The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (32 page)

“‘I did indeed, my dear child, and I thank the Lord that I was mistaken.’

“‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I know you are a good man—I can tell it by your voice. When the sun shines I shall open my eyes to look at you, and when you leave here I will accompany you to the foot of the mountain.’

“Then she began to laugh most artlessly.

“‘Yes,’ said she, ‘you shall have music in your ears, and I will seat myself on your cheek; but you must take care—take care. You must not touch me, or I should sting you. You must promise not to be angry.’

“‘I promise you, Raesel, I promise you I will not,’ I said with tears in my eyes, ‘and, moreover, I promise you never to kill a bee or any other insect except those which do harm.’

“‘They are the eyes of the Lord,’ she murmured. ‘I can only see by my own poor bees, but He has every hive, every ant’s nest, every leaf, every blade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good by means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain the Lord, who loves us so much!’

“Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full minute before I could ask her—

“‘So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how that is?’

“‘I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of them. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have never once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all alone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing then, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At first I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little more, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then the full light of day. I began to emerge from myself; my spirit went forth with the bees. I could see the mountains, the rocks, the lake, the flowers and mosses, and in the evening, when quite alone, I reflected on these things. I thought how beautiful they were, and when people talked of this and that, of whortleberries, and mulberries, and heaths, I said to myself, “I know what all these things are like—they are black, or brown, or green.” I could see them in my mind, and every day I became better acquainted with them, thanks to my dear bees; and therefore I love them dearly, Monsieur Hennetius. If you knew how it grieves me when the time comes for robbing them of their wax and their honey!’

“‘I believe you, my child—I believe it does.’

“My delight at this wonderful discovery was boundless.

“Two days longer Raesel entertained me with a description of her impressions. She was acquainted with every flower, every Alpine plant, and gave me an account of a great number which have as yet received no botanical names, and which are probably only to be found in inaccessible situations.

“The poor girl was often much affected when she spoke of her dear friends, some little flowers.

“‘Often and often,’ said she, ‘I have talked for hours with the golden broom or the tender blue-eyed forget-me-not, and shared in their troubles. They all wished to quit the earth and fly about; they all complained of their being condemned to dry up in the ground, and of being exposed to wait for days and weeks ere a drop of dew came to refresh them.’

“And so Raesel used to repeat to me endless conversations of this sort. It was marvellous! If you only heard her you would be capable of falling in love with a dogrose, or of feeling a lively sympathy and a profound sentiment of compassion for a violet, its misfortunes and its silent sufferings.

“What more can I tell you, ladies? It is painful to leave a subject where the soul has so many mysterious emanations; there is such a field for conjecture; but as everything in this world must have an end, so must even the pleasantest dreams.

“Early in the morning of the third day of my stay a gentle breeze began to roll away the mist from off the lake. I could see its folds become larger every second as the wind drove them along, leaving one blue corner in the sky, and then another; then the tower of a village church, some green pinnacles on the tops of the mountains, then a row of firs, a valley, all the time the immense mass of vapour slowly floated past us; by ten it had left us behind it, and the great cloud on the dry peaks of the Chasseron still wore a threatening aspect; but a last effort of the wind gave it a different direction, and it disappeared at last in the gorges of Saint-Croix.

“Then the mighty nature of the Alps seemed to me to have grown young again; the heather, the tall pines, the old chestnut-trees dripping with dew, shone with vigorous health; there was something in the view of them joyous, smiling, and serious all at once. One felt the hand of God was in it all—His eternity.

“I went downstairs lost in thought; Raesel was already in the apiary. Young opened the door and pointed her out to me sitting in the shade of the wild vine, with her forehead resting on her hands, as if in a doze.

“‘Be careful,’ said he to me, ‘not to awake her; her mind is elsewhere; she sleeps; she is wandering about; she is happy.’

“The bees were swarming about by thousands, like a flood of gold over a precipice.

“I looked on at this wonderful sight for some seconds, praying the Lord would continue His love for the poor child.

“Then turning round—

“‘Master Young,’ said I, ‘it is time to go.’

“He buckled my knapsack on for me himself, and put my stick into my hand.

“Mistress Catherine looked on kindly, and they both accompanied me to the threshold of the châlet.

“‘Farewell!’ said Walter, grasping my hand; ‘a pleasant journey; and think of us sometimes!’

“‘I can never forget you,’ I replied, quite melancholy; ‘may your bees flourish, and may Heaven grant you are as happy as you deserve to be!’

“‘So be it, M. Hennetius,’ said good Dame Catherine; ‘amen; a happy journey, and good health to you.’

“I moved off.

“They remained on the terrace until I reached the road.

“Thrice I turned round and waved my cap, and they responded by waving their hands.

“Good people; why cannot we meet with such every day?’

“Little Raesel accompanied me to the foot of the mountain, as she had promised. For a long time her musical hum lightened the fatigue of my journey; I seemed to recognise her in every bee which came buzzing about my ears, and I fancied I could hear her say in a small shrill tone of voice—

“‘Courage, M. Hennetius, courage; it is very hot, is it not? Come, let me give you a kiss; don’t be afraid; you know we are very good friends.’

“It was only at the end of the valley that she took leave of me, when the sound of the lake drowned her gentle voice; but her idea followed me all through my journey, nor do I think it will ever leave me.”

A FOREST BETROTHAL

One day in the month of June, 1845, Master Zacharias’ fishing-basket was so full of salmon-trout, about three o’clock in the afternoon, that the good man was loath to take any more; for, as Pathfinder says: “We must leave some for to-morrow!” After having washed his in a stream and carefully covered them with field-sorrel and rowell, to keep them fresh; after having wound up his line and bathed his hands and face; a sense of drowsiness tempted him to take a nap in the heather. The heat was so excessive that he preferred to wait until the shadows lengthened before reclimbing the steep ascent of Bigelberg.

Breaking his crust of bread and wetting his lips with a draught of Rikevir, he climbed down fifteen or twenty steps from the path and stretched himself on the moss-covered ground, under the shade of the pine-trees; his eyelids heavy with sleep.

A thousand animate creatures had lived their long life of an hour, when the judge was wakened by the whistle of a bird, which sounded strange to him. He sat up to look around, and judge his surprise; the so-called bird was a young girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age; fresh, with rosy cheeks and vermilion lips, brown hair, which hung in two long tresses behind her. A short poppy-colored skirt, with a tightly-laced bodice, completed her costume. She was a young peasant, who was rapidly descending the sandy path down the side of Bigelberg, a basket poised on her head, and her arms a little sunburned, but plump, were gracefully resting on her hips.

“Oh, what a charming bird; but she whistles well and her pretty chin, round like a peach, is sweet to look upon.”

Mr. Zacharias was all emotion—a rush of hot blood, which made his heart beat, as it did at twenty, coursed through his veins. Blushing, he arose to his feet.

“Good-day, my pretty one!” he said.

The young girl stopped short—opened her big eyes and recognized him (for who did not know the dear old Judge Zacharias in that part of the country?).

“Ah!” she said, with a bright smile, “it is Mr. Zacharias Seiler!”

The old man approached her—he tried to speak—but all he could do was to stammer a few unintelligible words, just like a very young man—his embarrassment was so great that he completely disconcerted the young girl. At last he managed to say:

“Where are you going through the forest at this hour, my dear child?”

She stretched out her hand and showed him, way at the end of the valley, a forester’s house.

“I am returning to my father’s house, the Corporal Yeri Foerster. You know him, without doubt, Monsieur le Juge.”

“What, are you our brave Yeri’s daughter? Ah, do I know him? A very worthy man. Then you are little Charlotte of whom he has often spoken to me when he came with his official reports?”

“Yes, Monsieur; I have just come from the town and am returning home.”

“That is a very pretty bunch of Alpine berries you have,’” exclaimed the old man.

She detached the bouquet from her belt and tendered it to him.

“If it would please you, Monsieur Seiler.”

Zacharias was touched.

“Yes, indeed,” he said, “I will accept it, and I will accompany you home. I am anxious to see this brave Foerster again. He must be getting old by now.”

“He is about your age, Monsieur le Juge,” said Charlotte innocently, “between fifty-five and sixty years of age.”

This simple speech recalled the good man to his senses, and as he walked beside her be became pensive.

What was he thinking of? Nobody could tell; but how many times, how many times has it happened that a brave and worthy man, thinking that he had fulfilled all his duties, finds that he has neglected the greatest, the most sacred, the most beautiful of all—that of love. And what it costs him to think of it when it is too late.

Soon Mr. Zacharias and Charlotte came to the turn of the valley where the path spanned a little pond by means of a rustic bridge, and led straight to the corporal’s house. They could now see Yeri Foerster, his large felt hat decorated with a twig of heather, his calm eyes, his brown cheeks and grayish hair, seated on the stone bench near his doorway; two beautiful hunting dogs, with reddish-brown coats, lay at his feet, and the high vine arbor behind him rose to the peak of the gable roof.

The shadows on Romelstein were lengthening and the setting sun spread its purple fringe behind the high fir-trees on Alpnach.

The old corporal, whose eyes were as piercing as an eagle’s, recognized Monsieur Zacharias and his daughter from afar. He came toward them, lifting his felt hat respectfully.

“Welcome, Monsieur le Juge,” he said in the frank and cordial voice of a mountaineer; “what happy circumstance has procured me the honor of a visit?”

“Master Yeri,” replied the good man, “I am belated in your mountains. Have you a vacant corner at your table and a bed at the disposition of a friend?”

“Ah!” cried the corporal, “if there were but one bed in the house, should it not be at the service of the best, the most honored of our ex-magistrates of Stantz? Monsieur Seiler, what an honor you confer on Yeri Foerster’s humble home.”

“Christine, Christine! Monsieur le Juge Zacharias Seiler wishes to sleep under our roof to-night.”

Then a little old woman, her face wrinkled like a vine leaf, but still fresh and laughing, her head crowned by a cap with wide black ribbons, appeared on the threshold and disappeared again, murmuring:

“What? Is it possible? Monsieur le Juge!”

“My good people,” said Mr. Zacharias, “truly you do me too much honor—I hope—”

“Monsieur le Juge, if you forget the favors you have done to others, they remember them.”

Charlotte placed her basket on the table, feeling very proud at having been the means of bringing so distinguished a visitor to the house. She took out the sugar, the coffee and all the little odds and ends of household provisions which she had purchased in the town. And Zacharias, gazing at her pretty profile, felt himself agitated once more, his poor old heart beat more quickly in his bosom and seemed to say to him: “This is love, Zacharias! This is love! This is love!”

To tell you the truth, my dear friends, Mr. Seiler spent the evening with the Head Forester, Yeri Foerster, perfectly oblivious to the fact of Therese’s uneasiness, to his promise to return before seven o’clock, to all his old habits of order and submission.

Picture to yourself the large room, the time-browned rafters of the ceiling, the windows opened on the silent valley, the round table in the middle of the room, covered with a white cloth, with red stripes running through it; the light from the lamp, bringing out more clearly the grave faces of Zacharias and Yeri, the rosy, laughing features of Charlotte, and Dame Christine’s little cap, with long fluttering streamers. Picture to yourself the soup-tureen, with gayly-flowered bowl, from which arose an appetising odor, the dish of trout garnished with parsley, the plates filled with fruits and little meal cakes as yellow as gold; then worthy Father Zacharias, handing first one and then the other of the plates of fruit and cakes to Charlotte, who lowered her eyes, frightened at the old man’s compliments and tender speeches.