Adalbert Stifter: Rock Crystal

The first thing that struck the children on entering the woods, was that the frozen ground had a whitish look as though meal had been scattered; the heads of some of the grasses by the road and amongst the trees were drooping with the weight of snow on them and the many green pine and fir ends, reaching out like hands, held up little thistledown pyramids.

“Is it snowing at home now, where father is?” asked Sanna.

“Certainly,” answered her brother, “getting colder, too, and you’ll see tomorrow, the whole pond will be frozen over.”

“Yes, Conrad,” said the child.

She all but doubled her short steps to keep pace with the lad as he strode along.

They went steadily up the winding road, now west to east, now east to west. The wind predicted by their grandmother had not come up; the air, on the contrary, was so still not a twig or a branch stirred; in fact it felt warmer in the woods, as is usual, in winter, among spaced objects like tree-trunks, and the flakes kept falling thicker and thicker so the ground was already white, and the woods began to gray and take on a dusty look, with snow settling upon the garments and hats of both the boy and his sister.

The children were delighted. They set their feet on the soft down and eagerly looked for places where it seemed thicker so they could make believe they were already deep in it. They did not shake the snow from their clothing. There had descended upon everything a pervading sense of peace. Not the sound of a bird, although a few birds usually flit about the woods even in winter, and the children on the way to Millsdorf that morning had heard them twitter; they did not see any, either flying or on branches, and the whole forest was as though dead.

Since the footprints behind were their own and the snow ahead lay white and unbroken, it was evident that they were the only ones crossing the col that day.

They kept on in the same direction, now coming toward trees, now leaving them behind, and where the underbrush was thick they could even see the snow lying on the twigs.

Their spirits were still rising, for the flakes fell thicker and thicker and in a little while they did not have to look for snow to wade in, because it lay so thick it felt soft to the feet everywhere, and even came up around their shoes; and it was so still, so intimate, it seemed as if they could almost hear the rustle of the flakes settling on the pine needles.

“Shall we see the baker’s post today, I wonder,” asked the little girl, “for it’s fallen down and will be snowed on, so the red will be white.”

“We’ll see it, just the same,” said the lad, “we’ll see it lying there even if the snow does fall on it and make it white for it’s a good thick post and the black iron cross on top would always stick up.”

“Yes, Conrad.”

In the meantime, while they kept on, the snow became so thick they could see only the nearest trees.

They could not feel the hardness of the road or the ridges of the wheel-ruts; the road was an even softness everywhere because of the snow, and one could distinguish it only as it wound on through the forest smooth and white like a ribbon. Every bough was mantled in fairest white.

The children were walking now in the middle of the road, their little feet ploughing through snow that slowed their steps, for the going was harder. The lad pulled his jacket together at the collar so the snow would not fall on the back of his neck, and shoved his hat further down about his ears for protection. He also drew the shawl tighter, that his mother had folded about his little sister, and pulled it out over her forehead in a little roof.

The wind predicted by their grandmother had not yet come up, but on the other hand the snowfall had by degrees become so heavy that after a while even the nearest trees were indistinct and stood in the blur like powdery sacks.

The children pushed on. They shrank down into their coats and pushed on.

Sanna took hold of the shoulder-strap by which Conrad’s bag was suspended, and with her little hand clutching the strap, they wended their way.

They were still not as far as the wayside memorial. The lad could not be sure of the time because there was no sun, and everything was the same monotonous gray.

“Will we be at the post soon?” asked Sanna.

“I don’t know,” answered her brother. “This time, I can’t make out the trees, or the road because it is so white. We may not see the post at all, because there is so much snow it will be covered up, and hardly a grass-blade or arm of the cross will stick out. But that’s nothing. We’ll just keep straight on; the road leads through the trees and when it gets to the place where the post is, then it will start downhill and we keep right on it and when it comes out of the woods we are in Gschaid meadows; then comes the footbridge, and we’re not far from home.”

On they went, climbing the path. Their footprints did not show for long now, since the unusually heavy snow blotted them out at once. The quick-falling flakes no longer made even a ticking sound on the needles as they fell but imperceptibly merged with the deep white already mantling the ground.

The children drew their wraps still closer to keep the ever-falling snow from working in on all sides.

They quickened their steps and the road was still climbing.

After a great while they had not yet reached the place where the memorial post was supposed to be, from which the path to Gschaid turned off downhill.

At last they came to a tract with not a tree on it.

“I don’t see any trees,” said Sanna.

“Perhaps the road is so wide we can’t see them because of the snow,” said the lad.

“Yes, Conrad,” said the little one.

After a time the lad came to a halt and said, “I don’t see any trees myself now. We must be out of the forest. Yet the road is still going up. Let’s stop a minute and look about. Perhaps we can see something.”

But they did not see anything. They stared up through wan nothingness into the sky. As during a hailstorm, when leaden striations slant downward from the massed white or greenish cloudbanks, so here; and the mute downfall continued.

The place was a circular patch of white ground, nothing else.

“You know, Sanna,” said the lad, “we are on that dry grass I have often brought you to in summer, where we used to sit and look at the grassy floor sloping up, where the beautiful herb-tufts grow. We shall turn right now, and be going downhill.”

“Yes, Conrad.”

“The days are short, as Grandmother said and as you know yourself, so we must hurry.”

“Yes, Conrad,” said the little one.

“Wait a minute, I am going to snug you up a bit,” said the lad.

He took off his hat, put it on Sanna and tied the two ribbons under her chin. The kerchief she had been wearing was too slight protection, whereas the profusion of curls on his head was so thick, snow would rest on them a long time before the wet and cold could penetrate. Then he took off his little fur jacket and drew it on his sister, up over her little arms. With only his shirt to protect him now, he tied about his shoulders the little shawl Sanna had been wearing. It would do for him, he thought, if they could just walk at a brisk pace.

He took his sister by the hand and thus they started on again.

With trustful eyes the little thing gazed up at the prevailing gray all about them and accompanied him willingly; only that her small hurrying feet could not keep up with him as he strove onward like someone bent on settling a thing once and for all.

They were going on now with the dogged endurance that children and animals have, not knowing what is ahead or when their reserves may give out.

However, as they went, they could not tell whether they were going down the mountain or not. They had soon turned downhill to the right but then came to elevations leading up. Often they encountered sheer rises they had to avoid; and a hollow in which they were walking led them around in a curve. They climbed hummocks that became steeper under their feet than they expected; and what they had deemed a descent was level ground or a depression, or went on as an even stretch.