The little country of Rudolstadt in which Keilhau lies had had its
revolution, though it was but a small and bloodless one. True, the
insurrection had nothing to do with human beings, but involved the
destruction of living creatures. Greater liberty in hunting was
demanded.
This might seem a trivial matter, yet it was of the utmost importance to
both disputants. The wide forests of the country had hitherto been
the hunting-grounds of the prince, and not a gun could be fired there
without his permission. To give up these “happy hunting-grounds” was
a severe demand upon the eager sportsman who occupied the Rudolstadt
throne, and the rustic population would gladly have spared him had it
been possible.
But the game in Rudolstadt had become a veritable torment, which
destroyed the husbandmen’s hopes of harvests. The peasant, to save his
fields from the stags and does which broke into them in herds at sunset,
tried to keep them out by means of clappers and bad odours. I have seen
and smelled the so-called “Frenchman’s oil” with which the posts were
smeared, that its really diabolical odour--I don’t know from what
horrors it was compounded--might preserve the crops. The ornament of
the forests had become the object of the keenest hate, and as soon
as--shortly before we entered Keilhau--hunting was freely permitted, the
peasants gave full vent to their rage, set off for the woods with the
old muskets they had kept hidden in the garrets, or other still
more primitive weapons, and shot or struck down all the game they
encountered. Roast venison was cheap for weeks on Rudolstadt tables, and
the pupils had many an unexpected pleasure.
The hunting exploits of the older scholars were only learned by us
younger ones as secrets, and did not reach the teachers’ ears until long
after.
But the woods furnished other pleasures besides those enjoyed by the
sportsman. Every ramble through the forest enriched our knowledge of
plants and animals, and I soon knew the different varieties of stones
also; yet we did not suspect that this knowledge was imparted according
to a certain system. We were taught as it were by stealth, and how many
pleasant, delicious things attracted us to the class-rooms on the wooded
heights!
Vegetation was very abundant in the richly watered mountain valley. Our
favourite spring was the Schaalbach at the foot of the Steiger,--[We
pupils bought it of the peasant who owned it and gave it to
Barop.]--because there was a fowling-floor connected with it, where
I spent many a pleasant evening. It could be used only after
breeding-time, and consisted of a hut built of boughs where the
birdcatcher lodged. Flowing water rippled over the little wooden rods
on which the feathered denizens of the woods alighted to quench their
thirst before going to sleep. When some of them--frequently six at a
time--had settled on the perches in the trough, it was drawn into the
but by a rope, a net was spread over the water and there was nothing
more to do except take the captives out.
The name of the director of this amusement was Merbod. He could imitate
the voices of all the birds, and was a merry, versatile fellow, who knew
how to do a thousand things, and of whom we boys were very fond.
The peasant Bredernitz often took us to his crow-hut, which was a hole
in the ground covered with boughs and pieces of turf, where the hunters
lay concealed. The owl, which lured the crows and other birds of prey,
was fastened on a perch, and when they flew up, often in large flocks,
to tease the old cross-patch which sat blinking angrily, they were shot
down from loop-holes which had been left in the hut. The hawks which
prey upon doves and hares, the crows and magpies, can thus easily be
decimated.
We had learned to use our guns in the playground. The utmost caution was
enforced, and although, as I have already remarked, we handled our own
guns when we were only lads of twelve years old, I can not recall a
single accident which occurred.
Once, during the summer, there was a Schutzenfest, in which a large
wooden eagle was shot from the pole. Whoever brought down the last
splinter became king. This honour once fell to my share, and I was
permitted to choose a queen. I crowned Marie Breimann, a pretty, slender
young girl from Brunswick, whose Greek profile and thick silken hair had
captivated my fancy. She and Adelheid Barop, the head-master’s daughter,
were taught in our classes, but Marie attracted me more strongly than
the diligent Keilhau lassies with their beautiful black eyes and
the other two blooming and graceful Westphalian girls who were also
schoolmates. But the girls occupied a very small place in our lives.
They could neither wrestle, shoot, nor climb, so we gave them little
thought, and anything like actual flirtation was unknown--we had so many
better things in our heads. Wrestling and other sports threw everything
else into the shade. Pretty Marie, however, probably suspected which
of my school-mates I liked best, and up to the time of my leaving the
institute I allowed no other goddess to rival her. But there were plenty
of amusements at Keilhau besides bird-shooting.
I will mention the principal ones which came during the year, for to
describe them in regular order would be impossible.
Of the longer walks which we took in the spring and summer the most
beautiful was the one leading through Blankenburg to the entrance of the
Schwarzathal, and thence through the lofty, majestically formed group
of cliffs at whose foot the clear, swift Schwarza flows, dashing and
foaming, to Schwarzburg.
How clearly our songs echoed from the granite walls of the river valley,
and how lively it always was at “The Stag,” whose landlord possessed a
certain power of attraction to us boys in his own person; for, as the
stoutest man in Thuringia, he was a feast for the eyes! His jollity
equalled his corpulence, and how merrily he used to jest with us lads!
Of the shorter expeditions I will mention only the two we took most
frequently, which led us in less than an hour to Blankenburg or
Greifenstein, a large ruin, many parts of which were in tolerable
preservation. It had been the home of Count Gunther von Schwarzburg, who
paid with his life for the honour of wearing the German imperial crown a
few short months.
We also enjoyed being sent to the little town of Blankenburg on errands,
for it was the home of our drawing-master, the artist Unger, one of
those original characters whom we rarely meet now. When we knew him, the
handsome, broad-shouldered man, with his thick red beard, looked as
one might imagine Odin. Summer and winter his dress was a grey woollen
jacket, into which a short pipe was thrust, and around his hips a broad
leather belt, from which hung a bag containing his drawing materials.
He cared nothing for public opinion, and, as an independent bachelor,
desired nothing except “to be let alone,” for he professed the utmost
contempt for the corrupt brood yclept “mankind.” He never came to our
entertainments, probably because he would be obliged to wear something
in place of his woollen jacket, and because he avoided women, whom
he called “the roots of all evil.” I still remember how once, after
emptying the vials of his wrath upon mankind, he said, in reply to the
question whether he included Barop among the iniquitous brood, “Why, of
course not; he doesn’t belong to it!”
There was no lack of opportunity to visit him, for a great many persons
employed to work for the school lived in Blankenburg, and we were known
to be carefully watched there.
I remember two memorable expeditions to the little town. Once my brother
burned his arm terribly during a puppet-show by the explosion of some
powder provided for the toy cannon.
The poor fellow suffered so severely that I could not restrain my tears,
and though it was dark, and snow lay on the mountains, off I went to
Blankenburg to get the old surgeon, calling to some of my school-mates
at the door to tell them of my destination. It was no easy matter to
wade through the snow; but, fortunately, the stars gave me sufficient
light to keep in the right path as I dashed down the mountain to
Blankenburg. How often I plunged into ditches filled with snow and
slid down short descents I don’t know; but as I write these lines I can
vividly remember the relief with which I at last trod the pavement of
the little town. Old Wetzel was at home, and a carriage soon conveyed us
over the only road to the institute. I was not punished. Barop only laid
his hand on my head, and said, “I am glad you are back again, Bear.”
Another trip to Blankenburg entailed results far more serious--nay,
almost cost me my life.
I was then fifteen, and one Sunday afternoon I went with Barop’s
permission to visit the Hamburgers, but on condition that I should
return by nine o’clock at latest.
Time, however, slipped by in pleasant conversation until a later hour,
and as thunder-clouds were rising my host tried to keep me overnight.
But I thought this would not be allowable, and, armed with an umbrella,
I set off along the road, with which I was perfectly familiar.
But the storm soon burst, and it grew so dark that, except when the
lightning flashed, I could not see my hand before my face. Yet on I
went, though wondering that the path along which I groped my way led
upward, until the lightning showed me that, by mistake, I had taken the
road to Greifenstein. I turned back, and while feeling my way through
the gloom the earth seemed to vanish under my feet, and I plunged
headlong into a viewless gulf--not through empty space, however, but a
wet, tangled mass which beat against my face, until at last there was a
jerk which shook me from head to foot.
I no longer fell, but I heard above me the sound of something tearing,
and the thought darted through my mind that I was hanging by
my trousers. Groping around, I found vine-leaves, branches, and
lattice-work, to which I clung, and tearing away with my foot the cloth
which had caught on the end of a lath, I again brought my head where
it should be, and discovered that I was hanging on a vine-clad wall. A
flash of lightning showed me the ground not very far below and, by the
help of the espalier and the vines I at last stood in a garden.
Almost by a miracle I escaped with a few scratches; but when I
afterwards went to look at the scene of this disaster cold chills ran
down my back, for half the distance whence I plunged into the garden
would have been enough to break my neck.
Our games were similar to those which lads of the same age play now, but
there were some additional ones that could only take place in a wooded
mountain valley like Keilhau; such, for instance, were our Indian
games, which engrossed us at the time when we were pleased with Cooper’s
“Leather-Stocking,” but I need not describe them.
When I was one of the older pupils a party of us surprised some
“Panzen”--as we called the younger ones--one hot afternoon engaged in
a very singular game of their own invention. They had undressed to the
skin in the midst of the thickest woods and were performing Paradise
and the Fall of Man, as they had probably just been taught in their
religious lesson. For the expulsion of Adam and our universal mother
Eve, the angel--in this case there were two of them--used, instead of
the flaming sword, stout hazel rods, with which they performed their
part of warders so overzealously that a quarrel followed, which we older
ones stopped.
Thus many bands of pupils invented games of their own, but, thank
Heaven, rarely devised such absurdities. Our later Homeric battles any
teacher would have witnessed with pleasure. Froebel would have greeted
them as signs of creative imagination and “individual life” in the boys.