Cornelli

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One bright morning in May, a portly gentleman, leaning heavily on a gold-headed cane, was walking up the narrow city street. The houses here were so high that the upper windows could scarcely be seen from below. A steep rise in the street caused the gentleman to stop from time to time to get his breath. Scrutinizing the house numbers, he said to himself several times: “Not yet, not yet.” Then, climbing up still higher, he at last reached a house beside whose open door six bells were hanging.

The gentleman now began to study the names under the bells, meanwhile gravely shaking his head, for he did not seem to find the name he was seeking.

“Oh dear, at last! and the highest one up, too,” he sighed, while he entered the house. Now the real climbing began. At first the steps, though rather high, were white and neat. But after a while they became dark and narrow, and in the end the way led over worn, uneven steps to a narrow door. The only standing room was on the last small step.

“Is this a cage?” said the climber to himself, breathing hard and holding fast to the railing. The thin and creaking steps seemed to him extremely unsafe. After he had pulled the bell-rope, the door opened, and a lady dressed in black stood before him.

“Oh, is it you, kind guardian?” she exclaimed with astonishment. “I am so sorry that you had to come up these winding steps,” she added, for she noticed that the stout gentleman had to wipe his face after the great exertion. “I should have been very glad to go down to you, if you had let me know that you were here.” The lady meanwhile had led the gentleman into the room and asked him to seat himself.

“As your guardian I simply had to come once to see you,” he declared, seating himself on an old sofa and still leaning with both hands on the golden knob of his cane. “I have to tell you, my dear Mrs. Halm, that I am sorry you moved to town. You should have followed my advice and lived in a small house in the country. It would have been so much more practical for you than to live in this garret lodging where you have no conveniences whatever. I am quite sure that the country air would have been much better for both you and the children.”

“I could not think about conveniences for myself, when my husband died, and I had to leave the parsonage, Mr. Schaller,” replied the lady, with a faint smile. “The country air would naturally have been much better for my children, especially for my older boy. But he had to come to town on account of school, and I could not possibly have sent him away from me, delicate as he is. Besides——”

“There are boarding places in town where such boys are well taken care of,” the visitor interrupted. “What other reasons did you have?”

“My girls, too, are old enough to learn something which they can make use of later on,” continued the lady. “You know that this is necessary and that it is very hard to get such opportunities in the country. I hope I have persuaded you that coming to town with the children was not a foolish undertaking. I am extremely glad that you have given me an opportunity to explain why I did not follow your advice.”

“What are your daughters going to learn?” the gentleman asked abruptly.

“Nika, the elder, paints quite well,” replied the lady, “and Agnes has a decided talent for music. If both girls are earnest in their studies, they hope later on to be able to teach; indeed, they are very anxious to do so.”

“These arts do not bring good returns, even after years and years of study,” said the gentleman. “It would be much more sensible for the sisters to busy themselves with dressmaking. They could quickly begin a business in which they might help each other and make some money. This would really help both you and your son a great deal. If your boy is going to study, it will be a long time before he can be independent.”

The parson’s widow looked sadly in front of her without saying a word.

“Please do not misunderstand me. I am only speaking in your and your children’s interest,” the gentleman began again. “I am very sorry not to have met your daughters, for they would soon have agreed with me, if they had heard my reasons. Nowadays young people understand quite well what it means to make one’s way easily and advantageously. You can be sure of that.”

“My children may still be a little backward in this knowledge. They may, through the influence of their parents, still care for the things which you call the breadless arts,” said the lady with a sigh. “But I shall make my children acquainted with your ideas and I shall try to speak to them according to your views, at least as far as I am able.”

“How old is the eldest? She ought to be old enough to understand my reasons,” remarked the gentleman.

“Nika is in her fourteenth year. Her education is, of course, still incomplete in many ways,” replied the lady. “Dino is twelve and Agnes eleven years old. The latter must first of all complete her compulsory school years.”

“Still rather young people,” said Mr. Schaller, shaking his head. “I am sure of one thing, however. The longer their education will take, the shorter should be the ways to the goal. I am more and more convinced that my advice is right. If you give your little daughters into the hands of a clever dressmaker, your moving to the city will have been of some real use.”

In his great zeal to convince his silent listener, the visitor had not noticed that a small boy had entered. This little fellow had at first hidden behind his mother, but, at a sign from her, approached the gentleman. He noticed the child only when a small fist pushed itself forcibly into his closed right hand.

“Please forgive the rather aggressive greeting of my small son,” begged the mother.

“Oh, here is another, still. I knew there was a smaller one,” exclaimed the dismayed visitor. “Well, boy, what is your name?”

“Mux,” was the reply.

The gentleman looked questioningly at the mother.

“That is the name his brother and sisters have given him and the one which seems to have remained quite permanently,” she replied. “His name is really Marcus and he is just five years old.”

“Well, well, and what do you want to be when you grow up, my young friend?” asked Mr. Schaller.

“An army general,” unhesitatingly replied the small boy. After these words the gentleman got up.

“It seems to me, my dear Mrs. Halm, that all your children have pretty high-flown ideas,” he said impressively. “I can only hope that before long they will learn that in this world it is not possible for everybody to do what he pleases.”

The mother approved this good wish, but added: “I have to tell you, though, that Mux has gotten this idea from his favorite book, where the picture of a general on horseback interests him more than anything else. This, of course, is a passing impression, like many others.”

“One can never urge proper and successful work too soon nor too often; please do not overlook that, my friend!” With these words the guardian ended the interview and, saying good-bye, carefully descended the steep staircase.

Just then a child was running up the stairs so quickly that it actually seemed as if she had no need to touch the steps at all. As the gentleman was taking up all the room, the only space left for a passage was under the arm with which he held the railing. Here the lithe creature tried to slip through.

“Stop, stop! Do you not belong to the parson’s widow, Mrs. Halm?” asked the gentleman, making a barrier with his arm.

“Yes, I belong to her,” was the quick answer. And stooping down still lower, the small person again tried to pass.

“Just hold still one moment, if you can,” the gentleman now demanded. “You probably know that I am Mr. Schaller, your guardian. I have just given your mother some advice, which was meant for your good. You do not look in the least stupid, so you can help to persuade your mother. I am sure you can understand what is good for you. Are you the elder?”

“No, the younger one,” came quickly back for answer.

“So much the better. Then the elder will be still more sensible. If you take my advice you can both contribute to the prosperity of the whole family.” With these words the gentleman gave the little girl his hand and went away.

Agnes flew up the rest of the stairs and into the narrow hall. Her brother Mux was standing expectantly in the open doorway. He did this every day at the time his brother and sisters were coming home from school. He loved the change that their coming brought after the quiet morning.

“A fat gentleman was here and mother said afterward: ‘Oh God!’ and you can’t play the piano any more,” he reported.

Agnes ran into the next room and as quickly out again. “Where is mother? Mother, mother!” she called, opening one door after another.

“Here I am, Agnes, but do not be so violent,” sounded the mother’s voice from the kitchen.

Agnes ran to her. “Mother, what is Mux saying? Is it really true? I know that Mr. Schaller has been here and that he can tell us what we have to do. What did he say? Is it really true what Mux has said? Oh, I’ll never eat again! I don’t want to sleep or do anything any more. Everything, then, is lost!”

Agnes was frightfully excited. Her cheeks were dark red and her eyes seemed to shoot forth flashes of lightning.

“But, child, you must not speak this way. Do not get so terribly excited,” the mother calmly admonished her. “There is no time now to discuss a subject which we have to talk over quietly. We shall do so to-night. You know perfectly well that I have the greatest sympathy for your wishes and ambitions, and that it means as much to me as to you. As soon as we have a quiet hour together we can talk it all over.”

These words quieted the child. She knew that her mother always shared every experience with them. In coming to town, mother and daughter had hoped to be able to carry out their most fervent wish, namely, the completion of Agnes’ musical education. Agnes could count on her mother’s help. It was for the happiness of both of them. So Agnes went out to the kitchen to do her work as usual. Both the sisters always helped to lighten their mother’s work, for their only servant was quite a young girl, who did not do much besides run errands.

Mux went back to his former place. He was intensely pleased with the great effect and excitement his words had produced on Agnes. Hearing somebody else coming upstairs, he prepared to repeat his speech.

When Nika was near enough to hear him he said: “A fat gentleman has been here, and when he was gone mother said: ‘Oh God!’ and you are not to paint any more trees and flowers.”

Nika, not having seen Mr. Schaller, did not understand these words. Unruffled and silent, she passed Mux and went into the other room, which disappointed Mux terribly. So when he heard Dino coming up the stairs, he unloaded his disappointment on him.

“We are not going to have them to-day,” he announced.

“What do you think we will have? What am I supposed to be thinking of, little guesser?” Dino called out.

“Oh, I know. Whenever you think we are going to have green peas for lunch, you run up very quickly. You can’t even wait, you love them so,” Mux asserted. “But we won’t have any to-day, for we are going to have cabbage instead. There, now you have it!”

“Now come in and we’ll see who makes a worse face about it, you or I!”

With these words Dino took his little brother’s hand, and together they ran into the room. Very soon afterwards, the family all sat down to their mid-day meal. On most days the children would be telling their mother about the happenings of the morning. They would all talk at once until it was quite hard for her to do them all justice. But to-day it was different. It seemed as if a storm was in the air; everybody was silent, and on all faces, except one, heavy clouds seemed to be resting. Nika sat brooding and staring in front of her, for Agnes had interpreted to her their little brother’s words. She swallowed very hard on every mouthful, because she had to swallow a great deal more besides. Agnes was frowning so that her whole forehead was like one huge wrinkle. The mother, too, was busy with deep thoughts, as one could see from her worried expression.

Mux, who generally was extremely talkative, was quietly nibbling on his dish of cabbage, with many a deep sigh. Dino alone was merry. He glanced with great expectation from one to the other, and his lunch did not keep him very busy.

“I am expecting a thunderstorm,” he said, while the quiet was still unbroken. “Nika is going to let loose the lightning which is flashing under her lashes, and Agnes will follow with the thunder. After this I predict a heavy rainstorm, for Mux can hardly keep back his tears about this cabbage.”

“But you have eaten much less cabbage than I have,” Mux cried out.

“I do this only from moderation, my little man, so that nobody will get too little.”

“I would answer you about the thunder and the cabbage, Dino, if I had time,” Agnes at last exploded. “But I have a music lesson at one o’clock and I have enough to swallow without this horrid cabbage.”

“I only wish you could be more moderate in other things instead of in eating, Dino,” said the mother with a melancholy smile. “You have hardly eaten anything, and I heard you cough all night. Your health worries me dreadfully, Dino. Did you cough much in school this morning?”

“Certainly, mother. But that is nothing to worry about,” Dino replied merrily. “It always goes away again. My professor said to-day that it would have been better for me to remain in the pastoral fields of my native village, than to have sought the dust-laden corners of town. But I answered: ‘Unfortunately the Latin language does not sprout from the pastoral fields, professor.’”

“Oh, I hope you did not answer that,” the mother said, quite frightened.

“Oh yes, but only in my thoughts! Please, mother, don’t worry about me,” Dino implored.

“I am afraid that your professor is right,” the mother said with a sigh. “But I have a plan which we shall talk over to-night. I shall also talk over our guardian’s proposal, girls. Please try not to look so terribly unhappy, for everything is not yet lost.”

“Oh, it will come to that in the end,” said Nika, leaving the room.

“Yes, and much worse, I guess,” said Agnes. Violently pushing her chair in place, she departed, after thrusting her music into a folder.

“What can be worse than when all is lost?” Dino called after her. “I know what,” responded Mux knowingly, while Agnes looked back at Dino as if to say: If I had time I certainly would give an answer to you.

“What is it, wise little man?” asked Dino.

“If she had to eat nothing but cabbage all the time,” replied Mux, full of a conviction which he seemed to have acquired from his own experience.

Dino, too, prepared to depart. With a sorrowful look, the mother passed her hand over the boy’s thick hair. “Please be careful, and do not run too fast,” she begged. “It’s very bad for you to sit in the cool school room when you are so overheated. I can scarcely ever see you go, without anxiety.”

“But I am surely not as sick as that, little mother,” Dino said, tenderly embracing her. “When somebody has a cough it always goes away again after a while. That is the way with me. Be merry and everything will be all right in the end. But I have to go now, it is late,” he exclaimed.

“But do not hurry so terribly, Dino, there is time enough yet, and remember what I told you,” she called after him. Then stepping to the open window, she followed the running boy down the street with her eyes.

Dino gave Mrs. Halm great anxiety, for he seemed more delicate every day. Her watchful eye had detected how poor his appetite had been lately. Despite that, the boy had a very sweet disposition and was always full of fun. He was always anxious to have everybody in a good humor, and above all, his mother. Of all the burdens she had to bear, the trouble about her son’s health was the hardest. One could see this by the painful expression on her face when she left the window and sat down beside her work table.

Mux was just repeating a question for the third time, but his mother did not hear him. Loudly raising his voice he said once more: “Oh, mother, why does one have to eat what the cows get?”

“What do you mean, Mux? What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I saw it in my picture book. The leaves the cows get are just the same as those in the kitchen,” he explained none too clearly, but the mother understood him directly. She remembered how interestedly he had looked at the cabbage leaves when the girl had brought them home from market. She also bore in mind a picture in his favorite book, where a stable boy was shown giving a glossy brown cow splendid green leaves to eat.

“So you still have the cabbage in your head, Mux?” said the mother. “You must not be dissatisfied when there are so many poor children who have to go hungry. While you get bread and good vegetables, they may be suffering.”

“Oh, can’t we send them the rest of the cabbage?” Mux quickly suggested.

“Come and work on the embroidery I have started for you, Mux. We shall see who can beat to-day. Perhaps that will clear away your thoughts about the cabbage. Come and sit beside me, Mux.”

The mother put a little chair beside hers and placed the work in the boy’s nimble fingers. Now a race with stitches began, and in his zeal to beat his mother he at last forgot the subject that had troubled him so much.

The late evening had come and the children’s work for school was done. Mrs. Halm put the big mending basket away and took up her knitting. The time had come, when, clustering eagerly about their mother, the children told her all the troubles and joys of the day.

It was the hardest hour of the day for Mux, for it was his bedtime. His mother always took him by the hand, to lead him to bed, before she began to talk with the three elder children. Every evening he put up a fight, for the wily youngster always thought that by obstinate resistance he could break the rule. His mother, however, knew well that his success would only result in dreadful yawns and heavy eyes.

This evening he found himself ready for bed before he had had time to prepare for his fight. His mother seemed anxious to have him in bed punctually that night. The boy was always reconciled to his fate when she sat down a moment beside his bed to hear of anything that might be troubling him. Mux, knowing that all conversation was irrevocably closed after his prayers were said, would try every night to prolong this period.

After Mux had climbed into bed, he said thoughtfully: “Don’t you think, mother, that if people planted cherries where cabbage now grows everybody could eat cherries instead of cabbage?”

“We simply have to stop now, Mux,” Mrs. Halm replied to his astonishment, for he had hoped to start a long conversation.

“Well, Mux, you don’t seem to be able to get over the cabbage to-day. Go to sleep, for you have talked enough about it.”

Mux knew then that nothing could be done that day, After his evening prayer and a kiss from his mother, he lay down and was fast asleep before his mother had even shut the door.

Agnes had just finished her last task and was throwing her books into a drawer, each more violently than the other. She was still terribly excited, and as soon as her mother came back to the room, she burst forth: “Oh, mother, if I am not allowed to study music any more, I would rather stop learning anything. Why can’t I become a servant girl? I could do the work well enough. As soon as I have earned enough money, I’ll buy a harp and then I can wander from house to house, singing and playing. I can easily live like that. Nobody needs to be a dressmaker. People can wear petticoats and jackets. That is enough, and those can be woven. All other children are better off than we are. They can learn what they please and we can’t learn anything!” An outburst of tears choked all further words.

During her sister’s speech Nika had been quietly drawing, but she was holding her head lower and lower over her work without once looking up. She continued her studies, but her eyes seemed to be filling. Pushing her work away, she held her handkerchief before her face.

“Oh, children,” said the mother, looking sadly at them, “do not be so desperate right away. You know that your good is my good as well, and that I am doing and shall keep on doing everything in my power to fulfill your ambitions. It would be my happiest joy to have your talents developed, so that you could devote all your lives to music and painting. If we should find it impossible, however, dear children, we must firmly believe that it would not have been for the best, had we succeeded, for God alone knows which way to lead us.

“Do not lose your confidence in a kind Father in Heaven, for that is our greatest consolation. He won’t forget us, if we do not forget Him, and we must remember that He can see further than we can, for He knows why and where He is leading us. We cannot look into the future, but later we shall understand it all and realize why we had to bear our troubles. Out of them will come the greatest blessings.”

“Now let us be happy again and let us sing a song,” said Dino, who loved to be gay and who liked to see everyone about him merry, too.

“Let us sing:

“Yes, Dino, it is easy enough for you to laugh,” Agnes exclaimed. “You would probably whistle another tune if you had to become a tailor. But you can learn and study everything you want to.”

“I shall certainly not study everything,” Dino informed her. “But your singing is much nicer than your arguing, Agnes, so please begin, and if you don’t like my song, you can start another.”

“We shall all sing together later on, children,” said the mother. “I have to speak to you, too, Dino. I am troubled about your cough and your health. I have looked about for quite a while to find a suitable place in the country where I could send you. Of course, there are plenty of places, but I want you to go into some modest house where you can be looked after. I found a notice in the paper to-day which might be just what I am looking for. Read it yourself, Dino.”

Dino began to read. “Yes, yes, mother, I must go there,” he said, shaking with merriment. “I must go to Martha in Iller-Stream. I am sure that it is very cosy in Martha Wolf’s house, where everything is so neat and the covers are so fresh.”

The sisters now wanted also to see the notice that made Dino laugh so heartily. He read the paragraph aloud about Martha Wolf in Iller-Stream and they all agreed that it would be pleasant there. The mother decided to write to the woman at once and to take Dino there as soon as possible.

“Now we shall sing a song to end the day,” she said, sitting down at the old piano. Every day the children sang an evening song to her accompaniment. Opening the book she herself started and the three children took up the song with their pure, fresh voices:

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