Summer Legends
THE MATCH-MAKERS
THE sun, after a short course, was about to go to rest. It tried
to gild the spires and the snow-covered gable roofs, and as it
was not remarkably successful in this to-day, it sank hastily
behind a gray cloud. Stars here and there peeped out at their
windows, but the mist, rolling up from the mountains, spoiled
their view, so they closed their windows again and went to sleep.
Besides, their glimmer this evening was superfluous, for in an
hour thousands and thousands of lights, kindled by happy mortals,
would shine through the December night. Christmas, the merry
time, had come, and a multitude of visible angels, bringing joy,
were crowding the streets and alleys of the old city.
Beings of flesh and bone, and cheeks rosy with the frost, were
also hurrying through the streets. Most of them carried some
carefully wrapped object, which later, when it lay beneath the
brightly lighted fir-tree, would be greeted with a cry of joy.
Everything was in haste to-night. No groups of gossiping servants
hindered the stream of passers-by, and if two people happened to
recognize one another, they hurried past with a hasty greeting.
Little by little it became more quiet on the street, the shop
doors were closed, and the windows in the dwelling-houses grew
bright. Here and there the muffled shouts of the children came
forth from the houses, and the watchmen with echoing footsteps
paced the pavements.
Through the door of an old patrician house entered a tall man,
wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a long cloak. A white poodle
followed him. Having reached the second story, the man opened a
door, the plate of which bore the name of a celebrated artist,
and after a few moments he entered a comfortable room,
illuminated by soft lamp-light. A huge gray cat rose from her
cushion, which lay near the stove, and with a low purr greeted
her master as he entered. Then she showed the same politeness to
the poodle, and laid herself down again. Poodle and pussy had
known each other for many years, and lived together, not like
“cats and dogs,” but like two excellent chums who have been
together at school.
The man took off his hat and cloak, and went to the window. In
the opposite house flickered the lights of a Christmas tree, and
the shadows of the children and grown-people stood out on the
lowered shades. The man looked at the lighted window for a long
time, then turned away, brushed his hand across his eyes, and
said softly to himself, “I am alone.”
The poodle, as if he would have liked to contradict this,
approached him, and rubbed his cold nose against his hand; but
his master paid no attention to the caress. “I am alone, “he
repeated. Then he sat down in his easy-chair, and fixed his eyes
on the floor.
No bright pictures were they which passed before the lonely man's
mind:— a melancholy childhood, a youth full of cruel privations,
wearisome struggling and disenchantments of every sort. Honor and
wealth had at last fallen to his share, but in the time of need
he had forgotten how to enjoy himself. Youth was past; in his
dark hair the frost of early autumn already shimmered, — and he
was alone.
Then, as he sat thus brooding over the past, he suddenly heard
close to him the words: “Old friend, shall we chat together? The
master is asleep.”
“I am willing,” came the answer. “ You begin.”
“That is my poodle and my cat,” said the man to himself, “and I
am dreaming. To be sure, on Christmas eve, animals have the power
of speech; I used often to hear that when I was young. If only I
do not wake up before I learn what the two have to say to one another!”
“Friend Pussy,” the poodle began, “do you know that for some time
the master has not quite pleased me? He has neglected me. I will
forgive him for not having me sheared in the summer, but it hurts
me deeply that he almost never claims my services.”
“Yes,” replied the cat, “he is no longer as he used to be. Just
think, yesterday he even forgot to give me my breakfast. At last
I shall have to return to my former life of catching mice. That
would be hard.”
“Do you know, my dear,” said the poodle, what would be the best
thing for us and for him? If we had a woman in the house who
would look after our rights and keep things in order.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the cat, “that is a doubtful suggestion. The wife
would probably look on the friends of her husband's youth with
disapproval. We have both seen our best days. Suppose the young
woman should show us the door, what then, brother?”
“But I know one who would not do that,” replied the poodle, “and
you know her too.”
The cat pointed with her fore-paw to a little picture on the
wall. It was a woman's head with large, dark, childlike eyes. “Do
you mean that one there?”
“Yes,” said the poodle. “She would be the woman for us. She is
friendly toward me, that I know; and she doesn't dislike you, for
I have seen with my own eyes how lately, when you creep around
her window, looking for sparrows, she sets out a cup of milk for
you. And our master —”
“She likes him too,” said the cat, filling out the sentence.
“That I know; for when she is sitting by the window, sewing, and
the master passes along on the street, she turns her pretty white
neck after him, and blushes. And when people blush — “
“I know what that means,” interrupted the poodle. “We are both
agreed, and that is the main point. She must be our mistress.”
“But the master?” asked the cat, doubtfully.
“That will be all right,” said the poodle, confidently. “But
hush! He is moving; he is waking up.”
The sleeper leaped from his chair, and looked suspiciously at his
companions. But they lay, to all appearance lost in sweet dreams,
curled up like snail-shells on their cushions, and never stirred.
And with his hands behind his back, the man strode up and down
the room, like one who is striving to settle some weighty question.
Let us leave the solitary man, with his poodle and cat, and mount
the stairs as far as they go, — and they reach to the roof, under
which, in narrow chambers, poor, worried people rest from their
day's labor. In one of these little rooms, — the cleanest and
neatest of all, — sat two women, one old, the other young. Before
them on a table stood two smoking cups and a cake cut in pieces.
The maiden had a delicate, pale face, and two large dark eyes,
which looked out into the world sometimes merry and sometimes
sad. The young girl was a seamstress; the old woman a laundress
by trade, and the younger one's aunt. She had come from her damp
home in the suburbs to receive the presents which her niece
intended for her: two or three pounds of sugar and coffee and a
knitted hood of soft gray wool, which the old woman stroked from
time to time caressingly with her wrinkled hand. The cake on the
table grew perceptibly smaller, for the aunt ate as though she
had fasted for three days; and when she could take no more, she,
after some resistance, allowed the seamstress to wrap the rest in
paper to take away with her.
“Child,” said the old woman, as she was getting ready to go home,
“you would be wise to go to sleep early this evening, for in the
holy Christmas night all sorts of strange things happen, — and
you are so entirely alone! Don't you feel at all afraid?”
The maiden shook her head with a laugh. “What sort of strange
things, auntie?”
“Did you ever pass by a church at twelve o'clock on Christmas
eve?” asked the laundress. “No? Oh, if I should tell you! But I
will not make you timid. A maiden can learn, too, on Christmas
eve, who will be her husband; but that is a dangerous story.”
The little one pricked up her ears. “What must one do to find out
that?” she asked.
“Child,” said the old woman, warningly, “you will not try it?”
“No, I am not so inquisitive; but I should like to know how one
must go to work to find it out.”
The aunt sat down again and began to display her wisdom. “If a
maiden sits all sole alone in her room on Christmas eve, and lays
the table for two, her future husband will appear to her. But he
has no flesh and blood; it is an apparition, and vanishes when
the cock crows. Therefore the maid would do well to have a cock
near her in a bag. And if the uncanny guest should cause her to
be afraid, she would only have to pinch the cock; then he would
cry out, and the ghost would disappear. Many say it is the Evil
One who assumes the form of the lover. I do not really believe
that, but it is a dangerous game, at any rate. I went through
terrible suffering when I tried the trick.”
“Really?” asked the maiden, with curiosity. “Did you try the
magic yourself? And did somebody come to you?”
“No,” said the old woman; “nobody came, and so I knew that I
should be an old maid; and that I really am. But it troubles me
sorely to think I have told you all this. Truly, you will not try
it? Well now, my child, thank you very much for the Christmas
gifts, and hold the light for me, for it's as dark as pitch
outside, and the stairs are so steep.”
The seamstress accompanied the old woman with the lamp, and then
went back to her silent room. The hot drink had made her little
face glow, and as she busied herself in a matronly way, putting
the plates and dishes in their places, she would have been a
charming sight for anybody's eyes; but there was no one who could
refresh himself with a look at the young blossom.
What her aunt had been telling her went round and round in her
head. At first she laughed at the Christmas magic, then she grew
thoughtful, and finally — it was surely only a harmless joke —
she brought out a white cloth, spread it on the table, and laid
it for two. There, now he can come. To be sure, she had no cock,
but she wore a little cross around her neck, and every sort of
ghost must vanish before the cross. She sat down, folded her
little hands in her lap, and called up to mind the men whom she
knew, — the curly-haired shopkeeper in the grocery shop, who
always weighed out the sugar and coffee for her so generously;
the sergeant, who occasionally met her and greeted her so
respectfully; and the writer in the house opposite, who played on
his flute every evening “If I were a bird,” —but none of these
was the right one. At last she came to one more, but he was a
serious, fine gentleman, who could hardly remember the poor
seamstress in the garret.
Two years before, when her mother was still living, he met her
for the first time on the stairs, had stopped and looked at her
with the most gentle eyes. On the following day he had spoken to
her, and asked her to sit for him as a model for a picture. At
first she had objected, for she had heard horrible stories about
painters and models; but the gentleman had spoken so courteously
to her! And so she went, accompanied by her mother, to his
studio. Afterward she had seen the finished picture too. It
represented an old man with a harp, and by his side sat a young
girl, and the young girl was the little seamstress — her very
self. When the picture had gone out into the world, the painter
had placed a large banknote in her work-basket. She had really
not wished to take it, but as her mother then lay on her
death-bed she did not dare to return the gift, and the money went
just far enough to bury her mother and to get a little cast-iron
cross for her grave. She had never spoken to the painter since
that time, but she saw the serious man every day, and she had
formed a friendship with his two companions, — a poodle and a
pussy-cat, — and was kind to the animals whenever she had an opportunity.
The lamp blazed up and started her out of her dreams. She saw the
two plates before her, and she smiled, and then gave a sigh. “You
are a thoroughly silly creature,” she said softly, and rose to
put away the dishes again.
Then there came a knock at the door. Heaven help us, if the
Christmas magic is really no fairy tale! And the door opened, and
the apparition which appeared in the doorway was like the painter
to a dot. The poor little girl sank trembling into her chair, and
hid her face in her hands.
“Good evening,” said the ghost in a deep voice; and then he came
nearer, sat down by the seamstress, and took her hand. Ghosts
usually have ice-cold hands, but the one which grasped the
trembling maiden's was full of warm life.
And then the ghost began to speak. He spoke of the lonely,
joyless existence he led, and then many other things about love
and fidelity, and the maiden listened with a beating heart. If he
were no ghost after all! With trembling hands she felt for the
little cross she wore in her waist. Before the cross all magic is
destroyed. She drew it forth and held it before the ghost.
But he smiled, seized the cross, and said: “Poor child, you do
not believe my words. I swear to you on the cross which I hold in
my hands that I am true and honest in my intentions toward you.
Will you be my wife?”
Then the little one's soul rejoiced like a lark. No, it was no
apparition to vanish into mist at the crowing of a cock; it was
one of Adam's sons, with flesh and bone. His mouth, which her
lips sought, was warm, and his heart beat violently against her breast.
O blessed, merry Christmas!
Then there was a scratching at the door, and when it was opened
the poodle came in with a bound, and behind him was seen the cat.
They came to bring their congratulations. The poodle jumped up,
now on his master and then on the maiden, whining for joy. The
cat arched her back, and purred like a spinning-wheel. That the
two people had found each other was the work of the wise
creatures. They were proud of it, but said nothing about it, for
true merit is rewarded in silence.
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