THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
There never seemed a place more in need of something to make it merrythan was the little Swiss hamlet of St. Gervas toward the end of March,some years since.
The winter had been the hardest ever known in the Bernese Oberland. Eversince November the snow had fallen steadily, with few intermissions, andthe fierce winds from the Breithorn and the St. Theodule Pass had blownday and night, and the drifts deepened in the valleys, and the icicleson the eaves of the chalets grown thicker and longer. The old wives hadquoted comforting saws about a "white Michaelmas making a brownEaster;" but Easter was at hand now, and there were no signs ofrelenting yet.
Week after week the strong men had sallied forth with shovels andpickaxes to dig out the half-buried dwellings, and to open the pathsbetween them, which had grown so deep that they seemed more liketrenches than footways.
Month after month the intercourse between neighbors had become moredifficult and meetings less frequent. People looked over the whitewastes at each other, the children ran to the doors and shouted messagesacross the snow, but no one was brave enough to face the cold and thedrifts.
Even the village inn was deserted. Occasionally some hardy wayfarer cameby and stopped for a mug of beer and to tell Dame Ursel, the landlady,how deep the snows were, how black clouds lay to the north, betokeninganother fall, and that the shoulders and flanks of the Matterhorn werewhiter than man had ever seen them before. Then he would struggle onhis way, and perhaps two or three days would pass before another guestcrossed the threshold.
It was a sad change for the Kroene, whose big sanded kitchen was usuallycrowded with jolly peasants, and full of laughter and jest, the clinkingof glasses, and the smoke from long pipes. Dame Ursel felt it keenly.
But such jolly meetings were clearly impossible now. The weather was toohard. Women could not easily make their way through the snow, and theydared not let the children play even close to the doors; for as the windblew strongly down from the sheltering forest on the hill above, whichwas the protection of St. Gervas from landslides and avalanches, shrillyelping cries would ever and anon be heard, which sounded very near. Themothers listened with a shudder, for it was known that the wolves,driven by hunger, had ventured nearer to the hamlet than they had everbefore done, and were there just above on the hillside, waiting to makea prey of anything not strong enough to protect itself against them.
"Three pigs have they carried off since Christmas," said Mere Kronk,"and one of those the pig of a widow! Two sheep and a calf have theyalso taken; and only night before last they all but got at the Alleene'scow. Matters have come to a pass indeed in St. Gervas, if cows are to bedevoured in our very midst! Toinette and Pertal, come in at once! Thoumust not venture even so far as the doorstep unless thy father be along,and he with his rifle over his shoulder, if he wants me to sleep ofnights."
"Oh, dear!" sighed little Toinette for the hundredth time. "How I wishthe dear summer would come! Then the wolves would go away, and we couldrun about as we used, and Gretchen Slaut and I go to the Alp forberries. It seems as if it had been winter forever and ever. I haven'tseen Gretchen or little Marie for two whole weeks. _Their_ mother, too,is fearful of the wolves."
All the mothers in St. Gervas were fearful of the wolves.
The little hamlet was, as it were, in a state of siege. Winter, thefierce foe, was the besieger. Month by month he had drawn his linesnearer, and made them stronger; the only hope was in the rescue whichspring might bring. Like a beleaguered garrison, whose hopes andprovisions are running low, the villagers looked out with eager eyes forthe signs of coming help, and still the snows fell, and the help did notcome.
How fared it meanwhile in the forest slopes above?
It is not a sin for a wolf to be hungry, any more than it is for a man;and the wolves of St. Gervas were ravenous indeed. All their customarysupplies were cut off. The leverets and marmots, and other smallanimals on which they were accustomed to prey, had been driven by thecold into the recesses of their hidden holes, from which they did notventure out. There was no herbage to tempt the rabbits forth, no tenderbirch growths for the strong gray hares.
No doubt the wolves talked the situation over in their wolfish language,realized that it was a desperate one, and planned the daring forayswhich resulted in the disappearance of the pigs and sheep and the attackon the Alleene's cow. The animals killed all belonged to outlying housesa little further from the village than the rest; but the wolves hadgrown bold with impunity, and, as Mere Kronk said, there was no knowingat what moment they might make a dash at the centre of the hamlet.
I fear they would have enjoyed a fat little boy or girl if they couldhave come across one astray on the hillside, near their haunts, verymuch. But no such luck befell them. The mothers of St. Gervas were toowary for that, and no child went out after dark, or ventured more than afew yards from the open house-door, even at high noon.
"Something must be done," declared Johann Vecht, the bailiff. "We aregrowing sickly and timorous. My wife hasn't smiled for a month. Shetalks of nothing but snow and wolves, and it is making the childrenfearful. My Annerle cried out in her sleep last night that she was beingdevoured, and little Kasper woke up and cried too. Something must bedone!"
"Something must indeed be done!" repeated Solomon, the forester. "We areletting the winter get the better of us, and losing heart and courage.We must make an effort to get together in the old neighborly way; that'swhat we want."
This conversation took place at the Kroene, and here the landlady, whowas tired of empty kitchen and scant custom, put in her word:--
"You are right, neighbors. What we need is to get together, and feastand make merry, forgetting the hard times. Make your plans, and trust meto carry them out to the letter. Is it a feast that you decide upon? Iwill cook it. Is it a _musiker fest_? My Carl, there, can play thezither with any other, no matter whom it be, and can sing. _Himmel_! howhe can sing! Command me! I will work my fingers to the bone rather thanyou shall not be satisfied."
"Aha, the sun!" cried Solomon; for as the landlady spoke, a pale yellowray shot through the pane and streamed over the floor. "That is a goodomen. Dame Ursel, thou art right. A jolly merrymaking is what we allwant. We will have one, and thou shalt cook the supper according to thypromise."
Several neighbors had entered the inn kitchen since the talk began, sothat quite a company had collected,--more than had got together sincethe mass on Christmas Day. All were feeling cheered by the sight of thesunshine; it seemed a happy moment to propose the merrymaking.
So it was decided then and there that a supper should be held that dayweek at the Kroene, men and women both to be invited,--all, in fact, whocould pay and wished to come. It seemed likely that most of theinhabitants of St. Gervas would be present, such enthusiasm did the planawake in young and old. The week's delay would allow time to send to thevillagers lower down in the valley for a reinforcement of tobacco, forthe supply of that essential article was running low, and what was afeast without tobacco?
"We shall have a quarter of mutton," declared the landlady. "NeilsAusterman is to kill next Monday, and I will send at once to bespeakthe hind-quarter. That will insure a magnificent roast. Three fat geesehave I also, fit for the spit, and four hens. Oh, I assure you, mymasters, that there shall be no lack on my part! My Fritz shall get alarge mess of eels from the Lake. He fishes through the ice, as thouknowest, and is lucky; the creatures always take his hook. Fried eelsare excellent eating! You will want a plenty of them. Three months_maigre_ is good preparation for a feast. Wine and beer we have inplenty in the cellar, and the cheese I shall cut is as a cartwheel forbigness. Bring you the appetites, my masters, and I will engage that thesupply is sufficient."
The landlady rubbed her hands as she spoke, with an air of joyfulanticipation.
"My mouth waters already with thy list," declared Kronk. "I must hastenhome and tell my dame of the plan. It will raise her spirits, poor soul,and she is sadly in need of cheering."
 
; The next week seemed shorter than any week had seemed since Michaelmas.True, the weather was no better. The brief sunshine had been followed bya wild snowstorm, and the wind was still blowing furiously.
But now there was something to talk and think about besides weather.Everybody was full of the forthcoming feast. Morning after morning Fritzof the Kroene could be seen sitting beside his fishing-holes on thefrozen lake, patiently letting down his lines, and later, climbing thehill, his basket laden with brown and wriggling eels. Everybody crowdedto the windows to watch him,--the catch was a matter of public interest.
Three hardy men on snow-shoes, with guns over their shoulders, hadventured down to St. Nicklaus, and returned, bringing the wished-fortobacco and word that the lower valleys were no better off than theupper, that everything was buried in snow, and no one had got in fromthe Rhone valley for three weeks or more.
Anxiously was the weather watched as the day of the feast drew near; andwhen the morning dawned, every one gave a sigh of relief that it did notsnow. It was gray and threatening, but the wind had veered, and blewfrom the southwest. It was not nearly so cold, and a change seemed athand.
The wolves of St. Gervas were quite as well aware as the inhabitantsthat something unusual was going forward.
From their covert in the sheltering wood they watched the stir andexcitement, the running to and fro, the columns of smoke which streamedupward from the chimneys of the inn. As the afternoon drew on, strangesavory smells were wafted upward by the strong-blowing wind,--smells offrying and roasting, and hissing fat.
"Oh, how it smells! How good it does smell!" said one wolf. He snuffedthe wind greedily, then threw back his head and gave vent to a long"O-w!"
The other wolves joined in the howl.
"What can it be? Oh, how hungry it makes me!" cried one of the youngerones. "O-w-w-w!"
"What a dreadful noise those creatures are making up there," remarkedFrau Kronk as, under the protection of her stalwart husband, she hurriedher children along the snow path toward the Kroene. "They sound sohungry! I shall not feel really safe till we are all at home again, withthe door fast barred."
But she forgot her fears when the door of the inn was thrown hospitablyopen as they drew near, and the merry scene inside revealed itself.
The big sanded kitchen had been dressed with fir boughs, and wasbrightly lighted with many candles. At the great table in the midst satrows of men and women, clad in their Sunday best. The men were smokinglong pipes, tall mugs of beer stood before everybody, and a buzz oftalk and laughter filled the place.
Beyond, in the wide chimney, blazed a glorious fire, and about and overit the supper could be seen cooking. The quarter of mutton, done to aturn, hung on its spit, and on either side of it sputtered the geese andthe fat hens, brown and savory, and smelling delicious. Over the fire oniron hooks hung a great kettle of potatoes and another of cabbage.
On one side of the hearth knelt Gretel, the landlord's daughter,grinding coffee, while on the other her brother Fritz brandished animmense frying-pan heaped with sizzling eels, which sent out the loudestsmells of all.
The air of the room was thick with the steam of the fry mingled with thesmoke of the pipes. A fastidious person might have objected to it ashard to breathe, but the natives of St. Gervas were not fastidious, andfound no fault whatever with the smells and the smoke which, to them,represented conviviality and good cheer. Even the dogs under the tablewere rejoicing in it, and sending looks of expectation toward thefireplace.
"Welcome, welcome!" cried the jolly company as the Kronks appeared."Last to come is as well off as first, if a seat remains, and the supperis still uneaten. Sit thee down, Dame, while the young ones join theother children in the little kitchen. Supper is all but ready, and agood one too, as all noses testify. Those eels smell rarely. It is butto fetch the wine now, and then fall to, eh, Landlady?"
"Nor shall the wine be long lacking!" cried Dame Ursel, snatching up abig brown pitcher. "Sit thee down, Frau Kronk. That place beside thygossip Barbe was saved for thee. 'Tis but to go to the cellar andreturn, and all will be ready. Stir the eels once more, Fritz; andthou, Gretchen, set the coffee-pot on the coals. I shall be back in thetwinkling of an eye."
There was a little hungry pause. From the smaller kitchen, behind, thechildren's laughter could be heard.
"It is good to be in company again," said Frau Kronk, sinking into herseat with a sigh of pleasure.
"Yes, so we thought,--we who got up the feast," responded Solomon, theforester. "'Neighbors,' says I, 'we are all getting out of spirits withso much cold and snow, and we must rouse ourselves and do something.''Yes,' says they, 'but what?' 'Nothing can be plainer,' says I, 'wemust'--_Himmel_! what is that?"
What was it, indeed?
For even as Solomon spoke, the heavy door of the kitchen burst open,letting in a whirl of cold wind and sleet, and letting in something elseas well.
For out of the darkness, as if blown by the wind, a troop of dark swiftshapes darted in.
They were the wolves of St. Gervas, who, made bold by hunger, andattracted and led on by the strong fragrance of the feast, had forgottentheir usual cowardice, and, stealing from the mountain-side and throughthe deserted streets of the hamlet, had made a dash at the inn.
There were not less than twenty of them; there seemed to be a hundred.
As if acting by a preconcerted plan, they made a rush at the fireplace.The guests sat petrified round the table, with their dogs cowering attheir feet, and no one stirred or moved, while the biggest wolf, whoseemed the leader of the band, tore the mutton from the spit, while thenext in size made a grab at the fat geese and the fowls, and the restseized upon the eels, hissing hot as they were, in the pan. Gretchen andFritz sat in their respective corners of the hearth, paralyzed withfright at the near, snapping jaws and the fierce red eyes which glaredat them.
Then, overturning the cabbage-pot as they went, the whole pack whirled,and sped out again into the night, which seemed to swallow them up allin a moment.
And still the guests sat as if turned to stone, their eyes fixed uponthe door, through which the flakes of the snow-squall were rapidlydrifting; and no one had recovered voice to utter a word, when DameUrsel, rosy and beaming, came up from the cellar with her brimmingpitcher.
"Why is the door open?" she demanded. Then her eyes went over to thefireplace, where but a moment before the supper had been. Had been; fornot an eatable article remained except the potatoes and the cabbages andcabbage water on the hearth. From far without rang back a long howlwhich had in it a note of triumph.
This was the end of the merrymaking. The guests were too startled andterrified to remain for another supper, even had there been time to cookone. Potatoes, black bread, and beer remained, and with these the braverof the guests consoled themselves, while the more timorous hurried home,well protected with guns, to barricade their doors, and rejoice that itwas their intended feast and not themselves which was being discussed atthat moment by the hungry denizens of the forest above.
There was a great furbishing up of bolts and locks next day, and afitting of stout bars to doors which had hitherto done very well withoutsuch safeguards; but it was a long time before any inhabitant of St.Gervas felt it safe to go from home alone, or without a rifle over hisshoulder.
So the wolves had the best of the merrymaking, and the villagersdecidedly the worst. Still, the wolves were not altogether to becongratulated; for, stung by their disappointment and by the unmercifullaughter and ridicule of the other villages, the men of St. Gervasorganized a great wolf-hunt later in the spring, and killed such anumber that to hear a wolf howl has become a rare thing in that part ofthe Oberland.
"Ha! ha! my fine fellow, you are the one that made off with our muttonso fast," said the stout forester, as he stripped the skin from thelargest of the slain. "Your days for mutton are over, my friend. It willbe one while before you and your thievish pack come down again tointerrupt Christian folk at their supper!"
But, in spite of
Solomon's bold words, the tale of the frustrated feasthas passed into a proverb; and to-day in the neighboring chalets andhamlets you may hear people say, "Don't count on your mutton till it'sin your mouth, or it may fare with you as with the merry-makers at St.Gervas."