Black Forest Village Stories Part 58

[Ill.u.s.tration: Here and there a travelling peddler might be heard.]

Idleness is the root of all evil. The industrious alone are intrinsically cheerful, peaceable and well meaning; idlers easily lean to gambling and drunkenness, and are p.r.o.ne to wrangling, quarrels, and treachery. It is for this reason, and this alone, that all the vices love to dwell among the so-called upper cla.s.ses of society.

While the greater part of the villagers were thus vegetating, the teacher had awakened to a double existence. It sometimes happens that a man who has had a violent fever rises from his bed an inch or two taller than before. Thus our friend, while his flying pulses studied Hedwig's life and being, had made wonderful progress in the understanding of the people's character. As he had formerly "sipped the intellectual breath of beauty" from the productions of inanimate nature, leaving to others the task of turning into use her treasures, so now he recognised the presence of a higher principle in every living intelligence. Every person who crossed his path was a representative of some portion or place of the people's character. Instead of looking down upon others from the eminence of his own intellectuality, he forgot himself, and unconsciously looked up to the intelligence he detected in every other. The others were raised in his estimation, because he thought only of that which enn.o.bled them: himself had sunk, because he was only reminded of himself by those petty occurrences of every-day life which brought out the lesser traits in his own nature.

He was a man who understood the inmost thoughts and feelings of all around him. He boldly followed up his resolve to give them a taste of the pleasures of the mind: he was sufficiently matured himself to penetrate the rough bark which concealed the core of their minds and hearts.

In the evening he would read aloud the papers at the inn. He had many explanations to give, and many false impressions to remove: for the College Chap, who had previously acted as oracle, had taken pleasure in "stuffing up the natives." A little circle habitually gathered round him, while others played cards at the table: even these, however, would occasionally listen to what he was saying, by which many a trick was lost.

Little by little the teacher obtained their confidence, and they spoke their minds more freely. With all the excellence of his intention, he still found it difficult to translate himself entirely into their ways of thinking. It is an easy thing to say, "I love the people!" but to be prepared at all times to receive all sorts of crudities with respect, without taking offence at habits and customs often repulsive and obdurate,--to follow the discursive ones through a thousand pointless digressions,--to sympathize with the impetuous in a jargon of incoherent impulses and sentiments,--requires a power of self-abnegation, a degree of control over one's own individuality, with which but very few are favored. Thanks to his clear understanding of the task, our friend was one of the number.

One evening Mat began, "Mr. Teacher, I'm going to ask a stupid question; but why is that paper called the 'Suabian Mercury,' and not the 'Suabian Markery'? Sure it is a markery; because every thing that happens is marked down there. Is 'Mercury' High German for 'Markery'?"

"You've caught the old robin in his nest," said the College Chap.

"You're right there, Mat: those fellows in Stuttgard don't know any thing about it. If I was you I'd go down and tell 'em: they'll give you a premium, depend upon it."

The teacher explained that Mercury had been the messenger of the G.o.ds, and the G.o.d of trade, in ancient Greece.

"Yes; but how does he come to be called 'Suabian'?" asked Mat, again.

"Well, they chose to give that name to the paper," answered the teacher. He had never thought about it himself.

"I want to know," began Hansgeorge: "did the Greecelanders believe in more G.o.ds than one?"

"Of course," replied the College Chap. "One of 'em manured and the other sowed, one rained and the other thundered: they had a particular G.o.d or G.o.ddess for every particular job. The Greeks even allowed their G.o.ds to marry."

"I guess they were saints or angels," said Wendel the mason, "or tutelaries; but they must have had some sort of a captain over them, or it would be a carnival stupid enough to split your sides with laughing."

"You weren't by when they built the tower of Babel, neither, mason,"

said the College Chap. "Of course they had a captain, and a trump card he was: he had a jealous wife, though, and she gave him lots of trouble. Now, I'll leave it to the teacher whether all this isn't as true as gospel."

Suppressing a sigh, the teacher gave the company a cursory sketch of the Grecian mythology. Some of the wonders included in it created much sensation. It occurred to him, also, how strange it was that he should be expounding the h.e.l.lenic sages in a smoky bar-room of the Black Forest. All this was the doing of the Suabian Mercury.

It was almost impossible to persuade the farmers that the Greeks were not "jacka.s.ses." He told them of the wise and good Socrates, and of his martyrdom.

"Why, that was almost as bad as the way they treated our Savior," said Kilian of the Frog Alley.

"Certainly," replied the teacher. "Whoever undertakes to teach a new and wholesome truth by its right name and without circ.u.mlocution must take a cross for his pains." He sighed as he said this; for it seemed to have some bearing upon his own case: the task he had undertaken was not an easy one.

As they went away, the men said to each other, "We've had a fine evening for once: you get a little wiser, and time pa.s.ses round before you know it."

The teacher had formed the design of reading something to the farmers about the Grecian mythology: fortunately, however, he laid his hand upon a very different book,--a collection of German proverbs. On entering the bar-room, he took the book from his pocket, saying, "Let me read you something."

There were wry faces on all sides; for farmers regard books as their natural enemies. Mat spoke first:--

"Better tell us a story, Mr. Teacher."

"Yes, yes; tell us something: don't read," was the general response.

"Well, just listen a little while," said the teacher: "if you don't like it, say so, and I'll stop."

He began to read the proverbs, pausing after every one.

"Why, that's what George the blacksmith says," and "That's Spring Bat's word," "That's what old Maurita used to say," "That's your speech, Andrew, Mike, Caspar," was soon heard from different quarters of the room. The players laid aside their cards and listened; for at times a pithy sentence would provoke general merriment.

The teacher could not refrain from asking, with an air of some triumph, "Shall I read on?"

"Yes; read on till morning," said every one; and Kilian of the Frog Alley added, "It must have been the smartest kind of a man that made that book; for he knew every thing. I wonder if he wasn't one of the ancient sages."

"Yes: those are your sort of folks, Kilian," said some one in a corner.

"Be quiet, now," cried others. "Read on, Mr. Teacher."

He did so. Sometimes corrections and additions were suggested, which the teacher would gladly have noted in writing, but refrained for fear of restraining the open-heartedness of the audience. They were overjoyed to find the whole stock of their collective wisdom thus heaped up in a single granary. One or two discussions arose in reference to the explanation, or the truth of this or that proverb, with which the teacher never interfered; others would urge the disputants to silence; while still others urged the teacher to proceed.

A bright fire was burning, which our friend had the satisfaction of having kindled.

When he returned the next evening, he found more guests than usual.

They had lost their dread of books, and immediately inquired whether he had not some similar entertainment for them.

"Yes," said the teacher, taking out a book. But this time things were not destined to go so smoothly; there were tares among the wheat, sowed by the College Chap, who had a deep-seated aversion to any thing serious or sensible. With some partisans whom he had enlisted, he sat at a table and began to sing. The teacher was at a loss.

"Why, Constantine," said Mat, "a'n't you ashamed of yourself, and you a town-clerk?"

"I've paid for my wine, and have as good a right here as the next man,"

replied the College Chap; "and the tavern isn't a place to read books in."

There was a general murmur.

"Hold on," said Mat, "we'll soon fix this. Landlord, I'll go and get some wood, and we'll make a fire in the room upstairs. Whoever wants to listen may come up, and whoever don't may stay where he is."

"I'll go," said Thaddie, who had come this evening also. The stove was soon in a glow, for Thaddie was afraid of losing something by making up the fire afterward. Mat sat down beside the teacher and snuffed the candle. The story was Zschokke's "Village of Gold-Makers."

In spite of its fine subject and elevating tendency, the book was far from earning the applause which the teacher had expected: it was so interwoven with the experiences of peasant-life that every one felt himself qualified to judge it. It would occupy too much of our s.p.a.ce to repeat all the opinions expressed. Whenever the phrase recurred, "Oswald opened his lips and spoke," Buchmaier smiled in derision of its formality. Many of the ideas were lost; while others received a general nod of approbation.

To the teacher's surprise, the first thing manifest when the story had reached its close was that most of the company sided with the village and against Oswald. Mat soon hit upon the reason of this incongruity in saying, "What I don't like is that Oswald seems to do all the good in the village alone."

"And I," said Thaddie, "would like to pull off his feather and his star: he's a fine fellow, and don't want them gimcracks."

"You're right," replied Buchmaier. "He plays the gentleman too much, anyhow; and as for his hereditary prince, what's he good for? But what were you going to say, Andrew? Bring out the wild-cats."

"I think Oswald has no business to put his nose into other people's pots and pans. What's he got to do with their cooking?"

"And I think," said Kilian, "the farmers are made out a good deal too stupid: it isn't quite so bad, after all."

"And you're a learned man yourself, too," said Hansgeorge. Everybody laughed.

"My notion is," said Wendel the mason, "the village is a deal too bad at first and a deal too good afterward. I don't see how things can change so in one and the same place."