Villa Eden
Chapter 71 : They pa.s.sed a low oak-tree; Roland seized a branch, and shook it, crying "Hang!&

They pa.s.sed a low oak-tree; Roland seized a branch, and shook it, crying "Hang!" and Thistle sprang up, caught the branch with his sharp teeth, and remained hanging to it till Roland told him to let go. Rose performed the same trick, and even outdid herself, for she whirled round several times as she hung, and then, with a sudden jerk, broke off the branch and brought it to Roland. The boy and the dogs were very happy together, and seemed to understand equally well where they were going.

They went by the huntsman's house, where the two ferrets were put into a basket. On the edge of the wood, Roland took out the pretty little yellow creatures, which moved in a sort of snake-like way, and put muzzles on them, caressing them as he did it. They then went into the thicket, where fresh burrows were soon found; over some of the outlets, nets were spread, and Roland was delighted at the skilful way in which Eric fastened them down with pegs, which he made from twigs cut from the trees. The ferrets were let loose, and very soon a rustling was heard, and some rabbits came into the nets, and were soon bitten and shaken to death by the dogs. The ferrets were sent in again, and the hunters stood before the holes to shoot the rabbits as they came out; Roland missed, but Eric hit his mark.

Eric was far from saying anything to Roland of the cruelty shown, especially in the net-hunting, and the manner in which the dogs bit at the eyes of the poor creatures, and never let go till all struggling ceased; he was enough of a hunter to overlook this. Claus knew how to smother pity by inveighing against the confounded rabbits, which gnawed at the young vines and spoiled them and all that was best in the fields; he imitated one of the peasants who always struck at a rabbit with his stick, crying,--

"Have I got you at last, you d.a.m.ned--"

After they had gone farther on, Rose went into a hole; and they heard her barking deep down under ground. She had found a fox. The hunter's excitement awoke in Eric, and they all stood quietly on the watch.

Thistle was also sent into the hole, and his bark was heard far below, but the fox did not come out. Soon Rose appeared with her nose torn and bleeding; she looked up at the hunters and went back into the hole; whining and barking were heard, and at last the dogs came back, streaming with blood, but no fox appeared; they waited long, but in vain.

"They have killed him," said the huntsman in triumph; "we shall never get him."

Roland was full of "tender compa.s.sion for the dogs, but Claus consoled him with the a.s.surance that they would soon get over their hurts.

Roland said he could not understand how dogs could bite a fox to death, when a fox had such sharp teeth; the huntsman shrugged his shoulders, but Eric answered:--

"The fox bites sharply, but does not hold on."

Roland looked at Eric in surprise, feeling that he was a man from whom everything could be learned; all Eric's knowledge had hardly made so much impression as this single remark.

Again they sent the ferrets into a fresh burrow; only one came out; they waited long and left the huntsman on the spot, but the second ferret was not to be seen. Roland was inconsolable for the loss of the fine little creature, so bright and tame. When Eric said that the animal would die of hunger in the woods, with its mouth so firmly muzzled, Roland walked on for some time in silence. Suddenly he put his hand into the basket, took out the other ferret and let it loose, then took aim and shot it down; he left the dead creature lying undisturbed in the wood, and walked home with Eric without a word. He looked long at his gun; Eric knew that it would be many days before its report would be heard again, and so it was.

From the time of this last hunt, a coldness and ill-humor, reluctance and listlessness, appeared in Roland; he was not exactly rebellious, but did everything without interest, and often looked strangely at Eric.

Eric did not know what to do; for several days he was much disquieted, feeling that he was no longer a novelty to Roland, and that the sense of satiety which torments the rich, who never can long enjoy the same thing, increased as it was in Roland by his wandering life, was producing apathy and discontent in him; he must be taught to greet with pleasure the day which brought no new thing, but only a repet.i.tion of the day before.

The huntsman came to Eric, took him aside, and said:--

"I've found the ferret that ran away from us."

"Where?"

"In the wood yonder, there it lies with its muzzle on, starved to death, and eaten up by the ants."

"We will say nothing of it to Roland."

"Certainly not. Do you know what the ferret's name was?"

"No."

"It was Knopf. He only called it 'master,' because you were present. It always vexed me; Herr Knopf is certainly superst.i.tious, dreadfully superst.i.tious, but one of the best men in the world. Roland has told me in confidence, that, on the journey which he made to force you to come back, a spirit appeared to him in the wood one morning, a fairy-princess, as stupid, superst.i.tious men would say,--a wonderful child with light curling hair, but she spoke English,--only think, spirits speak English too now,--she came to him early in the morning in the forest. That's the sort of stuff Herr Knopf has put into his head.

I don't want to say anything against Herr Knopf; he's a good man, he taught poor children for nothing, and did good, much good, but belief in spirits and such nonsense ought to be put an end to. Don't you notice how bad Roland looks now? I think the belief in spirits is to blame for this. Drive it out of his mind right sharply."

Eric doubted whether this was what produced Roland's continued ill-humor, but he was struck by his having told the huntsman something which he had never confided to him. But he would not force his confidence and disturb the boy's mind; he would wait quietly till the cloud pa.s.sed over.

CHAPTER XIII.

FRESH WINE, FRESH SONG, AND FRESH FAME.

The Doctor had called, in the meanwhile, but only for a brief quarter of an hour at a time; he commended Eric for so taking upon himself the entire direction of Roland, and devoting himself to him so exclusively; he desired that no intervention of his should interrupt the inflowing of the moral and spiritual influence.

Eric now detained him, speaking of Roland's paleness, which he thought an indication of sickness.

"Indeed?" cried the Doctor. "Has it taken so soon? I am glad that it has made its appearance on the surface so early and so decidedly."

"What is it? What is it, then?"

"It's all right and normal; symptoms all good. My dear young friend, I call it usually the May-cold. Just consider a moment! Roland was born for a huntsman, and I was afraid you would turn him into a pebble-gatherer or a beetle-sticker. I see very plainly, that you would like to give him a deeper apprehension of life, but there lies the danger that he will take it too seriously; now the best prescription for life is, to take life easily."

Eric chimed in with this, acknowledging that he was far from desiring to make Roland a pattern youth, perfect in every particular. The Doctor continued:--

"As I said before, our lad is troubled with the May-cold. Whenever there is a change in the relations of life, as change of occupation, or marriage, where the previous independence is given up, after the first weeks of bloom, notwithstanding all the happiness enjoyed, comes in the May-cold, just as we see in nature. They say that it comes from the Alps, from the melting of the icebergs there; perhaps icebergs of egotism melt within, and at any rate, it is like a renewed struggle of winter with summer, like a struggle of solitariness with sociality.

Don't be despairing! Let the days of chilly convalescence pa.s.s over the lad, and all will be well. Don't press him hard in these days; he is already beginning to feel as if he had come under a yoke. Moreover, I will give him some medicine, so that he shall think he is not well; this will be an advantage to him, and to you too, for you can then give way to him, as an invalid is expected to be perverse, and to be humored, as a matter of course."

The Doctor now came more frequently. He proposed to Eric to make a longer visit at Mattenheim, in accordance with Weidmann's invitation, as the contemplation of a life full of a many-sided activity would refresh both teacher and pupil. Eric replied that he did not consider it right to leave, for any length of time, the house that had been entrusted to his care. The Doctor a.s.sented, thinking it better that Roland should first become thoroughly familiar with the Rhine-home.

Eric and Roland now often accompanied the Doctor some distance on his rounds, and both acquired together a deeper acquaintance with the life of the Rhineland. The Doctor explained that he had an object in this, holding that it was a very important thing in a man's life to make a point of getting the best wines that could be had, and carrying out his point. Roland could and should do that. It was no less important to procure the good wine of the world, than its beautiful works of art.

And if a sense of his dependence upon the Rhineland were instilled into Roland, much that was n.o.ble would result, especially if he could be brought into connection with the family of Weidmann.

The Doctor was the best of directories, knowing every house and its inmates very intimately, and speaking of everybody with discriminating justice, showing the dark as well as the bright side with equal impartiality. House after house furnished them with a refres.h.i.+ng sketch of life, and cellar after cellar with a refres.h.i.+ng draught.

"They talk about the deterioration of the race," said the Doctor edifyingly, "and there seems to be a chronic ailment, but it is not dangerous. People use themselves as filters and pour in wine; so it has always been; and so it will be. If the sun s.h.i.+nes very hot, they think they are ent.i.tled to drink; and if the weather is disagreeable and wet, they must strengthen themselves with a good draught."

They alighted at a house, which had in front a statue of the Holy Mother with a lantern in her hand.

"Up-stairs here," said the Doctor, "pure genuine wine is sold; the man here supplies the church and the church dignitaries with the communion wine, which must be unadulterated. This man's father is a famous embroiderer of church-cloths, and his brother an ill.u.s.trious painter of saints; and when people can turn their religion to any profit, they it hold it in sacred earnest. The main point is, not to impugn the uprightness of believers, and then they are inclined not to question the uprightness of us unbelievers."

They went on farther to another house, and the Doctor said:--

"Here dwelt a merry rogue, who has actually made the house haunted; he was an old screech-owl, a mason by trade. It's known that he had a little chest made by a carpenter, with a lock by a lock-smith; and this chest he walled into the cellar, which he built alone by himself. It is now believed that there must have been a considerable sum of money concealed therein; and yet he may have been rogue enough to hide there an empty box, in order to play a joke upon those who should come after him. And now the people are undecided whether to pull down the house or not, in order to find the box. It's possible they may find an empty one, and have a demolished house for their pains."

The Doctor gave such a turn to his information about men and things, that Roland could derive advantage from it.

The Doctor greeted in a very friendly way an old man with a crafty countenance, who was sitting in front of his house. The man asked the physician if he would not take another drop of "the black cat," and they went with Eric and Roland into the cellar, where they drank a fiery wine from a cask on which, in fact, a black cat was sitting, though it was an artificial one with s.h.i.+ning gla.s.s eyes. The old man was excessively merry; and clinking gla.s.ses with Roland, he said:--

"Yes, yes, we are all bunglers compared with your father."

Then, with great gusto, he praised the shrewdness and craft of Sonnenkamp, and Eric looked timidly at Roland, who appeared to be but little affected by what was said; when they went away the Doctor said:--

"This is the genuine peasant, for the genuine peasant is really the greatest egotist, thinking only of his own profit, though the whole world beside should fall to pieces. This is the old burgomaster who lent money to people needing it, and when a bad season came, he made an immediate demand for it, with unrelenting harshness, so that their vineyards were sold at public auction; and now he possesses a large landed property, yielding the best wines. Yes; he is a cunning rascal."

This narrative produced a wholly different impression upon Eric from what it did upon Roland, for the latter considered that the rascality was a matter of course. Eric looked askance at the Doctor, for he could not conceive how he could be on such friendly terms with the burgomaster; and when he further asked whether the man was respected, he received an emphatic response in the affirmative, inasmuch as property secured respect in the country.

They also stopped at the gauger's, the good-humored brother of the whole country around, and were led by him through the wine-vaults, and supplied with many a good drop to drink. The gauger always liked to tell stories that were not always fit for a boy to hear, but the Doctor soon led him to a different subject.

The gauger always carried with him some flour bread, which he called his "little sponge." "With straw," he said, "they tie up the wines, and with this little piece of bread, that has been grown from the straw, I fasten in the wine." They had calculated that the gauger had drunk, during his life-time, seventy b.u.t.ts of wine; but he a.s.serted that they had been very tender to him, for he had drunk a great deal more than that.