Page - 28 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
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And she led me on and I skipped along beside her. But I was very anxious
for the resting-place and constantly cried out:
“Mother, here’s a nice place!”
But she was not content until we came to the shady wood, where a flat,
mossy stone stood; and then we sat down. Mother fastened her kerchief
tighter round her head and was silent, as though she had forgotten her
promise. I stared and stared at her lips and then peeped through the trees; and
once or twice it appeared to me as though I had seen the grand horseman
riding through the wood.
“Yes, true enough, laddie,” mother began, suddenly, “we must always help
the poor, for the love of God. But you won’t find many fine gentlemen like St.
Martin nowadays, trotting about on their tall horses. You know how the icy
blast rushes over our sheep-walk, when winter is nigh—your own little paws
were nearly frozen there last year! Well, it was just such a stretch of heath that
St. Martin came riding over one evening late in autumn. The earth is frozen
hard as stone; and it makes a fine noise each time the horse puts hoof to
ground. The snowflakes dance all round about; not one of them melts away.
Night is just beginning to fall; and the horse clatters over the heath and the
rider draws his white cloak round him as close as ever he can. Well, as he
rides on like that, suddenly he sees a little beggar-man squatting on a stone,
with nothing to cover him but a torn jacket; and he shivering with cold and
lifting his sad eyes to the tall horse. Whoa! When the horseman sees that, he
pulls up his steed and bends over and says to the beggar, ‘Oh, my dear, poor
man, what alms can I give you? Gold and silver I have none; and my sword
you could never use. How can I help you?’ Then the beggar lets his white
head fall on his half-naked breast and heaves a sigh. But the horseman draws
his sword, takes his cloak from his shoulders and cuts it across the middle.
One half of the garment he hands down to the poor shivering grey-beard:
‘Take this, my needy brother!’ he says. The other half of the cloak he flings
round his own body, as best he can, and rides away.”
This was the story my mother told me; and, with those cold autumn
evenings of hers, she made that lovely midsummer day feel so chilly that I
shivered.
“But it’s not quite finished yet, my child,” mother continued. “You know
now what the horseman with the beggar in the church means; but you have
not heard what happened afterwards. When the rider, later on at night, lies
sleeping peacefully on his hard bolster at home, the same beggar whom he
met on the heath comes to his bedside, smiles and shows him the half cloak,
shows him the marks of the nails in His hands and shows him His face, which
is no longer old and sorrowful, but radiant as the sun. This same beggar from
The Forest Farm
Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
- Title
- The Forest Farm
- Subtitle
- Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
- Author
- Peter Rosegger
- Publisher
- The Vineyard Press
- Location
- London
- Date
- 1912
- Language
- English
- License
- PD
- Size
- 21.0 x 29.7 cm
- Pages
- 169
- Categories
- Geographie, Land und Leute
- International