The Black Spider (9 page)
She felt so lonely and forlorn in face of the secret power around her; the only support she had was her mother-in-law, a pious woman who remained faithful to her, but what can an old woman do against a wild crowd? She had her husband who had indeed promised all good things; but how he wailed about his cattle and how little he thought of his poor wife’s anxiety! The priest had promised to come as quickly and as soon as they might ask, but what could happen during the period after he had been sent for and before he arrived? And the poor woman had no reliable messenger except her husband, who should be her protection and guard; and, what is more, the poor woman lived in one house with Christine, and their husbands were brothers, and she had no relations of her own, for she had come into the house as an orphan! You can imagine the poor woman’s anxiety of heart; she could find some confidence only when she prayed with her good mother-in-law, but this confidence at once disappeared again as soon as she saw the evil looks around her.
Meanwhile the sickness was still there, keeping the terror alive. It was true that it was only here or there that one of the animals died, if the spiders showed themselves. But as soon as the terror lessened at one farm or as soon as somebody said, or thought, that the bad business was becoming less serious of its own accord and that one should think twice before treating a child sinfully, Christine’s hellish. pains flamed up, the spider swelled high and the man who had thought or talked in this way discovered that death had returned among his herd of cattle with renewed rage. Yes, the nearer the expected hour came, the more the distress seemed to increase again, and people realized that they would have to make a definite arrangement about how they were to get hold of the child safely and without fail. They were most afraid of the husband, and they were loath to use violence against him. He said he did not want to know about the business; he was willing to do as his wife asked and fetch the priest, but he agreed not to hurry about it, and what might happen in his absence was not his business; in this way be placated his conscience; be would placate God through extra masses, and it might still be possible to do something for the poor child’s soul, he thought; perhaps the pious priest would wrest the child back from the devil, and then he and the other peasants would be out of the business; they would have done their part and at the same time still cheated the evil one. That is what the husband thought, and in any case, however matters turned, he argued, he himself would have no responsibility for the whole business, since he was not taking any active part with his own hands.
In this manner the poor wife had been sold and did not know it; she anxiously went on hoping that rescue would come; the stab to her heart had been decided in the counsel of the people but what He above had decreed was still covered by the clouds which hide the future.
It was a year of storms, and harvest-time had come; all possible strength was being mobilized, in order to bring the grain safely under cover during the bright periods. A hot afternoon had come, the clouds stretched their black heads over the dark peaks, the swallows fluttered fearful around the roof, and the poor wife felt so constrained and anxious alone in the house; for even the grandmother was outside in the fields, helping more with good intentions than with deeds. Then the pain pierced double-edged through the woman’s marrow and bones, everything went dark in front of her eyes, she felt her hour approaching and was alone. Fear drove her out of the house, with dragging feet she walked out to the field, but soon had to sit down; she wanted to call out into the distance, but her voice would not leave her heavily breathing breast. There was with her a little lad who had only just learnt how to walk and who had never gone to the field on his own legs but only in his mother’s arms. The poor woman had to use this boy as her messenger; she did not know whether he would be able to find the field or whether his little legs could carry him there. But the faithful lad saw how anxious his mother was, and ran, and fell down, and stood up again, and the cat chased his pet rabbit, doves and hens ran about his feet, his pet lamb jumped after him, playfully pushing; but the boy saw nothing of it, did not let himself be held up and faithfully delivered his message.
The grandmother appeared in breathless haste, but the husband delayed; he only wanted to finish stacking up the cartload, was the message. An eternity passed, at last he came, and another eternity passed, at last he set out on the long road, and the poor wife felt in deathly fear how her time was drawing more and more quickly upon her.
Christine had been gleefully watching everything outside in the field. The sun might burn hot as she worked at the heavy labor, but the spider hardly burned any more at all, and for the next few hours walking seemed easy to her. She got on with the work happily and was in no hurry to return home, for she knew how slow the messenger was going to be. It was not until the last sheaf had been loaded and gusts of wind announced the approaching storm that she made haste towards her prey which she thought was so safely hers. And as she walked home, she waved knowingly to various passersby, and they nodded to her and quickly took the news to their own homes; there was much sinking at the knees where the news was heard, and many souls wanted to pray in their involuntary fear, but could not do so.
Inside the little room the poor woman was whimpering, and each minute became an eternity, and the grandmother could not allay the extreme distress, even though she prayed and spoke consolingly. She had locked up the room carefully and placed heavy furniture in front of the door. As long as they were alone in the house, it was still tolerable, but when they saw Christine coming home, when they heard her slinking step by the door, when they heard many other footstep outside and secret whispering, and no priest nor any faithful person showed himself, and when the moment, usually longed for so intensely, approached nearer and nearer, you can imagine how the poor women in their fear were as if swimming in boiling oil, without help and without hope. They heard how Christine would not move from the door; the poor woman could feel the fiery eyes of her wild sister-in-law piercing through the door and burning her through body and soul. Then the first whimpering sigh of new life was heard through the door, stifled as quickly as possible, but too late. The door flew open from a violent lurch which Christine had been waiting to give all this time, and just as a tiger leaps upon its prey, so Christine leaps upon the poor woman in childbirth. The old woman who throws herself to meet the storm is hurled down; the woman in childbed pulls herself together in a mother’s holy fear, but her weak body collapses, and the child is in Christine’s hands; a ghastly cry bursts from the mother’s heart, and then she is enshrouded in the black shadows of unconsciousness.
Hesitation and horror seized the men as Christine came out with the stolen child. The anticipation of a terrible future was revealed to them, but nobody had the courage to stop the deed, and fear of the devil’s visitations was stronger than the fear of God. Christine alone did not hesitate; her face gleamed burning, like that of a victorious warrior after the fight, and it seemed to her as if the spider were caressing her with a soft tickling; the flashes of lightning which had licked around her on her way to the Kilchstalden now seemed to be cheerful lights, while the thunder sounded like a gentle growl, and the vengeful storm like a pleasant rustling.
Hans, the poor woman’s wretched husband, had kept his word only too well. He had made his way slowly, had looked ponderingly at every field, watched every bird and waited to see how the fish in the stream leapt up to catch flies just before the storm broke. Then he started forward with rapid steps and prepared to take a jump; there was something within him which drove him to it and made his hair stand on end; it was his conscience, which told him what a father deserved if be betrayed his wife and child, it was the love which he still bore to his wife and to his own seed. But then there was something else which held him back, and that was stronger than the first thing; it was fear of other people, fear of the devil and love of those thing which the devil could take from him. Then he went more slowly again, slowly as a man who is taking his last walk, the walk to the scaffold. Perhaps this really was the case, for after all many a man does not know that the walk he is taking may be his last; if he knew this, he would not set out on it, or else he would do so in another spirit.
Thus it was late before he came to Sumiswald. Black clouds raced across over the Münneberg, heavy drops of rain fell, hissing in the hot dust, and the little bell in the church-tower began its hollow ringing to admonish the people to think of God and to beg that His storm should not become a judgment upon them. The priest stood in front of his house, prepared for any journey to his parishioners, and ready to set out to a dying man, to a burning house or whatever else it might be, if his Master, Who was moving above him across the heavens, should call upon him. When he saw Hans coming he recognized that this was a call to a difficult task; he wrapped his robes firmly about him and sent word to his sexton that he should find someone else to take his place as bell-ringer. In the meantime he provided Hans with a cool drink which would be so refreshing after the quick walk in the sultry atmosphere, though Hans had no need of it; but the priest did not suspect the man’s deceitfulness. Hans took his refreshment slowly and deliberately. The sexton appeared, but in no hurry, and gladly shared in the drink which Hans offered him. The priest stood accoutered before them, scorning any drink which he did not need for the walk and the struggle ahead. He did not like to tell anyone to leave the drink he had before him and to infringe a guest’s privileges, but he knew a law which was higher than the law of hospitality, and this leisurely drinking made him impatient with anger.
At last he told them that he was ready, that a distressed woman was waiting and that an appalling misdeed was threatening them; he would have to come between the woman and the evil deed with his holy weapons, and therefore they were to come without further delay; up above there would still be something for the man who had not quenched his thirst here below. Then Hans, the husband of the woman who was waiting, replied that there was no particular hurry, as his wife was slow and had difficulties about everything. And at once a flash of lightning burst into the room so that they were all blinded by it, and a clap of thunder sounded over the house so that every post and beam trembled. Then after he had finished his prayer of blessing the sexton said: ‘Hark at the weather outside; the heavens themselves have confirmed what Hans said, that we ought to wait, and what use would it be if we did go, we should never get there alive, and after all he said himself that there would be no need to hurry in the case of his wife.’
And truly the storm was pelting down in a way that is seldom seen more than once in a lifetime. It was raging from every cleft and valley, from all sides, and from all quarters the winds were driving in upon Sumiswald, and every cloud became an army of warriors, and one cloud stormed upon another, one cloud wanted the other cloud’s life, and a battle of the clouds began, and the storm stood its ground, and flash after flash of lightning was let loose, and flash after flash was slung down to earth as if the lightning were trying to cut a passage down through the center of the earth and out on to the other side. The thunder roared without intermission, the storm howled angrily, the clouds’ belly burst open, and floods poured down. When the battle of the clouds broke out so suddenly and violently, the priest had not answered the sexton, but neither had he sat down; an ever mounting anxiety seized hold of him, and an urge came upon him to plunge out into the raging of the elements, though he hesitated on account of his companions. Then he seemed to hear above the terrible voice of the thunder the piercing cry of a woman in labor. Then the thunder appeared to him all at once as God’s terrible reproach for his delay; he prepared to set out, whatever the other two might say. Ready for whatever might come, he stepped out into the fiery raging of the tempest and the downpour from the clouds; the two others followed slowly and reluctantly behind him.
There was a roaring and whistling and raging, as if these sounds were to fuse into the last trump heralding the end of the world, and sheaves of fire fell upon the village, as if every house were to burst into flames; but the servant of Him Who gives His voice to the thunder and uses the lightning as His servant need have no fear of this fellow-servant of the same Lord, and whoever goes on God’s errands can confidently leave God’s weather to take care of itself. Hence the priest walked fearlessly through the storm to the Kilchstalden, carrying with him the hallowed holy weapons, and his heart was with God. But the others did not follow him with the same courage, for their hearts were not in the same place; they did not wish to go down the Kilchstalden, not in such weather and at such an hour, and, what is more, Hans had a special reason to be reluctant. They begged the priest to turn back, to go another way: Hans knew a nearer path, while the sexton knew a better one, and both warned him against the floods in the valley from the swollen river Grüne. But the priest did not hear and took no notice of what they said; urged on by an unaccountable impulse, he hastened towards the Kilchstalden on the wings of prayer, no stone catching his feet and no lightning blinding his eyes; Hans and the sexton followed behind trembling, and protected, as they thought, by the holy sacraments which the priest himself was carrying.
But when they arrived in view of the village, where the slope goes down to the valley below, the priest suddenly halts and puts his hand over his eyes for protection. Beyond the shrine a red feather gleams in the light of the lightning, and the priest’s sharp eye sees a black head rearing up from the green headgerow, and on the head the red feather. And as he goes on looking, he sees a wild figure coming down the opposite slope in rapid flight, as if driven by the wind’s wild fury, hastening towards the dark head upon which the red feather was swaying like a flag.
