Ludmila by Paul Gallico. Part 10.
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But at Steg, the last stopping place before they moved down the Saminatal and entered the rock tunnel to emerge into the world beyond, chief herdsman Alois gave brief and sharp orders; two herdsmen came to the rear of the procession and led the little Weakling forward to the head of the line. There, while many looked aghast and all stared in utter amazement, they took the great black-silver star and heart-studded bell with the polished black leather collar from the leading cow and hung it about her neck. They likewise removed the crown of laurel leaves from the noble brow of the Luzerner champion and draped it about the head of the Weakling, for whom it was too big, and therefore fell slightly askew, giving her an even more coquettish air. In her emaciated state from the great effort she had made, the weight of the big bell was almost more than she could carry. Then the halter lead was put into the hands of Ludmila. The Weakling staggered forward and the two, now at the head of the procession, led the way down the road into the tunnel.
It was wrong and arbitrary, what Alois did, for Schädler’s big Luzerner had fairly won the right to lead them all home a second year and one voice from the crowd protested, “Halloo there, Mr. Chief Herdsman, what is going on? Everyone knows that Schädler’s animal is the winner.”
But with a terrible frown, Alois cried, “Quiet! Saint Ludmila herself has commanded that the Weakling lead us home!” And thereafter none dared dispute his decision.
Soon the dense crowds lining both sides of the road on the other side of the tunnel heard the irregular booming of the big cowbell around the neck of the approaching leader. It would ring, then stop, then ring faintly, again louder as it approached, more faintly again, and once it jangled harshly as though the bearer had fallen.
Murmurs and shivers of excitement ran through the crowd.
Louder and louder sounded the great bell and steadier now.
The moment was at hand.
Out of the mouth of the tunnel stepped a brown elf with cornflowers the color of her eyes braided through her brown hair, leading a small thin cow with a white muzzle, belled, crowned, and garlanded. For a moment they stood blinking in the sunlight. Then a great shout went up from the throng, almost like a hosanna, a cheer and a cry and a greeting and a prayer all in one. Men waved their hats and shouted, women wept and sobbed.
It was true. The miracle had taken place, for there was the evidence before their very eyes. Not only had the poor despised Weakling won the right to wear her milk stool, but the champion’s laurels and winner’s position, the prize of best cow of the year had come to her. Only a saint could have made this possible.
Then the brass band struck up the national anthem of Liechtenstein, the Männerchor burst into song as did the Sängerbund of girls from Mauren and Ruggell, and the women’s choir from Triesenberg.
His Highness, the member of the Royal family, dropped his incognito and stepped forward to pin a glittering medal, the Royal Double Eagle First Class to the Weakling’s collar and pick up the child Ludmila in his arms and kiss her. Herr Can-onicus Josef suddenly knelt in the road, followed by the other members of the clergy, and struck up an “Alleluia” and the next moment men, women, and children in the huge throng of welcomers likewise went to their knees, singing and giving thanks to Him and those on High from Whom all miracles and blessings flow.
And so, her greatest desire and dream of glory came to realization, the little Weakling, burdened with the earthly prizes awarded to her by Heavenly dispensation, looked out upon this strange scene, the towering mountains opposite, the blue thread of the Rhine in the valley far below, the people in their Sunday best kneeling in the road, the black-robed priests, the stately figure of His Highness, and her eyes were gentle and swimming, filled with love and happiness, that all this which she had so much desired had in the end happened to her, and that before her final moment she had been privileged to give.
For the effort and the strain of the last three days had been too much for her, and with that sure instinct of animals, she knew she was looking upon the sunshine and the kindly people whom it had been her duty to feed for the last time. And she was content.
The big bell boomed again. The sun glittered from the golden medal at her collar. Child and animal started forward again down the mountain followed by the gay and colorful procession of the annual return from the high pasturage.