The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
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It was necessary to put an end to this. The Doctor now determined to insist upon a decision before his departure. When, therefore, they were sitting together in the garden in the evening, and the Proprietor was looking cheerfully and calmly on his fruit trees, the Doctor began the attack:
"I cannot leave this place, my hospitable friend, without reminding you of our contract."
"Of what contract?" inquired their host, like one who did not remember it.
"Regarding the manuscript," continued the Doctor, with emphasis, "which lies concealed in this place."
"Indeed! why you yourself said that every place sounds hollow. So we would have to tear down the house from roof to cellar. I should think we might wait till next spring. When you come to us again; for we should be obliged, under these circumstances, to live in the barns, which now are full."
"The house may, for the present, remain standing," said the Doctor; "but if you still think that the monks took away their monastic property, there is one circumstance which goes against your view. We have discovered at Rossau that the worthy friar, who had concealed the things here in April, died of the pestilence as early as May, according to the church register; here is a 'copy of the entry.'"
The Proprietor looked at the Doctor's memorandum book, closed it and said: "Then his brother monks have taken away the property."
"That is scarcely possible," replied the Doctor, "for he was the last of his order in the monastery."
"Then some of the city people have taken it."
"But the inhabitants of the town abandoned it then, and the place lay for years desolate, in ruins and uninhabited."
"Humph!" began the Proprietor, in good humor; "the learned gentlemen are strict creditors and know how to insists upon their rights. Tell me straightforwardly what you want of me. You must, first of all, point out to me some place that appears suspicious, not only to you, but also to the judgment of others; and that you cannot do with any certainty."
"I know of such a place," answered the Doctor, boldly, "and I wish to suggest to you that the treasure lies there."
The Professor and the Proprietor looked on him with astonishment.
"Follow me into the cellar," cried the Doctor.
A candle was lighted; the Doctor led the way to the place where the wine lay.
"What gives you such victorious confidence?" inquired the Professor, on the way, in a low voice.
"I suspect that you have your secrets," replied the Doctor; "permit me to have mine."
He quickly removed the bottles from the corner, threw the light on the stone, and knocked on the wall with a large key.
"The place is hollow and the stone has a peculiar mark."
"It is true," said the Proprietor; "there is an empty space behind it; it is certainly not small. But the stone is one of the foundation stones of the house, and has not the appearance of ever having been removed from its place."
"After so long a time, it would be difficult to determine that," rejoined the Doctor.
The Proprietor examined the wall himself.
"A large slab lies over it. It would, perhaps, be possible to raise the marked stone from its place." He considered for a moment, and then continued: "I see I must let you have your own way. I will thus make compensation for the first hour of our acquaintance, which has always lain heavy on my conscience. As we three are here in the cellar like conspirators, we will enter into an agreement. I will at once do what I consider to be very useless. In return, whenever you speak or write upon the subject, you must not refuse to bear testimony that I have given in to every reasonable wish."
"We shall see what can be done," replied the Doctor.
"Very well. In the stone quarry at the extremity of my property I have some extra hands at work; they shall remove the stone and then restore it to its place. Thus, I hope, the affair will be forever settled. Ilse, early in the morning let the shelving be removed from the wine-cellar."
The following day the stone-masons came, and the three gentlemen and Ilse descended into the cellar, and looked on curiously while the men exerted their power with pickaxe and crowbar on the square stone. It was placed upon the rock, and great exertions were necessary to loosen it. But the people themselves declared that there was a great cavity behind, and worked with a zeal that was increased by the repute of the haunted house. At last the stone was moved and a dark opening became visible. The spectators approached-both the scholars in anxious suspense; their host and his daughter also full of expectation. One of the stone-masons hastily seized the light and held it before the opening. A slight vapor came out; the man drew back alarmed.
"There is something white in there," he cried, full of fear and hope.
Ilse looked at the Professor, who with difficulty controlled the excitement that worked in his face. He grasped the light, but she kept it from him, and cried out, anxiously: "Not you." She hastened to the opening and thrust her hand into the hollow space. She laid hold of something tangible. A rattling was heard; she quickly withdrew her hand; but, terrified threw what she had laid hold of on the ground. It was a bone.
All gazed in horror at the object on the ground.
"This is a serious answer to your question," exclaimed the Proprietor. "We pay a dear price for our sport."
He took the light and himself searched the opening; a heap of bones lay there. The others stood around in uncomfortable silence. At last the Proprietor threw a skull out into the cellar, and cried out cheerfully, as a man who is relieved from painful feeling:
"They are the bones of a dog!"
"It was a small dog," assented the stone-mason, striking the bone with his pick. The rotten bone broke in pieces.
"A dog!" cried the Doctor, delighted, forgetting for a moment his blighted hope. "That is instructive. The foundation wall of this house must be very old."
"I am rejoiced that you are contented with this discovery," replied the Proprietor, ironically.
But the Doctor would not be disconcerted, and related how, in the early middle ages, there had been a superstitious custom of enclosing something living in the foundation-wall of solid buildings. The custom descended from the ancient heathen times. The cases were rare where such things were found in old buildings, and the skeleton now found was an indisputable confirmation of the custom.
"If it confirms your views," said the Proprietor, "it confirms mine also. Hasten, men, to replace the stone."
Then the stone-mason lighted up and felt again in the opening and declared that there was nothing more there. The workmen restored the stone to its place, the wine was replaced and the matter settled. The Doctor bore the jeering remarks, of which the Proprietor was not sparing, with great tranquillity, and said to him:
"What we have discovered is certainly not much; but we know now with certainty that the manuscript is not to be found in this part of your house, but in some other. I take with me a careful record of all the hollow places in your house, and we do not give up out claims in regard to this discovery; but we consider you from now on as a man who has borrowed the manuscript for his own private use for an indefinite time, and I assure you that our wishes and desires will incessantly hover about this building."
"Pray allow the persons who dwell there to participate in your good wishes," replied the Proprietor, smiling, "and do not forget that in your researches after the manuscript you have in reality found the dog. For the rest, I hope that this discovery will free my house from the ill-repute of containing treasures, and for the sake of this gain I will be quite content with the useless work."
"That is the greatest error of your life," replied the Doctor, with grave consideration; "just the reverse will take place. All people who have an inclination for hidden treasure will take the discovery in this light, that you are deficient in faith and have not employed the necessary solemnities, therefore the treasure is removed from your eyes and the dog placed there as a punishment. I know better than you what your neighbors will record for posterity. Tarry in peace for your awakening, Tacitus! Your most steadfast friend departs,