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The official was too bewildered to comply, and François did it for him.
“Now try the next one!” said he.
François did so, but no sound came; only a queer, intermittent rumbling, like a bounding and rebounding.
“It does not sound,” said the organ-builder. “Follow me and I will show you why.”
“It never has sounded since the great trial-day, years ago,” muttered the young man. But he followed on.
They clambered up a rickety staircase, a still more rickety ladder, and came to a platform at a level with the top of the organ; and all around them, reaching up out of the dim light below, were the open pipes. Passing hurriedly around, on a narrow plank, to the back of the organ, their agitated guide paused before a row of immense pedal pipes, and, without allowing his own eyes to look, he held the light that he carried for the others.
Both looked down into the cavernous tube that he indicated, and both started back in surprise and fear.
“It is a man’s legs!” gasped the frightened town official.
After the first moment of surprise had passed, they began to get back their wits; and the young man advised that they send for several strong men and lift out the pipe.
This seemed sensible, and in a half-hour the men were at hand and the pipe was drawn down to the level of the organ-loft and laid horizontally. The workmen had been informed of the nature of their work, and all were under intense excitement. The pipe was very long, and the body was at least five feet from the top. One of the workmen reached in a pole having a hook at the end, and the next minute drew forth the dead body of the sinister old organist, Baptiste Lacombe.
There was a pause of silent horror. Nobody cared particularly for the dead man, but the manner of his death was terrible.
“How did it happen?” whispered one.
“Perhaps it was suicide,” answered another.
They began more closely to examine the huge tube. François Tegot, who, although thus far cooler than the others, now seemed unable to stand, pointed to the hand of the dead man, which was tightly clenched upon a small cord. One of the workmen approached, and with some difficulty drew out the line: and a new thrill of expectation went through the silent company when they saw, attached to the end of the line, an old leather bundle covered with dust.
Young Tegot now seemed to master himself by a great effort, and, motioning the workman back, he advanced, and, lifting the bag tenderly out into a more convenient position, he said solemnly, as if to himself, “I have long suspected something was wrong, and now I shall know.”
Then he examined the bag, and at length took from his pocket a knife and carefully cut open one side.
Despite the fact that he expected the revelation that now came, he started back, for the opening revealed a piece of cloth, – a coat, which even the town official could recollect to be the coat of the long-lost organist, Raoul Tegot, François’s father.
The young man stepped back and sank again into his seat, and the others, coming forward, laid the bag quite open, and drew forth a watch and an embroidered vest; in a pocket of the coat was found a purse. “Here is an odd treasure,” said one of the workmen, holding up a locket of dull gold.
François seized it and opened it. The color forsook his face and his eyes filled with tears. He simply said, —
“My mother.”
The town official now whispered to the surprised organ-builder, that the villanous Lacombe had killed poor Tegot on the morning of the trial, and had secreted the body in some unknown place and hidden the valuables here. Frightened by the fear of discovery, he had attempted to remove the treasures, had fallen into the pipe, and had thus met a horrible death.
“There is nothing secret,” said François, “but shall be revealed. Sin is its own detector, and its secrets cannot rest.”
The excitement among the townspeople was for many days even greater than it had been at the time of Tegot’s disappearance, and many and bitter were the reproaches heaped upon the wicked organist’s memory.
François was immediately chosen organist, and held the position during his entire life.
CHAPTER VIII.
EVENING THE FOURTH
Seven Nights on the Rhine: – Heidelberg. – Students. – Student Songs. – The Story of Little Mook. – The Queer Old Lady who went to College
HEIDELBERG,” said Mr. Beal, “stands bright and clear beside Neckar, a branch of the Rhine, as though it loved the river. It is semicircled with blue mountain-walls, and is full of balmy air and cheerful faces. The streets have an atmosphere of hospitality. Its history dates from the Roman monuments on its hills, and is associated with the romantic times of the counts-palatine of the Rhine.
“The world-wide fame of Heidelberg arises from its university. This was founded in 1386, and is the oldest in Germany. It made Heidelberg a student-town; there art flourished and free thought grew, and it became the gem of German cities.
“The ancient Castle of Heidelberg is one of the wonders of Germany. It is like a ruined town of palaces, and historic and poetic associations are as thick as are the violets among its ruins. It is said that Michael Angelo designed it: we cannot tell. The names of the masters who upreared the pile of magnificence for centuries and peopled it with statues are lost. The ivy creeps over their conceptions in stone and marble, and the traveller exclaims in awe, ‘Can it be that all this glory was created for destruction?’
“We visited the castle at noon. A ruin green with ivy rose before us. The sunlight fell through the open doorways, and the swallows flitted in and out of the window-frames into roofless chambers.
“I was dreaming of the past: of the counts-palatine of the Rhine, of stately dames, orange-gardens, and splendid festivals, when one of the boys recalled my thoughts to the present.
“‘Where is the tun?’
“‘What tun?’
“‘The one we have come to see, – the big wine-cask. It is said to hold two hundred and thirty-six thousand bottles of wine, or did in the days of the nobles.’
“‘I remember: when I was a boy my mental picture of Heidelberg was a big wine-cask.’
“‘Yes; well, please, sir, I am a boy now.’”
Mr. Beal then gave a brief account of
GERMAN STUDENT LIFE
The town of Heidelberg nestles in one of the loveliest valleys in Europe. The Neckar winds between a series of steep, high, thickly wooded hills.
It is amid such pleasant scenes that the famous university is situated, and that several hundred German students are gathered to pursue their studies.
One of my chief objects in visiting Heidelberg was to see the university, and to observe the curious student customs of which I had heard so much; and my journey was amply repaid by what I saw.
The university itself was far less imposing than I had imagined; compared with the picturesque and hoary old college palaces of Oxford and Cambridge, or even with our own cosey Harvard and Yale edifices and greens, it seemed very insignificant.
The buildings occupy a cheerless square in a central part of the quaint old German town. They are very plain, modest, and unpretending. The lecture-rooms are on one side of the square; in the rear are the museum and reading room, while opposite the lecture-rooms is a row of jewelry, clothing, confectionery, and other shops. I was most interested, however, in the students and their ways.
As soon as you enter the town and pass up the main street, you espy groups of the students here and there. You are at once struck with the contrast they present to American or English students. Very odd to American eyes are their dress and manners. Let me describe one to you as an example.
THE GERMAN STUDENT
The Heidelberg student is a rather large, heavy-looking fellow, with round face, broad shoulders, and a very awkward gait. His hair is cropped close to his head, and on one side of the head, in jaunty fashion, he wears a small round cap, – too small by far to cover it, as caps generally do. It is of red or blue or green, and worked with fanciful figures of gold or silver thread.
On his feet are heavy boots, which rise, outside his trousers, nearly to the knees. His body is covered with a gay frock-coat, of green or gray or black. As he walks the street with his college mates, he puffs away on a very curious long pipe, the bowl being of porcelain, on which is painted some fanciful scene, or perhaps a view of the grand old castle. Sometimes the stem of the pipe is two or three feet long. In his hand he carries a cane, or rather stick (for it is too short to be used as a cane), with some curiously carved figure for a handle.
Many of the Heidelberg students are attended, wherever they go, by a companion who is apt to produce fear and dislike in those who are not accustomed to him. This is a small, blear-eyed, bullet-headed, bloodthirsty-looking bull-dog, with red eyes and snarling mouth. You see such dogs everywhere with the students, running close to their heels, and ready, at an instant’s notice, to defend their masters.
Almost every Heidelberg student belongs to one of the social societies, of which some are called “Verbindungs,” and others “Corps;” and the caps they wear designate the particular societies of which they are members.
These societies are both patriotic and social. The members devote themselves to “the glory of the Fatherland;” and they pledge themselves by oaths to defend and aid each other.
Besides the cap, the students betray to what society they belong by various colored ribbons across their breasts or hung to their watch-chains. There is a great deal of rivalry among the societies, which results in frequent difficulties.
The pastimes of the Heidelberg students are almost entirely confined to the “good times” they have in their “Verbindungs,” in which they meet two nights in the week to sing, make funny speeches, and perform certain curious ceremonies.
The students often make excursions to a beautiful spot on the Neckar, called “Wolfsbrunnen,” where they obtain trout fresh from a pond, and eat them, nicely cooked, on tables set out under the trees near the river-side.
Another frequent recreation is to attend the peasant fairs in the neighboring villages, and to take jaunts to the lovely Swetzingen gardens, or to the top of the Konigsthul hill, back of the castle, from which a most beautiful view of the Black Forest and Hartz Mountains, with the broad valley of the Rhine, is to be seen.
On this hill is an inn where many resort to drink whey. Many of the students are too poor to enjoy the pastimes of the others, or even to live at the university without doing something to support themselves.
These go wandering about the country in vacation time, on foot, singing in the villages, and receiving money from the kindly disposed, with which to pay the expenses of their education. As you pass through Germany you frequently meet parties of these poor students, who go about merrily; and to give them a few kreuzers is always a pleasure.
Mr. Beal gave from translations a few specimens of these German student songs. The first was
GAUDEAMUS
Let us then rejoice, ere youth
From our grasp hath hurried;
After cheerful youth is past,
After cheerless age, at last,
In the earth we’re buried.
Where are those who lived of yore,
Men whose days are over?
To the realms above thee go,
Thence unto the shades below,
An’ thou wilt discover.
Short and fleeting is our life, —
Swift away ’tis wearing;
Swiftly, too, will death be here,
Cruel, us away to tear,
Naught that liveth sparing.
Long live Academia, —
And our tutors clever;
All our comrades long live they,
And our female comrades gay,
May they bloom forever.
Long live every maiden true,
Who has worth and beauty;
And may every matron who
Kind and good is, flourish, too, —
Each who does her duty.
Long may also live our state,
And the king who guides us;
Long may live our town, and fate
Prosper each Mecænas great,
Who good things provides us.
Perish melancholy woe,
Perish who derides us;
Perish fiend, and perish so
Every antiburschian foe
Who for laughing chides us.
Mr. Beal, finding the Class interested, continued the subject by some account of one of the most popular writers of German songs.
HEINE
The songs of Heine are unmatched in German literature, and have been translated into all European tongues. Their beauty of expression, and suggestive and evasive meanings, have made them household words in Germany, and favorite quotations in France and England.
The career of Heine was exceptionably brilliant, and he won tributes of admiration that have seldom been equalled. It is said that on the appearance of his “Reisebilder” in 1826-31, “young Germany became intoxicated with enthusiasm.” His writings on republicanism not only won the heart of the people, but carried his influence into other countries.
From his youth Heine was troubled by thoughts of personal religious responsibility. There were periods when he earnestly sought to know man’s true relations to God. He sought the evidence of truth, however, more from nature, philosophy, and history, than by the prayers and the faith which God’s Word inculcates.
He was born a Jew, but abandoned Judaism and was baptized in the Lutheran Church. Then he became a free-thinker. He studied various philosophies and systems of belief, but was not able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusions.
In 1847 he was attacked by a strange disease. It paralyzed his body, and confined him for many years to his chair. For seven years he was propped up by pillows, and read his praises on a couch of suffering, and they made his life more sad.
“What good,” he said, in despair, “does it do me to hear that my health is drunk in cups of gold, when I can only wet my lips with barley-water?”
In this condition he read “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” It revealed to him the truth that religion is a matter of experience rather than philosophy, and that the humblest may receive the evidence of its truth through simple faith in Christ.
“With all my learning,” he said, “the poor negro knew more about religion than I do now, and I must come to a knowledge of the truth in the same humble way as poor Uncle Tom.”
He left this testimony in his will: “I have cast aside all philosophical pride, and have again felt the power of religious truth.”
I will recite to you one of the songs of Heine, which is popular among the German students.
THE LORELEI
I know not whence it rises,
This thought so full of woe;
But a tale of times departed
Haunts me, and will not go.
The air is cool, and it darkens,
And calmly flows the Rhine;
The mountain-peaks are sparkling
In the sunny evening-shine.
And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair;
With gold is her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair:
With a golden comb she combs it;
And a wild song singeth she,
That melts the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.
The boatman feels his bosom
With a nameless longing move;
He sees not the gulfs before him,
His gaze is fixed above,
Till over boat and boatman
The Rhine’s deep waters run:
And this, with her magic singing,
The Lorelei has done!
Among the pleasing stories related on this evening was “Little Mook,” by Hauff, and a poetic account of a “Queer Old Lady who went to College.”
LITTLE MOOK
There once lived a dwarf in the town of Niceu, whom the people called Little Mook. He lived alone, and was thought to be rich. He had a very small body and a very large head, and he wore an enormous turban.
He seldom went into the streets, for the reason that ill-bred children there followed and annoyed him. They used to cry after him, —
“Little Mook, O Little Mook,
Turn, oh, turn about and look!
Once a month you leave your room,
With your head like a balloon:
Try to catch us, if you can;
Turn and look, my little man.”
I will tell you his history.
His father was a hard-hearted man, and treated him unkindly because he was deformed. The old man at last died, and his relatives drove the dwarf away from his home.
He wandered into the strange world with a cheerful spirit, for the strange world was more kind to him than his kin had been.
He came at last to a strange town, and looked around for some face that should seem pitiful and friendly. He saw an old house, into whose door a great number of cats were passing. “If the people here are so good to cats, they may be kind to me,” he thought, and so he followed them. He was met by an old woman, who asked him what he wanted.
He told his sad story.
“I don’t cook any but for my darling pussy cats,” said the beldame; “but I pity your hard lot, and you may make your home with me until you can find a better.”
So Little Mook was employed to look after the cats and kittens.
The kittens, I am sorry to say, used to behave very badly when the old dame went abroad; and when she came home and found the house in confusion, and bowls and vases broken, she used to berate Little Mook for what he could not help.
While in the old lady’s service he discovered a secret room in which were magic articles, among them a pair of enormous slippers.
One day when the old lady was out the little dog broke a crystal vase. Little Mook knew that he would be held responsible for the accident, and he resolved to escape and try his fortune in the world again. He would need good shoes, for the journey might be long; so he put on the big slippers and ran away.
Ran? What wonderful slippers those were! He had only to say to them, “Go!” and they would impel him forward with the rapidity of the wind. They seemed to him like wings.
“I will become a courier,” said Little Mook, “and so make my fortune, sure.”
So Little Mook went to the palace in order to apply to the king.
He first met the messenger-in-ordinary.
“What!” said he, “you want to be the king’s messenger, – you with your little feet and great slippers!”
“Will you allow me to make a trial of speed with your swiftest runner?” asked Little Mook.
The messenger-in-ordinary told the king about the little man and his application.
“We will have some fun with him,” said the king. “Let him run a race with my first messenger for the sport of the court.”
So it was arranged that Little Mook should try his speed with the swiftest messenger.
Now the king’s runner was a very tall man. His legs were very long and slender; he had little flesh on his body. He walked with wonderful swiftness, looking like a windmill as he strode forward. He was the telegraph of his times, and the king was very proud of him.
The next day the king, who loved a jest, summoned his court to a meadow to witness the race, and to see what the bumptious pygmy could do. Everybody was on tiptoe of expectation, being sure that something amusing would follow.
When Little Mook appeared he bowed to the spectators, who laughed at him. When the signal was given for the two to start, Little Mook allowed the runner to go ahead of him for a little time, but when the latter drew near the king’s seat he passed him, to the wonder of all the people, and easily won the race.
The king was delighted, the princess waved her veil, and the people all shouted, “Huzza for Little Mook!”
So Little Mook became the royal messenger, and surpassed all the runners in the world with his magic slippers.
But Little Mook’s great success with his magic slippers excited envy, and made him bitter enemies, and at last the king himself came to believe the stories of his enemies, and turned against him and banished him from his kingdom.
Little Mook wandered away, sore at heart, and as friendless as when he had left home and the house of the old woman. Just beyond the confines of the kingdom he came to a grove of fig-trees full of fruit.
He stopped to rest and refresh himself with the fruit. There were two trees that bore the finest figs he had ever seen. He gathered some figs from one of them, but as he was eating them his nose and ears began to grow, and when he looked down into a clear, pure stream near by, he saw that his head had been changed into a head like a donkey.
He sat down under the other fig-tree in despair. At last he took up a fig that had fallen from this tree, and ate it. Immediately his nose and ears became smaller and smaller and resumed their natural shape. Then he perceived that the trees bore magic fruit.
“Happy thought!” said Little Mook. “I will go back to the palace and sell the fruit of the first tree to the royal household, and then I will turn doctor, and give the donkeys the fruit of the second tree as medicine. But I will not give the old king any medicine.”
Little Mook gathered the two kinds of figs, and returned to the palace and sold that of the first tree to the butler.
Oh, then there was woe in the palace! The king’s family were seen wandering around with donkeys’ heads on their shoulders. Their noses and ears were as long as their arms. The physicians were sent for and they held a consultation. They decided on amputation; but as fast as they cut off the noses and ears of the afflicted household, these troublesome members grew out again, longer than before.
Then Little Mook appeared with the principles and remedies of homœopathy. He gave one by one of the sufferers the figs of the second tree, and they were cured. He collected his fees, and having relieved all but the king he fled, taking his homœopathic arts with him. The king wore the head of a donkey to his latest day.
THE QUEER OLD LADY WHO WENT TO COLLEGE
There was a queer old lady, and she had lost her youth;
She bought her a new mirror,
And it told to her the truth.
Did she break the truthful mirror?
Oh, no, no; no, no, no, no.
But she bought some stays quite rare,
Some false teeth and wavy hair,
Some convex-concave glasses such as men of culture wear,
And then she looked again,
And she said, “I am not plain, —
I am not plain, ’tis plain,
Not very, very plain,
I did not think that primps and crimps
Would change a body so.
I’ll take a book on Art,
And press it to my heart,
And I’ll straightway go to college,
Where I think I’ll catch a beau.”
II
She made her way to college just as straight as straight could be,
And she asked for the Professor of the new philosophie;
He met her with a smile
And said, “Pray rest awhile,
And come into my parlor and take a cup of tea.
We will talk of themes celestial, —
Of the flowery nights in June
When blow the gentle zephyrs;
Of the circle round the moon;
Of the causes of the causes.”
These college men are quite and very much polite,
And when you call upon them they you straightway in invite.
III
But the lady she was modest,
And she said, “You me confuse;
I have come, O man of wisdom,
To get a bit of news.
There’s a problem of life’s problems
That often puzzles me:
Tell me true, O man of Science,
When my wedding-day will be.”
IV
Quick by the hand he seized her,
He of the philosophie,
And his answer greatly pleased her
When they had taken tea:
“’Twill be, my fair young lady,
When you are twenty-three!”
V
At her window, filled with flowers,
Then she waited happy hours,
Scanned the byways and the highways
To see what she could see.
If the postman brought a letter,
It was sure to greatly fret her, —
Fret her so her maid she’d frighten,
If a dun it proved to be.
If it came not from a lover,
Sadly she her face would cover,
Hide her face and say in sorrow,
“Truly he will come to-morrow,
For he knew, that man of science,
And I’m almost twenty-three.”
VI
He deceived her, he deceived her,
Oh, that too kind man deceived her, —
He of compasses and lenses,
He of new-found influences,
He of the philosophie.
Oh the chatterer, oh the flatterer,
Oh the smatterer in science,
To whom all things clear should be!
Had he taken the old almanac,
That true guide to worldly wisdom,
He would have seen that there was something —
Some stray figure, some lost factor,
Something added the extractor —
Wrong in his chronologie,
In his learned chronologie.
MORAL
There are few things, one, two, three,
In the earth, the air, and sea,
That the schoolmen do not know.
When you’re going to catch a beau,
And a few like occultations,
In a few things here below,
Men of wisdom do not know;
And to them for these few items
It is never wise to go.
