Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine. Auerbach Berthold

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СКАЧАТЬ one can do that," replied the screamer in a very loud voice, "one can do that. Dogs have their own peculiar whine and bark, according as they belong to a knowing or a stupid race; and stupid people, too, cry and complain quite differently from smart ones."

      He cast a pleased glance upon Eric, and held his pipe in his hand for some time.

      "You are right," said Eric. "I see you have had much experience and reflection."

      "May be so," answered the huntsman.

      He led the way into his house, and when Eric asked what saint it was whose picture hung on the wall, he replied, laughing, —

      "That is my only saint, it is Saint Rochus of the mountain yonder, and I like him because he has a dog with him."

      There were many bird-cages in the room, and such a twittering and confused singing, that one could hardly hear himself speak. The old man was very happy in explaining to Eric how he taught birds that lived on beetles and caterpillars to eat seeds, and how he got maggots and weevils also, and he complained of Roland's want of interest in the feathered tribe.

      "No, I don't like birds," the boy declared.

      "And I know why," said Eric.

      "Do you? why then?"

      "You have no pleasure in the free-flying creatures which you cannot make your own, and you don't like them imprisoned either. You like dogs because they are free and yet cling to us."

      The dog-trainer nodded to Eric, as if to say, "You've struck the nail on the head."

      "Yes, I do like you!" cried Roland, who had two young spaniels in his lap, while the mother stood by and rubbed her head against his side, and the other dogs crowded round.

      "Envy and jealousy," said Eric, "are striking characteristics of dogs. As soon as a man caresses one, all the rest want to share the favor."

      "There's one that doesn't trouble himself about it," said the trainer, laughing.

      In the corner lay a small brown dog, that only blinked at them occasionally. Eric remarked that it must be a fox-hound, to judge from its appearance.

      "Right, he understands dogs!" cried the screamer, turning to Roland. "You are right! I got that fellow out of a fox-hole, and he is and always will be an unfaithful and ungrateful beast, who is not to be trusted; do what you will for him, he is never thankful nor affectionate."

      The dog in the corner just opened his eyes and shut them again, as if he didn't disturb himself about the talk of men.

      Roland showed Eric his ferrets, which seemed to know him as he took them out of the cage. He pointed out a bright yellow one, as an especially cunning, tough rascal; he had given him the name of Buchanan. The name of the other he would not tell; it was really Knopf, but now he only said that he called him Master of Arts, because he always considered so long before he went into a hole, and moved his lips as if he were delivering a lecture.

      They went into the garden, and the huntsman showed Eric his bee-hives. Turning to Roland, he said, —

      "Yes, Roland, your father's flowers are good for my bees, if the poor little creatures didn't have to fly so far down to reach your garden. I let my cattle feed in other men's pastures, and the world hasn't yet got so far that rich men can forbid poor men's bees to suck honey from their flowers."

      A sharp glance shot from his eyes as he said this, which expressed the whole rankling hostility of the poor towards the rich. The keeper complained that Sonnenkamp cherished so many nightingales, which certainly sang beautifully, but robbed the bees of their honey, and even ate the bees with the honey. The nightingale, which men prize so highly, is a cruel murderer of bees.

      "Yes," answered Eric, "the nightingales do not know that the bees give honey, and we cannot blame the birds for considering them as plagues for whose destruction men will be grateful. However, they do not eat them altogether for our sakes but their own."

      The screamer looked first at Eric, then at Roland, and nodded as if saying, "Yes, yes, that's quite another thing."

      Roland now asked how far Griffin had been broken in. The reply was, that he would now run at the man, but he was still too wild, and his leap not quite regular, but he was beginning to seize hold. Roland desired to see him do it; but the day-laborer, who allowed himself to be experimented upon in that way, was not at home. Roland said that the dwarf was at home, and he would be ready to do it. He himself went after the dwarf.

      After Roland had gone, the huntsman, Claus, hastily grasped Eric's hand, saying, "I will help you to catch him, and I can give the fellow slick into your hand."

      Eric gazed in utter astonishment at the old man, who proceeded to inform him that he understood very well what he had come for, and whoever knew how could make out of Roland a proper man. He signified by a very sly wink that Eric would some day be exceedingly grateful to him, if he should help him out.

      Before Eric could make any reply, Roland came back with the dwarf, who allowed a pillow to be fastened over his shoulders, and stationed himself at the garden-fence, holding fast by the palings with both hands. A large Newfoundland dog was let out of a kennel, and sprang about awkwardly in all directions, but at a whistle from the keeper stationed himself behind him.

      The keeper now called out, "Griffin! catch him! At him!"

      With a bound the dog-leaped through the garden at the dwarf standing by the fence, jumped upon him, bit into the pillow, tugged at him until he fell over, and then placed his right fore-foot upon his breast, looking back at his master.

      "Bravo! bravo! You see he is a real devil!"

      "You are right!" exclaimed Roland. "Devil! that's just the name – Devil he shall be called. Now they will be afraid of me all over the neighborhood."

      Eric was shocked at this insolent bravado as well as at the off-hand application of the idea. He appealed to the trainer whether a dog's name ought to be changed who had already cut all his teeth.

      "Certainly not," asserted the man; "a dog whose name is changed don't know when he is called."

      "And besides," added Eric, "it is wholly wrong to give a dog such a name. A dog's name ought to have an a in it, and have only one syllable; the letter a can be called aloud very easily."

      "You are a great scholar; I never heard of the like before; you know everything;" the screamer went on in high commendation, winking at the same time merrily, and with half-sidelong glances.

      Devil – for Roland persisted in giving the dog this name – would not come away from the dwarf, prostrate on the ground, although both Roland and the trainer called to him repeatedly. That was not a part of his lesson. He held on until the trainer showed his whip.

      Roland gave the dwarf a piece of money, for which he was very abjectly grateful, and only wished that he might be thrown down in that way three times every day by the dog. Eric looked on meditatively. How was this rich youth to be made to learn to love, labor for, and influence the world which so laid itself at his feet?

      When the two left the cottage, the trainer escorted them a part of the way, followed by a whole pack of dogs. They led their horses by the bridle, and the trainer, keeping exclusively by the side of Eric, made an ostentatious display of his whole stock of wisdom concerning the training of dogs. The huntsman considered himself infinitely clever, and all learned men stupid.

      He СКАЧАТЬ