The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
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spend any of thy holiday-time in heaven in coming back to our poor earth, and if then at night thou glidest through the rooms of the old manor, guarding thy treasure and scaring inquisitive meddlers, pray, nod kindly to the man who now approaches to bring thy secret to the light of day, for truly he seeks not honor nor gain for himself, but he conjures you, in the name of all that is good, to assist a well-meaning man.
CHAPTER III.
A FOOL'S ERRAND
Whoever on a certain sunny harvest-morning in August had looked down from the heights in the direction of Rossau, would have observed an object moving along the road between the meadows that extended to the gates of the city. On closer observation two travelers might be perceived, one taller than the other, both wearing light summer clothes, the freshness of which had been sullied by the stormy rain of the last few days. They had both leather traveling-bags, which hung by straps from their shoulders; the taller one wore a broad-brimmed felt hat, the shorter one a straw hat.
The travelers were evidently strangers, for they stopped at times to observe and enjoy the view of the valley and hills, which is seldom the custom with people born in the country. The district had not yet been discovered by pleasure-seekers; there were no smooth paths in the woods for the thin boots of towns-folk; even the carriage road was not a work of art, the water lay in the tracks made by the wheels; the sheep-bells and the axe of the wood-cutter only were heard by the dwellers of the neighborhood, who were working in the fields or passing on their way to their work. And yet the country was not without charm; the woody hills were marked in bold outlines, a stone-quarry might be seen between the fields in the plain, or the head of a rock jutted out from amongst the trees. From the hills on the horizon a small brook wound its course to the distant river, bordered by strips of meadow, behind which the arable land ran up to the woody heights. The lovely landscape looked bright in the morning sunshine.
In the low country in front of the travelers rose to view, surrounded by hills, the village of Rossau, a little country-town with two massive church towers and dark-tiled roofs, which projected above the walls of the place like the backs of a herd of cattle that had crowded together for protection against a pack of wolves.
The strangers looked from their high position with warm interest on the chimneys and towers behind the old discolored and patched walls that lay before them. In that place had once been preserved a treasure, which, if found again, would interest the whole civilized world and excite hundreds to intellectual labor. The landscape looked exactly like other German landscapes, and the village was exactly like other German villages; and yet there was an attraction about the place that inspired a joyful hope in the travelers. Was it the globe-like ornament that crowned the stout old tower? or was it the arch of the gate which just veiled from the travelers in alluring darkness the entrance to the town? or the stillness of the empty valley, in which the place lay without suburbs and outhouses, as the towns are portrayed on old maps? or the herds of cattle that went out of the gate into the open space, and bounded merrily on the pasture ground? or was it perhaps the keen morning air which blew about the temples of the wanderers? Both felt that something remarkable and promising hovered over the valley in which, as searchers of the past, they were entering.
"Imagine the landscape as it once appeared to the eye," began the Professor; "the forest, in olden times, encircled the town more closely; the hills seemed higher, the valley deeper; the monastery then lay, with the dwellings of its dependants, as in a deep basin. There, to the south, where the country sharply rises, the monks had their vineyards. Gradually the houses of the town drew about the monastery. Take from those towers beyond us the caps that were placed upon them a century ago, give them back their old pinnacles, place here and there a turret on the walls, and you have an ideal, wondrously beautiful picture of mediaeval days."
"And upon the same road that leads us thither, a learned monk once strode with his precious manuscripts towards the quiet valley; there to teach his companions, or to shield himself, perhaps, from powerful enemies," the Doctor said, with enthusiasm.
The travelers passed by the pasture ground; the herdsmen looked with indifference at the strangers; but the cows placed themselves by the edge of the ditch and stared, while the young ones of the herd bellowed at them inquiringly. They went through the dark arch of the gate and looked curiously along the streets. It was a poor little town, the main street alone was paved, and that badly. Not far from the gate the sloping beam of a well projected high in the air, and from it hung along pole with a bucket attached. Few people were to be seen, those who were not working in the houses were occupied in the field; for the straws which stuck in the stone crevices of the arch of the gate showed that harvest wagons were carrying the fruits of the fields to the farm-yards of the citizens. Near many of the houses there were open wooden doors, through which one could look into the yard and barns, and over the dung heap on which small fowls were pecking. The last century had altered the place but little, and the low houses still stood with their gables to the front. Instead of the coats of arms, there projected into the street the signs of artisans, carved in tin or wood, and painted-such as a large wooden boot; a griffin, holding enormous shears in its hand; or a rampant lion, that extended a bretzel; or, as the most beautiful masterpiece of all, a regular hexagon of colored glass panes.
"Much has been retained of mediæval times here," said the Professor.
The friends came to the market-place, an irregular space, the little houses of which were adorned with bright paint. There on an insignificant building prominently stood a red dragon with a curled tail, carved out of a board, and supported in the air on an iron pole. Upon it was painted, in ill-formed letters; "The Dragon Inn."
"See," said Fritz, pointing to the dragon, "the fancy of the artist has carved him with a pike's head and thick teeth. The dragon is the oldest treasure-preserver of our legends. It is remarkable how firmly the recollection of this legendary animal everywhere clings to the people. Probably this sign-board originates from some tradition of the place."
They ascended the white stone steps into the house, utterly unconscious that they had long been watched by sharp eyes. A citizen, who was taking his morning draught, exclaimed to the stout host, "Who can these be? They do not look like commercial travelers; perhaps one of them is the new parson from Kirchdorf."
"Parsons don't look like that," said the inn-keeper, decidedly, who knew men better; "they are strangers on foot, no carriage and no luggage."
The strangers entered, placed themselves at a red-painted table, and ordered breakfast. "A beautiful country, mine host," began the Professor; "magnificent trees in your forests."
"Yes," answered the host.
"A wealthy neighborhood, apparently," continued the Professor.
"People complain that they do not earn enough," replied the host.
"How many clergy have you in the place?"
"Two," said the host, more politely. "But the old pastor is dead; meanwhile, there is a candidate here."
"Is the other pastor at home?"
"I do not know," said the landlord.
"Have you a court of justice here?"
"We have a Justice of the Peace; he is now here-court is in session to-day."
"Was there not in former times a monastery in the city?" said the Doctor, taking up the examination.
The citizen and the landlord looked at each other. "That is long since," replied the master of the inn.
"Does not the Manor of Bielstein lie in the neighborhood?" inquired Fritz.
Again the citizen and the landlord looked significantly at each other.
"It lies somewhere here in the neighborhood," answered the landlord, with reserve.
"How long does it take to go to the manor?" asked the Professor, irritated by the short answers of the man.
"Do you wish to go there?" inquired the landlord. "Do you know the owner?"
"No," answered the Professor.
"Have you any business with him?"
"That is our affair," answered the Professor, curtly.
"The road leads