The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
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both from head to foot.
"There are no Jesuits there, I suppose," he said; "but if you come here to find some hidden treasure, your journey is useless; you will find nothing."
The friends looked at each other; they were near the house, but far from the goal.
"You make us feel," answered the Professor, "that we have approached your dwelling without an introduction. Although you have already made a guess as to the object of our journey, yet I beg of you to permit us to make an explanation before fewer witnesses."
The dignified demeanor of the Professor did not fail to have an effect. "If you really have business with me, it would be better certainly to settle it in the house. Follow me, gentlemen." He lifted his cap a little, pointed with his hand to the gate, and went ahead. "Nero, you brute, can't you be quiet?"
The Professor and the Doctor followed, while the farm hands and laborers and the growling dog closed in behind. Thus the strangers were conducted in a not very cordial manner to the house. In spite of their unpleasant position, they looked with curiosity at the great farmyard, the work going on in the barns, and a flock of large geese which, disturbed by the party, waddled cackling across the road. Then their eyes fell upon the dwelling itself, the broad stone steps with benches on both sides, the vaulted door, and the white washed escutcheon on the keystone. They entered a roomy hall, the Proprietor hung up his cap, laid hold with strong hand of the latch of the sitting-room door, and again made a movement of the hand, which was intended to be polite and to invite the strangers to enter. "Now, that we are alone," he began, "how can I serve you? You have already been announced to me as two treasure-seekers. If you are that, I must begin by plainly telling you that I will not encourage such follies. Apart from that, I am glad to see you."
"But we are not treasure-seekers," rejoined the Professor; "and as we have kept the object of our journey a secret everywhere, we do not understand how you could hear so erroneous a report concerning the occasion of our coming."
"The shoemaker of my steward brought him the intelligence together with a pair of mended boots; he saw you at the tavern in the town, and grew suspicious because of your questions."
"He has exercised more ingenuity than was called for by our harmless questions," answered the Professor. "And yet he was not altogether wrong."
"Then there is something in it," interrupted the Proprietor, gloomily; "in that case I must beg you, gentlemen, not to trouble yourselves or me further. I have no time for such nonsense."
"First of all, have the goodness to hear us before so curtly withdrawing your hospitality," replied the Professor, calmly. "We have come with no other aim than to impart to you something concerning the importance of which you may yourself decide. And not only we, but others, might reproach you if you refused our request without taking it into consideration. The matter concerns you more than us."
"Of course," said the host, "we are acquainted with this style of speech."
"Not quite," continued the Professor; "there is a difference according to who uses it, and to what purpose."
"Well, then, in the devil's name, speak, but be clear," exclaimed the Proprietor, impatiently.
"Not till you have shown yourself ready," continued the Professor, "to pay the attention the importance of the subject deserves. A short explanation will be necessary, and you have not even invited us to sit down."
"Be seated," replied the Proprietor, and offered chairs.
The Professor began: "A short time ago, among other written records of the monks of Rossau, I accidentally found some observations in a manuscript which may be of the greatest importance to the branch of learning to which I devote myself."
"And what is your branch of learning?" interrupted the host, unmoved.
"I am a philologist."
"That means one who studies ancient languages?" asked the Proprietor.
"It is so," continued the Professor. "It is stated by a monk, in the volume I have mentioned, that about the year 1500 there existed in the monastery a valuable manuscript, containing a history by the Roman, Tacitus. The work of the renowned historian is only very imperfectly preserved to us in some other well-known manuscripts. A second notice from the same book, in April, 1637, mentions that during the troublous wartimes the last monks of the monastery had concealed from the Swedes their church treasures and manuscripts in a hollow, dry place in the Manor-house of Bielstein. These are the words I have found; I have nothing further to impart to you. We have no doubt of the genuineness of both notices. I have brought with me an abstract of the passages concerning it, and I am ready to submit the original to your inspection, or that of any competent judge whom you may choose. I will only add now that both I and my friend know well how unsatisfactory is the communication we make to you, and how uncertain is the prospect that after two centuries any of the buried possessions of the monastery should be forthcoming. And yet we have made use of a vacation to impart to you this discovery, even at the probable risk of a fruitless search. But we felt ourselves bound in duty to make this journey, not especially on your account-although this manuscript, if found; would be of great value to you-but principally in the interest of science, for in that point of view such a discovery would be invaluable."
The Proprietor had listened attentively, but he left untouched the paper that the Professor had laid on the table before him. Then he began: "I see that you do not mean to deceive me, and that you tell me the whole truth with the best intentions. I understand your explanation. Your Latin I cannot read; but that is not necessary, for, with regard to this matter, I believe you. But," he continued, laughing, "there is one thing which the learned gentlemen living so far away do not know, and that is, that this house has the misfortune to be considered throughout the whole country as a place in which the old monks have concealed treasures."
"That was not, of course, unknown to us," rejoined the Doctor, "and it would not diminish the significance of these written records."
"Then you were greatly in error. It is surely clear that such a report, which has been believed in a country through many generations, has meanwhile stirred up persons who are superstitious and greedy of gain, to discover these supposed treasures. How can you imagine that you are the first to conceive the thought of making a search? This is an old, strong-built house, but it would be stronger still if it did not show traces from cellar to roof that in former times holes have been made and the damage left unrepaired. Only a few years ago I had, at much cost and trouble, to place new beams into the roof, because roof and ceiling were sinking, and it appeared, on examination, that unscrupulous men had sawed off a piece of the rafter, in order to grope into a corner of the roof. And I tell you frankly, that if I have met with anything disagreeable from the old house, in which for twenty years I have experienced both happiness and misfortune, it has been from this troublesome report. Even now an investigation is being carried on in the town respecting a treasure-seeker, who has deceived credulous people in giving out that he could conjure up treasures from this hill. His accomplices are still being tracked. You may ascribe it to your questions in the town, that the people there, who are much excited because of the deception, have taken you to be assistants of the impostor. My rude greeting was also owing to this. I must therefore ask your pardon for it."
"Then you will not agree," asked the Professor, dissatisfied, "to make use of our communication for further researches?"
"No," replied the Proprietor, "I will not make such a fool of myself. If your book mentions nothing more than what you have told me, this account is of little use. If the monks have concealed anything here, it is a hundred to one that they have taken it away again in quieter times. And even if, contrary to all probability, the concealed objects should remain in their place-as since then some hundred years have passed-other hungry people would long ago have disinterred them. These are, pardon me, nursery stories, only fit for spinning-rooms. I have a great aversion to all these notions that necessitate pulling down walls. The husbandman should dig in his fields and not in his house; his treasures lie beneath God's sun."
The cold demeanor of the man made the Professor's blood boil. He with difficulty controlled his rising anger, and, approaching the window, looked out at a bevy of sparrows that were twittering vehemently at one another. At last, turning round, he began: -
"The