Villa Eden
Chapter 53 : Roland gave an indirect reply. And now the teamster told him that he himself was an hon

Roland gave an indirect reply. And now the teamster told him that he himself was an honest fellow, that he had earned by hard work everything which he had upon his back, and he would go hungry and beg, before he would get anything by dishonest means. He advised Roland, if he had done anything which made him afraid of being punished--if perhaps he had stolen the ring--he had better return and give everything up. Roland set the man at rest.

The road led through a small forest of handsome oak-trees. The screeching of an owl was heard, Sounding like a mocking laugh.

"Thank G.o.d," said the teamster, "that you are with me; did you hear that laugh?"

"That is no laugh, that was a screech-owl."

"Yes, screech-owl--that's the laughing spirit."

"The laughing-spirit? Tell me what that is."

"Yes; my mother heard it once in broad daylight, when she was just a little girl. The children were at one time out there in the wood, to get acorns. You perhaps know that they shake down the acorns and place a white cloth under the tree, and catch them in that; it makes the best food for hogs. Well, the children are in the woods on a fine afternoon in autumn, the boys get up into the tree and shake down the acorns, and there is such a rattling! Then they hear, all at once, in the thicket a loud laugh. 'What is that?'--'O,' says my mother, 'that is a spirit.'

'What!' says a saucy fellow there, 'if it's a spirit, then I will just for once take a look at him.' He goes into the thicket, and when he once gets into the thicket, there sits a mighty little dwarf upon a tree-stump; his head is almost bigger than his whole body, he is gray all over, and he has a long gray beard. And the boy asks, 'Is't you that laughed so?' 'n.o.body else,' says the dwarf, and laughs once more, exactly as before. 'You have shaken down the acorns, but there is one fallen down under the cloth, deep into the moss, that you will not find, and out of that acorn will grow up a tree, and when it is large enough it will be cut down, and out of one part of the boards a cradle wilt be made, and out of the other part a door, and a child will be laid in the cradle, and when that child shall open that door for the first time, I shall be released. Until that time I must wander about, because I have been a forest-trespa.s.ser, and lived on dishonest means.'

The little dwarf laughs again, and then vanishes into the tree-stump Since then he's been heard many a time, but n.o.body's seen him again.

Everybody knows the oak-tree in the forest, but no one disturbs it."

Roland shuddered. He did not believe in the story, but he gave attention while the teamster continued to relate to him how hard it was to get rid of possessions dishonestly acquired.

Gradually it began to be twilight. Roland extended his hand to the teamster, and bade him good-bye, as he wished to stay here and wait awhile. The teamster seated himself upon the wagon-shafts, and fixed himself comfortably, as it was now day, and he could doze a little.

The boy sat down upon a pile of stones, gazing into vacancy, and listening to the gradual dying away in the distance of the rattling and creaking wagon. For the first time in his life, he represented to himself in imagination the way in which a human being lives. He saw, as in a dream, the teamster arriving at his place of destination, he saw him lying in the shed upon the bundle of hay which he afterwards threw to his horses.

Roland had never yet been so alone, so without attendance, so conscious that no one could call to him; it seemed that he now saw, for the first time, the world and all that is in it. He followed the path of a little beetle, which crept swiftly along the ground and scrambled up a stalk.

Incomprehensible thoughts were stirring in his youthful spirit. What an infinite fulness of existence is the world! In the hedges of wild roses, just opening their buds by the roadside, sat motionless beetles and insects of all kinds, and a great buzzing and humming came from one open flower-cup to another. Here had beetles, b.u.t.terflies, flies, and spiders spent the night, and the well-roofed snails were quietly housed upon the twigs.

He saw a field-mouse come out of its hole; first it remained resting upon the edge, listening, looking round, moving its chaps, and finally it slipped out, and quickly disappeared into another hole among the gra.s.s. A variegated beetle, in the early morning, ran across the field-path, fearing the public road, and feeling perfectly safe only among the thicket of the grain.

A hare ran out, and Devil sprang after him; Roland involuntarily felt at his side to seize hold of his gun.

As if emerging from beneath the surface of an overwhelming flood of impressions, Roland rose up. The sun had risen; he could not endure its splendor, and with eyes fixed upon the ground he went on. But his step lagged, for a voice spoke in him:--

"Turn back to father and mother!" But suddenly he cried aloud,--

"Eric!"

"Eric!" was repeated again in multiple echoes, and Roland walked on now, as if called by the mountains themselves. It seemed to him, not as if he walked, but as if he were lifted up and carried along. The night without sleep, the wine, all that he had experienced, excited his imagination, and it seemed as if he must now meet with something which no one else had ever met with--something inexpressible, incomprehensible, miraculous. He looked round, expecting to see it; something must certainly come to him and say, "For thee have I waited; art thou here at last?" And as he thus looked round, he noticed that the dog had left him. The wood yonder was near, the dog had evidently run after a hare or a wild rabbit. Roland whistled, he wished to call aloud, "Devil! Devil!" but he did not utter the word. He called the old name, "Griffin!" The dog bounded towards him, his tongue lolling from his mouth; he was wet with the dew of the corn-field through which he had run. Roland found it difficult to keep the dog off, for he seemed perfectly happy to have his name again; he looked up intelligently, panting quickly.

"Yes, your name is Griffin!" Roland cried to him. "Now down!" The dog kept close to his feet.

As the road now led through the forest, Roland turned aside, and laid himself down on the moss under a fir-tree; the birds sang over his head, and the cuckoo called. The dog sat near him, and seemed almost jealous that Roland did not vouchsafe him a single glance. Roland parted his jaws, and took delight in the magnificent teeth; then he said,--his own hunger might have made him think of it,--

"The next place we come to where there's a butcher, you shall have a sausage."

The dog licked his chaps, jumped round and round as if he understood the words, chased the crows which were that early looking for their food in the field, and barked at the rising sun.

The tired boy was soon asleep; the dog placed himself by his side, but he knew his duty, and did not lie down; he remained sitting, and resisted sleep. Occasionally he winked, however, as if it were hard work to keep his weary eyes open; then he shook his head, and kept faithful watch by his master. Suddenly Roland awoke. A child's voice awakened him.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.

Roland rubbed his eyes; before him stood a child, a little girl in a snow-while dress and blue sash. Her face was rosy, great blue eyes beamed out from it, and long golden curls hung loose over her neck. In her hand she held a bunch of wild-flowers.

Griffin stood in front of the child, and kept her from coming nearer.

"Back, Griffin!" cried Roland, rising; the dog fell behind his master.

"This is the German forest!" said the child with a foreign accent, and a voice that might belong to a princess in a fairy tale. "This is the German forest! I have only been gathering flowers. Are you the forest prince?"

"No, but who are you?"

"I have come from America. My uncle brought me here this morning, and now I am to stay in Germany."

"Come, Lilian! Where are you staying so long?" cried a man's voice from the road.

Roland saw through the trees an open carriage, and a tall, stately gentleman with snow-white hair.

"I'm coming directly," answered the child; "I have some beautiful flowers."

"Here, take this one from me," said Roland, gathering a full-blown lily of the valley.

The little girl threw down all the flowers which she held, took Roland's, cried, "Good-bye," and ran to the carriage. The man lifted her in as she pointed back to the wood; the carriage rolled away, and Roland stood once more alone.

Whoever could then have looked down from the vault of heaven would have seen a marvel, for at the very moment when the child was talking with Roland, Sonnenkamp stood on the terrace, lost in thoughts which made him s.h.i.+ver in the frosty morning air.

Roland pressed his hand to his brow. Had it really happened, or had he only dreamed? He still heard the roll of the carriage in the distance, and the plucked flowers on the ground bore witness that he was living in the actual world. But had the child really said that she was from America? Why had he not followed her then? Why had he not spoken to the old man? And now no one could tell him who they were, and whither the child had gone.

For a while Roland gazed at the flowers before him, but picked up none of them. Griffin barked at him, as if to say, Yes, and men a.s.sert that there are no more miracles! He sniffed round the gathered flowers, then ran off on the track of the child and of the carriage, as if he wished to fulfil his master's desire to detain the people, that he might talk with them. Roland whistled and called him; Griffin came, and Roland reproved him:--

"You don't deserve to have any sausage, you are so unfaithful."

Griffin lay down beseechingly at his feet; he could not explain how good his intention had been.

"Well, now we will go," said Roland. And they took up their march again.

He heard the whistle of a locomotive in the distance, and went in that direction. The wood was soon pa.s.sed, and the road led again through vineyards. On a side-path Roland saw several women carrying powdered slate, from a great heap, into a newly-planted vineyard. On its border, near a hedge, burned a fire, close to which stood pots, whose contents an old woman was stirring with a dry bough. Roland stopped, and the old woman called out to ask him to join them; he went up to the group, and saw that coffee was boiling. The other women, young and old, came nearer, and there was much jesting and laughter. They turned their baskets up and sat upon them; such a seat was also prepared for Roland, and a sort of cus.h.i.+on placed upon it, as they asked him whether he were not a prince. Roland answered, no; but it flattered him to be taken for a prince in this way; he was very condescending, and knew how to joke with his companions. An old vine-dresser, the director of the work, told Roland, whom he held in some regard as being of the masculine gender, that he drank no coffee: it was a stupid custom, which sent money out of the country to America, never to come back.

Roland was struck by this second mention of America. The whole party listened attentively when he told them that it was not coffee, but sugar, which came from America.

"And our sugar," said the old woman, "has all staid in America, for we haven't any."

The first cup, and the cream off the milk, were given to Roland, with a bit of black bread. He wished to give the people something in payment, but now discovered that he had not his porte-monnaie about him. He knew that he had had it in the inn; the knavish-looking hostler must certainly have stolen it from him. He soon overcame his trouble about the lost money, however, and told the people that, some time or other, he would show kindness to a stranger, in return for what he had received.