Chapter XV

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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