Chapter XXII. A Night Vigil

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　On a hill in the midst of a great Austrian plain, around whichhigh Alps wait watching through the ages stands a venerablefortress, almost more beautiful than anything one has ever seen.Perhaps, if it were not for the great plain flowering broadlyabout it with its wide-spread beauties of meadow-land, and wood,and dim toned buildings gathered about farms, and its dream of asmall ancient city at its feet, it might--though it is to bedoubted--seem something less a marvel of medievalpicturesqueness. But out of the plain rises the low hill, andsurrounding it at a stately distance stands guard the giantmajesty of Alps, with shoulders in the clouds and god-like headsabove them, looking on--always looking on--sometimes themselvesethereal clouds of snow-whiteness, some times monster bare cragswhich pierce the blue, and whose unchanging silence seems to knowthe secret of the everlasting. And on the hill which this augustcircle holds in its embrace, as though it enclosed a treasure,stands the old, old, towered fortress built as a citadel for thePrince Archbishops, who were kings in their domain in the longpast centuries when the splendor and power of ecclesiasticalprinces was among the greatest upon earth.And as you approach the town--and as you leave it--and as youwalk through its streets, the broad calm empty-looking ones, orthe narrow thoroughfares whose houses seem so near to each other,whether you climb or descend--or cross bridges, or gaze atchurches, or step out on your balcony at night to look at themountains and the moon--always it seems that from some point youcan see it gazing down at you--the citadel of Hohen-Salzburg.It was to Salzburg they went next, because at Salzburg was to befound the man who looked like a hair-dresser and who worked in abarber's shop. Strange as it might seem, to him also must becarried the Sign."There may be people who come to him to be shaved--soldiers, ormen who know things," The Rat worked it out, "and he can speakto them when he is standing close to them. It will be easy toget near him. You can go and have your hair cut."The journey from Munich was not a long one, and during the latterpart of it they had the wooden-seated third-class carriage tothemselves. Even the drowsy old peasant who nodded and slept inone corner got out with his bundles at last. To Marco themountains were long-known wonders which could never grow old.They had always and always been so old! Surely they had been thefirst of the world! Surely they had been standing there waitingwhen it was said "Let there be Light." The Light had known itwould find them there. They were so silent, and yet it seemed asif they said some amazing thing--something which would take yourbreath from you if you could hear it. And they never changed.The clouds changed, they wreathed them, and hid them, and traileddown them, and poured out storm torrents on them, and thunderedagainst them, and darted forked lightnings round them. But themountains stood there afterwards as if such things had not beenand were not in the world. Winds roared and tore at them,centuries passed over them--centuries of millions of lives, ofchanging of kingdoms and empires, of battles and world-wide famewhich grew and died and passed away; and temples crumbled, andkings' tombs were forgotten, and cities were buried and othersbuilt over them after hundreds of years--and perhaps a few stonesfell from a mountain side, or a fissure was worn, which thepeople below could not even see. And that was all. There theystood, and perhaps their secret was that they had been there forever and ever. That was what the mountains said to Marco, whichwas why he did not want to talk much, but sat and gazed out ofthe carriage window.The Rat had been very silent all the morning. He had been silentwhen they got up, and he had scarcely spoken when they made theirway to the station at Munich and sat waiting for their train. Itseemed to Marco that he was thinking so hard that he was like aperson who was far away from the place he stood in. His browswere drawn together and his eyes did not seem to see the peoplewho passed by. Usually he saw everything and made shrewd remarkson almost all he saw. But to-day he was somehow otherwiseabsorbed. He sat in the train with his forehead against thewindow and stared out. He moved and gasped when he found himselfstaring at the Alps, but afterwards he was even strangely still.It was not until after the sleepy old peasant had gathered hisbundles and got out at a station that he spoke, and he did itwithout turning his head."You only told me one of the two laws," he said. "What wasthe other one?"Marco brought himself back from his dream of reaching the highestmountain-top and seeing clouds float beneath his feet in the sun.He had to come back a long way."Are you thinking of that? I wondered what you had beenthinking of all the morning," he said."I couldn't stop thinking of it. What was the second one?"said The Rat, but he did not turn his head."It was called the Law of Earthly Living. It was for everyday," said Marco. "It was for the ordering of commonthings--the small things we think don't matter, as well as thebig ones. I always remember that one without any trouble. Thiswas it:" `Let pass through thy mind, my son, only the image thouwouldst desire to see become a truth. Meditate only upon thewish of thy heart--seeing first that it is such as can wrong noman and is not ignoble. Then will it take earthly form and drawnear to thee." `This is the Law of That which Creates.' "Then The Rat turned round. He had a shrewdly reasoning mind."That sounds as if you could get anything you wanted, if youthink about it long enough and in the right way," he said."But perhaps it only means that, if you do it, you'll be happyafter you're dead. My father used to shout with laughing when hewas drunk and talked about things like that and looked at hisrags."He hugged his knees for a few minutes. He was remembering therags, and the fog-darkened room in the slums, and the loud,hideous laughter."What if you want something that will harm somebody else?" hesaid next. "What if you hate some one and wish you could killhim?""That was one of the questions my father asked that night on theledge. The holy man said people always asked it," Marcoanswered. "This was the answer:" `Let him who stretcheth forth his hand to draw the lightningto his brother recall that through his own soul and body willpass the bolt.' ""Wonder if there's anything in it?" The Rat pondered. "It'dmake a chap careful if he believed it! Revenging yourself on aman would be like holding him against a live wire to kill him andgetting all the volts through yourself."A sudden anxiety revealed itself in his face."Does your father believe it?" he asked. "Does he?""He knows it is true," Marco said."I'll own up," The Rat decided after further reflection--"I'llown up I'm glad that there isn't any one left that I've a grudgeagainst. There isn't any one--now."Then he fell again into silence and did not speak until theirjourney was at an end. As they arrived early in the day, theyhad plenty of time to wander about the marvelous little old city.But through the wide streets and through the narrow ones, underthe archways into the market gardens, across the bridge and intothe square where the "glockenspiel" played its old tinklingtune, everywhere the Citadel looked down and always The Ratwalked on in his dream.They found the hair-dresser's shop in one of the narrow streets.There were no grand shops there, and this particular shop was amodest one. They walked past it once, and then went back. Itwas a shop so humble that there was nothing remarkable in twocommon boys going into it to have their hair cut. An old mancame forward to receive them. He was evidently glad of theirmodest patronage. He undertook to attend to The Rat himself,but, having arranged him in a chair, he turned about and calledto some one in the back room."Heinrich," he said.In the slit in Marco's sleeve was the sketch of the man withsmooth curled hair, who looked like a hair-dresser. They hadfound a corner in which to take their final look at it beforethey turned back to come in. Heinrich, who came forth from thesmall back room, had smooth curled hair. He looked extremelylike a hair- dresser. He had features like those in thesketch--his nose and mouth and chin and figure were like whatMarco had drawn and committed to memory. But--He gave Marco a chair and tied the professional white coveringaround his neck. Marco leaned back and closed his eyes a moment."That is not the man!" he was saying to himself. "He is notthe man."How he knew he was not, he could not have explained, but he feltsure. It was a strong conviction. But for the sudden feeling,nothing would have been easier than to give the Sign. And if hecould not give it now, where was the one to whom it must bespoken, and what would be the result if that one could not befound? And if there were two who were so much alike, how couldhe be sure?Each owner of each of the pictured faces was a link in a powerfulsecret chain; and if a link were missed, the chain would bebroken. Each time Heinrich came within the line of his vision,he recorded every feature afresh and compared it with theremembered sketch. Each time the resemblance became more close,but each time some persistent inner conviction repeated, "No;the Sign is not for him!"It was disturbing, also, to find that The Rat was all at once asrestless as he had previously been silent and preoccupied. Hemoved in his chair, to the great discomfort of the oldhair-dresser. He kept turning his head to talk. He asked Marcoto translate divers questions he wished him to ask the two men.They were questions about the Citadel--about the Monchsberg--theResidenz--the Glockenspiel--the mountains. He added one query toanother and could not sit still."The young gentleman will get an ear snipped," said the old manto Marco. "And it will not be my fault.""What shall I do?" Marco was thinking. "He is not the man."He did not give the Sign. He must go away and think it out,though where his thoughts would lead him he did not know. Thiswas a more difficult problem than he had ever dreamed of facing.There was no one to ask advice of. Only himself and The Rat, whowas nervously wriggling and twisting in his chair."You must sit still," he said to him. "The hair-dresser isafraid you will make him cut you by accident.""But I want to know who lives at the Residenz?" said The Rat."These men can tell us things if you ask them.""It is done now," said the old hair-dresser with a relievedair. "Perhaps the cutting of his hair makes the young gentlemannervous. It is sometimes so."The Rat stood close to Marco's chair and asked questions untilHeinrich also had done his work. Marco could not understand hiscompanion's change of mood. He realized that, if he had wishedto give the Sign, he had been allowed no opportunity. He couldnot have given it. The restless questioning had so directed theolder man's attention to his son and Marco that nothing couldhave been said to Heinrich without his observing it."I could not have spoken if he had been the man," Marco said tohimself.Their very exit from the shop seemed a little hurried. When theywere fairly in the street, The Rat made a clutch at Marco's arm."You didn't give it?" he whispered breathlessly. "I kepttalking and talking to prevent you."Marco tried not to feel breathless, and he tried to speak in alow and level voice with no hint of exclamation in it."Why did you say that?" he asked.The Rat drew closer to him."That was not the man!" he whispered. "It doesn't matter howmuch he looks like him, he isn't the right one."He was pale and swinging along swiftly as if he were in a hurry."Let's get into a quiet place," he said. "Those queer thingsyou've been telling me have got hold of me. How did I know? Howcould I know--unless it's because I've been trying to work thatsecond law? I've been saying to myself that we should be toldthe right things to do--for the Game and for your father-- and sothat I could be the right sort of aide-de-camp. I've beenworking at it, and, when he came out, I knew he was not the manin spite of his looks. And I couldn't be sure you knew, and Ithought, if I kept on talking and interrupting you with sillyquestions, you could be prevented from speaking.""There's a place not far away where we can get a look at themountains. Let's go there and sit down," said Marco. "I knewit was not the right one, too. It's the Help over again.""Yes, it's the Help--it's the Help--it must be," muttered TheRat, walking fast and with a pale, set face. "It could not beanything else."They got away from the streets and the people and reached thequiet place where they could see the mountains. There they satdown by the wayside. The Rat took off his cap and wiped hisforehead, but it was not only the quick walking which had made itdamp."The queerness of it gave me a kind of fright," he said."When he came out and he was near enough for me to see him, asudden strong feeling came over me. It seemed as if I knew hewasn't the man. Then I said to myself--`but he looks likehim'--and I began to get nervous. And then I was sure again--andthen I wanted to try to stop you from giving him the Sign. Andthen it all seemed foolishness--and the next second all thethings you had told me rushed back to me at once--and Iremembered what I had been thinking ever since--and Isaid--`Perhaps it's the Law beginning to work,' and the palms ofmy hands got moist."Marco was very quiet. He was looking at the farthest and highestpeaks and wondering about many things."It was the expression of his face that was different," hesaid. "And his eyes. They are rather smaller than the rightman's are. The light in the shop was poor, and it was not untilthe last time he bent over me that I found out what I had notseen before. His eyes are gray--the other ones are brown.""Did you see that!" The Rat exclaimed. "Then we're sure!We're safe!""We're not safe till we've found the right man," Marco said."Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?"He said the words dreamily and quietly, as if he were lost inthought--but also rather as if he expected an answer. And hestill looked at the far-off peaks. The Rat, after watching him amoment or so, began to look at them also. They were like aloadstone to him too. There was something stilling about them,and when your eyes had rested upon them a few moments they didnot want to move away."There must be a ledge up there somewhere," he said at last."Let's go up and look for it and sit there and think and think--about finding the right man."There seemed nothing fantastic in this to Marco. To go into somequiet place and sit and think about the thing he wanted toremember or to find out was an old way of his. To be quiet wasalways the best thing, his father had taught him. It was likelistening to something which could speak without words."There is a little train which goes up the Gaisberg," he said."When you are at the top, a world of mountains spreads aroundyou. Lazarus went once and told me. And we can lie out on thegrass all night. Let us go, Aide-de-camp."So they went, each one thinking the same thought, and eachboy-mind holding its own vision. Marco was the calmer of thetwo, because his belief that there was always help to be foundwas an accustomed one and had ceased to seem to partake of thesupernatural. He believed quite simply that it was the workingof a law, not the breaking of one, which gave answer and led himin his quests. The Rat, who had known nothing of laws other thanthose administered by police-courts, was at once awed andfascinated by the suggestion of crossing some borderland of theUnknown. The law of the One had baffled and overthrown him, withits sweeping away of the enmities of passions which created warsand called for armies. But the Law of Earthly Living seemed tooffer practical benefits if you could hold on to yourself enoughto work it."You wouldn't get everything for nothing, as far as I can makeout," he had said to Marco. "You'd have to sweep all therubbish out of your mind--sweep it as if you did it with abroom--and then keep on thinking straight and believing you weregoing to get things--and working for them--and they'd come."Then he had laughed a short ugly laugh because he recalledsomething."There was something in the Bible that my father used to jeerabout--something about a man getting what he prayed for if hebelieved it," he said."Oh, yes, it's there," said Marco. "That if a man praybelieving he shall receive what he asks it shall be given him.All the books say something like it. It's been said so often itmakes you believe it.""He didn't believe it, and I didn't," said The Rat."Nobody does--really," answered Marco, as he had done oncebefore. "It's because we don't know."They went up the Gaisberg in the little train, which pushed anddragged and panted slowly upward with them. It took them with itstubbornly and gradually higher and higher until it had leftSalzburg and the Citadel below and had reached the world ofmountains which rose and spread and lifted great heads behindeach other and beside each other and beyond each other untilthere seemed no other land on earth but that on mountain sidesand backs and shoulders and crowns. And also one felt theabsurdity of living upon flat ground, where life must be aninsignificant thing.There were only a few sight-seers in the small carriages, andthey were going to look at the view from the summit. They werenot in search of a ledge.The Rat and Marco were. When the little train stopped at thetop, they got out with the rest. They wandered about with themover the short grass on the treeless summit and looked out fromthis viewpoint and the other. The Rat grew more and more silent,and his silence was not merely a matter of speechlessness but ofexpression. He looked silent and as if he were no longer awareof the earth. They left the sight-seers at last and wanderedaway by themselves. They found a ledge where they could sit orlie and where even the world of mountains seemed below them.They had brought some simple food with them, and they laid itbehind a jutting bit of rock. When the sight-seers boarded thelaboring little train again and were dragged back down themountain, their night of vigil would begin.That was what it was to be. A night of stillness on the heights,where they could wait and watch and hold themselves ready to hearany thought which spoke to them.The Rat was so thrilled that he would not have been surprised ifhe had heard a voice from the place of the stars. But Marco onlybelieved that in this great stillness and beauty, if he held hisboy-soul quiet enough, he should find himself at last thinking ofsomething that would lead him to the place which held what it wasbest that he should find. The people returned to the train andit set out upon its way down the steepness.They heard it laboring on its way, as though it was forced tomake as much effort to hold itself back as it had made to dragitself upward.Then they were alone, and it was a loneness such as an eaglemight feel when it held itself poised high in the curve of blue.And they sat and watched. They saw the sun go down and, shade byshade, deepen and make radiant and then draw away with it thelast touches of color--rose-gold, rose-purple, and rose-gray.One mountain-top after another held its blush a few moments andlost it. It took long to gather them all but at length they weregone and the marvel of night fell.The breath of the forests below was sweet about them, andsoundlessness enclosed them which was of unearthly peace. Thestars began to show themselves, and presently the two who waitedfound their faces turned upward to the sky and they both werespeaking in whispers."The stars look large here," The Rat said."Yes," answered Marco. "We are not as high as the Buddhistwas, but it seems like the top of the world.""There is a light on the side of the mountain yonder which isnot a star," The Rat whispered."It is a light in a hut where the guides take the climbers torest and to spend the night," answered Marco."It is so still," The Rat whispered again after a silence, andMarco whispered back:"It is so still."They had eaten their meal of black bread and cheese after thesetting of the sun, and now they lay down on their backs andlooked up until the first few stars had multiplied themselvesinto myriads. They began a little low talk, but thesoundlessness was stronger than themselves."How am I going to hold on to that second law?" The Rat saidrestlessly. " `Let pass through thy mind only the image thouwouldst see become a truth.' The things that are passing throughmy mind are not the things I want to come true. What if we don'tfind him --don't find the right one, I mean!""Lie still--still--and look up at the stars," whispered Marco."They give you a sure feeling."There was something in the curious serenity of him which calmedeven his aide-de-camp. The Rat lay still and looked--andlooked--and thought. And what he thought of was the desire ofhis heart. The soundlessness enwrapped him and there was noworld left. That there was a spark of light in themountain-climbers' rest-hut was a thing forgotten.They were only two boys, and they had begun their journey on theearliest train and had been walking about all day and thinking ofgreat and anxious things."It is so still," The Rat whispered again at last."It is so still," whispered Marco.And the mountains rising behind each other and beside each otherand beyond each other in the night, and also the myriads of starswhich had so multiplied themselves, looking down knew that theywere asleep--as sleep the human things which do not watchforever."Some one is smoking," Marco found himself saying in a dream.After which he awakened and found that the smoke was not part ofa dream at all. It came from the pipe of a young man who had analpenstock and who looked as if he had climbed to see the sunrise. He wore the clothes of a climber and a green hat with atuft at the back. He looked down at the two boys, surprised."Good day," he said. "Did you sleep here so that you couldsee the sun get up?""Yes," answered Marco."Were you cold?""We slept too soundly to know. And we brought our thickcoats.""I slept half-way down the mountains," said the smoker. "I ama guide in these days, but I have not been one long enough tomiss a sunrise it is no work to reach. My father and brotherthink I am mad about such things. They would rather stay intheir beds. Oh! he is awake, is he?" turning toward The Rat,who had risen on one elbow and was staring at him. "What is thematter? You look as if you were afraid of me."Marco did not wait for The Rat to recover his breath and speak."I know why he looks at you so," he answered for him. "He isstartled. Yesterday we went to a hair-dresser's shop down belowthere, and we saw a man who was almost exactly like you--only--" he added, looking up, "his eyes were gray and yours arebrown.""He was my twin brother," said the guide, puffing at his pipecheerfully. "My father thought he could make hair-dressers ofus both, and I tried it for four years. But I always wanted tobe climbing the mountains and there were not holidays enough. SoI cut my hair, and washed the pomade out of it, and broke away.I don't look like a hair-dresser now, do I?"He did not. Not at all. But Marco knew him. He was the man.There was no one on the mountain-top but themselves, and the sunwas just showing a rim of gold above the farthest and highestgiant's shoulders. One need not be afraid to do anything, sincethere was no one to see or hear. Marco slipped the sketch out ofthe slit in his sleeve. He looked at it and he looked at theguide, and then he showed it to him."That is not your brother. It is you!" he said.The man's face changed a little--more than any other face hadchanged when its owner had been spoken to. On a mountain-top asthe sun rises one is not afraid."The Lamp is lighted," said Marco. "The Lamp is lighted.""God be thanked!" burst forth the man. And he took off his hatand bared his head. Then the rim behind the mountain's shoulderleaped forth into a golden torrent of splendor.And The Rat stood up, resting his weight on his crutches in uttersilence, and stared and stared."That is three!" said Marco.