The Forest Farm: Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

  XV

  The Schoolmaster

  It was getting dark; the autumn mists were sinking over the woodedmountains. The herdsman was trudging his way home to the tinkling bellsof his cattle. For some time longer the farm-hand was heard beating theoat-stalks over a beam that lay on the threshing-floor, until the lastgrain was separated. The barn door closed at last; and the littlehouseful of people gathered in the parlour to eat their rye soup andpotato mash. Then they betook themselves to their straw beds.

  The children were soon asleep.

  A rushlight burnt in the room, and the farmer's wife kept putting itstraight on its spike. Peter wound up the smoke-browned clock on thewall.

  Just as husband and wife were about to get into bed, the watch-dog inthe yard began to bark. There came a light tapping at the window-pane.

  "Who's that?" cried the farmer.

  And his wife added crossly:

  "There's no peace for us to-day!"

  "It's someone begging for a night's shelter," said a hoarse voiceoutside.

  "I expect it's a poor man," said the farmer's wife. "That's quite adifferent thing. Go and unbolt the door, Peter."

  Soon after a man stumbled into the room, weary and bent, grasping along stick in his right hand and carrying a little bundle in his left.A wide-brimmed, discoloured, crushed felt hat was on his head, andunder the brim hung snow-white strands of hair.

  Peter took the rush in his hand and threw a light upon the stranger'sface. Then he exclaimed:

  "Heavens! It can't be possible----! Why, it's the schoolmaster ofRattenstein!"

  "Aye, aye, my dear Heath--Peter," said the old man, recovering hisbreath, "that's so. With your permission, I will sit down at once."

  The farmer's wife pulled on her dress again and hurried into thekitchen to warm some soup; then she called back into the parlour:

  "Go and light a candle, Peter. The rush won't burn properly, and thesmoke makes one's eyes fairly smart."

  Then, when a tallow candle was burning on the table and the old man hadwiped the sweat from his careworn face, Heath Peter almost shylyoffered him his hand and said:

  "Well, how do you come wandering into the Wilderness like this,Schoolmaster?"

  "It had to be," replied the old man. "It's a case, with me, of'Forsaken and beat, like the stones in the street.' I just turned up afootpath and went on over hill and dale as the Lord willed. And so, inthe end, I came to you people in the Wilderness."

  "And, if I may ask, where do you mean to go, Schoolmaster?"

  The old man made no reply. His head sank down upon his chest. Hisfingers clutched at his blue handkerchief; but, before he could raiseit with trembling hand to his face, he burst into heavy sobs.

  "Lord Jesus! Schoolmaster!" cried Peter, springing to support him, forthe old man threatened to collapse.

  "Never would I have thought," he sobbed at last, "that such an hour asthis would come to me in my old days. God above, Thou knowest, that Ihave not deserved it!"

  "There must have been some great misfortune," the farmer said. "ButSchoolmaster must not take it too much to heart. And if there isanything I can do he must let me know."

  "God bless you, Heath Peter! You are a good soul, and I've known youthis many a long day: why, it must be nigh on five-and-thirty years. Itwas I pushed back your little bonnet when the priest christened you. Ahme, if the same priest were only still alive! He was a good man,indeed, and would not have discharged me like a day-labourer at the endof his day's work, no, not though I _did_ ring ten bells for Louis theherdsman. True, I'm old now, and can't look after the school as I usedto. Also I can't get accustomed to the new church government. You knowhow the new provisor called me a prophet of Beelzebub? I knew that Ihad done nothing wrong, for all that, and went on holding my extraclasses. Lastly, you also must have heard that poor crazy Louis theherdsman took his own life lately. The provisor refused to have thepassing-bell tolled for the poor wretch; and then the dead man's mothercame to me--for I am sacristan as well--and begged me, for God's sake,to toll the bell for her son. Louis had always been an upright man; theold woman had all her life long thought the world of a Christianburial-bell; and my soul was filled with pity for her when she cried sobitterly. Then thought I to myself, 'The provisor has gone to see acolleague at Grossh?fen, so I will take it upon myself and, as she asksme to do it for God's sake, I will ring the bells: surely it's the bestconsolation we can offer the poor woman in her distress.' Louis wasburied in the ditch where they found him; and, when the bells rang out,the mother ran to the grave and said an Our Father for his soul. Theprovisor did not hear the bells nor the prayer, and he didn't feel thesorrow nor the joy of that mother's heart either; but folks' tonguestold him all about the bell-ringing. Yesterday, as I was helping himon with his chasuble, he gave me a smile, and I thought, 'Aye, theprovisor is a good enough gentleman, after all; and I shall get on withhim well enough!' Thereupon I went off to collect my corn dues from thefarmers. (The people are well disposed toward me, and look after mefinely: I did not have to buy a single slice of bread for myself alllast winter!) It's a couple of hard days' work for one like me; butthat's nothing--who wouldn't willingly cart away a heap of stones if heknew there was a treasure underneath? It had begun to grow dusk when Ireached the village with my last load. Then, as I stood outside my doorand was taking the key from my pocket and looking forward to my rest, Isaid to myself, 'Goodness, what's that? Who's been having a game withme?' The lock was sealed up. I put down my load to have a closer lookat the thing. Yes, Peter, I was quite right, the school-house wassealed against me with the parish seal. 'Well,' I thought to myself,'this _is_ a pretty business!' I threw down my carrier and ran to thepresbytery, which is now also the municipal offices. I called out forthe provisor. 'Not at home,' cries the housekeeper, tells me to lookunder the stone-heap if I have lost anything, and slams the door in myface. Then the blood rushed to my heart."

  The old man was nearly choking, and the words came half stifled fromhis throat.

  "But I did not remain standing outside the presbytery door, and I didnot knock either. I ran down to the stone-heap, and there I found mySunday washing, my black coat, and my fiddle. And in between thestrings was a little tiny bit of paper. Well, here it is; you can readit, Heath Peter."

  "So I would, and gladly," said Heath Peter civilly, "but there's justthis about it, that I don't know one letter from another."

  "Well, well, in that case reading would certainly be a miracle," saidthe schoolmaster. "However, sometimes it's better not to know how toread. Here's what the note says to the old man that I am: 'We sincerelyregret to have to make the following communication to you in the nameof the honourable Consistory and of the local parish. Whereas you,Michel Bieder, school teacher in the aforesaid parish, have repeatedly,in the instruction of the youth entrusted to your care, acted contraryto the regulations, and whereas, but recently, you took it uponyourself, in an unprecedented manner, on your own responsibility, toperform an ecclesiastical function, and this, moreover, in favour of asuicide, so now take note and be it known to you that we have relievedyou of your post. Given at the presbytery at Rattenstein.'"

  The old man ceased.

  Peter snuffed the candle in great perplexity, and then said:

  "Yes, Mr. Schoolmaster, you might have known that it does not do totoll everyone promiscuous-like into the grave. That much would haveoccurred even to me, Heath Peter."

  "And so there I sat upon the stone-heap, and I wanted nothing to makeme a complete beggar but a stick and wallet. The stars were out by thistime, and an owl hooting in the forest was hooting at me it seemed.Then I did not know what to do. There I was cast out, a poor old man,that had buried a parish and christened one. So I lay down upon thestone-heap and my white hairs were wet with dew. And the church clockticked just like a bird pecking the naked grains in a field in autumn,that clock ticked away second after second from the little bit left ofmy life. 'Tick on, tick on, you honest pendulum,' thought I. 'It'slate.' And then, suddenly
, I wondered, 'Who will ring the vesper-bellto-night?' I darted up and on, over the mound, to the church, and intothe belfry, took hold of the ropes, and rang all the bells at once. Andthat was my farewell to my dear church and to the congregation. Ishould have liked to wake the dead in their graves and tell them allabout my unfair treatment. But they slept on in peace, while I rang inmy beggarhood. Then I cut myself a stick from the bushes by thechurchyard walls and went on and on. Oh, I can walk right enough still!It took me barely three hours here to the Wilderness."

  The old man bent his head and held his hand before his eyes.

  "What nonsense!" said the farmer's wife, who had been standing sometime by the table with the soup-plate in her hand. "And you are goingup to the wilds next, Schoolmaster?"

  "Must I go to the wilds?" cried the old schoolmaster. "God! what shouldI do in that stony place?"

  He hid his face again.

  "'It's a proper cross, and no Lord upon it,' says the old proverb. Andthe old proverb's right," said the wife. "Only eat your soup now, inHeaven's name, Schoolmaster, and get some warmth into your poor body.God will put things straight; don't let that fret you. I say, Peter,come into the kitchen for a minute; I want you to shut thechimney-slide; I can't quite manage it."

  But it was nothing to do with the chimney-slide, really.

  When the pair were in the kitchen the wife said:

  "You must see, Peter, that we can't let the schoolmaster go like this.I went to him for schooling, and he taught me to use my Prayer Book. Aslong as I live I should never relish a morsel of bread again if I hadto say to myself, 'Your old teacher's had to go a-begging!'--What wouldyou say to having the top room fitted up for him? He could cut therushes for us in the winter; and he could look after the children inthe summer, when we were out in the fields; and he could teach them abit too. You see, it would be just as well if they knew how to read alittle, and the boy would love it so and writing too; and I shan'trest content till he can write his name."

  "There's no need for that, Klara," answered Peter. "Who is there in theWilderness that knows how to write his name? Not a soul. Besides,working men's hands are too rough for that kind of thing; and, if itcomes to a pinch, we can always make our cross."

  Whereupon his wife:

  "After that, I don't wonder that we have so many crosses to bear in theWilderness! But I don't hold with it, and I think that with theschoolmaster's help we might rise a bit."

  "You're looking at only one side of the question. You know quite wellthat we only grow enough corn to make a bushel and a half, and that wehave no milk and no bacon in the winter; you know that we have no meatin the larder, that we have no proper bedding, and that we are poor allround, in every nook and corner. And now you want to take theschoolmaster in as well! There can't be any question of it, good wife."

  And she:

  "Well, if you're beginning to grieve about the bit of bread and themorsel of bacon which the schoolmaster would eat, I'll save it out ofmy own mouth, and lie on the bare straw, in Heaven's name, and think itan honour if I can have the old teacher under my roof."

  And he:

  "Yes; and by the time you've done you'll sew a beggar's sack for himand one for me and one for yourself, and we'll fasten the children onto each other's backs."

  "Because you have no trust in the Lord!" answered the farmer's wife, alittle nettled. "My mother always used to say, 'Every good action doneon earth is engraved by the angels in heaven on God's golden throne.'But I am beginning to think that you can't want to see _your_ namethere."

  "Who _has_ nothing can _give_ nothing," said Peter resignedly. "Howcan it help a beggar-man if I offer him an empty hand?"

  "Well, he can take hold of it and have a support."

  "Go on! One _must_ look to one's own children first and not tostrangers. And, lastly, we should most likely get into trouble with thepriest; and how would that suit you?"

  "You're a regular old silly, that's what you are!" cried the wife, andbanged a saucepan on the stove till it rang again. "It wants a specialgrace of God to argue with you. How glad you would be if one day yourguardian angel came and said to God, 'Here is Heath Peter, who was goodto the poor; and he also took the unfortunate schoolmaster ofRattenstein into his house and looked after him and cared for him inhis old age, but he did it for love of Thee, O God our Father, andtherefore do Thou mercifully forgive him, if he had other faults, andlead him into Thy heaven, and his children with him and his wife aswell!' Wouldn't you be glad, Peter, if that ever happened?"

  Peter had been scratching his head a little, and, at last, he answeredin a softer voice:

  "You're shouting so loud you'll wake the children, and the schoolmasterhimself will hear.--You can keep him for all that I care; I say nomore."

  There was not much to be done with Peter with arguments based onworldly logic; you could say white or black, but he invariably followedhis own nose. But his wife knew him inside and out, as well as she knewher own nightcap; she took a higher standpoint, and when, in her cleverway of talking, she held up heaven and God before him, he camekneeling, as people say, to the cross--to the matrimonial cross.

  When the couple returned to the parlour Klara said:

  "One would think that chimney-slide wasn't meant to be reached; one hasto stand on tip-toe to get at it. Well, don't you like your soup,Schoolmaster? I did my best to make it good, and I put plenty ofcaraway seeds in it, against the cramp. Ah! and now there's somethingelse to discuss. I don't know what's come into my Peter's head, but hewants to keep you in the house, here and now, Schoolmaster, so that youcan teach our children a bit of reading! What I said was, 'Schoolmasterwon't stay with us. A man like that,' said I, 'has something better todo. Even if we were to fit up the top room for him and wait upon him asan honoured guest, he wouldn't stay with us.--And then we can't givehim any school fees,' I said, 'and only such poor fare as we haveourselves.--If that's enough for him, I shall be delighted if he willstay.'"

  The old man rose from his seat and, in a voice of deep emotion, said:

  "Oh, you dear, good people! As you yourselves were the first to suggestit, I now venture to implore you. I have nowhere to go, and I hardlydare risk myself in the wilds. Only give me a roof over my head and aspoonful of soup for a few days and I will go back again to Rattensteinand start my entreaties. The people will take pity on me; and surelythe parish provisor will not be stony-hearted."

  "I wouldn't throw myself on his mercy exactly, that I wouldn't," saidthe farmer's wife. "And Heath Peter here was thinking that it would beall right, and that you had better make the house on the heath yourhome, Schoolmaster, as long as the Lord does not order thingsdifferently."

  Then little Gabriel suddenly called out something in his sleep.

  "There, the child's got the nightmare!" said Klara.

  And she went to the little bed and, with her thumb, made the sign ofthe cross on the boy's forehead.

  Peter fixed up a bed in the barn for his guest to sleep in that night;and soon all was dark and silent in the house on the heath.