time ; then all was still again.

For weeks, Adam did not speak to Martina : he hardly looked at her. But in the harvest-time, when the cattle were pastured in the meadow, Martina was one day going down the mountain to draw water, — there was no well at the Röttmann Farm, and it was necessary to go half-way down the mountain for water, — when she saw the bull suddenly toss his head, and begin to run. It was beautiful to see this clumsy animal run so lightly; and she watched him with delight, till the herdsman called, “ Run, Martina, or the bull will gore you ! ”

She uttered a shrill cry, and was running away, with her face turned back, when she fell. For an isn’t it morning, yet?

instant she heard the snorting of the beast near her; then he was bellowing loudly on the ground. Adam had hastened thither, seized the animal by the horns, and pressed his head down, and had kept him in this position till the other men had come.

Martina was saved ; and Adam only said, “ Another time, when you go to the meadow, take your red handkerchief off your head.” -He was bespattered with blood ; and Martina asked, in terror, “ For heaven’s sake, are you hurt ? ”

“ Don’t be frightened ! It’s nothing at all. The bull only bled at the mouth, and threw the blood upon me. Now go for your water.” He turned, and went to the pond to wash himself ; and, when left alone, Martina first realized her fright, and the great danger in which she had been. Her tears began to flow, and with them sprang up in her heart admiration and love for the strong, kind man who had saved her.

At noon she heard his mother say to him, “ You are the most foolish, good-for-nothing fellow in the world to put your life in danger to save a stupid girl ! ”

“I won’t do it again,” Adam answered.

“ Believe me,” said his father, smiling, “ you couldn’t do it a second time, — catch a bull by the horns, and escape with your life. It’s a pity no-

JOSEPH IN THE SNOW.

body was there to see it ; for it is a deed the whole country would praise.”

After this, whenever Adam met Martina, he greeted her in a friendly way, but said nothing more to her. He appeared pleased, however, that she had helped him to do a real Röttmann deed.

Again Martina was washing at the brook, when Adam stood before her.

“ Are you well ? ” he asked. u I haven’t got over my fright yet,” she said : 11 1 tremble now, when I think of it. But I shall be grateful to you for my life as long as I ” —

“ I will hear nothing of that. The bull isn’t really bad : no animal would be, neither horse nor bull, if men didn’t make them so, when young, b^ foolishly frightening and goading them. But now, — yes — well — I — Don’t you know all ? and don’t you hold me as dear as I you ? ”

He could not say much ; but in his eyes there was a look of deep tenderness as he watched Martina, and laid his hand on her shoulder. And here he gave her the first kiss ; and no one could believe that this Adam would be so gentle and so tender. But, when he put his arm around her neck, she cried out with pain: then he laughed, and begged her to teach him how to do it gently. “ Stand upon that stump of a tree, — so ! ”

isn't it morning, yet?

And, when she showed him, he lifted her like a little child ; and yet she was large and strong.

They stood together under the beech-tree ; and Martina looked up at the leaves, between which the slanting sunbeams were falling.

“ See, how beautiful the tree is ! ” she exclaimed.

“ It’s good for nothing,” said Adam. “ It has many branches, but scarcely any trunk.”

“ I do not think so. Only see how golden-green it glitters and shines !

“You are right. It is beautiful,” he answered; and his rough, brown face w~as very mild as a few trembling sunbeams played upon it. For the first time, he seemed to understand that there was any thing to be seen in a tree, except its amount of wood. And, as often as Martina thought of that look through the beech-tree, it seemed to her that those sunbeams were shining forever, and could never fade away.

Taking Martina’s hand, Adam said, “ This tree I will always leave standing. It shall never be cut down. Tree, come to our wedding ! Or, no : stay here, and you shall hear joyful music on the wedding-day. Martina, can’t you give me something of yours to keep ? ”

“ I am poor, and have nothing.”

“Haven’t you anything? I see something I would like. May I have it ? ”

“ Yes, whatever it is.”

JOSEPH IN THE SNOW.

“ See ! there is your name upon your breast. Tear it out, and give it to me.”

“ I would tear my heart from my body if you asked me.” She tore from her kerchief the part where her name was, and gave it to him.

“ I give you nothing / 5 he said ; 11 but, look around ! As far as you can see, all is yours ! 55

At these words, which showed how rich Adam was, and how poor Martina, a feeling of sadness came over her ; but it quickly fled as he again took her hand.

It was a wild, all-powerful, all-forgetting love that had come to them, and sorrow and misery soon followed. Adam was sent, for the first time in his life, down the Rhine, with a boat, to Holland ; and, during his absence, she was driven in shame and disgrace from the house.

These were the pictures of the past, both blissful and sorrowful, which spread themselves before Martina, in her little attic-chamber.

She buried her face in the pillow. The cocks were crowing in the village, for it was already long past midnight. “ The one that is crowing now must be Haspele’s : he has bought a new kind. How loud those long-legged ones crow ! I like the others better. How good Haspele is ! and how kind to Joseph ! He certainly meant it, when he said, 1 Martina, in my eyes you are a widow, and a brave one, too . 5 Alas ! I pity you, Haspele ; but I cannot — no, no gratitude 55 — isn’t it morning, yet?

Without finding peace, Martina waited for the day. It often seemed as if sleep pitied her, and were coming to her : but, after lying quietly a few moments, she would start suddenly, for she seemed to hear the voice, and to see the hard, threatening face, of her old mistress ; and then she would murmur, “ Isn’t it morning, yet? ”

Chapter II. A Duet Is Interrupted

T the same time that the child was awake and so restless in the little attic-room, two lights were burning in the parlor of the priest’s house, and three persons were sitting at a round table, and chatting pleasantly : they were the priest, his wife, and her brother, a young farmer. It was very cheerful and warm in the room ; and, in the pauses of the conversation, you could hear the sound of apples baking, and the simmering of a kettle on the stove. The priest, who did not usually smoke, was thoughtful enough to do so when a guest came, and also, to pass his snuff-box, from which he often took a pinch himself, and as often handed it to his brother-in-law, who repeatedly thanked him. The priest regarded his guest with evident pleasure ; and his wife every now and then looked up with beaming eyes from

A DUET IS INTERRUPTED.

her embroidery (it was a present for the coming Christmas) into her brother’s face.

“ You have done well,” continued the priest ; and his handsome, oval face, with the finely-cut mouth, the dark-blue eyes, and the high, arched forehead, wore an expression of even greater kindness than usual. “ You have done well to come and spend your holiday with us ; but,” he added, looking at the fowling-piece in the corner, and smiling, “ your gun will do you little good, if you do not have the fortune to meet the wolf, which, they say, is prowling about the neighborhood.”

11 1 have come not merely for a visit and hunting,” replied the young man in a deep, manly voice : “ I have come also to beg you, dear brother, to withdraw your application for the place in Odenwald, and to wait till one is vacant in the vicinity of the capital, or perhaps in the capital itself. Our uncle, who is now president of the consistory, has promised to give you the first one that is empty.”

“ It isn’t possible for me to go there,” the priest answered. “ To be sure, I would like, for Lina’s sake as well as my own, to be near our parents, and sometimes I really long to hear good music ; but I do not like the new doctrines that are preached, and the oversight to which a priest is subjected. There is, moreover, among my brethren of the present day, a great solicitude for their parish-

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ioners’ souls: they give each other prescriptions which sound very fine, but which, in reality, have too much pride in them. It is with them, as with parents who talk very wisely about bringing up children, — I always find that those who talk the most about it have the least care and control. And really, if we are simple and true, we can teach both our own children, and those of our church, without any art, and without constant worry and anxiety. I am especially opposed to change. I think we ought to grow old with the men for whom we have worked in the heat of the day ; and, in a well-governed state, we should be advanced to a higher position, while remaining in the same place. The reason that I applied for the situation at Odenwald is, that I feel myself becoming too old to bear the fatigue here ; and, besides, there are certain wrongs which I am unable to help — but enough of this. Come, let us sing.”

He arose, went to the piano, and began to play his favorite air ; and his wife and the young farmer sang, with well-trained voices, the duet from “ Titus:” —

“ Nor good nor ill divide as.”

It seemed like a joyful embrace, a clasping of true hands, as the two voices harmonized in this soul-stirring melody.

During the singing, there had been a sound like

A DUET IS INTERRUPTED.

the cracking of a whip before the house. They had heard it, but had paid no attention to it ; but now, when the song was finished, there was a quick, loud snap, which caused the wife to hasten to the window, and, opening it, to ask in the darkness if any one was there.

“ Yes,” answered a loud voice.

She quickly shut the window ; for an icy wind was blowing against her face, which was glowing from the effect of the song. Her brother was going to see who it was ; but the careful woman held him back, for he too was heated. She sent the servantgirl down, and in the mean time lamented that perhaps her husband would have to go out this dark night. The girl came back, and said it was some one whom Röttmann’s wife had sent to bring the priest to her.

“ Is it Adam, or a boy ? ” asked the priest.

“ A boy.”

“Let him come up, and take something warm, while I am getting ready.”

The priest’s wife begged her husband not to put his life in danger to go to the wicked woman. “ The way to Röttmann’s house,” she said, “ is dangerous enough in the daytime : at this season, and in the night, it is dreadful.”

“ A physician must go to a sick man, without asking about the wind and weather ; and how much more must I ! ” answered her husband.

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The boy now came into the room. The priest gave him a glass of something to drink, and asked him, —

“ Is your mistress very sick ?”

11 Oh, not so very sick ! She can scold and swear enough still,” answered the boy.

And now the priest’s wife again entreated him not to go till morning: she would answer before God, if the wicked woman should die without spiritual help. At the same time, she seemed to know that her entreaties would avail nothing ; for, while she was talking so earnestly to dissuade her husband, she was also pouring some brandy into a little straw-flask, which she afterwards put into the pocket of a large sheep-skin coat.

The young farmer wanted to go with his brother-in-law ; but the latter would not permit him. “ You must stay here, and go to bed soon,” said the priest, at the door. “ Do not come out : you are hoarse, and I want many more songs, before you go home. The beautiful Mozart melody will accompany me on my way.”

The brother and sister did go out of the house, however, to the place where the horses stood ; and the sister wrapped around the feet of the priest a large woollen shawl, and asked the boy, “ Why have you brought a sleigh, instead of a wagon ? ”

“ There is so much snow on the mountain ! ” replied the boy.

A DUET IS INTERRUPTED.

“ All, yes ! I suppose so. I wonder you do not all break your necks on that frozen ground. Drive very slowly and carefully. And, Otko, I would walk up the Otterswanger ; or, no — remain on the sled, for you will freeze if you get out; but be very careful, and Heaven keep you ! ”

u Good-night,” cried the priest ; and his voice sounded strangely, out of his wrappings. The horses started, the sleigh went rumbling and thumping out of the village, and the brother and sister returned to the house.

“ I cannot tell you how much good it does me to see your husband, and to hear him speak,” said the young man, when they were once again in the warm room. “ It seems to me that the older he grows, the clearer his pure, beautiful nature shows itself. Or is the change in me ? and do I see more clearly than before ? ”

His sister smiled, and said, “ No : you certainly love Otho with your whole heart; but you do not begin to know how true and holy and good he is. Some people think he does not preach enough ; but he is a sermon in himself. His gentleness, his untiring zeal and love, make all who know him kind and good. They become so merely by looking at him ; and, when he does preach, every word is a fruitful seed. Even the roughest men are respectful and gentlemanly in his presence. I used to think it a great pity that a man who rose so far

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above other men should pass his life among rude peasants ; but I have learned that the highest nature, which is simple and sweet as the Bible, is needed here.”

I do not know which was the greater, the earnestness with which the sister spoke, or that with which the brother listened ; even as we cannot tell which gives us greater pleasure, the sight of happiness in another, or the possession of it. There is, however, one joy that belongs to all who are capable of feeling it, — the recognition of a noble heart, and love for it.

“ 1 know where he is now ! ” continued the wife, starting up as though she saw him before her. “ He is by the great horn-beam ; and now they are going by the pine-grove, where the wind always blows so fiercely. Wrap yourself up warm! Ah ! I believe you will convert the wicked woman ! Yes, I believe it ! You can do every thing ! And you will marry Adam and Martina, and then we will remain here ! ”

The brother did not know what to say to the excited woman ; but finally he asked, “ Who is this wicked woman? and Adam? and Martina?”

“ Come, and sit here by me, and I will tell you ; for, unless I do something, I can find no peace till I know Otho is safe in the house.”

Chapter III. The Wild Rottmanns

HERE is a family of strong men, real giants, who live above us on the mountain ; and many wonderful stories are told of these rough people.”

“ Tell me about them.” u They are large, uncouth men ; and they take great pride that so many deeds of strength are told of them and their ancestors ; and, as they are rich, they can still afford to do the same. The father of the present farmer is said to have had such a powerful voice, that once, when he called to a gamekeeper, the latter fell backward upon the ground. His chief pleasure lay in going to the public -house, and, when he had eaten, rolling the tin-plates into balls. The present farmer, when he was young, had his greatest delight in dancing; and, when he danced, he used to put a dozen or more heavy iron wedges with which wood is split

JOSEPH IN THE SNOW.

— they call them in the country speidel — in the pockets of his long coat, so that every one must stand aside for him, and he could have room enough. He has often danced twenty-four hours at a time, pausing only to drink, which he did, and still does, to an incredible extent. In order to know how much he had drunk at these times, he would twist a button off his red waistcoat for each pint, and in the end redeem them from the landlord.

“ The old man with the loud voice once forbade him to stay, during the day, at a wedding in Wengern, as there was a meadow in the Otterswanger Valley which he must mow. A strict obedience has always been preserved in the family ; so this submissive son did as he was bidden, but danced the entire night as if mad. In the morning, his father came to the meadow, and heard music. What could it mean? Some one was mowing, but how strangely he looked ! The father came nearer, and found his son doing as he had commanded ; but, on Speidel-Röttmann’s back was a pack, in which was a fiddler playing. And so the son mowed the meadow up and down, till the work was done ; then he danced away to the wedding, with the fiddler on his back.

“We used to have a proverb, ‘Every thing can be stolen, except a mill-stone and red-hot iron.’ Bat Speidel-Röttmann once played a trick upon the miller by rolling the mill-stone half-way up the mountain.

THE WILD ROTTMANNS.

u He had two sons, Vincent and Adam. The older, Vincent, was not so strong as his brother, but as sly as a lynx. That was inherited from his mother ; for the Röttmanns are not at all malicious, but only unmannered and wild. They say that Vincent, who superintended the wood-cutters, was very cruel, and treated them like slaves. One day, as they were cutting a tree, it fell upon him, and killed him. It is thought, and the former priest firmly believed, that the wood-cutters did it intentionally. Since that time, Röttmann’s wife, who was never very amiable, has been a perfect dragon, that would poison the whole world if she could. She is the only person who does not love my husband ; but she hates him, because he will not conform to her wishes, and ask every dying man to whom he is summoned if he has nothing to confess about the death of her son. Her husband wished that the tree which had struck his son, and which was one of the finest of the so-called ‘ Dutchman’s trees,’ should be sent down the Rhine. He said, *A tree’s a tree, and gold is gold. Why should this remain useless because it killed Vincent ? ’ But she thought otherwise. After it had lain a long time untouched, she commanded the wood-cutters to cut off the branches ; and, while they were at work, she watched them, and came unexpectedly among them, hoping to overhear something about her son’s death; but she found out

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nothing in this way. She had a large pile made of the branches, and on it she burned the dead man’s clothes. ‘So shall they burn in hell/ she cried, ‘who have murdered my Vincent.’ Six horses and ten oxen were brought to drag the trunk to the farm-house ; but they had gone but a short distance, when it was found that so large a tree could not be carried up the mountain ; so it was sawed twice, and now the logs lie in the farm-yard, before the door of the house. She says the tree is waiting to be made into a gallows and a funeral-pile, to hang and to burn her son’s murderers. She often sits at the window, and talks earnestly to them; and she laughs heartily whenever a stranger stumbles over them. She has erected a shrine to her son (such as the Catholics build) on the footpath that leads from the valley to the forest-mill, near the place where Vincent was struck.