The third day being over, the friends, in conformity to the engagement
of our renunciants, had to part; and Jarno declared he would now fly so
far into the waste mountains, that no one should be able to discover
him. “There is nothing more frightful,” said he, “in a state like ours,
than to meet an old, true friend, to whom we can communicate our
thoughts without reserve. So long as one is by himself, one fancies
there is no end to the novelties and wonders he is studying: but let the
two talk a while together, right from the heart; one sees how soon all
this is exhausted. Nothing is endless but inanity. Clever people soon
explain themselves to one another, and then they have done. But now I
will dive into the chasms of the rocks, and with them begin a mute,
unfathomable conversation.”
“Have a care,” said Wilhelm, smiling, “lest Fitz come upon thy track.
This time, at least, he succeeded in finding thee.”
“How didst thou manage that?” said Montan. “After all, it was only
chance.”
“Not in the least,” answered Fitz: “I will tell you my secret for a fair
consideration. You mineralogists, wherever you go, keep striking to the
right and left; from every stone, from every rock, breaking off a piece,
as if gold and silver were hid in them. One has but to follow this
trace; and, where any corner shows a fresh breakage, there some of you
have been. One notes and notes, forward and forward, and at last comes
upon the man.”
Fitz was praised and rewarded. The friends parted.--Montan alone, the
little caravan in company. Wilhelm had settled the place they should
make for. The porter proposed a road to it; but the children had taken a
fancy for looking, by the way, at the Giant’s Castle, of which Fitz had
talked so much. Felix was curious about the large, black pillars, the
great door, the cellar, the caves, and vaults, and hoped he might
perhaps find something there,--something of even greater value than the
box.
How he came by this he had, in the interim, informed his father.
Creeping through the cleft, it appeared he had got down into an open
space pretty well lighted, and noticed in the corner of it a large iron
chest, the lid of which, though it was not locked, he could not lift,
but only raise a very little. To get into this, he had called to his
father for the staves, which he had employed partly as props under the
lid, partly as levers to heave it up, and so at length forcing his way
into the chest, had found it wholly empty, except for the little box
which was lying in one of the nooks. This toy they had shown Montan, who
agreed with them in opinion, that it should be kept unopened, and no
violence done to it; for it could not be unlocked except by a very
complicated key.
The porter declined going with the rest to the Giant’s Castle, and
proceeded down the smooth footpath by himself. The others toiled after
Fitz through moss and tangle, and at length reached the natural
colonnade, which, towering over a huge mass of fragments, rose black and
wondrous into the air. Yet, without much regarding what he saw before
his eyes, Felix instantly began inquiring for the other promised
marvels; and, as none of them was to be seen, Fitz could excuse himself
no otherwise than by declaring that these things were never visible
except on Sundays and particular festivals, and then only for a few
hours. The boys remained convinced that the pillared palace was a work
of men’s hands: Wilhelm saw well that it was a work of Nature, but he
could have wished for Montan to speak with on the subject.
They now proceeded rapidly down hill, through a wood of high, taper
larches, which, becoming more and more transparent, erelong exposed to
view the fairest spot you can imagine, lying in the clearest sunshine.
A large garden, seemingly appropriated to use, not ornament, lay richly
furnished with fruit-trees, yet open before their eyes; for the ground,
sloping, on the whole, had been regularly cut into a number of
divisions, now raised, now hollowed in manifold variety, and thus
exhibited a complex waving surface. Several dwelling-houses stood
scattered up and down, so that it seemed as if the space belonged to
several proprietors; yet Fitz assured them that one individual owned and
directed the whole. Beyond the garden stretched a boundless landscape,
beautifully cultivated and planted, in which lakes and rivers might be
distinguished in the distance.
Still descending, they had approached nearer and nearer, and were now
expecting in a few moments to be in the garden, when Wilhelm all at once
stopped short, and Fitz could not hide his roguish satisfaction; for a
yawning chasm at the foot of the mountain opened before them, and showed
on the other side a wall which had hitherto been concealed, steep enough
without, though within it was quite filled up with soil. A deep trench,
therefore, separated them from the garden, into which they were directly
looking. “We have still a good circuit to make,” said Fitz, “before we
get the road that leads in. However, I know an entrance on this side,
which is much shorter. The vaults where the hill-water in time of rain
is let through, in regular quantities, into the garden, open here: they
are high, and broad enough for one to walk along without difficulty.”
The instant Felix heard of vaults, he insisted on taking this passage
and no other. Wilhelm followed the children; and the party descended the
large steps of this covered aqueduct, which was now lying quite dry.
Down below they found themselves sometimes in light, sometimes in
darkness, according as the side-openings admitted day, or the walls and
pillars excluded it. At last they reached a pretty even space, and were
slowly proceeding, when all at once a shot went off beside them; and at
the same time two secret iron-grated doors started out, and enclosed
them on both sides. Not, indeed, the whole of them: Wilhelm and Felix
only were caught. For Fitz, the instant he heard the shot, sprang back;
and the closing grate caught nothing but his wide sleeve: he himself,
nimbly throwing off his jacket, had darted away without loss of a
moment.
The two prisoners had scarcely time to recover from their astonishment,
till they heard voices, which appeared to be slowly approaching. In a
little while some armed men with torches came forward to the grate,
looking with eager eyes what sort of capture they had made. At the same
time they asked if the prisoners would surrender peaceably. “Surrender
is not the word here,” said Wilhelm: “we are already in your power. It
is rather our part to ask, whether you will spare us? The only weapon we
have, I give up to you.” And with these words he handed his hanger
through the grate: this opened directly, and the two strangers were led
forward by the party with great composure. After a short while they
found themselves in a singular place: it was a spacious, cleanly
apartment, with many little windows at the very top of the walls; and
these, notwithstanding the thick iron gratings, admitted light enough.
Seats, sleeping-places, and whatever else is expected in a middling inn,
had been provided; and it seemed as if any one placed here could want
nothing but freedom.
Wilhelm, directly after entering, had sat down to consider his
situation: Felix, on the other hand, on recovering from his
astonishment, broke out into an incredible fury. These large walls,
these high windows, these strong doors, this seclusion, this
restriction, were entirely new to him. He looked round and round, he ran
hither and thither, stamped with his feet, wept, rattled the doors,
struck against them with his fists, nay, was even on the point of
running at them with his head, had not Wilhelm seized him, and held him
fast between his knees. “Do but look at the thing calmly, my son,” began
he; “for impatience and violence cannot help us. The mystery will clear
up; and I must be widely mistaken, or we are fallen into no wicked
hands. Read these inscriptions: ‘To the innocent, deliverance and
reparation; to the misled, compassion; and, to the guilty, avenging
justice.’ All this bespeaks to us that these establishments are works,
not of cruelty, but of necessity. Men have but too much cause to secure
themselves from men. Of ill-wishers there are many, of ill-doers not
few; and, to live fitly, well-doing will not always suffice.” Felix
still sobbed; but he had pacified himself in some degree, more by the
caresses than the words of his father. “Let this experience,” continued
Wilhelm, “which thou gainest so early and so innocently, remain a lively
testimony to thy mind, in how complete and accomplished a century thou
livest. What a journey had human nature to travel before it reached the
point of being mild, even to the guilty, merciful to the injurious,
humane to the inhuman! Doubtless they were men of godlike souls who
first taught this, who spent their lives in rendering the practice of it
possible, and recommending it to others. Of the beautiful, men are
seldom capable, oftener of the good; and how highly should we value
those who endeavor, with great sacrifices, to forward that good among
their fellows!”
Felix, in the course of this consolatory speech, had fallen quietly
asleep on his father’s bosom; and scarcely had the latter laid him down
on one of the ready-made beds, when the door opened, and a man of
prepossessing appearance stepped in. After looking kindly at Wilhelm for
some time, he began to inquire about the circumstances which had led him
by the private passage, and into this predicament. Wilhelm related the
affair as it stood, produced some papers which served to explain who he
was, and referred to the porter, who, he said, must soon arrive on the
other side, by the usual road. This being so far explained, the official
person invited his guest to follow him. Felix could not be awakened, and
his father carried him asleep from the place which had incited him to
such violent passion.
Wilhelm followed his conductor into a fair garden-apartment, where
refreshments were set down, which he was invited to partake of; while
the other went to report the state of matters to his superior. When
Felix, on awakening, perceived a little covered table, fruit, wine,
biscuit, and, at the same time, the cheerful aspect of a wide-open door,
he knew not what to make of it. He ran out, he ran back; he thought he
had been dreaming; and in a little while, with such dainty fare and such
pleasant sights, the preceding terror and all his obstruction had
vanished like an oppressive vision in the brightness of morning.
The porter had arrived; the officer, with another man of a still
friendlier aspect, brought him in; and the business now came to light,
as follows: The owner of this property, charitable in this higher sense,
that he studied to awaken all round him to activity and effort, had, for
several years, been accustomed, from his boundless young plantations, to
give out the small wood to diligent and careful cultivators, gratis; to
the negligent, for a certain price; and to such as wished to trade in
it, likewise at a moderate valuation. But these two latter classes,
also, had required their supplies gratis, as the meritorious were
treated; and, this being refused them, they had attempted stealing
trees. Their attempt succeeded in many ways. This vexed the owner the
more, as not only were the plantations plundered, but, by too early
thinning, often ruined. It had been discovered that the thieves entered
by this aqueduct: so the trap-gate had been erected in the place, with a
spring-gun, which, however, was only meant for a signal. This little boy
had, under various pretexts, often made his appearance in the garden;
and nothing was more natural than that, out of mischief and audacity, he
should lead the stranger by a road which he had formerly discovered for
other purposes. The people could have wished to get hold of him:
meanwhile, his little jacket was brought in, and put by among other
judicial seizures.
Wilhelm was now made acquainted with the owner and his people, and by
them received with the friendliest welcome. Of this family we shall say
nothing more here, as some further light on them and their concerns is
offered us by the subsequent history.
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