The Black Spider (2 page)

Around the fine house there was lively movement. Near the fountain horses were being combed with special care, dignified matrons, with their spirited colts darting around them; in the broad trough cows were quenching their thirst, looking about them in a comfortable manner, and twice the farmer’s lad had to use shovel and broom because he had not removed the traces of their well-being cleanly enough. Well-set maids were vigorously washing their ruddy faces with a handy face cloth, while their hair was twisted into two bunches over their ears; or with bustling industry they were carrying water through the open door; and in mighty puffs a dark column of smoke from the short chimney rose straight and high, up into the clear air.

Slowly the grandfather, a bent figure, was walking with his stick round the outside of the house, watching silently the doings of the farm servants and the maids; now he would stroke one of the horses, or again restrain a cow in her clumsy playfulness, or point out to the careless farmer’s boy wisps of straw still lying forgotten here and there, while taking his flint and steel assiduously out of the deep pocket of his long waistcoat in order to light his pipe again, which he enjoyed so much in the morning in spite of the fact that it did not draw well.

The grandmother was sitting on a clean-swept bench in front of the house near the door, cutting fine bread into a large basin, every piece sliced thin and just the right size, not carelessly as cooks or maids would do it, who often hack off pieces big enough to choke a whale. Proud, well-fed hens and beautiful doves were quarrelling over the crumbs at her feet, and if a shy little dove did not get its share, the grandmother threw it a piece all to itself, consoling it with friendly words for the want of sense and the impetuosity of the others.

Inside in the big, clean kitchen a huge fire of pine wood was crackling; in a big pan could be heard the popping of coffee beans which a stately-looking woman was stirring around with a wooden ladle, while nearby the coffee mill was grinding between the knees of a freshly washed maid; but standing by the open door of the living room was a beautiful, rather pale woman with an open coffee sack in her hand, and she said, “Look, midwife, don’t roast the coffee so black today, or else they might think I wanted to be stingy with it. The godfather’s wife is really awfully suspicious and always makes the worst of everything anybody does. Half a pound or so is neither here nor there on a day like this. Oh, and don’t forget to have the mulled wine ready at the right time. Grandfather wouldn’t think it was a christening if we didn’t set the godparents up with some mulled wine before they went to church. Don’t be stingy about what’s to go in it, do you hear? Over there in the dish on the kitchen dresser you’ll find saffron and cinnamon, the sugar’s on the table here, and take at least half as much wine again as you think is enough; at a christening there’s never any need to worry that things won’t get used up.”

We hear that there is to be a christening in the house today, and the midwife delivers the food and drink as cleverly as she delivered the baby at an earlier stage, but she will have to hurry if she is to be ready in time and to cook at the simple fireplace everything demanded by custom.

A firmly built man came up from the cellar with a mighty piece of cheese in his hand, picked up from the gleaming kitchen dresser the first plate he could find, placed the cheese on it and was going to carry it into the living room to put on the brown walnut table. “But Benz, Benz,” the beautiful, pale woman exclaimed, “how they’d laugh, if we couldn’t find a better plate than this at the christening!” And she went to the gleaming cherry-wood china cupboard where the proud ornaments of the house were displayed behind the glass windows. There she took up a beautiful blue-rimmed plate with a great bunch of flowers in the middle which was surrounded by ingenious legends, such as:

Take heed, O man:
A pound of butter costs three Batzen.

God is gracious to man,
But I live on good grass land.

In hell it’s hot,
And the potter has to work hard.

The cow eats grass;
Man ends in the grave.

Next to the cheese she placed a huge cake, that peculiar Bernese confection, coiled like the women’s plaits, beautifully brown and yellow, baked with best flour, eggs and butter, as large as a one-year-old child and weighing almost as much; and on either side she placed two more plates. Piled up on them lay appetizing fritters, yeast cakes on the one plate, pancakes on the other. Thick, warm cream was standing on the oven, covered up in a jug with lovely flowers patterned on it, and in the glistening three-legged can with its yellow lid the coffee was bubbling. In this way a breakfast was awaiting the godparents, when they should arrive, of a sort that princes seldom have and no peasant farmers in the world except the Bernese. Thousands of English people go rushing through Switzerland, but never has one of the jaded lords or one of the stiff-legged ladies been presented with a breakfast like this.

“If only they’d come soon, it’s all waiting,” the midwife sighed. “Anyway, it’ll be a good time before they’re all ready and everybody’s had what they want, and the pastor is awfully punctual and ticks you off sharply if you’re not there at the right time.”

“Grandfather never allows the pram to be taken,” the young wife said. “He believes that a child which is not carried to its christening, but is led on wheels, will grow up lazy and never learn to use its legs properly its whole life through. If only the grandmother were here, she’ll hold us up longest, the godfathers make shorter work of things, and if the worst came to the worst they could always hurry along behind.” Anxiety about the godparents spread through the whole house. “Aren’t they coming yet?” could be heard everywhere; from all corners of the house faces peered out for them, and the dog barked for all it was worth, as if it was trying to summon them too. But the grandmother said, “It used not to be like this in the old days; then you knew that you had to get up at the right time on such a day and the pastor wouldn’t wait for anybody.” Finally, the farmer’s boy rushed into the kitchen with the news that the godmother was coming.

She came bathed in sweat and loaded up as if she were the Christ child going to give the New Year presents. In one hand she had the black strings of a large, flower-patterned holdall in which was a big Bernese cake wrapped in a fine white cloth, a present for the young mother. In the other hand she was carrying a second bag, and in this there was a garment for the child as well as a few articles for her own use, in particular, fine white stockings; and under the one arm she had something else, a cardboard box which contained her wreath and her laced cap with its wonderful black silk hair trimmings. Joyfully the greeting of “Welcome in God’s name” was given her from all sides, and she scarcely had time to put down one of her parcels so that she could free her own hand to meet the hands stretched towards her in friendly welcome. From all directions helpful hands reached for her burdens, and there was the young wife standing by the door, and so a new series of greetings began, until the midwife summoned them into the living room: they could surely say to each other inside there what custom demanded on such an occasion.

And with neat gestures the midwife placed the godmother at the table, and the young wife came with the coffee, even though the godmother refused and asserted that she had already had some. Her father’s sister wouldn’t let her leave the house without having something to eat, that was bad for young girls, she said. But after all her aunt was getting old now, and the maids didn’t like getting up early either, that was why she was so late; if it had been left to her, she would have been here long ago. Thick cream was poured into the coffee, and although the godmother protested and said she did not like it, the wife threw a lump of sugar in all the same. For a long time the godmother would not have it that the Bernese cake should be cut for her, but then she had to let a good-sized piece be placed in front of her and to eat it. She didn’t want any cheese, she said; she didn’t need it a bit. The wife said she believed it was made from skimmed milk and did not think much to it on that account, and the godmother had to give in. But she didn’t want any fritters, she said; she just wouldn’t know where to find room for them. It was only that she believed they were not clean and she was used to better quality, was the answer she finally received. What else could she do except eat fritters? While she was being pressed to eat in all kinds of ways, she had drunk her first cup of coffee in short measured sips, and now a real dispute started. The godmother turned the cup upside down and claimed that she had no more room for any further good things, saying people should leave her in peace, or else, what is more, she would have to refuse in even stronger language. Then the wife said she was really sorry that she didn’t like the coffee, she had ordered the midwife most emphatically to make it as good as possible, it really wasn’t her fault that it was so bad that nobody wanted to drink it, and there surely couldn’t be anything wrong with the cream either, she had taken it off the milk in a way she certainly didn’t every day. What was the poor godmother to do except to let them pour her another cup?

For some time now the midwife had been hovering around impatiently, and at last she could restrain herself no longer, but said, “If there’s anything you’d like me to do for you, just tell me, I’ve got time for it!”

“Oh, don’t be rushing us!” the wife said.

The poor godmother, however, who was steaming like a kettle, took the hint, dispatched the hot coffee as quickly as possible, and said, during the pauses forced on her by the burning drink, “I should have been ready long ago, if I hadn’t had to take more than I can get down me, but I’m coming now.”

She got up, unpacked her bags, handed over the Bernese cake, the infant’s garment and the godmother’s own present – a shining neuthaler coin, wrapped up in a beautifully painted piece of paper which had a christening text on it – and made many an apology because everything was not as good as it might be. But the mother interrupted with many an exclamation that that really wasn’t the way to go about it, putting yourself to so much expense that they almost felt they couldn’t accept it; and if they’d known it, they wouldn’t have thought of asking her to be godmother in the first place.

Now the girl too set to work, assisted by the midwife and the lady of the house, and did her utmost to be a beautiful godmother, from shoes and stockings up to the little wreath on top of the precious lace cap. The business took its time in spite of the midwife’s impatience, and the godmother kept on finding something that was not as it should be, now one thing, and now another was not in the right place. Then the grandmother came in and said, “But I want to come in as well and see how lovely our godmother is.” At the same time she let out that the church bells were ringing for the second time, and that both godfathers were in the outer room.

Indeed the two godfathers, an older man and a young man, were sitting outside, scorning the newfangled coffee, which they could have any day, in favour of the steaming mulled wine, this old-fashioned but good Bernese soup, consisting of wine, toasted bread, eggs, sugar, cinnamon and saffron, that equally old-fashioned spice which has to be present at a christening feast in the soup, in the first course after the soup and in the sweetened tea. They were enjoying it, and the older godfather, who was called “Cousin”, made all sorts of jokes with the father of the newborn child and said to him that they didn’t want to spare him today, and judging from the mulled wine he didn’t begrudge it them, and nothing had been stinted in making it, you could see that he must have given his four-gallon sack to the messenger last Tuesday to fetch his saffron from Berne. When they did not know what the cousin meant by this, he said that a little while back his neighbour had had to have a christening and had given the messenger a large sack and six kreuzer with the request to bring him in this sack six centimes’ worth of the yellow powder, a quart or a bit over, that stuff you have to have in everything at christenings, his womenfolk seemed to want it that way.

Then the godmother entered like a young morning sun and was greeted by the two godfathers and brought to the table and a big dishful of mulled wine put in front of her, and she was to get that inside her, she’d got time enough while the baby was being put straight. The poor lass resisted with might and main, and asserted that she had had enough to eat to last her for days, she really couldn’t even breathe any more. But it was no use. Old folk and young were urging her, both seriously and in fun, until she picked up the spoon and, strangely enough, one spoonful after another found its way down. Now, however, the midwife appeared again, this time with the baby beautifully wrapped in his swaddling clothes, and she put his embroidered cap with its pink silk ribbon on him, wrapped him in the lovely quilt, popped the sweetened dummy into his little mouth and said that she didn’t want to keep anybody waiting and had thought she’d get everything ready so that they could start whenever they wanted. Everyone stood round the baby and made complimentary remarks about it, and he was indeed a bonny little boy. The mother was pleased at the praise and said, “I should have liked to come to church too and help to recommend the child to God’s care; for if you’re there yourself when the baby is being christened, you can think better about what you’ve promised. Besides, it’s such a nuisance if I’m not allowed outside the house for a whole week, especially now when we’ve got our hands full with the planting.” But the grandmother said it hadn’t got quite that far, that her daughter-in-law had to go to be churched within the first week like a poor woman, and the midwife added that she didn’t like it at all when young women went with the children to christening. They were always afraid of something going wrong at home, didn’t have the proper spirit in church, and on the way home they were in too much of a hurry, so that nothing should be missed, then they got too hot and sometimes became really ill and even died.

Then the godmother took the baby in his coverlet in her arms, and the midwife laid the beautiful white christening cloth with black tassles at the corners over the child, being careful to avoid the lovely bunch of flowers on the godmother’s breast, and said, “Go on now, in God’s holy name!” And the grandmother put her hands together and quietly said an ardent prayer of blessing. The mother, however, accompanied the procession as far as the door and said, “My little boy, my little boy, now I shan’t be seeing you for three whole hours. I don’t know how I can stand it!” And at once tears came to her eyes, quickly she wiped them away with her apron and went back into the house.