ELSA AND HER VULTURE.* To those who are acquainted with
the Oetzthal, and have crossed the wild Hoch-Joch glacier, which separates the severe Alpine climate of the valley's upper end from the Schnalserthal and the Italian beauty of the Vintschgau, this tale will not only give the pleasure which every sketch of fresh types of human character affords, but will bring also the charm of a delightful reminiscence. In some respects, indeed, the reading of this story has its advan- tages even over the enjoyment of a return to that wild valley itself, for it adds to the gloomy and magnificent scenery of that long ravine with its barricades of everlasting ice, the kind of associa- tions needed to make the influence of the scenery on its population vividly present to the mind of the traveller. It is easy enough for visitors passing up the banks of the furious Ache, the wildest of all mountain torrents, and waiting during gloomy days at Fend till the weather permits a passage of the glacier, to conjecture the sort of temperament, the general nature of the superstitions, and the leading character of the heroic vices and virtues, which ought to belong to this wild mountain solitude; but this sort of vague conjecture is a very different thing indeed from the living picture, full of the detail of local knowledge, which Madame von Hillern has here drawn, and her translator rendered for us, a picture which peoples the Oetzthal with the figures and in- cidents best adapted to bring out its individual character, and impress its savage scenery with more force than ever upon
us. The grim pride and hardness of the Hoch Stromminger of Sonnenplatte, Elsa's father, his determination that his daughter shall outdo all the young men of the place in physical strength and courage, his obstinacy in risking her life to rob the vulture's nest, his ferocity when he finds that he is no longer the equal in strength of the younger generation, his brutality with his daughter when she will not bend to his will as regards marriage, and the cruel indifference with which his neighbours take his almost murderous resolve to send her to herd the goats upon the Murzoll glacier through the summer and autumn months, paint very vividly for us the worse side of the hardy Tyrolean character, the savagery with which its courage is too often mixed. Then, again, the violence of Elsa's passions, whether disinterested or interested, the wildness of her love on the very day on which, as a girl of sixteen, she is first conscious of it, the vehemence of her affection for her vulture, the gloom of her life in the lonely stone but on the glacier with no companion except the vulture and afterwards her herd of goats, her vivid superstitions about
the glacier-king and his ice-daughters, her fierce wrath with her father when she finds that the one old servant who best loved her had been turned away and killed by the exile, while another was being worked to death by his master's cruelty, the scene in which she sets fire to the barn in order to save her own liberty, and then rushes away through the night with her grim companion flying above her, and the characteristic confession she makes to the good priest at Heilig-Kreuz, are all striking lessons in the influence exerted by the wild experiences of danger, labour, gloom, and solitude, in narrowing, and strengthening, and hardening a noble nature, and, moreover, lessons of a kind to which English readers have not often any access. Take the scene with the good priest of Heilig-Kreuz. We could hardly find a better :—
" 'Lord of my life ! what foundling halt Thou sent me ? ' sounded in Elsa's ear ; and when she opened her eyes it was broad daylight, and no other than the curd himself stood before her.—' Praised be our Lord for ever and ever,' stammered Elsa, timidly, taking her feet off the bench.—' Amen, my child. What brings you here? Who are you, and what means this strange comrade that you have with you? One might almost be afraid of him,' said the worthy cm d, smiling kindly.—' Rev- erend sir,' said Elsa, simply, 'I have a heavy weight on my conscience, and would like to make my confession to you. I am called Elsa, and belong to the Stromminger of Hochsthof on the Sonnen Platte. I have ran away from home, you must know. I had a quarrel with Gellner * Elsa and her Vulture. A Tale of the Tyrolean Alps. Translated from the German of Wilhelmine von Hillern by Lady Wallace. London : Longmans.
The Vulterre Maiden. By Wilhelmine von Hillern. From the German by 0. Bell and E. F. Poynter. Authorised Edition. Leipzig: Tanchnitz. Vincenz, and split open his head, and then I set fire to my father's barn.' The priest clasped his hands together. God preserve me, what a history I So young and already so wicked Your reverence, I am not usually wicked, certainly not. I could not hurt a fly, but they have driven me to be what I am,' said Elsa, looking at the curd with her large, honest eyes, so that he must believe her, whether he would or not.—'Come in,' said he, and tell me all about it, but leave that monster outside,'—he meant the vulture. Elsa swung Hansel in the air, when he flew on the roof of the house, and then she followed the- priest into his little dwelling. Here all was stillness and peace. In a recess 4tood a rough, wooden bedstead, on which two flaming hearts were painted, which for the curd signified the hearts of our Saviour and the Blessed Virgin. Over the bed was a porcelain cup of holy-water, and a shelf with devotional works. There were several more shelves in the room, containing books, and an old writing-desk, a brown wooden bench behind a heavy table, some wooden chairs, a Prie-Dieu under a large crucifix, with a wreath of Alpine edelweiss, and a couple of coloured lithographs of the Pope and various saints. From the ceiling hung a cage with a cross-bill in it. An ancient bureau, with brass lions" heads, holding rings in their mouths to pull out the heavy drawers by, was the chief ornament of the room. On this bureau were all sorts of things. A holy shrine with a carved saint, a glass casket with a wax infant Jeans in a red-silk cradle, a little glass spinning-wheel, and a faded nosegay of artificial flowers, such as are made in convents, in a yellow vase under a glass shade. A small box of coloured shells, a tiny model of a mine in a flask, and, as a centre-piece, a creche of moss and glittering ore, with delicately carved figures of men and animals. Some pretty cups and jugs were also to be seen along with these holy objects, and two crystal salt-cellars formed the key-stone of the whole, placed to the right and loft of the 'Birth of Christ.' And all this was kept as. clean as if there were no dust in the world. This commode, with its' various objects of art, was the child like altar which the solitary priest,. six thousand feet above the sea and modern culture, had erected to the god of beauty. Here he often stood when the snow was falling thick outside, and the storm shaking the little wooden house, gazing thoughtfully at the delicate, carved world within, shaking his head, smiling and saying, ' What wonders men can do'' ' ' Reverend sir,' said Elsa, who mistook the thoughtfulness on his features for re- proach, ' it all came on me at once. I still had bitter anger about my- poor Luckard in my heart, and then I saw Klettenmaier flung on the- stones. You see I could not allow the old man to be struck ; and if it were to come over again I would do just the same. And I am not as though they call me so. Is it not true when a house is set fire to in broad daylight, and a crowd of people present, there cannot be much damage done ? I could not think of any way of escape for myself, and so I thought if they were busy putting out the fire they could not pursue me. And if this was a sin, then I don't know what is to be done in this world, where people are so cruel, and do you all the• harm they can.'—' You should do like our blessed Saviour—suffer and endure patiently,' said the priest.—' But, honoured sir,' continued Elsa,. impetuously, ' when our Lord submitted to everything, He knew why. He wished to give a lesson to the people, but I did not know why I should be patient, for not a soul in the whole valley is likely ever to, learn anything from me! And if I had let myself be locked up ever so. patiently in the cellar, it would have been all for nothing, for no one" would have taken an example from that, though it would have cost me. my life.' The priest thought for a moment, and turning his kind, penetrating eyes on Elsa, he shook his head. ' You ungovernable child r are you going to get into a squabble with me? You must have been. sadly exasperated and provoked to make you espy enemies and adver- saries everywhere. Recover your breath, and recollect where you are. You are in the house of a servant of God; and God says, " I am love." These ought to be no mere words to you ; I will show you that they are true. I will tell you that when all people revile and condemn you, the good Lord loves and pardons you! Hard men, rugged mountains, and weather have made you what you are, and that our gracious Lords knows right well, for He sees into your heart, and knows that your heart is good and upright, deeply as you have sinned ; and He knows that no garden flowers bloom in the wilderness and that coarse tools cannot execute delicate carving. But listen ! If our Lord and Master finds a rude carving on especially good wood, which He thinks with repay the trouble of chiselling afresh, He takes the tool in His own hand and improves the bungling work of man, till some beauty appears.. So you must be very careful that you no longer harden your heart, for if our Lord oats some strokes and finds the wood too hard, He thinks the trouble vain, and casts it away. Strive, my dear child, to have a tender heart, and submit to God's disciplining hand. When some- grievous burden seems to you unbearable, be submissive, and think you descry the hand of God working in you ; and if some sorrow cuts deep into your soul, remember it is the chisel of God that is making all' rough places smooth in your heart. Do you understand me ?' Elsa nodded rather doubtfully. Well,' said the old man, I will try to. make it clearer to you. Which would you rather be, a rough cudgel, with which you could kill people, and which when it decays breaks. and is burned, or a delicately chiselled holy form like this, placed in a. casket and piously revered?' Now Elsa understood him, and said,. eagerly, Yes, indeed 1 I would far rather be a little saint like that:- —' Well, you see coarse hands have made a rough stick of you, but God's hands can carve you into a saintly image like this, if you do what I have just told you.' Elsa looked at the priest with wide-opeu„ astonished oyes. She was in a strange mood—pleased, and yet ready to weep. After a long silence, she said, timidly, 'I don't know how it is, but all is so different here from elsewhere, reverend sir. No man, ever spoke to me before as you have spoken. The priest at &Men was always scolding, and talking of the devil and our sins ; and I never knew what he would be at, for at that time I had never done one wrong thing—never. But you talk in a way that one can understand. L think if I could only stay here with you it would be best for me. Ii would work day and night, believe me, and earn my bread.'"
The central idea of the story is all contained in that interview, and very powerfully is it worked out, in the somewhat violent de- tails of the catastrophe. For a time, it seems as if the wood of" Elsa's nature were going to be too hard for any carving, but the steel used is sharp, and it is delicately chiselled at last. The story is not without its touches of pathos, as well as the rough power which best suits the peculiar scenery. The description of old Luckard's death,—Luckard is the old woman who was so much attached to Elsa, that she was sent away by her father, under the notion that it was she who encouraged Elsa in not marrying according to his will,—at the house of her cousin, Annemiedel, while trying to tell Elsa's fortune in the old German fortune- cards, is full of pathos, not the less touching for the quaint super- stition with which the pathos is mingled :—
" Oh, heavens ! Stromminger Elsa!' cried the old woman, letting her knife fall into the soup from surprise. Oh, what a pity Where is Luckard ?' asked Elsa.—' Oh ! had you but come three days sooner; we buried her yesterday,' said the cousin mournfully. Elsa leant in silence with closed eyes against the door-post. No sound betrayed what was passing in her mind. ' Yes, indeed,' continued the loquacious old woman Luckard thought she could not die until she had seen you ; and when she searched the cards you were always standing there, and day and night she listened for your coming. And when she felt death drawing near, she said, Now I must die, and have not seen my child once more." And then she made me give her the cards again, and even in her death-struggle she wanted to look at the cards for you, but it would not do ; her hands trembled on the coverlet, and she said," I can see no more," then she stretched herself out and breathed her last,' Elsa hid her face in her hands, but she uttered not a word. Come into her room,' said the cousin kindly ; 'I have never cared to go in since they carried Luckard out of it. I live always so much alone that I was so glad when my cousin came and told me she meant to stay on with me. I soon saw that she would not long outlive her disgrace ; her appetite was gone, and she could eat so little, and whole nights I could hear her crying. Then she became by degrees weaker and worse, till she died.' The old woman had opened the room, which Elsa had previously seen, and they went in. Their entrance disturbed a swarm of drowsy autumn flies, who buzzed about the room. In one corner stood old Luckard's spinning- wheel, stiff and silent, and the empty, disordered bed looked so dreary. Out of a cupboard in the wall, on which the black virgin of Allenotting was painted, Annemiedel took out an ancient pack of German cards. 'Here, look 1 I kept these for you. I knew you would come, for the cards said so. They are real, magic cards, and doubly good, because the death-sweat of the dying hangs on them. I can't tell what evil thing was in store for you, but Luckard always shook her head as she looked into them in sorrow. She did not tell me what she saw, but it could have been nothing good.' She gave Elsa the cards, who took them in silence and put them in her pocket. Annemiedel wondered that Luckard's death seemed to affect her so little ; that she was so composed, and did not shed a single tear. 'I must go,' said she ; 'I have left my bread-soup on the fire. Of course you will have your dinner with me ?'—' Yes, yes,' said Elsa gloomily, only go and let me rest a bit, for I ran so quickly down from the Hoch Joch.' Annemiedel went out shaking her head, and muttering, 'If Luckard had known what a hard-hearted thing she is ! Scarcely was Elsa alone, than she bolted the door, and sank on her knees beside the empty bed. She took the cards out of her pocket, placed thorn before her, and folded her hands over them as if over some sacred relic. ' Oh! oh!' cried she at last suddenly, in an outbreak of grief. You had to die, and I was not with you; and in all my life you showed me only love and kindness ; and I, —I never gave you any in return. Luckard! dear old Luckard I can you hear me ? I am here at last, and now it is too late ! They left me .up yonder longer than any herd-boy is left, from malice, that I might be frozen and my strength exhausted. It has already cost me two sheep, and now you also, dear, good old friend.' She started up sud- denly; her eyes, red with crying, glittered feverishly ; she clenched her brown hands. But wait yonder ! wait, you cruel tyrants, till I come ! I will teach you to hunt innocent, helpless creatures out of house and home. As true as is the heaven above us, even in your grave, Luckard, you shall hear bow I take your part.' Her eye fell on the Christ above the bed of the dead woman. ' And thou didat not help her in her need !' said she impatiently, in her passion of sorrow, looking up at the quiet, patient, Holy Form, whom she did not yet understand. She was terrific in her just wrath. All the inflexibility of nature that she had Inherited from her father had developed itself unfettered up in the wild- ness of the mountains, and her great and noble heart, which knew only the purest impulses, made the blood boil the more angrily in her veins."
In short, for any traveller who should desire a gem for which his remembrance of the scenery of the Oetzthal should be the most perfect setting, this is the stone he wants, and a very bright one too, though it be not of the costliest and rarest material. The power of describing scenery which Madame von Hillern displays is, indeed, hardly equal to her power of describing character. In hands like Mr. Ruskin's, the pictures of the glaciers and the glen might have come very near to direct illustrations of the rugged and stony characters of this wild story. Still this part of her work is adequate, if not super-excellent, and as a whole, no story of peasant-life with which we have met for a long time has seemed to us more generally vigorous, or so full of the rugged poetry of the mountains and the wilds.
Since this review was written, we have also received another version of the same story, which is called the "authorised edition," and is published at Leipzig by Baron Tanchnitz. We have not compared either version with the original German, but to our mind, the version of Messrs. Bell and Poynter has more in it of the breath and vigour of peasant life than that of Lady Wallace.
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