Here at last we again step on firmer ground, the localities of which we
can settle with some probability; though still here and there on our way
there occur a few uncertainties, which it is not in our power altogether
to clear up.
As Wilhelm, in order to reach any point of the line marked out by the
first arrow, had to proceed obliquely through the country, he found
himself necessitated to perform the journey on foot, leaving his luggage
to be carried after him. For this walk of his, however, he was richly
rewarded; meeting at every step, quite unexpectedly, with loveliest
tracts of scenery. They were of that sort which the last slope of a
mountain region forms in its meeting with the plain country; bushy
hills, their soft declivities employed in domestic use; all level spaces
green; nowhere aught steep, unfruitful, or unploughed to be noticed.
Erelong he reached the main valley, into which the side-waters flowed;
and this, too, was carefully cultivated, graceful when you looked over
it, with taper trees marking the bends of the river, and of the brooks
which poured into it. On looking at his map, his indicator, he observed
with surprise that the line drawn for him cut directly through this
valley; so that, in the first place, he was at least on the right road.
An old castle, in good repair, and seemingly built at different periods,
stood forth on a bushy hill, at the foot of which a gay hamlet stretched
along, with its large inn rising prominent among the other houses.
Hither he proceeded, and was received by the landlord kindly enough, yet
with an excuse that he could not be admitted, unless by the permission
of a party who had hired the whole establishment for a time; on which
account he, the landlord, was under the necessity of sending all his
guests to the older inn, which lay farther up the hamlet. After a short
conference, the man seemed to bethink himself, and said, “Indeed, there
is no one of them at home even now: but this is Saturday, and the
bailiff will not fail to be here soon; he comes every week to settle the
accounts of the last, and make arrangements for the next. Truly, there
is a fair order reigns among these men, and a pleasure in having to do
with them, though they are strict enough; for, if they yield one no
great profit, it is sure and constant.” He then desired his new guest to
amuse himself in the large upper hall, and await what further might
occur.
Here Wilhelm, on entering, found a large, clean apartment, except for
benches and tables altogether empty. So much the more was he surprised
to see a large tablet inserted above one of the doors, with these words
marked on it in golden letters, _Ubi homines sunt modi sunt_; which in
modern tongue may signify, that, where men combine in society, the way
and manner in which they like to be and to continue together is directly
established. This motto made our wanderer think: he took it as a good
omen; finding here, expressed and confirmed, a principle which he had
often, in the course of life, perceived for himself to be furthersome
and reasonable. He had not waited long when the bailiff made his
appearance; who, being forewarned by the landlord, after a short
conversation, and no very special scrutiny, admitted Wilhelm on the
following terms: To continue three days; to participate quietly in
whatever should occur; and, happen what might, to ask no questions about
the reason; and, at taking leave, to ask none about the score. All this
our traveller was obliged to comply with, the deputy not being allowed
to yield in a single point.
The bailiff was about retiring, when a sound of vocal music rolled up
the stairs: two pretty young men entered singing; and these the bailiff,
by a simple sign, gave to understand that their guest was accepted.
Without interrupting their song, they kindly saluted the stranger, and
continued their duet with the finest grace; showing clearly enough that
they were well trained, and complete masters of their art. As Wilhelm
testified the most attentive interest, they paused, and inquired, If in
his own pedestrian wanderings no song ever occurred to him, which he
went along singing by himself? “A good voice,” answered Wilhelm, “Nature
has in truth denied me: yet I often feel as if a secret Genius were
whispering some rhythmic words in my ear; so that, in walking, I move to
musical measure; fancying, at the same time, that I hear low tones
accompanying some song, which, in one way or another, has pleasantly
risen before me.”
“If you recollect such a song, write it down for us,” said they: “we
shall see if we have skill to accompany your singing-demon.” He took a
leaf from his note-book, and handed them the following lines:--
“From the mountains to the champaign,
By the glens and hills along,
Comes a rustling and a tramping,
Comes a motion as of song;
And this undetermined roving
Brings delight, and brings good heed:
And thy striving, be ’t with loving,
And thy living, be ’t in deed!”
After brief study, there arose at once a gay, marching melody, which, in
its repetition and restriction still stepping forward, hurried on the
hearer with it: he was in doubt whether this was his own tune, his
former theme, or one now for the first time so fitted to the words, that
no other movement was conceivable. The singers had for some time
pleasantly proceeded in this manner, when two stout young fellows came
in, whom, by their accoutrements, you directly recognized as masons; two
others, who followed them, being as evidently carpenters. These four,
softly laying down their tools, listened to the music, and soon struck
in with sure and decided voices; so that to the mind it seemed as if a
real wayfaring company were stepping along over hill and valley: and
Wilhelm thought he had never heard any thing so graceful, so enlivening
to heart and mind. This enjoyment, however, was to be increased yet
further, and raised to the highest pitch, by the entrance of a gigantic
figure, mounting the stairs with a hard, firm tread, which, with all his
efforts, he could scarcely moderate. A heavy-laden dorsel he directly
placed in the corner: himself he seated on a bench, which beginning to
creak under his weight, the others laughed, yet without going wrong in
their music. Wilhelm, however, was exceedingly surprised, when, with a
huge bass voice, this son of Anak joined in also. The hall quivered; and
it was to be observed, that in his part he altered the burden, and sang
it thus:--
“Life’s no resting, but a moving:
Let thy life be deed on deed!”
Further, you could very soon perceive that he was drawing down the time
to a slower step, and forcing the rest to follow him. Of this, when at
last they were satisfied and had concluded, they accused him; declaring
he had tried to set them wrong.
“Not at all!” cried he: “it is you who tried to set me wrong, to put me
out of my own step, which must be measured and sure, if I am to walk
with my loading up hill and down dale, and yet, in the end, arrive at my
appointed hour, to satisfy your wants.”
One after the other these persons now passed into an adjoining room to
the bailiff, and Wilhelm easily observed that they were occupied in
settling accounts,--a point, however, as to which he was not allowed at
present to inquire further. Two fair, lively boys in the mean while
entered, and began covering a table in all speed, moderately furnishing
it with meat and wine; and the bailiff, coming out, invited them all to
sit down along with him. The boys waited, yet forgot not their own
concern, but enjoyed their share in a standing posture. Wilhelm
recollected witnessing similar scenes during his abode among the
players; yet the present company seemed to be of a much more serious
cast, constituted, not out of sport, for show, but with a view to
important concerns of life.
The conversation of the craftsmen with the bailiff added strength to
this conviction. These four active young people, it appeared, were busy
in the neighborhood, where a violent conflagration had destroyed the
fairest village in the country; nor did Wilhelm fail to learn that the
worthy bailiff was employed in getting timber and other building
materials: all which looked the more enigmatical, as none of these
persons seemed to be resident here, but in all other points announced
themselves as transitory strangers. By way of conclusion to the meal,
St. Christopher--such was the name they gave the giant--brought out, for
good-night, a dainty glass of wine, which had before been set aside: a
gay choral song kept the party still some time together, after they were
out of sight; and then Wilhelm was at last conducted to a chamber of the
loveliest aspect and situation. The full moon, enlightening a rich
plain, was already up; and in the bosom of our wanderer it awoke
remembrances of similar scenes. The spirits of all dear friends hovered
past him: especially the image of Lenardo rose in him so vividly, that
he might have fancied the man himself was standing before his eyes. All
this had prepared him with its kind influences for nightly rest, when,
on a sudden, there arose a tone of so strange a nature, that it almost
frightened him. It sounded as from a distance, and yet seemed to be in
the house itself; for the building quivered many times, and the floors
reverberated when the sound rose to its highest pitch. Wilhelm, though
his ear was usually delicate in discriminating tones, could make nothing
of this: he compared it to the droning roar of a huge organ-pipe, which,
for sheer compass, produces no determinate note. Whether this nocturnal
terror passed away towards morning, or Wilhelm by degrees became
accustomed to the sound, and no longer heeded it, is difficult to
discover: at any rate, he fell asleep, and was in due time pleasantly
awakened by the rising sun.
Scarcely had one of the boys, who were in waiting, brought him
breakfast, when a figure entered, whom he had already noticed last night
at supper, without clearly ascertaining his quality. A well-formed,
broad-shouldered, yet nimble man, who now, by the implements which he
spread out, announced himself as barber, and forthwith prepared for
performing his much-desired office on Wilhelm. For the rest, he was
quite silent; and with a light hand he went through his task, without
once having opened his lips. Wilhelm, therefore, began, and said, “Of
your art you are completely master, and I know not that I have ever had
a softer razor on my cheeks: at the same time, however, you appear to be
a strict observer of the laws of the society.”
Roguishly smiling, laying his finger on his lips, the taciturn shaver
glided through the door. “By my sooth!” cried Wilhelm after him, “I
think you must be old Redcloak; if not himself, at least a descendant of
his: it is lucky for you that you ask no counter service of me; your
turn would have been but sorrily done.”
No sooner had this curious personage retired than the well-known bailiff
came in, inviting our friend to dinner for this day, in words which
sounded pretty strange: the BOND, so said the speaker, expressly, gave
the stranger welcome, requested his company at dinner, and took pleasure
in the hope of being more closely connected with him. Inquiries were
then made as to the guest’s health, and how he was contented with his
entertainment; to all which he could only answer in terms of
satisfaction. He would, in truth, have liked much to ask of this man, as
previously of the silent barber, some information touching the horrid
sound which throughout the night had, if not tormented, at least
discomposed him: but, mindful of his engagement, he forbore all
questions; hoping, that without importunity, from the good will of the
society, or in some other accidental way, he might be informed according
to his wishes.
Our friend now, when left alone, began to reflect on the strange person
who had sent him this invitation, and knew not well what to make of the
matter. To designate one or more superiors by a neuter noun seemed to
him a somewhat precarious mode of speech. For the rest, there was such a
stillness all round that he could not recollect of ever having passed a
stiller Sunday. He went out of doors, and, hearing a sound of bells,
walked towards the village. Mass was just over; and, among the villagers
and country people crowding out of church, he observed three
acquaintances of last night,--a mason, a carpenter, and a boy. Farther
on he met among the Protestant worshippers the other corresponding
three. How the rest managed their devotion was unknown to him; but so
much he thought himself entitled to conclude, that in this society a
full religious toleration was practised.
About mid-day, at the castle-gate, he was met by the bailiff, who then
conducted him through various halls into a large ante-chamber, and there
desired him to take a seat. Many persons passed through into an
adjoining hall. Those already known were to be seen among them; St.
Christopher himself went by: all saluted the bailiff and the stranger.
But what struck our friend most in this affair was, that the whole party
seemed to consist of artisans, all dressed in the usual fashion, though
extremely neat and clean: a few among the number you might at most,
perhaps, have reckoned of the clerk species.
No more guests now making their appearance, the bailiff led our friend
through the stately door into a spacious hall. Here a table of immense
length had been covered, past the lower end of which he was conducted
towards the head, where he saw three persons standing in a cross
direction. But what was his astonishment when he approached, and
Lenardo, scarcely yet recognized, fell upon his neck. From this surprise
he had not recovered when another person, with no less warmth and
vivacity, likewise embraced him; announcing himself as our strange
Friedrich, Natalia’s brother. The rapture of these friends diffused
itself over all present: an exclamation of joy and blessing sounded
along the whole table. But in a moment, the company being seated, all
again became silent; and the repast, served up with a certain solemnity,
was enjoyed in like manner.
Towards the conclusion of the ceremony Lenardo gave a sign: two singers
rose, and Wilhelm was exceedingly surprised to hear in this place his
yesternight’s song; which we, for the sake of what follows, shall beg
permission to insert once more:--
“From the mountains to the champaign,
By the glens and hills along,
Comes a rustling and a tramping,
Comes a motion as of song;
And this undetermined roving
Brings delight, and brings good heed:
And thy striving, be ’t with loving,
And thy living, be ’t in deed!”
Scarcely had this duet, accompanied by a chorus of agreeable number,
approached its conclusion, when two other singers on the opposite side
started up impetuously, and, with earnest vehemence, inverted rather
than continued the song; to Wilhelm’s astonishment, proceeding thus:--
“For the tie is snapped asunder,
Trust and loving hope are fled!
Can I tell, in fear and wonder,
With what dangers now bested?
I, cut off from friend and brother,
Like the widow in her woe,
With the one and not the other,
On and on, my way must go!”
The chorus, taking up this strophe, grew more and more numerous, more
and more vociferous; and yet the voice of St. Christopher, from the
bottom of the table, could still be distinctly recognized among them.
The lamentation in the end rose almost to be frightful: a spirit of
dispiritment, combining with the skilful execution of the singers,
introduced something unnatural into the whole; so that it pained our
friend, and almost made him shudder. In truth, they all seemed perfectly
of one mind, and as if lamenting their own fate on the eve of a
separation. The strange repetitions, the frequent resuscitation of a
fatiguing song, at length became dangerous in the eyes of the Bond
itself: Lenardo rose; and all instantly sat down, abruptly breaking off
their hymn. The other, with friendly words, thus began:--
“Indeed, I cannot blame you for continually recalling to your minds the
destiny which stands before us all, that so, at any hour, you may be
ready for it. If aged and life-weary men have called to their neighbors,
Think of dying! we younger and life-loving men may well keep encouraging
and reminding one another with the cheerful words, Think of wandering!
Yet, withal, of a thing which we either voluntarily undertake, or
believe ourselves constrained to, it were well to speak with
cheerfulness and moderation. You yourselves know best what, in our
situation, is fixed, and what is movable: let us enjoy the former, too,
in sprightly and gay tones; and to its success be this parting cup now
drunk!” He emptied his glass and sat down: the four singers instantly
rose, and in flowing, connected tones, thus began:--
“Keep not standing, fixed and rooted,
Briskly venture, briskly roam:
Head and hand, where’er thou foot it,
And stout heart, are still at home.
In each land the sun does visit:
We are gay whate’er betide.
To give room for wand’ring is it
That the world was made so wide.”
As the chorus struck in with its repetition of these lines, Lenardo
rose, with him all the rest. His nod set the whole company into singing
movement: those at the lower end marched out, St. Christopher at their
head, in pairs through the hall; and the uplifted wanderers’ song grew
clearer and freer the farther they proceeded; producing at last a
particularly good effect when from the terraces of the castle garden you
looked down over the broad valley, in whose fulness and beauty you might
well have liked to lose yourself. While the multitude were dispersing
this way and that, according to their pleasure, Wilhelm was made
acquainted with the third superior. This was the _Amtmann_, by whose
kind influence many favors had been done the society; in particular, the
castle of his patron, the count, situated among several families of
rank, had been given up to their use so long as they might think fit to
tarry here.
Towards evening, while the friends were in a far-seeing grove, there
came a portly figure over the threshold, whom Wilhelm at once recognized
as the barber of this morning. To a low, mute bow of the man, Lenardo
answered, “You now come, as always, at the right season, and will not
delay to entertain us with your talent. I may be allowed,” continued he,
turning towards Wilhelm, “to give you some knowledge of our society, the
Bond of which I may flatter myself that I am. No one enters our circle
unless he have some talents to show, which may contribute to the use or
enjoyment of society in general. This man is an excellent surgeon; of
his skill as a beard-artist you yourself can testify: for these reasons,
he is no less welcome than necessary to us. Now, as his employment
usually brings with it a great and often burdensome garrulity, he has
engaged, for the sake of his own culture, to comply with a certain
condition; as, indeed, every one that means to live with us must agree
to constrain himself in some particular point, if the greater freedom be
left him in all other points. Accordingly, our barber has renounced the
use of his tongue, in so far as aught common or casual is to be
expressed by it: but, by this means, another gift of speech has been
unfolded in him, which acts by forethought, cunningly and pleasurably; I
mean the gift of narration.
“His life is rich in wonderful experiences, which he used to split in
pieces, babbling of them at wrong times; but which he now, constrained
by silence, repeats and arranges in his quiet thought. This also his
power of imagination now forwards, lending life and movement to past
occurrences. With no common art and skill, he can relate to us genuine
antique tales, or modern stories of the same fabulous cast; thereby, at
the right hour, affording us a most pleasant entertainment, when I loose
his tongue for him,--which I now do; giving him, at the same time, this
praise, that, in the considerable period during which I have known him,
he has never once been guilty of a repetition. I cannot but hope, that
in the present case, for love and respect to our dear guest, he will
especially distinguish himself.”
A sprightly cheerfulness spread over Redcloak’s face; and, without
delay, he began speaking as follows.
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