Part 21

At last, when we had somewhat regained our composure, we began to examine the dead man more closely. He was carefully wrapped in the cloak, climbing-irons were bound to his feet and near by lay an alpenstock.

In the half-opened leather bag I discovered some dried bread-crumbs and a bit of paper rolled together. Seizing this I opened it, and found a few words, written with a pencil in crooked irregular lines and by a trembling uncertain hand.

The writing, which was legible, was as follows:

"Christmas day. At the setting of the sun I beheld the sea and lost my eyesight" ---- ----

So he had reached his goal. As a blind man he had written the page, the last page of his story. Then laying himself down on the hard ground, he had awaited death in the freezing winter night.

We built a wall of stones about the dead man and covered it over as best we could. Then we descended to the meadows, taking the shorter path by the way of Miesenbach to Winkelsteg.

The next morning, at an early hour, a number of people began the ascent of the Graue Zahn, I accompanying them. Old Schirmtanner was also with us, and he had much to tell us about the schoolmaster, his story entirely corresponding with the records.

And so we bore the aged Andreas Erdmann, who in the dry cold Alpine air had become almost a mummy, down to the valley of the Winkel to the parish church, which had been built through his efforts; we carried him to the burial-ground which he himself had planned in the shadow of the forest.

The news that the old schoolmaster had been found had already spread through the Winkel woods, and everyone came to the funeral and praised the good, brave man. The Winkel landlord wept like a child. "He blessed my poor abandoned father upon his death-bed!" he cried. Schirmtanner was obliged to lead Peter away from the bier.

The forester from the manor-house was there. Close by the grave grew a wood-lily.

The brandy-distiller Schorschl, speaking to a few people who were standing by the entrance to the burial-ground, said that he had had nothing at all against the schoolmaster, but all the same the latter was an obstinate man. And there was one thing to be remembered, if the schoolmaster had only had a little flask of gin with him, he would not have been frozen.

In the evening by the light of torches the good old man was laid in the ground.

The old manuscript which had fallen into my hands in such a peculiar way, I begged from the parish of Winkelsteg, so that I might give it to the world as a legacy--as the witness of a poor, yet rich and fruitful and unselfish life lived in the solitude of the forest. With deep emotion have I added the last few pencilled words to "The Schoolmaster's Story." Ponder it, Reader, and a rare experience shall be thine. The first page is addressed by a child to Heaven; and from this same child, after the fulfilment of time, the last page is sent down from Heaven to the struggling ones of earth--a seal of the legacy--bearing this inscription:

RESIGNATION AND RENUNCIATION!