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' ONE TOUCH OF NATURE '

I. ' Ah, in Poland, too, it is beautiful ! ' Ludwiga, the young peasant wife, sighed ; her bright eyes glistened, and their long lashes were wet. She drew a toilroughened hand across them, and set her lips to smother the sob that otherwise might have followed the sigh. ' Yes, but in Poland we could not earn our bread ' answered Casimir, her /husband, as he continued to trudge sturdily along the road. Seen indistinctly from a distance, he might have been mistaken for a pack-hoisc ■; for his broad shoulders were laden with a queer assortment of household goods and utensils which obscured his thick-set, muscular figure. Yet, heavy as was the pack, he did not mind the addition to it. In his arms he carried the pride of his heart, little Ladislaus, his two-year-old boy— his and Ludwiga's. ' And have we been able to earn our bread here ? ' asked the wife, in their liquid Polish dialect— they knew no other tongue. She, too, Avas bowed and almost hidden from -view by the huge, unwieldy bundle upon her back. At this point on the highway, a handsome equipage, occupied by a girl and an elderly lady and driven by a coachman in livery, 'passed the wayfarers. 1 Why do not uhese peasant mothers from Europe cast off their burdens, stand erect, and rejoice in the emancipation of their sex in this new country ? ' exclaimed the youoiger woman with impatience. The other laughed in gentle tolerance of her impetuosity. ' The customs of generations cannot be altered in a day,' she said. 'If the woman should refuse tc carry the bundle, her husband would probably beat her. The child was pretty. I wish 1 had snapped my camera.' If Ludwiga should refuse to toil on with her burden would Casimir indeed compel her obedience with a blow? Ho had struck her once or twice>— alas ! yes — when he Mas in anger, and again when he had tasted wodka (inloxibating liquor) once too often. But that was long ago. Since little Ladislavs had begun to walk and talk and tc attract his father by his cunning ways, Ludwiga had taken on a new dignity in the eyes of her husband. Was she not the mother of his son ? He wculd not raise, his hand against her now, she would have said. But why speculate upon an imaginary contingency that could not possibly become actual ? To the passer-by our greatest joy may aprexr a trial. Ludwiga would never refuse to carry the bundle. Not because it was the custom amon<r the women of her country to bear their burdens without complaint, not through fear of her husband, or a stolid recognition of the fact that she must either shoulder it or cast it away, since Casimir would need to be furnished v ith an extra hand or an extra pair of shoulders in order to carry any more. No : it was simply because, after little Ladislaus and Casimir, the bundle was her chief treasure, being nothing less than one of the finest of fine feather beds, and her marriage dowry. From Ludwiga's childhood, her mother had saved the down wijh which it was filled ; annually the white geese that were her pets disappeared, leaving their softest plumage* as a gift to her, anent her future wedding-day. This awkward bundle, bound about with rope in a vain attempt tc compress its generous proportions, was to her like a great book of recollections—more than that, for a book meant little to Ludwiga. Ah, yes, no matter how weary she might be, she would gladly carry it ! Was it this bulky souvenir of happier times that now, pressing against ber head, brought back thoughts of the green fields, the hills, the wcods, and river of the dear land far away.? 'In our wandering search for work we have sacrificed all but the few things we have with us.' Her glance swept their scanty belongings comprehensively. ' That is because we set out wrong in taking passaere to Savannah instead of to New York,' argued Casimir the buoyant. "In New York there is a chance for everyone. It is a long journey afoot ; but you have never murmured, Ludwiga. That city yonder on the hills is Baltimore. Perhans I may get some days' work there, and then we can ride a little way on the train, as we have done several times before.' Ludwiga laughed srailv at the prospect, and the pair trudged! on with lighter feet.

It was the springtime, the season when to be out of doors is a joy in itself. Their progress up along the coast had been, in the matter of weather, a pleasant pilgrimage ; for as they came gradually north, the miracle of Nature s renewal— cf budding trees and crops springing into life, and blossoming plants— was repeated again and again before their eyes ; while ever befose their imaginations arose ' the tali buildings of their shining goal the metropolis, where work, and consequently money was to be found by everyone. Now, around Casimir and Ludwiga the pastures were green, the apple orchards just bursting into bloom ; before the doors of farmhouses crocuses raised their yellow heads, and the dusty border of grass by the road was strewn with, dandelions, like coins flung to the lonely by the young lo~d, Spring ; or rather, it seemed to I.udwiga, bits of brightness sown by divine munificence along the way, that even the wanderers who owned neither fields nor orchards should yet have flowers to pluck That they were for him, little Ladi,slaus never doubted. Struggling to free himself from the strong arms which held him so securely, he stretched out his small fat hands towards the golden treasure, and, in a fluent, infantile outbreak of Rutlienian, pleaded to be set upon his feet. Ludvviga laughed again, and Casimir nut down the child. 1 It must be noon,' he said, looking at the sun. Under a roadside chestnut tree that had recently hung out its floral banners, a sloping bank offered a pleiasant) resting-place. Casimir made his way thither, cast down his pack, and stretched his length upon the ground. The baby, toddling after, stopped, and bending down tore up a handful of the short grass, shouting with glee. Ludwiga deposited hrr dowry at the foot of the tree. When she stood uptight, it might be seen that, despite the hardships she had known, she was not illlooking. Hes eyes were brown, her hair was light as the curly pate of little Ladislaus ; her face, glowing with color, was gentle and good. After a few moments, Casimir rose, took a tin bucket that all the way had bo>'j\bed about on the top of his pack, and went in search of water. When he returned with a supply obtained from the well of a neighboring farm-house, Ludwiga had loosed ths knots of a red kerchief she had earned in one hand, and set forth their frugal dinner— a loaf of rye-flour bread and a dried salted fish. m That was all. But hinder makes a banquet of the rudest fare, and the travellers were content. When the meal was finished, husband and wife sat side 'by .side uron the little knoll, discussing, their plans for the future. Casimir pinched a blade of the new grass and drew it through one hand. ' Ludwiga, to get work we must find lodgings in the city,' he said ; ' there we cannot sleep out of doors. To have money, we must part with something.' From the collection of shabby goods in the pack his eyes strayed to the bundle set against the foot of the tree. Ludwiga's heart sank, her eyes grew dim ; the relentless hand of Want seemed to clutch her by the throat. What ! sell her dowry ? She stared at Casimir, wondering if she could ha\o understood him aright. ' We will only pawn it,' he ex-plained ; ' and while it is gone, at least you will not ha,\e to carry it.' A tear stole down her cheek, but she wiped it away with a corner of her apron, and bravely accepted the inevitable. 1 You and the toy must wait here. I will go into the city, attend to this matter, find a lodging, and return for you, the child, and our goods,' he continued. Ludwiga was very tired ; she had travelled many days. The child lay asleep on her tnees. It would be a pity to awaken him. 'If you go alone, you will not taste wodka, my husband ? ' she entreated. Casimir swore he would not, and forthwith departed. A shrill whistle told him the railroad was near. He cut across the field and took that route, knowing it wculd be shorter than by the highway. The afternoon parsed pleasantly under the tree. Ludwiga, leaning against its rouph. bark, napped peacefully'; little Ladislaus slept en. After an hour or two, both awoke. The young mother played with the baby, the sun sank to the west ; but still Casimir did not come. Ludwiga grew restless, then anxious. Careless of what might befall her scanty possessions, she abandoned them for the nonce, caught the child up in her arms, and ran across the field. In this direction her husband had gone, by this way he might be returning. Before she reached the end of the pasture, the prolonged shriek? of a locomotive rent the air. Ludwiga had come to know that this demoniacal voice was not always a warning of danger. Why, then, did it strike

fear to her heart ne w ? She ran faster. On the iron road belo,w, the Lightning Express swept by like a whirlwind. . Ludwiga tripped and fell. For some inexplicable reason, in that moment her strength deserted her.- She lay with her face Dressed to the earth as to the breast of her mother, trembling with a nameless terror. But it' was only for a minute. The child, frightened by the fall, was crying lustily. She started to her feet, picked up and soothed the baby, and, finding he was unhurt hastened on down the bank. ' Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up the -track. What was thatr group of people gathered there a short distance away ? A gang of railway laborers ? No : women ran out from the neighboring cottages. There must have been an accident. Some one had'been —killed by the train. Ludwiga came up to the throng. Two men were carrying a still form into the small rural station. Little Ladislaus shuddered instinctively, and hid his face upon his mother's shoulder. ' Who is it ? ' she asked of a woman who stood by ; but, as she spoke in Polish, the woman did not understand, and kept on wringing her hands. What a terribJe thing to happen ! What woe for some poor wife, perhaps for children left fatherless ! What if it had been Casimir ? Ludwiga pressed closer. She caught a glimpse of the blouse of the man whom they were carrying away, of a yellow kerchief tied around his throat. Great God, it was Casimir ! With the cry of one whose heart is broken, she dashed into the room after the silent bearers. There was no need of words .to tell them she was the wife of the victim. The language of grief is universal. Yet she was srared something,. The, Express, going at such terrible speed, had fl-ung him out of its path. He was not yet dead, but a doctor, hastily summoned, said he could not live. Some one took care of the child. For hours Ludwiga watched beside the apparently lifeless form of her husband. "Oh, thank God, he confessed and made his duty at Easter ! And he was so Imd for a while back to me and to the baby, as if he knew he was going to ( leave us ! ' she moaned. O God, let Ihim s] ea.k one more word to me, and I will try to mdure the sorrow ! ' The hours passed ; she almost gave up the faint hope that her prayer might be granted. At last Casimir stirred slightly. The young wife bent over him in a tumult of joy and fear. His eyes unclosed and she saw in them a light of recognition. ' Ludwiga, I did not taste wodka,' he murmured. His eyes closed again and, with a sigh like an adieu, his spirit journeyed on toward the Golden City where there is indeed a place lor everyone who toils fcr it. 11. At this new parting, something .'napped in Ludwiga's brain, and she fell unconscious upon the floor of the station. Yes, she was to ride on the railnoad again, and much somer than she had thought. An official armed with full authority en the scene, engaged a farmer's 1 wife to care for the young woman so tragically widowed and the baby, and, placing the party aboard the next train, accompanied them to the city. But Ludwiga knew nothing of all this, nor of the jolting ride that followed, in a sombre vclrcle, behind a galloping horse, and to the accompaniment of a clanging gong. Beneath the soft starlight of the spring evening, the imposing grey build'ntrs of the Johns Hopkins Hospital loomed up against the sky. It was only when the ambulance stopped at the door that Ludwiga aroused a little. As the attendants carried her on a stretcher through the entrance hall, for a moment her senses returned ; she raised herself upon one arm ; stared fixedly before her, and smiled as though for the instant her sorrow was forgotten. Was it an apparition ? To the dazed eyes, the simple mind of the poor Polish woman, it seemed indeed a vision— that white, Godlike figure who stood, so tall and 'commanding, yet divinely entreating, facing the entrance door with extended arms. Ah, there was but One who could look on her with such incomparable sweetness and compassion ! ' It is the blessed Christ Himself ! ' she exclaimed, and fell back again. But her swoon was not so dark as before. What she had seen was the majestic marble statue of the Divine Healer, the Great Physician, who with outstretched hands welcomes to the noble hospital the sick and- suffering, silently assuring to pome His blessing upon the human skill here to be exerted in their- behalf ■; to others promising with a simile of infinite tenderness that His love will console.

For days Ludwiga's young strength battled for her life against a desperate fever, but in the end her sturdy constitution triumphed and she awoke as from a dreadful dream. Not until long afterward did she know that Casimir had been laid to rest not far from the spreading chestnut tree under whose newly green branches he and she had so hopefully planned for their future. She asked for her baby, b-ut no one understood her. "Now that the woman is like to recover, it will be m-cessary to, obtain some information regarding her,' said the \isiting physician one day as he made his rounds with the staff doctor. ' When she is a little stronger, we must send for an interpreter. 1 It was evening in Baltimore, the heart of Maryland, the beautiful American city of the Seven Hills ; and thnoughoiut its world of fashion as well as among lovers of musio there was a stir of excitement. For to-night the greatest pianist of the age was tc play at the Music Hall. The timq arrived ; the audience presented a brilliant scene ; and to those who had nev er before heard the artist, his interpretation of Chopin and Beethoven seemed unsurpassable. ' No ons can eqoial his playing, and yet to-night he is not at his best,' whispered others, more familiar with the possibilities of the genius. In the second part of the programme, however, there was a difference. Before he had played half a do/zen bars the audience were conscious of it. ' The master is surpassing himself,' whispered the musicians, entranced. 'What has caused the change ?' No one in that vast gathering dreamed the key to the mystery was a little story some one had casually told the artist during the intermission— -a pathetic story of wandering peasants, that touched his heart, because he, too, was from ' the fair land of Poland.' * It was the morning after the great concert. Every morning paper had at least a column on the subject ; rumors of the eclat attending the musical event of the season reached even the hos: iial. ' I -wish I could have sten him, anyhow ! ' said Ludwiga's young nuirse to the staff doctor. Ludwiga lay staring at the white wall opposite to her bed. Its blankness was like her own life henceforth. These people were kind to her, but what had they done with little Ladislaus ? Oh, was there no one in all this great city who could speak her language ? Alas ! though walls are said to have ears to hear, they cannot ansvter. While the forlorn, convalescent was thus reflecting, there was a commotion at the other end of the room. A supervisor nurse came in, said something to one of the attendants, and went out again. Then all the nurses began to chatter among themselves in a subdued way. It was li!e the fluttering among a flock of sparrows when one of their number has brought n-ews important in sparrowdom. Presently the door opened again, and there entered, with the chief of the hospital staff, a quiet gentleman, whose coming, nevertheless, had created the excitement, lie was a man of medium height, well built yet slight of figure, \vilh a thin, mobile face, and a mass of blonde hair that took on a warmer hue as the sunlight, streaming in through a window, fell upon him. Of all the patients in the ward, Ludwiga alone ga?cd with indifference at the stranger. Yet, to her listless surprise, it was before her cot that he and the doctor paused. With wondering eyes, she stared up at the visitor. He met their unconscious appeal for symlpathy with a smil^, and then— oh, marvel !— bending down, he spo 1 c to her in her own language. Ludwiga started. Her face shone with a glad light. Raising her head from the pillow, she caught between her stillfevered palms the hands of the visitor. They were woffderful hsnds — long, slender, and white as fc^ose of a woman of fashion ; hands as assiduously cared for as if each was end-owed with a special soul. Reportl said, facetiously, that "when not employed in their chosen aVocfation they were k-ept.by their owner in a glass case ; that they were suffered to touch nothing ruder than ivory, rose leaves, and gold. Certain it 1 is that he most rigidly guarded them from any rough con-, tact with life ; and, possibly, he would rather choose to be deaf, dumb, or otherwise maimed, than permanently lose the u?e of so much as the tip of one of those tapering, sensitive fn«rers. For, notwithstanding) their delicacy, these .marvellous hands had labored like slaves, earning fortune afber fortune, buildingviip the fame of their master. Yet now, as Lt'dwi^a the peasant clung to them in piteous delight, as' to the iriHs of a friend whom she had unexpectedly found, he did not withdraw them from her grasp.

Ludwiga, he said, 'I, your countryman, have come to help you— l and Madame, my wife. :For what do you most) wish ? ' A handsome, imperious lady had come in wiih the supervisor nurse, and now stood beside him, looking kindly at Ludwiga too. - " r ihe lornely young patient faltered, tears welled up in her brown eyes, and with a catch in her voice she cried : 'My child— oh, what have- they done with -my little boy ? ' The visitor turned to those about him and repeated the inquiry in English. ' The child is well. We placed him temporarily in an orphans' home. She was supposed to be still too weak to want to see him,' answered the nurse. ' Ludwiga, your child thrives ; he will be brought to see you to-day, T replied the stranger with decision. She smiled, blissfully content at the promise. ' And now, my good wcman, when you are able to leave the hospital, where do you want to go ? Is it back to Poland ? ' inquired the lady. 'No, no, Madame ! I could not neturn there where I was once so happy,' said Ludwiga, with energy. 'Casimir, my husband, wished to -go to New York. There we know one or two families from our own village ; there I will earn my bread and rear up little Ladislaus, among my own people, yet in this great, free country where he may ha\e a better chance in life than at home.' ' Then, Ludwiga, you shall go to New York. Here Madame and I will give little Ladislaus a present,' said the great musician. Releasing his velyet'-like hands from her clasp at last, he took from his pocket a small book and a stylographic pen, wrote upen a leaf cf the book, and, tearing it out, put the bit of paper between her trembling fingers. ' This is for your needs and his,' he continued. <Accept it f-oni a compatriot and his wife, and may God prosper you .' ' Ludwiga took the gift mechanically. She was ignorrant as yet that, to her necessities, it represented a fortune. Madame was already at the door. The gentleman ■v>ho had come to act as interpreter for Ludwira, turned to go. ' But, O my friend, your name ? ' she pleaded, catching at his sleeve. 'Mine? Well, just think of me as l>octor Ignace-,' he roplied, with his quiet smile. And then he was gone. Ludwiga was unaware that Doctor Ignace was not a physician but a Doctor of Music, and that his reputation was world-wide. She only J-new he was good to the widowed and the orphaned ; that the beautiful hands, whose ielioacy of touch and facility execution had helped to make the fame of the great pianist, were generous hands as well ; that the artist spirit which so exquisitely interpreted the master musicians was a nature as sensitively vibrant to the sigh of human suffering.—' Aye Maria.'

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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZT19060614.2.46.1

Bibliographic details

New Zealand Tablet, Volume 14, Issue 24, 14 June 1906, Page 23

Word Count
3,686

'ONE TOUCH OF NATURE' New Zealand Tablet, Volume 14, Issue 24, 14 June 1906, Page 23

'ONE TOUCH OF NATURE' New Zealand Tablet, Volume 14, Issue 24, 14 June 1906, Page 23