"Boy, where are you?" he called out. No answer, the boy was gone. He had heard Correntian"s curse, and had fled; the blind man was abandoned wholly.
Where should he go? The Church had disowned him, the earth cast him out. "Lord, hast Thou not a drop of mercy left for me out of Thine inexhaustible fount of grace? Did I not obey Thy will in so far as I understood it? I gave the light of my eyes to escape love; the staff that was the prop of my darkened life I broke and cast from me, and all my sacrifices have turned to curses and my obedience to fatal ends. I may well say with Job, "My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death. Not for any injustice in mine hands, also my prayer is pure." Oh, Lord my G.o.d! if Thou didst see me in the hour when I drove away the girl, that pure and faithful child, Thou must know whether I then did not expiate my sins, and deserve Thy mercy or not.
Yea, I will flee from all the ties of life, I will die alone like the chamois that hides itself in the glacier when its end is nigh; I will efface the trace of my steps on earth that fatality may no longer pursue me. Oh, G.o.d, my G.o.d! will the measure of my sorrows never be full?"
So he stood, his arms uplifted, a dumb image of suffering--like a tree stricken by a storm.
A few stars peeped out from time to time between the driving clouds; the abyss lay in slumberous silence at his feet, and the night-breeze s.n.a.t.c.hed pitilessly at the ragged garments that scarcely sufficed to cover him. The empty windows of the ruined stronghold of faith stared at him like hollow eye-sockets, in dumb reproach. No cry from Heaven above or the earth beneath responded to his lament, no pitying hand clasped his to lead him to his last bourne; he sank down on a stone, and hid his head in his hands. "O! G.o.d, my G.o.d, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
CHAPTER VIII.
High, high up where no blade of corn can grow, in the glacier desert of the Ortler chain, the solitary penitent lived on the extremest verge where it was possible for flesh and blood to live and breathe--fulfilling literally Correntian"s curse. Below lay the unfathomable depth of the valley of Trafoy between its deeply cleft walls, like an open grave. The glacier torrents roared down through fissures and crevices, feeding the three Holy Wells in the gorge below; the rock crumbled away beneath the volume of the mighty waters, and wide floods devastated the land.
A strange herd-boy had led him up whom he had met with that night at Marienberg, and who had taken pity on him for G.o.d"s sake. It was a difficult task to guide the blind man up to these heights, but guardian spirits were with him and upheld him, or he would have slipped from the boy"s weak hand a hundred times and down the steep and slippery path.
It is only from those who love life that G.o.d requires it; the wretch to whom death would be release may not die!
Again and again the boy was fain to stop, but the penitent was not to be persuaded to stay where a bird"s call was still to be heard--where he could still lay his hand on fruitful soil. So, after long wandering, they had reached their goal--the last for which he longed--the realm of everlasting peace, where no sound of a human voice could pierce, where no slenderest thread could reach to link man to man. Here is the first circle of h.e.l.l, cold and silent, here he might atone and die, and live above for ever.
The boy had contrived an indispensable shelter against the wind and rain under an overhanging rock, and then had left him; but from time to time he came to bring bread to the hermit. He was a strange boy, he came and went without the blind man"s perceiving it, noiselessly and without a word, and Donatus was grateful to him for that. He would have felt it a desecration to break the sacred silence that bathed his soul like a sea which no profane sound might pierce.
Once every week his moss-bed was freshly made, and a fragrant loaf laid by the side of it; but he who brought it vanished as he came. Often it seemed to the blind man that it could be no boy of flesh and blood, but a friendly angel of death sent by G.o.d to guide him hither, and to support his existence until he were fit to die; and as the season advanced, and it became more and more difficult for any human being to find his way up the snow-covered path, he believed this still more firmly. What could prompt a strange and lowly herd-boy to such a fearful sacrifice? For what hope of reward could he do this? And what to him was the accursed outcast--the hapless wretch who could no longer give him even a blessing? Yes, it was daily clearer to his mind that it was a messenger from the other world; daily he felt more sure that here, with the earth far below him, he was nearer to the world of spirits. In the roaring of the storm, in the thunder of the avalanche, in the freezing snow-drift, in all the terrors of the wilderness, he felt with reverent awe the nearness of Him who rides the clouds and speaks in the thunder; and that which appals most mortals and fills them with dread, uplifted his soul which had triumphed over this life, in jubilant hope of redemption and release.
"Crush, mangle this body!" he would shout to the raging blast, to the falling rocks, to the torrents of heaven, when they whirled round him in wild uproar, and he kissed the invisible hand of the storm that lashed him, he thanked the pain that gnawed his numbed limbs--it all was penance, and penance meant deliverance; and then again when the tumult had subsided, when the last faint rays of the autumn sun shone from the once more peaceful sky, and all the air was still--then he felt as if a reconciled spirit hovered over him too--a divine something, for which he found no name. And then, indeed, a mood would come over him in which he would stretch out his arms to the vacant air, and a cry would escape his lips--like a bird freed from its cage--"Beata."
So near, so real, did her watchful spirit seem that he would fancy he heard her breathing and almost thought he felt her pa.s.sing lightly by him.
"Beata--have you died down in the valley, and come up to watch by me till I may follow you into eternity? Oh, poor child, the son of perdition may not follow you--not even when he has shed this mortal husk, for you will soar upwards to the fields of the blest--and I must sink among the souls in purgatory," and then it seemed to him that the wind bore a soft cry to his ear. Yes, certainly--it was her soul--that mourned for him, that prayed for him with tears to the Saints. And could they withstand her prayers? In such an hour he felt as if a breath of salvation floated round him; here, up at the limits of the earth, on the brink of the other world, the very air was full of revelation. The two realms seemed to touch and mingle, and he learned more and more to understand their gentle ebb and flow.
Thus it grew to be winter and the chastening hand fell more roughly, and the fetters of death closed more tightly upon him; still he prayed and sang praises without ceasing, and as often as he found a fresh loaf by his couch and a warm skin to preserve him from the increasing cold, he received it as a miracle from G.o.d the Lord, who in days of old rained down Manna on his starving people. So long as G.o.d sent him nourishment, so long it was His will that he should live, and he relished the bread with a thankful heart, full of devout meditation as if it were the body of Christ--which no mortal hand might evermore present to him.
At last the supplies of bread ceased. He knew not how many days had pa.s.sed, for him there was neither day nor night; but he perceived that it was longer than usual, for his meagre store had never been exhausted before the fresh supply came. Now it was exhausted, and the place where he was wont to find his bread was empty. Now he knew that the last trial was at hand. Nature inexorably a.s.serted her claims, and gnawing hunger tormented his vitals; death was approaching in the form of starvation. He felt it--it was a cruel death, but he could thank the Lord for it; now the hour was come when, like the chamois, he must end in a hidden creva.s.se; he wound his rosary round his hand, and only prayed, "Grant, Lord, that I may bear the trial with honour."
He went out of his cave to seek a cleft in the ice so as to carry out his vow; something checked his steps--it was lying at his feet, and softly caressing his knee like a faithful dog. But it was not a dog, it clung to him and grasped his arm with a human hand. "Donatus," it whispered in a beseeching tone. "Donatus, forgive me!"
"Beata!" shrieked the blind man, staggering back against the cliff. He felt as if the mountain had fallen and had buried everything under it--man, and all his works and laws--as if he were left alone with Beata and with G.o.d. But that G.o.d was He who spoke, saying, "I am Love."
"Donatus, I could not help myself any longer--I can get you no more bread," stammered the girl. "For three days I have been trying in vain, but I can do no more--my limbs are frozen--the cold--I am dying. Oh, poor soul, what will become of you?"
"Beata! angel of my life--angel of my soul!" cried Donatus, rejoicing and weeping in the same breath. "Beata! blessed one, having overcome the world! You have been with me all the time, you have brought me food, have been by my side through snow and frost, in death and desolation? All-merciful G.o.d, why were you so long silent?"
"That you should not sin for my sake, nor drive me away--that is why I was silent! Forgive me for disobeying you--I could not, could not leave you."
"Forgive you--I forgive you, you messenger of grace." And with a strong arm the blind man raised the dying girl and carried her into the sheltering cave, and laid her on his bed, covering her with the warm skins that she herself had brought him in her indefatigable care. Then he flung himself down by the couch and covered her care-worn face and faithful breast, and her poor, frozen, little feet with innumerable kisses. He could say no more; only moans and inarticulate sounds of love and sorrow escaped him, and he held her in his arms, and rocked her and soothed her as a mother does her dying child.
And she clung to him in a perfect extasy of joy. "You see--now I am dying by your side--it has happened as I said"--she whispered in his ear. "And you have kept your word; you wanted to lead me to bliss--now I am indeed blessed."
The blind man was like one in the very whirlwind of a celestial revelation.
"Oh, sweet martyr! You have done what no man ever did. We, when we deny ourselves and subdue ourselves, we hope for a future reward and fear future punishment--but you have renounced all, and fought the fight without hope and without fear. You have sacrificed yourself freely and without compulsion, and have bled to death in silence. What is all that heroism and chast.i.ty have ever achieved in comparison with this deed?
No--it is no power of the devil that has accomplished this. It is not with dying lips that the evil one seeks to tempt--nor with the kiss of death that he entangles his victims. It is a higher power--yes--now I see and know it! Beata, your death has released me from my bonds--there is a love, that is G.o.d--and we have loved each other with such a love, and for that love"s sake we shall find mercy."
"Amen!" said the girl, and with a smile of rapture she clasped his head that had sunk upon her breast. And there was peace--the peace of G.o.d, in their souls. Her breath was now short and weak, but she clasped him to her with all her remaining strength. He pressed her to his breast and rubbed her frozen limbs, and breathed on her with his warm breath.
He implored her with a thousand loving words.
"Do not die, my child, my wife--gift of G.o.d, stay with me. G.o.d who gave you to me, will let you stay with me one day--one hour, only one little hour that I may make up to you for all you have suffered!"
In vain! the cold hand could no longer stroke his head; it fell by her side.
"Beata!" he called in her ear. "I abandoned you in life, but in death I will not forsake you, I will die with you."
She still heard, a sigh of rapture answered him as from a happy bride--it was her last--then she bowed her head and slept, softly and peacefully, with a smile on her lips. She was gone like the night-moth whose fate it is never to rejoice in the light of the sun, that is s.n.a.t.c.hed away by the first frosts of winter, without a sound, without a wail--out of darkness into darkness.
Donatus still listened for a while to hear if the stilled heart beat no more--not a breath, not a throb, all was over. Long, long did he lie so, the body clasped to his heart; then he rose, and saying half-aloud as though she still could hear, "Come, my child," he laid the slender form across his shoulders like a dead lamb, and went out into the open air.
Snow was falling, softly and lightly spreading a white coverlet under his feet over which he glided inaudibly, feeling his way by the rocky wall. Whither was he going, what did he seek? He could not answer himself these questions, the time for thought was over; one feeling alone possessed him, and that was love. All seemed light to his blind eyes; a slight form rose out of the darkness, and floated before him with a sad but blissful smile. It was Beata"s glorified spirit. She pointed out the way, and signed to him to follow with a look of unutterable love.
"Yes, I am coming, I follow," he cried, and hurried on as fast as he could through the snow--after her. Presently the sweet vision reached a spot where the rock ended precipitously, a perpendicular cliff of more than a thousand fathoms. She stood still and looked round. "Wait, I am coming!" he cried. Once more she beckoned, then she soared up and floated across the abyss up--away. By this time he too had reached the spot, and without a shudder he sprang after her; but his mortal body with its burden weighed him down. He slid into the abyss in a cloud of snow, and the loosened ma.s.s came plunging after him, a thundering avalanche that filled the air with an ocean of snow.
But just as the air that clings to a heavy body when it is plunged into the depths of the sea rises to rejoin its parent element in shining globules, the spirit of the engulfed Donatus rose from the deep to its eternal home.
The earth lay dead and dumb as if the sun could never rise again, as if love had perished for ever--and yet it will return, bringing softer airs, under whose quickening breath Heaven and earth shall once more be reconciled.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Himmelsschlussel--keys of Heaven--is the pretty German name.]
[Footnote 2: The Adige lower down.]
[Footnote 3: In German the corpse-owl.]
[Footnote 4: The translator is indebted for these verses to the kindness of a friend.]
THE END.