What Sami Sings with the Birds
J >>
Johanna Spyri >> What Sami Sings with the Birds
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and Distributed Proofreaders
WHAT SAMI SINGS WITH THE BIRDS
BY
JOHANNA SPYRI
TRANSLATED BY HELEN B. DOLE
1917
[Illustration: "Up in the ash-trees the birds piped and sang merrily
together."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
FIRST OLD MARY ANN
SECOND AT THE GRANDMOTHER'S
THIRD ANOTHER LIFE
FOURTH HARD TIMES
FIFTH THE BIRDS ARE STILL SINGING
SIXTH SAMI SINGS TOO
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
UP IN THE ASH-TREES THE BIRDS PIPED AND SANG MERRILY TOGETHER.
WHERE HAVE YOU COME FROM WITH ALL YOUR HOUSEHOLD GOODS?
SUCH STRAY WAIFS AS YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO DO ANYTHING.
WHAT SAMI SINGS WITH THE BIRDS
CHAPTER FIRST
OLD MARY ANN
For three days the Spring sun had been shining out of a clear sky and
casting a gleaming, golden coverlet over the blue waters of Lake Geneva.
Storm and rain had ceased. The breeze murmured softly and pleasantly up
in the ash-trees, and all around in the green fields the yellow
buttercups and snow-white daisies glistened in the bright sunshine. Under
the ash-trees, the clear brook was running with the cool mountain water
and feeding the gaily nodding primroses and pink anemones on the
hillside, as they grew and bloomed down close to the water.
On the low wall by the brook, in the shadow of the ash-trees, an old
woman was sitting. She was called "Old Mary Ann" throughout the whole
neighborhood. Her big basket, the weight of which had become a little
heavy, she had put down beside her. She was on her way back from La Tour,
the little old town, with the vine-covered church tower and the ruined
castle, the high turrets of which rose far across the blue lake. Old Mary
Ann had taken her work there. This consisted in all kinds of mending
which did not need to be done particularly well, for the woman was no
longer able to do fine work, and never could do it.
Old Mary Ann had had a very changeable life. The place where she now
found herself was not her home. The language of the country was not her
own. From the shady seat on the low wall, she now looked contentedly at
the sunny fields, then across the murmuring brook to the hillside where
the big yellow primroses nodded, while the birds piped and sang in the
green ash-trees above her, as if they had the greatest festival to
celebrate.
"Every Spring, people think it never was so beautiful before, when they
have already seen so many," she now said half aloud to herself, and as
she gazed at the fields so rich in flowers, many of the past years rose
up and passed before her, with all that she had experienced in them.
As a child she had lived far beyond the mountains. She knew so well how
it must look over there now at her father's house, which stood in a field
among white-blooming pear-trees. Over yonder the large village with its
many houses could be seen. It was called Zweisimmen. Everybody called
their house the sergeant's house, although her father quite peacefully
tilled his fields. But that came from her grandfather. When quite a young
fellow, he had gone over the mountains to Lake Geneva and then still
farther to Savoy. Under a Duke of Savoy he had taken part in all sorts of
military expeditions and had not returned home until he was an old man.
He always wore an old uniform and allowed himself to be called sergeant.
Then he married and Mary Ann's father was his only child. The old man
lived to be a hundred years old, and every child in all the region round
knew the old sergeant.
Mary Ann had three brothers, but as soon as one of them grew up he
disappeared, she knew not where. Only this much she understood, that
her mother mourned over them, but her father said quite resignedly
every time: "We can't help it, they will go over the mountains; they
take it from their grandfather." She had never heard anything more
about her brothers.
When Mary Ann grew up and married, her young husband also came into the
house among the pear-trees, for her father was old and could no longer do
his work alone. But after a few years Mary Ann buried her young husband;
a burning fever had taken him off. Then came hard times for the widow.
She had her child, little Sami, to care for, besides her old, infirm
parents to look after, and moreover there was all the work to be done in
the house and in the fields which until now her husband had attended to.
She did what she could, but it was of no use, the land had to be given up
to a cousin. The house was mortgaged, and Mary Ann hardly knew how to
keep her old parents from want. Gradually young Sami grew up and was able
to help the cousin in the fields. Then the old parents died about the
same time, and Mary Ann hoped now by hard work and her son's help little
by little to pay up her debts and once more take possession of her fields
and house. But as soon as her father and mother were buried, her son
Sami, who was now eighteen years old, came to her and said he could no
longer bear to stay at home, he must go over the mountains and so begin a
new life. This was a great shock to the mother, but when she saw that
persuasion, remonstrance and entreaty were all in vain her father's words
came to her mind and she said resignedly, "It can't be helped; he takes
it from his great-grandfather."
But she would not let the young man go away alone, and he was glad to
have his mother go with him. So she wandered with him over the mountains.
In the little village of Chailly, which lies high up on the mountain
slope and looks down on the meadows rich in flowers and the blue Lake
Geneva, they found work with the jolly wine-grower Malon. This man, with
curly hair already turning grey and a kindly round face, lived alone with
his son in the only house left standing, near a crooked maple-tree.
Mary Ann received a room for herself and was to keep house for Herr
Malon, and keep everything in order for him and his son. Sami was to work
for good pay in Malon's beautiful vineyard. The widow Mary Ann passed
several years here in a more peaceful way than she had ever known before.
When the fourth Summer came to an end, Sami said to her one day:
"Mother, I must really marry young Marietta of St. Legier, for I am so
lonely away from her."
His mother knew Marietta well and besides she liked the pretty, clever
girl, for she was not only always happy but there were few girls so good
and industrious. So she rejoiced with her son, although he would have to
go away from her to live with Marietta and her aged father in St. Legier,
for she was indispensable to him. Herr Malon's son also brought a young
wife home, and so Mary Ann had no more duties there, and had to look out
for herself. She kept her room for a small rent, and was able to earn
enough to support herself. She now knew many people in the neighborhood,
and obtained enough work.
Mary Ann pondered over all these things, and when her thoughts returned
from the distant past to the present moment, and she still heard the
birds above her singing and rejoicing untiringly, she said to herself:
"They always sing the same song and we should be able to sing with them.
Only trust in the dear Lord! He always helps us, although we may often
think there is no possible way."
Then Mary Ann left the low wall, took her basket up again on her arm and
went through the fragrant meadows of Burier up towards Chailly. From time
to time she cast an anxious look in the direction of St. Legier. She knew
that young Marietta was lying sick up there and that her son Sami would
now have hard work and care, for a much smaller Sami had just come into
the world. Tomorrow Mary Ann would go over and see how things were going
with her son and if she ought to stay with him and help.
Mary Ann had scarcely stepped into her little room and put on her house
dress, to prepare her supper, when she heard some one coming along with
hurried footsteps. The door was quickly thrown open and in stepped her
son Sami with a very distressed face. Under his arm he carried a bundle
wrapped up in one of Marietta's aprons. This he laid on the table, threw
himself down and sobbed aloud, with his head in his arms:
"It is all over, mother, all over; Marietta is dead!"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, what are you saying?" cried his mother in the
greatest horror. "Oh, Sami, is it possible?"
Then she lifted Sami gently and continued in a trembling voice:
"Come, sit down beside me and tell me all about it. Is she really dead?
Oh, when did it happen? How did it come so quickly?"
Sami willingly dropped down on a chair beside his mother. But then he
buried his face in his hands and went on sobbing again.
"Oh, I can't bear it, I must go away, mother, I can't bear it here any
longer, it is all over!"
"Oh, Sami, where would you go?" said his mother, weeping. "We have
already come over the mountains, where would you go from here?"
"I must go across the water, as far as I possibly can, I can't stay here
any longer. I cannot, mother," declared Sami. "I must go across the great
water as far as possible!"
"Oh, not that!" cried Mary Ann. "Don't be so rash! Wait a little, until
you can think more calmly; it will seem different to you."
"No, mother, no, I must go away. I am forced to it; I can't do any
different," cried Sami, almost wild.
His mother looked at him in terror, but she said nothing more. She seemed
to hear her father saying: "It can't be helped. He takes it from his
grandfather." And with a sigh she said:
"It will have to be so."
Then there sounded from the bundle a strange peeping, exactly as if a
chicken were smothering inside. "What have you put in the bundle, Sami?"
asked the mother, going towards it, to loosen the firmly tied apron.
"That's so, I had almost forgotten it, mother," replied Sami, wiping
his eyes, "I have brought the little boy to you, I don't know what to
do with it."
"Oh, how could you pack him up so! Yes, yes, you poor little thing," said
the grandmother soothingly, taking the diminutive Sami out of one
wrapping and then a second and a third.
The father Sami had wrapped the little baby first in its clothes, then in
a shawl, and then in the apron as tight as possible, so that it couldn't
slip out on the way, and fall on the ground. When little Sami was freed
from the smothering wrappings and could move his arms and legs he fought
with all his limbs in the air and screamed so pitifully that his
grandmother thought it seemed exactly as if he already knew what a great
misfortune had come to him.
But father Sami said perhaps he was hungry, for since the evening before
no one had paid any attention to the little baby. This seemed to the
sympathetic Mary Ann quite too cruel, and she realised that if she didn't
care for the poor little mite it would die. She wrapped him up again
carefully in his blanket, but not around his head, and carried him
upright on her arm, not under it, as one carries a bundle. Then she ran
all around her room to collect milk, a dish and fire together, so that
the starving little creature might have some nourishment. As she sat on
her stool, and the little one eagerly sipped the milk, while his tiny
little hand tightly clasped his grandmother's forefinger like a
life-preserver, she said, greatly touched:
"Yes, indeed, you little Sami, you poor little orphan, I will do what I
can for you and the dear Lord will not forsake us."
And to the big Sami she said:
"I will keep him, but don't take any rash steps! In the first great
sorrow many a one does what he later regrets. See, you can't run away
from sorrow, it runs with you. Stay and bear what the dear Lord sends. He
is not angry with you. Hold to him still in time of sorrow, then the sun
will shine tomorrow! It will be the same with you as it has been with so
many others." Sami had listened in silence, but like one who does not
understand what he hears.
"Good night, mother! May God reward you for what you do for the boy," he
said then, after wiping his eyes again. Then he pressed his mother's
hand, and went out of the door.
CHAPTER SECOND
AT THE GRANDMOTHER'S
Old Mary Ann had now to begin over again, where she had left off
twenty-one years before, to bring up a little Sami. But then she was
fresh and strong, she had her husband by her side, and lived at home
among friends and acquaintances. Now she was in a strange land and was a
worn-out woman, and felt that her strength would not last much longer.
But little Sami did not realise all this. He was tended and cared for as
if his grandmother wanted to make up to him every moment for what he had
lost, and she was always saying to him, pityingly:
"You poor little thing, you have nobody in the world now but an old
grandmother."
Moreover it was so. Father Sami could not be consoled. As soon as his
young wife was buried he went away, and must have landed a long time ago
in the far away country.
Little Sami grew finely, and as his grandmother talked with him a great
deal, he began very early to imitate her. His words became more and more
distinct, and when the end of his second year came, he talked very
plainly and in whole sentences. His grandmother didn't know what to do
for joy, when she realised that her little Sami spoke not a word of
French, but pure Swiss-German, as she had heard it only in her native
land. He spoke exactly like his grandmother, who was indeed the only one
he had to talk with.
Now every day her baby gave her a new surprise. First he began to say
after her the little prayer she repeated for him morning and evening;
then he said it all alone. She had to weep for joy when the little one
began to sing after her the little Summer song she had learned in her own
childhood and had always sung to him, and one day suddenly knew the whole
song from beginning to end and sang one verse after another without
hesitation.
In spite of all the grandmother's trouble and work, the years passed so
quickly to her, that one day when she began to reckon she discovered that
Sami must be fully seven years old. Then she thought it was really time
that he learned something. But suddenly to send the boy to a French
school when he didn't understand a word of French seemed dreadful to her,
for he would be as helpless as a chicken in water. She would rather try,
as well as she possibly could, to teach him herself to read. She thought
it would be very hard but it went quite easily. In a short time, the
youngster knew all his letters, and could even put words together quite
well. That something could be made out of this which he could understand
and which he did not know before was very amusing to him, and he sat over
his reading-book with great eagerness. But to go out with his grandmother
to deliver her mending and to get new work was a still greater pleasure
to him, for nothing pleased him better than roaming through the green
meadows, then stopping at the brook to listen to the birds singing up in
the ash-trees.
The changeable April days had just come to an end and the beaming May sun
shone so warm and alluring that all the flowers looked up to it with
wide-open petals. Mary Ann with Sami by the hand, her big basket on her
arm, was coming along up from La Tour. The boy opened both his eyes as
wide as he could, for the red and blue flowers in the green grass and the
golden sunshine above them delighted him very much.
"Grandmother," he said taking a deep breath, "to-day we will sit on the
low wall for twelve long hours, won't we, really?"
"Yes, indeed," assented his grandmother, "we will stay there long enough
to get well rested and enjoy ourselves; but when the sun goes down and it
grows dark, then we will go. Then all the little birds are silent in the
trees and the old night-owl begins to hoot."
This seemed right to Sami, for he didn't want to hear the old owl hoot.
Now they had reached the wall. A cool shadow was lying on it; below the
fresh brook murmured, and up in the ash-trees the birds piped and sang
merrily together and one kept singing very distinctly:
"Sing too! Sing too!"
Sami listened. Suddenly he lifted up his voice and sang as loud and
lustily as the birds above, the whole song that his grandmother had
taught him:
Last night Summer breezes blew:--
All the flowers awake anew,
Open wide their eyes to see,
Nodding, bowing in their glee.
All the merry birds we hear
Greet the sunshine bright and clear;
See them flitting thru the sky,
Singing low and singing high!
Flowers in Summer warmth delight:--
What of Winter and its blight?
Snowy fields and forests cold?
Flowers are by their faith consoled.
Songsters, all so blithe and gay,
Know ye what your carols say?
How will your sweet carols fare
When your nests the snow-storms tear?
All the birdlings everywhere
Now their loveliest songs prepare;
All the birdlings gayly sing:--
"Trust the Lord in everything!"
Then Sami listened very attentively, as if he wanted to hear whether the
birds really sang so.
"Listen, listen, grandmother!" he said after a while. "Up there in the
tree is one that doesn't sing like the others. At first he keeps singing
'Trust! Trust! Trust! Trust!' and then the rest comes after."
"Yes, yes, that is the finch, Sami," she replied. "See, he wants to
impress it upon you, so that you will think about what will always keep
you safe and happy. Just listen, now, he is calling again: Trust! trust!
trust! trust! trust! Only trust the dear Lord."
Sami listened again. It was really wonderful, how the finch always
sounded above the other birds with his emphatic "Trust! trust! trust!"
"You must never forget what the finch calls," continued the grandmother.
"See, Sami, perhaps I cannot stay with you much longer, and then you will
have no one else, and will have to make your way alone. Then the little
bird's song can oftentimes be a comfort to you. So don't forget it, and
promise me too that you will say your little prayer every day, so that
you will be God-fearing; then no matter what happens, it will be well
with you."
Sami promised that he would never forget to pray. Then he became
thoughtful and asked somewhat timidly:
"Must I always be afraid, grandmother?"
"No, no! Did you think so because I said God-fearing? It doesn't mean
that: I will explain it to you as well as I can. You see to be
God-fearing is when one has the dear Lord before his eyes in everything
he does, and fears and hesitates to do what is not pleasing to Him,
everything that is wicked and wrong. Whoever lives so before Him has no
reason to fear what may happen to him, for such a man has the dear Lord's
help everywhere, and if he has to meet hardship oftentimes, he knows that
the dear Lord allows it so, in order that some good may come out of it
for him, and then he can sing as happily as the little birds: 'Only trust
the dear Lord!' Will you remember that well, Sami?"
"Yes, that I will," said Sami, decidedly, for this pleased him much
better, than if he had to be always afraid.
Now the setting sun cast its last long rays across the meadows, and
disappeared. The grandmother left the wall, took Sami by the hand and
then the two wandered in the rosy twilight along the meadow path,
then up the green vine-clad hill to the little village of Chailly up
on the mountain.
CHAPTER THIRD
ANOTHER LIFE
One morning, a few days later, Mary Ann was so tired she couldn't get up.
Sami sat beside her waiting for her to be fully awake in order to go into
the kitchen and make the coffee. His grandmother opened her eyes once and
fell asleep again. She had never done anything like this before. Now she
was really awake. She tried to raise herself up a little, then took Sami
by the hand and said in a low voice:
"Sami, listen to me, I must tell you something. See, when I am no longer
with you, you have no one else here, and are an entire stranger. But
there over the mountains you have relatives, and you must return to them.
Malon will tell you how to get there. You must go to Zweisimmen. There
ask for the sergeant, your cousin, who lives in the house with the big
pear-trees near it. Tell him your grandmother was the sergeant's Mary Ann
and your father was Sami. Work hard and willingly, you will have to earn
your living. There in the chest is some money in the little bag; take it,
it is yours; don't spend it foolishly. Sami, think of what you promised
me. Don't neglect to pray, it will bring you comfort and happiness which
you will need. Try to associate with God-fearing people and live with
them, then you will learn only good. Go, now, Sami, and call Herr Malon.
I must talk with him."
Sami went and came back with the man of the house. He stepped up to Mary
Ann's bed, and tried to encourage her, as that was his way. But he was
alarmed at her appearance and wanted to go for the doctor, as he told
her. But she held him fast and tried with great difficulty to express
herself in his language, for she had only a scanty knowledge of it. Malon
nodded his head understandingly and then hurried away. When he returned
to the room a couple of hours later with the doctor, Sami was still
sitting in the same place by the bed, waiting very quietly for his
grandmother to wake up again. The doctor drew near the bed. Then he spoke
with Malon a while, and finally came to Sami. He told him his grandmother
would never wake again, that she was dead.
Malon was a good man; he said he himself would go with Sami part of the
way until he found some one who could talk with him and take him further;
but he must put all his belongings together in a bundle. Then the two men
went away.
After a while the young woman of the house came, for the forsaken boy had
deeply aroused her sympathy. She found Sami still sitting in the same
place by the bed. He was looking steadfastly at his grandmother and
weeping piteously. The woman spoke to him, but he did not understand her.
Then she took everything out of the cupboard and drawers, packed them
into a bundle and showed Sami that he was to eat the bread and milk on
the table. Sami swallowed the milk obediently, but the woman put the
bread in his pocket. Then she led the boy once more to the bed, that he
might take his grandmother's hand in farewell.
Sami obeyed still sobbing, and let himself be led away by the woman. Herr
Malon was already waiting beside his little cart in which lay Sami's
bundle. The boy understood that he was to draw the cart, but he knew not
where. He wept softly to himself for it seemed to him as if he were going
out into the wilderness where he would be wholly alone. Malon went on
ahead of him.
It was the same way Sami had often gone with his grandmother down to La
Tour. When he came to the wall by the brook, he sobbed aloud. How lovely
it had been there with his grandmother! He could not see the way because
of his falling tears, but he heard Herr Malon's heavy step in front of
him, and he followed after. At the little station house above the
vine-covered church Malon stopped. Soon after the train came puffing
along. Malon got in and pulled Sami after him, and they started away.
Sami crouched in a corner and did not stir. They travelled thus for an
hour. Sami did not understand a word that was spoken around him, although
several times one and another tried to talk with him a little, for the
softly weeping boy had indeed awakened their sympathy.
The train stopped again. Malon got out and Sami followed him. They went a
short distance together and then Malon stepped to the left into a large
garden and then into the house. Here he talked a while with the man of
the house, who from time to time looked pityingly at Sami. Then Malon
took Sami's hand, shook it and left him behind alone in the big room.
After some time the man of the house came back and a sturdy fellow behind
him. The latter began to talk in Sami's own language. He wanted to
console the boy and said he would soon go on in a carriage. Then Sami
asked if he was his cousin, and if this was the village of Zweisimmen?
But the fellow laughed loudly and said he was no cousin, but a servant
here in the inn, and the place was called Aigle. Sami would have to
travel an hour longer and would not reach Zweisimmen before twelve
o'clock at night. But there was a coachman here from Interlaken, who had
to go back and would take him along.
The man of the house had bread and eggs brought for Sami and when he said
he wasn't hungry, he put everything kindly into the boy's pocket. Then he
led the boy out. Outside stood a large coach with two horses and high up
on the top sat the driver. No one was inside. Sami was lifted up, the
driver placed him next himself and drove away. At any other time this
would have pleased Sami very much, but now he was too sad. He kept
thinking of his grandmother, who could no longer talk with him and would
never wake again. After some time the driver began to talk to him. Sami
had to tell him where he came from and to whom he was going. He told him
everything, how he had lived with his grandmother, how she had fallen
asleep early that day, and did not wake up again; and that he was going
to find a cousin in Zweisimmen and would have to live with him. Sami's
childish description touched the driver so deeply that he finally said: