A HUNTER'S PLEASURE AND A HUNTER'S PAIN.
Eric took great care not to change Roland's bold and determined
character into one of morbid enthusiasm. He interposed between the
studies an equal measure of physical exercise, fencing, leaping,
riding, swimming, and rowing. He was glad that he had to call in no
other teacher, and he gained new strength, and maintained his constant
intercourse with his pupil, by taking the lead in these recreations.
With Fassbender's help, he also taught Roland to take measurements out
of doors. Fassbender was extremely skilful in such work, but he
constantly showed a humble submissiveness towards Roland, which caused
Eric much vexation; and when he said one day that he should tell his
friend Knopf how industrious and clever Roland was, the boy tossed his
head in displeasure. He evidently wished to hear nothing more of Knopf;
perhaps, too, he had something in his memory of which he would not
speak to Eric.
Eric laid out a shooting-ground for Roland also, not wishing to
withdraw him from his accustomed life out of doors, where he had roved
at pleasure; only it was distinctly understood that exercise in the
open air was to come after mental work, never before it.
One great difficulty lay in moderating Roland's passion for hunting.
Eric did not wish to repress it altogether, but only to keep it within
due limits. Now, in midsummer, there was only rabbit-hunting, and Claus
came to take Roland out with him. Former teachers had left Roland to go
alone with the huntsman, but Eric accompanied them, and Roland drew in
new life as they went through the vineyards.
Eric's attention was roused at hearing Claus say that Manna had been an
extremely bold rider, even as a little child, and afterwards as a
growing girl, and that her father had always taken her with him on a
hunt, where she showed the wildest spirit. Rose and Thistle were the
dogs which had belonged to her, and now whenever they heard her name,
they noticed it directly, and looked sharply round as if expecting her.
Eric would have liked to ask how it happened that a bold and spirited
girl, who delighted in hunting, could now be living like a penitent in
a convent. It was hard to bring this picture of her, hunting with her
gun and with her dogs, into harmony with the picture of the winged
apparition. But he took care to ask Roland no questions, and behaved to
the huntsman as if he had known it all before.
His father had left Roland his favorite dogs, Rose and Thistle; they
were small, but powerfully built, with broad chest and strong back, and
they appeared to understand when Roland praised them. The smaller, the
female, with red chops and many scars on her head, always licked his
hand while he extolled her wonderful courage, and hung her head when he
said he was sorry that she was not so obedient as the somewhat larger
male, Thistle. With sparkling eyes, which seemed to glance with modest
pleasure, Thistle looked at Roland when he explained to Eric that the
dog would obey only English words, but by their use could be managed
perfectly; if he called out to him "_zuruck_!" Thistle looked at him as
if deaf; but the moment he said "Come back!" he fell back a foot behind
him.
They passed a low oak-tree; Roland seized a branch, and shook it,
crying "Hang!" and Thistle sprang up, caught the branch with his sharp
teeth, and remained hanging to it till Roland told him to let go. Rose
performed the same trick, and even outdid herself, for she whirled
round several times as she hung, and then, with a sudden jerk, broke
off the branch and brought it to Roland. The boy and the dogs were very
happy together, and seemed to understand equally well where they were
going.
They went by the huntsman's house, where the two ferrets were put into
a basket. On the edge of the wood, Roland took out the pretty little
yellow creatures, which moved in a sort of snake-like way, and put
muzzles on them, caressing them as he did it. They then went into the
thicket, where fresh burrows were soon found; over some of the outlets,
nets were spread, and Roland was delighted at the skilful way in which
Eric fastened them down with pegs, which he made from twigs cut from
the trees. The ferrets were let loose, and very soon a rustling was
heard, and some rabbits came into the nets, and were soon bitten and
shaken to death by the dogs. The ferrets were sent in again, and the
hunters stood before the holes to shoot the rabbits as they came out;
Roland missed, but Eric hit his mark.
Eric was far from saying anything to Roland of the cruelty shown,
especially in the net-hunting, and the manner in which the dogs bit at
the eyes of the poor creatures, and never let go till all struggling
ceased; he was enough of a hunter to overlook this. Claus knew how to
smother pity by inveighing against the confounded rabbits, which gnawed
at the young vines and spoiled them and all that was best in the
fields; he imitated one of the peasants who always struck at a rabbit
with his stick, crying,--
"Have I got you at last, you damned--"
After they had gone farther on, Rose went into a hole; and they heard
her barking deep down under ground. She had found a fox. The hunter's
excitement awoke in Eric, and they all stood quietly on the watch.
Thistle was also sent into the hole, and his bark was heard far below,
but the fox did not come out. Soon Rose appeared with her nose torn and
bleeding; she looked up at the hunters and went back into the hole;
whining and barking were heard, and at last the dogs came back,
streaming with blood, but no fox appeared; they waited long, but in
vain.
"They have killed him," said the huntsman in triumph; "we shall never
get him."
Roland was full of "tender compassion for the dogs, but Claus consoled
him with the assurance that they would soon get over their hurts.
Roland said he could not understand how dogs could bite a fox to death,
when a fox had such sharp teeth; the huntsman shrugged his shoulders,
but Eric answered:--
"The fox bites sharply, but does not hold on."
Roland looked at Eric in surprise, feeling that he was a man from whom
everything could be learned; all Eric's knowledge had hardly made so
much impression as this single remark.
Again they sent the ferrets into a fresh burrow; only one came out;
they waited long and left the huntsman on the spot, but the second
ferret was not to be seen. Roland was inconsolable for the loss of the
fine little creature, so bright and tame. When Eric said that the
animal would die of hunger in the woods, with its mouth so firmly
muzzled, Roland walked on for some time in silence. Suddenly he put his
hand into the basket, took out the other ferret and let it loose, then
took aim and shot it down; he left the dead creature lying undisturbed
in the wood, and walked home with Eric without a word. He looked long
at his gun; Eric knew that it would be many days before its report
would be heard again, and so it was.
From the time of this last hunt, a coldness and ill-humor, reluctance
and listlessness, appeared in Roland; he was not exactly rebellious,
but did everything without interest, and often looked strangely at
Eric.
Eric did not know what to do; for several days he was much disquieted,
feeling that he was no longer a novelty to Roland, and that the sense
of satiety which torments the rich, who never can long enjoy the same
thing, increased as it was in Roland by his wandering life, was
producing apathy and discontent in him; he must be taught to greet with
pleasure the day which brought no new thing, but only a repetition of
the day before.
The huntsman came to Eric, took him aside, and said:--
"I've found the ferret that ran away from us."
"Where?"
"In the wood yonder, there it lies with its muzzle on, starved to
death, and eaten up by the ants."
"We will say nothing of it to Roland."
"Certainly not. Do you know what the ferret's name was?"
"No."
"It was Knopf. He only called it 'master,' because you were present. It
always vexed me; Herr Knopf is certainly superstitious, dreadfully
superstitious, but one of the best men in the world. Roland has told
me in confidence, that, on the journey which he made to force you
to come back, a spirit appeared to him in the wood one morning, a
fairy-princess, as stupid, superstitious men would say,--a wonderful
child with light curling hair, but she spoke English,--only think,
spirits speak English too now,--she came to him early in the morning in
the forest. That's the sort of stuff Herr Knopf has put into his head.
I don't want to say anything against Herr Knopf; he's a good man, he
taught poor children for nothing, and did good, much good, but belief
in spirits and such nonsense ought to be put an end to. Don't you
notice how bad Roland looks now? I think the belief in spirits is to
blame for this. Drive it out of his mind right sharply."
Eric doubted whether this was what produced Roland's continued
ill-humor, but he was struck by his having told the huntsman something
which he had never confided to him. But he would not force his
confidence and disturb the boy's mind; he would wait quietly till the
cloud passed over.