Diary And Notes Of Horace Templeton, Esq. Volume Ii Part 4

The lights, which were glittering here and there through the little village inns, had been gradually extinguished as the night grew later, till, at last none remained, save those around the door of the post-house, where a little group of loungers was gathered, As they talked together, one or other occasionally would step out into the road and seem to listen, and then rejoin his companions. "No sign of him yet!

What can keep him so late as this?" cried the Post-master, holding up his watch, that the lamp-light should fall on it. "It wants but four minutes to eleven--his time, by right, is half after nine."

"He is trying the upper road belike, and the deep snow has detained him."

"No, no," said another, "Old Cristoph's too knowing for that: bad as the lower road is, the upper is worse; and with the storm of last night, there will be drift there deep enough to swallow horse and mail-cart twice over."

"There may be fallen snow on the lower road," whispered a third; "Cristoph told me last week he feared it would not be safe for another journey."

"He's a daring old fellow," said the Post-master, as he resumed his walk up and down to keep his feet warm; "but he'll try that lower road once too often. He can't bear the upper road because it is a new one, and was not made when he was a boy. He thinks that the world is not half so wise, or so good, as it was some fifty years back."

"If he make no greater mistakes than that," muttered an old white-headed hostler, "he may be trusted to choose his own road."

"What's that Philip is mumbling?" said the Post-master; but a general cry of "Here he comes! Here he is now!" interrupted the answer.

"See how he drives full speed over the bridge!" exclaimed the Post-master, angrily. "Potz-Teufel! if the Burgomaster hears it, I shall have to pay a fine of four gulden; and I would not wonder if the noise awoke him."

There was less exaggeration than might be supposed in this speech, for Old Cristoph, in open defiance of all German law, which requires that nothing faster than a slow walk should be used in crossing a wooden bridge, galloped at the full stride of his beast, making every crazy plank and timber tremble and vibrate with a crash like small arms.

Never relaxing in his speed, the old man drove at his fastest pace through the narrow old Roman gate, up the little paved hill, round the sharp corner, across the Platz, into the main street, and never slackened till he pulled up with a jerk at the door of the post-house: when, springing from his seat, he detached the lamp from its place, and thrust it into the waggon, crying with a voice that excitement had elevated into a scream,--"He's alive still!--I'll swear I heard him sigh! I know he's alive!"

It is hard to say what strange conjectures might have been formed of the old man's sanity, had he not backed his words by stooping down and lifting from the straw, at the bottom of the cart, the seemingly dead body of a boy, which, with the alacrity of one far younger, he carried up the steps, down the long arched pa.s.sage, and into the kitchen, where he laid him down before the fire.

"Quick now, Ernest; run for the doctor! Away, Johan; bring the Staats Physicus--bring two--all of them in the town! Frau Hostess, warm water and salt--salt, to rub him with--I know he is alive!"

A shake of the head from the old hostess seemed to offer a strong dissent.

"Never mind that! He is not dead, though he did fall from the Riesenfels."

"From the Riesenfels!" exclaimed three or four together in amazement.

"Who was it came galloping at full speed over the Bridge, and pa.s.sed the grand guard on the Platz at the same disorderly pace?" said the deep voice of the Burger-meister, who arose from his bed to learn the cause of the tumult.

"It was I," exclaimed Cristoph, ruggedly; "there lies the reason."

"The penalty is all the same," growled the man of authority: "four gulden for one, and two gulden thirty kreutzers for the other offence."

Cristoph either did not hear or heed the speech.

"Where's the mail-bag? I haven't seen that yet," chimed in the Post-master; who, like a wise official, followed the lead of the highest village functionary.

Old Cristoph bustled out, and soon returned, not only with the leathern sack in question, but with a huge fragment of a wooden cross over his shoulders.

"There's the bag, Herr Post-meister, all safe and dry," said he; "and here Herr Burger-meister, here's your fine finger-post that the Governor ordered to be stuck up on the Riesenfels. I suppose they'll need it again when the snow melts and the road is clear: though to be sure,"

added he, in a lower tone, "he must have worse eyes than Old Cristoph who could not see his way to Imst from that cliff without a finger-post to guide him."

The Burgermeister was not disposed to suffer this irony in silence; but the occasion to exert his authority with due severity was not at that moment, when the whole attention of the bystanders was directed to the proceedings of the three village doctors--one of them no less a personage than the Staats Physicus--who, with various hard terms of art, were discussing the condition of the senseless form before them.

Were I to recount one half of the learned surmises and deep prognostications of these wise Esculapians, the chances are, my reader would grow as weary of the recital as did poor old Cristoph of the reality. For at last, unable to endure any longer active controversies about the pia mater and the dura mater, the vitreous table and the cerebellum, with vague hints of "congestion," "depression," "effusion,"

and so on, he broke in with, "In G.o.d's name, dear gentlemen, let him be kept warm and have a good gla.s.s of 'schnaps' down his poor throat; and when he shews a chance of living, fight away about the name of the malady to your hearts' content."

I am far from defending, Old Cristoph's rude interruption. The learned faculties should always be treated with becoming deference; but he was a rude, unpolished old fellow, and the best one can say is, that he meant it well. Certain it is they seemed to acknowledge the force of his suggestion; for they at once removed the child to a warm bed, while they ordered the hostess to administer a very comfortable cordial of her own devising; and, to shew their confidence in the remedy, had three likewise provided for their own individual comfort and support.

It is not my wish to dwell on the sad portions of our tale, wherever the recital would elicit nothing of our little hero's character: and such was the period which now ensued. Fritz was conveyed, early on the following morning, to the village hospital, where his case was p.r.o.nounced of the very gravest nature. The dangers from cold, inanition, and exposure, were all inferior to the greater one resulting from some injury to the brain. I cannot be expected to be clearer and more explicit on this theme than were his doctors; and they, with proverbial propriety, did differ most amazingly: one advocating a fracture, another a concussion, and a third standing out for both, and something more.

They agreed, however, on two points; one of which was, that he would die--and the other, that as he was evidently very poor and had no friends, his death was of less consequence. I would not be here understood, by any malevolent critic, as wishing to infer that the doctors' neglect of him was a strong point in Fritz's favour. I merely desire to relate a simple fact--that he continued to live from day to day, and from week to week, gaining in strength, but never once evidencing, by even the slightest trait, a return to his faculty of reasoning. Alas, poor child!--the intellect which, in all his sorrow and poverty, had been his happiness and his comfort, was now darkened, and he awoke from that long dream of death--an idiot!

Perhaps I may not have used the fitting word; but how shall I speak of his state? He seemed sad and sorrow-struck; never spoke, even to answer a question; moved listlessly and slowly about, as if in search of something, and muttering lowly to himself. No one ever saw him smile, and yet he did not weep. He looked more like one in whom reason was, by some terrible shock, suspended and held in abeyance, than actually routed or annihilated. Unlike most others similarly afflicted, he slept very little, remaining usually, the night long, sitting beside his bed, gesticulating with his hands in a strange way, and suddenly ceasing if observed.

His eye, for some minutes, would often seem bright with intelligence; but on looking more closely, it would be discovered that the gaze was fixed on vacancy, and it might be conjectured that no image of any near object was presented to the mind, since no expression of pain, pleasure, or astonishment would follow, when different substances were displayed before him. One might say, that the faculties were entirely absorbed by their own operations, and neither took note of those recorded by the senses, nor had any sympathy with their workings--volition wad at a stand-still. But why dwell on so sorrowful a picture?

Spring came, and Fritz, who ever obeyed each command of those over him, was suffered to walk daily in the little garden of the asylum.

One day--it was the first bright one of the new season--the birds were singing sweetly in the trees when he went forth, and they who came some time after to fetch him to the house, found him in tears. His sorrow seemed, however, to have brought some sense of relief with it, for that night he slept more calmly and longer than usual. From this time out it was remarked that his appearance varied with the weather of each day.

When the air was clear, and the sun shone bright, and the birds gathered together in the blossoming branches of the fruit-trees, he seemed happier; but when dark skies or rain came on, he would walk impatiently from place to place--now, as if in search of some missing object--now, as if suddenly overwhelmed by his loss.

Thus did he continue till about the first week in May, when at the usual hour of recalling him to the house he was not to be found. Search was made every where--through the garden--about the neighbouring buildings--in all the Dorf--but all in vain. No one had seen him.

Poor and unfriended as he was, his little simple ways, his sinless innocence and gentleness, had made him friends among all who had any authority in the asylum; and no pains were spared to track him out and discover him--to no end, however. He was seen there no more. Days and weeks long, with unwearying zeal, the search continued, and was only abandoned when all hope seemed gone. By none was this sad termination of his suffering more poignantly felt than by old Cristoph. Every week he came to Imst, his first care was to ask after the little boy; and when he learned his fate, his grief was deep and heartfelt.

I know not if my reader has ever visited Inspruck.

Every one has been every where nowadays; and so the chances are, that the Tyrol capital is as well known to them as to myself. At all the hazard of being tedious, however, I must mention one feature of that beautiful old city--a little street which leads out of the Old Market, and runs westward down a somewhat steep declivity towards the Inn. It is one of those narrow, old, gloomy alleys a traveller would scarcely think of exploring. A low range of arches, supported on pillars of the most st.u.r.dy proportions, runs along either side, furnished with ma.s.sive stone seats, worn smooth by the use of some centuries of gossips. The little shops within this dark arcade are undefended by windows of any kind, but lie open, displaying to the pa.s.ser-by, not only the various wares exposed for sale, but frequently, as the wind, or chance, waves the folds of an old curtain at the back, the little household of the merchant himself.

The middle portion of this street, scarcely wide enough for three to walk abreast, grows even narrower as you look up, by the gradual encroachment of each story on either side; so that while the denizens of the first-floors have merely the neighbourly advantages of a near salutation, they who inhabit the garrets may embrace without any fear on the score of bodily danger. Our business is only with those beneath, however, and thither I must ask of your accompanying me.

If the two groined arches--dark with age as well as feint light--the narrow gloomy-looking alley, might at first deter the stranger from entering, scarcely would he venture a few steps ere a strange fascination would lead him onward. Within these little dens--for such rather than shops do they seem--are objects to be found, the strangest and the most curious ever exposed for sale. In one, you find a collection of ancient armour the greatest Ritter Saal would be proud to choose from:--weapons of every age and country--the chain-mail of Milan--the plate-armour of Venice--the heavy double-nailed suits of Regens-bourg--the small conical helmet of the East--the ma.s.sive but beautifully fashioned casque of Spanish mould--the blade of Damascus--the double-handled sword of Appenzell--the jereed--the Crusader's lance--the old pike of the Tyrol, with daggers and poniards of every shape, that luxury or cruelty ever invented. Adjoining this, perhaps, lives one who deals in rare flowers and shrubs; and, strange as it may seem in such a place, the orange-tree, the cactus, the camellia, and the aloe, shed their bloom and perfume through these vaulted cells, where age, and rust, and decay would appear the most fitting denizens.

Here, lives one who sells the rich brocaded silks and tabourets of a by-gone century--great flowering waistcoats, stiff and imposing as the once wearers--huge sweeping trains of costly embroidery--relics of a time when stateliness was cultivated, and dignified deportment the distinctive sign of birth. Right opposite to this is a store of ancient articles of furniture and _virtu_--marquetry and buhl--Dresden and Sevres--carved oak and ebony--ivory and box-wood. All that ever fancy conceived uncomfortable to sit upon, or a diseased imagination ever inaugurated as the throne of nightmare to sleep in--are here to be had. Stools to kneel upon and altars to kneel at--Virgins in ivory and silver--idols of Indian adoration--ancient goblets, and most curiously carved treasure-boxes of solid iron, ma.s.sive little emblems of a time when men put slight faith in bankers.

A little further on you may meet with a jeweller's, where ornaments the most rare and costly are to be found: ma.s.sive old necklaces of amethyst or emerald, in which the ungainly setting bears such a contrast to the value of the stone--rich clasps of pink topaz or ruby, for the collar of a cloak--sword-handles all paved with precious gems--and signet-rings, that have circled the fingers of proud Counts of the Empire, and, mayhap, sealed with their impress many a dark and gloomy record.

Some deal in old books and ma.n.u.scripts, ancient rolls, and painted missals; some, in curious relics of horse-equipment, bra.s.s-mounted demi-piques and iron-strapped saddles of the sixteenth century, with spurs of a foot in length, and uncouth bits that would hold an elephant in check: and one little dusky corner-shop, kept by an old hunchback, contained the strangest of all stocks-in-trade,--an a.s.semblage of instruments of torture: chains of every kind hung from the ceiling; thumb-screws, back-bolts, helmets made to close upon the skull, and crushed by the action of a vice; racks, hatchets, and pincers; while conspicuous in the midst, as the support of an old iron lantern, is the block of a headsman, the surface bearing the shocking record of its usage. Just where this grim and ghastly cell stands, a little rivulet of clear water crosses the street, and seems to separate it from the remaining portion, which, by a steeper declivity, inclined towards the river.

Separate, indeed, I might well say, for the two portions are as unlike as the records of all man's vanity and cruelty are unlike the emblem of G.o.ds goodness and wisdom. You scarcely cross this tiny stream when the whole air resounds with the warbling of birds, bright in every tint and hue of plumage, golden and green, purple and crimson.

From the lordly eagle of the Ortiler to the rich-toned linnet of the Botzen valley, all are there. There, the paroquet of the Stelvio, gorgeous as the scarlet bustard in plumage; and here, the golden jay of the Vorarlberg. Blackbirds, thrushes, finches of a hundred different races, "Roth kopfs," and woodp.e.c.k.e.rs, spring, chirp, flutter, and scream, on every side. The very atmosphere is tremulous with the sounds, lifelike and joyous as they are! The very bustle and movement around is such a relief from the torpid stillness of the other end of the street, where nothing is heard save the low monotonous tones of some old Jew reading in his back-shop, or the harsh clank of an iron weapon removed from its place; while, here, the merry twitter and the silvery-shake recall the greenwood and the grove, the bright fields and heath-clad mountains.

Here is the bird-market of Inspruck. It needs but one pa.s.sing glance to shew what attractions the spot possesses for the inhabitants. Every rank, from the well-salaried official of the government to the humblest burgher--from the richly clad n.o.ble in his mantle of Astracan, to the peasant in his dark jacket of sheep's skin--the field officer and the common soldier--the "Frau Grafin" voluminous in furs--the "Stuben madchen" in her woollen jerkin--the lounging s.e.xagenarian from his coffee--the loitering school-boy returning from school--all jostle and meet together here; while the scantiest intimacy with the language will suffice to collect from the frequently uttered, "_Wie schon!" "Ach Gott!" "Wie wunderschon!_" that admiration and delight are expressed by every tongue among them.

It is needless to say, that every corner of this little territory is familiar to all Inspruckers; not only each shop and its owner, but each separate treasure. The newly arrived bullfinch, or greywing, having the notoriety that a Parisian circulates about the last _debutante_ of the ballet or the opera. If not exactly one of those "lions," that guide-books enforce among the duties of wandering sight-seers, it is at least a frequent resort of the town's-folk themselves, for whose gratification it supplies no small proportion of small-talk.

Among the well-known and familiar objects of this small world--for such the Juden Ga.s.se in reality is--was a poor boy of some twelve years old, who, clad in the most wretched rags, and with want in every feature, used to sit the live-long day on one of the stone benches watching the birds. It needed but one glance at his bright but unsteady eye, his faint unmeaning smile, his vague and wild expression, to recognise that he was bereft of reason. Is it necessary to say this was poor Fritzerl?

Whence he came, who were his parents, how he journeyed thither, no one could tell! He appeared one morning, when the shop-people were removing the shutters, sitting close by a window, where the early songs of the birds was audible, his head bent down to listen, and his whole att.i.tude betokening the deepest attention. Though he offered no resistance when they bade him leave the spot, he shewed such deep sorrow and such reluctance, that he was suffered to remain; and this was now his dwelling-place. He never quitted it during the day, and there did he pa.s.s the night, under the shelter of the deep arches, and protected by the fragment of a mantle, which some compa.s.sionate neighbour had given him. All endeavours to induce him to speak were in vain; a sickly smile was his only answer to a question; and, if pressed too closely, the tears would come, so that none liked to give him further pain, and the hope of learning any thing about him, even his name, was given up.

Equally fruitless was every effort to make him perform little services.

If the shopkeepers gave him a bird to carry home for a purchaser, he would at once sit down beside the cage and gaze wistfully, delightedly, at the occupant; but he could not be persuaded to quit his abiding-place. Who could rob one so poor of all the happiness his life compa.s.sed? certainly not the good-natured and kindly folk who inhabited the bird-market.

He became then a recognised part of the place, as much as the bustard with one eye in the corner shop, or the fat old owl that had lived for fifty--some said seventy--years, in the little den with the low iron door. Every one knew him; few pa.s.sed without a look of kindness towards him. It was of no use to give him money, for though he took money when offered, the next moment he would leave it on the stones, where the street children came and found it. It was clear he did not understand its meaning. The little support he needed was freely proffered by the neighbouring shopkeepers, but he ate nothing save a morsel of dry bread, of which it was remarked that he each day broke off a small portion and laid it by--not to eat later on, for it was seen that he never missed it if removed, nor took it again if suffered to remain. It was one of the secrets of his nature none could rightly account for.

Although many wealthy and benevolent people of the city wished to provide the poor, boy with a more comfortable home, the shopkeepers protested against his removal. Some, loved his innocent, childish features, and would have missed him sorely; others, were superst.i.tious enough to think, and even say, that he had brought luck to the bird-market,--that every one had prospered since he came there; and some, too, a.s.serted, that having selected the spot himself, it would be cruel to tear him away from a place where accustomed and familiar objects had made for him a kind of home. All these reasonings were backed by the proposal to build for him a little shed, in the very spot he had taken up, and there leave him to live in peace. This was accordingly done, and poor Fritz, if not a "Burgher of Inspruck," had at least his own house in the bird-market.