by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XXII
[The Black Forest and Its Treasures]
From Baden-Baden we made the customary trip into the Black Forest. Wewere on foot most of the time. One cannot describe those noble woods,nor the feeling with which they inspire him. A feature of the feeling,however, is a deep sense of contentment; another feature of it is abuoyant, boyish gladness; and a third and very conspicuous feature ofit is one's sense of the remoteness of the work-day world and his entireemancipation from it and its affairs.
Those woods stretch unbroken over a vast region; and everywhere they aresuch dense woods, and so still, and so piney and fragrant. The stems ofthe trees are trim and straight, and in many places all the ground ishidden for miles under a thick cushion of moss of a vivid green color,with not a decayed or ragged spot in its surface, and not a fallen leafor twig to mar its immaculate tidiness. A rich cathedral gloom pervadesthe pillared aisles; so the stray flecks of sunlight that strike a trunkhere and a bough yonder are strongly accented, and when they strike themoss they fairly seem to burn. But the weirdest effect, and the mostenchanting is that produced by the diffused light of the low afternoonsun; no single ray is able to pierce its way in, then, but the diffusedlight takes color from moss and foliage, and pervades the place likea faint, green-tinted mist, the theatrical fire of fairyland. Thesuggestion of mystery and the supernatural which haunts the forest atall times is intensified by this unearthly glow.
We found the Black Forest farmhouses and villages all that the BlackForest stories have pictured them. The first genuine specimen whichwe came upon was the mansion of a rich farmer and member of the CommonCouncil of the parish or district. He was an important personage in theland and so was his wife also, of course.
His daughter was the "catch" of the region, and she may be alreadyentering into immortality as the heroine of one of Auerbach's novels,for all I know. We shall see, for if he puts her in I shall recognizeher by her Black Forest clothes, and her burned complexion, her plumpfigure, her fat hands, her dull expression, her gentle spirit,her generous feet, her bonnetless head, and the plaited tails ofhemp-colored hair hanging down her back.
The house was big enough for a hotel; it was a hundred feet long andfifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground to eaves; but from the eavesto the comb of the mighty roof was as much as forty feet, or maybe evenmore. This roof was of ancient mud-colored straw thatch a foot thick,and was covered all over, except in a few trifling spots, with athriving and luxurious growth of green vegetation, mainly moss. Themossless spots were places where repairs had been made by the insertionof bright new masses of yellow straw. The eaves projected far down, likesheltering, hospitable wings. Across the gable that fronted the road,and about ten feet above the ground, ran a narrow porch, with a woodenrailing; a row of small windows filled with very small panes looked uponthe porch. Above were two or three other little windows, one clear upunder the sharp apex of the roof. Before the ground-floor door was ahuge pile of manure. The door of the second-story room on the side ofthe house was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow. Wasthis probably the drawing-room? All of the front half of the house fromthe ground up seemed to be occupied by the people, the cows, and thechickens, and all the rear half by draught-animals and hay. But thechief feature, all around this house, was the big heaps of manure.
We became very familiar with the fertilizer in the Forest. We fellunconsciously into the habit of judging of a man's station in lifeby this outward and eloquent sign. Sometimes we said, "Here is a poordevil, this is manifest." When we saw a stately accumulation, we said,"Here is a banker." When we encountered a country-seat surrounded by anAlpine pomp of manure, we said, "Doubtless a duke lives here."
The importance of this feature has not been properly magnified in theBlack Forest stories. Manure is evidently the Black-Forester's maintreasure--his coin, his jewel, his pride, his Old Master, his ceramics,his bric-a-brac, his darling, his title to public consideration, envy,veneration, and his first solicitude when he gets ready to make hiswill. The true Black Forest novel, if it is ever written, will beskeletoned somewhat in this way:
SKELETON FOR A BLACK FOREST NOVEL
Rich old farmer, named Huss.
Has inherited great wealth of manure, and by diligence has added to it.It is double-starred in Baedeker. [1] The Black forest artist paintsit--his masterpiece. The king comes to see it. Gretchen Huss,daughter and heiress. Paul Hoch, young neighbor, suitor for Gretchen'shand--ostensibly; he really wants the manure.
Hoch has a good many cart-loads of the Black Forest currency himself,and therefore is a good catch; but he is sordid, mean, and withoutsentiment, whereas Gretchen is all sentiment and poetry. Hans Schmidt,young neighbor, full of sentiment, full of poetry, loves Gretchen,Gretchen loves him. But he has no manure. Old Huss forbids him in thehouse. His heart breaks, he goes away to die in the woods, far from thecruel world--for he says, bitterly, "What is man, without manure?"
1. When Baedeker's guide-books mention a thing and put two stars (**)after it, it means well worth visiting. M.T.
[Interval of six months.]
Paul Hoch comes to old Huss and says, "I am at last as rich as yourequired--come and view the pile." Old Huss views it and says, "It issufficient--take her and be happy,"--meaning Gretchen.
[Interval of two weeks.]
Wedding party assembled in old Huss's drawing-room. Hoch placid andcontent, Gretchen weeping over her hard fate. Enter old Huss's headbookkeeper. Huss says fiercely, "I gave you three weeks to find out whyyour books don't balance, and to prove that you are not a defaulter;the time is up--find me the missing property or you go to prison asa thief." Bookkeeper: "I have found it." "Where?" Bookkeeper(sternly--tragically): "In the bridegroom's pile!--behold the thief--seehim blench and tremble!" [Sensation.] Paul Hoch: "Lost, lost!"--fallsover the cow in a swoon and is handcuffed. Gretchen: "Saved!" Falls overthe calf in a swoon of joy, but is caught in the arms of Hans Schmidt,who springs in at that moment. Old Huss: "What, you here, varlet? Unhandthe maid and quit the place." Hans (still supporting the insensiblegirl): "Never! Cruel old man, know that I come with claims which evenyou cannot despise."
Huss: "_What_? Name them."
Hans: "Listen then. The world has forsaken me, I forsook the world, Iwandered in the solitude of the forest, longing for death but findingnone. I fed upon roots, and in my bitterness I dug for the bitterest,loathing the sweeter kind. Digging, three days agone, I struck a manuremine!--a Golconda, a limitless Bonanza, of solid manure! I can buyyou _all_, and have mountain ranges of manure left! Ha-ha, _now_ thousmilest a smile!" [Immense sensation.] Exhibition of specimens from themine. Old Huss (enthusiastically): "Wake her up, shake her up, nobleyoung man, she is yours!" Wedding takes place on the spot; bookkeeperrestored to his office and emoluments; Paul Hoch led off to jail. TheBonanza king of the Black Forest lives to a good old age, blessed withthe love of his wife and of his twenty-seven children, and the stillsweeter envy of everybody around.
We took our noon meal of fried trout one day at the Plow Inn, in a verypretty village (Ottenhoefen), and then went into the public room to restand smoke. There we found nine or ten Black Forest grandees assembledaround a table. They were the Common Council of the parish. They hadgathered there at eight o'clock that morning to elect a new member, andthey had now been drinking beer four hours at the new member's expense.
They were men of fifty or sixty years of age, with grave good-naturedfaces, and were all dressed in the costume made familiar to us by theBlack Forest stories; broad, round-topped black felt hats with the brimscurled up all round; long red waistcoats with large metal buttons, blackalpaca coats with the waists up between the shoulders. There were nospeeches, there was but little talk, there were no frivolities; theCouncil filled themselves gradually, steadily, but surely, with beer,and conducted themselves with sedate decorum, as became men of position,men of influence, men of manure.
We had a hot afternoon tramp up the valley, along the grassy bank of arushing stream of
clear water, past farmhouses, water-mills, and no endof wayside crucifixes and saints and Virgins. These crucifixes, etc.,are set up in memory of departed friends, by survivors, and are almostas frequent as telegraph-poles are in other lands.
We followed the carriage-road, and had our usual luck; we traveled undera beating sun, and always saw the shade leave the shady places before wecould get to them. In all our wanderings we seldom managed to strikea piece of road at its time for being shady. We had a particularly hottime of it on that particular afternoon, and with no comfort but what wecould get out of the fact that the peasants at work away up on the steepmountainsides above our heads were even worse off than we were. By andby it became impossible to endure the intolerable glare and heatany longer; so we struck across the ravine and entered the deep cooltwilight of the forest, to hunt for what the guide-book called the "oldroad."
We found an old road, and it proved eventually to be the right one,though we followed it at the time with the conviction that it was thewrong one. If it was the wrong one there could be no use in hurrying;therefore we did not hurry, but sat down frequently on the soft moss andenjoyed the restful quiet and shade of the forest solitudes. Therehad been distractions in the carriage-road--school-children, peasants,wagons, troops of pedestrianizing students from all over Germany--but wehad the old road to ourselves.
Now and then, while we rested, we watched the laborious ant at his work.I found nothing new in him--certainly nothing to change my opinion ofhim. It seems to me that in the matter of intellect the ant must be astrangely overrated bird. During many summers, now, I have watched him,when I ought to have been in better business, and I have not yet comeacross a living ant that seemed to have any more sense than a dead one.I refer to the ordinary ant, of course; I have had no experience ofthose wonderful Swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled armies,hold slaves, and dispute about religion. Those particular ants may beall that the naturalist paints them, but I am persuaded that theaverage ant is a sham. I admit his industry, of course; he is thehardest-working creature in the world--when anybody is looking--buthis leather-headedness is the point I make against him. He goes outforaging, he makes a capture, and then what does he do? Go home? No--hegoes anywhere but home. He doesn't know where home is. His home may beonly three feet away--no matter, he can't find it. He makes his capture,as I have said; it is generally something which can be of no sort ofuse to himself or anybody else; it is usually seven timesbigger than it ought to be; he hunts out the awkwardest placeto take hold of it; he lifts it bodily up in the air by main force,and starts; not toward home, but in the opposite direction;not calmly and wisely, but with a frantic haste which is wasteful of hisstrength; he fetches up against a pebble, and instead of going aroundit, he climbs over it backward dragging his booty after him, tumblesdown on the other side, jumps up in a passion, kicks the dust off hisclothes, moistens his hands, grabs his property viciously, yanks it thisway, then that, shoves it ahead of him a moment, turns tail and lugs itafter him another moment, gets madder and madder, then presently hoistsit into the air and goes tearing away in an entirely new direction;comes to a weed; it never occurs to him to go around it; no, he mustclimb it; and he does climb it, dragging his worthless property to thetop--which is as bright a thing to do as it would be for me to carry asack of flour from Heidelberg to Paris by way of Strasburg steeple; whenhe gets up there he finds that that is not the place; takes a cursoryglance at the scenery and either climbs down again or tumbles down, andstarts off once more--as usual, in a new direction. At the end of halfan hour, he fetches up within six inches of the place he started fromand lays his burden down; meantime he has been over all the ground fortwo yards around, and climbed all the weeds and pebbles he came across.Now he wipes the sweat from his brow, strokes his limbs, and thenmarches aimlessly off, in as violently a hurry as ever. He does notremember to have ever seen it before; he looks around to see which isnot the way home, grabs his bundle and starts; he goes through the sameadventures he had before; finally stops to rest, and a friend comesalong. Evidently the friend remarks that a last year's grasshopper legis a very noble acquisition, and inquires where he got it.
Evidently the proprietor does not remember exactly where he did getit, but thinks he got it "around here somewhere." Evidently the friendcontracts to help him freight it home. Then, with a judgment peculiarlyantic (pun not intended), they take hold of opposite ends of thatgrasshopper leg and begin to tug with all their might in oppositedirections. Presently they take a rest and confer together. They decidethat something is wrong, they can't make out what. Then they go atit again, just as before. Same result. Mutual recriminations follow.Evidently each accuses the other of being an obstructionist. They lockthemselves together and chew each other's jaws for a while; then theyroll and tumble on the ground till one loses a horn or a leg and has tohaul off for repairs. They make up and go to work again in the same oldinsane way, but the crippled ant is at a disadvantage; tug as he may,the other one drags off the booty and him at the end of it. Insteadof giving up, he hangs on, and gets his shins bruised against everyobstruction that comes in the way. By and by, when that grasshopper leghas been dragged all over the same old ground once more, it is finallydumped at about the spot where it originally lay, the two perspiringants inspect it thoughtfully and decide that dried grasshopper legsare a poor sort of property after all, and then each starts off in adifferent direction to see if he can't find an old nail or somethingelse that is heavy enough to afford entertainment and at the same timevalueless enough to make an ant want to own it.
There in the Black Forest, on the mountainside, I saw an ant go throughwith such a performance as this with a dead spider of fully ten timeshis own weight. The spider was not quite dead, but too far gone toresist. He had a round body the size of a pea. The little ant--observingthat I was noticing--turned him on his back, sunk his fangs into histhroat, lifted him into the air and started vigorously off with him,stumbling over little pebbles, stepping on the spider's legs andtripping himself up, dragging him backward, shoving him bodily ahead,dragging him up stones six inches high instead of going around them,climbing weeds twenty times his own height and jumping from theirsummits--and finally leaving him in the middle of the road to beconfiscated by any other fool of an ant that wanted him. I measured theground which this ass traversed, and arrived at the conclusion that whathe had accomplished inside of twenty minutes would constitute somesuch job as this--relatively speaking--for a man; to wit: to strap twoeight-hundred-pound horses together, carry them eighteen hundred feet,mainly over (not around) boulders averaging six feet high, and in thecourse of the journey climb up and jump from the top of one precipicelike Niagara, and three steeples, each a hundred and twenty feet high;and then put the horses down, in an exposed place, without anybody towatch them, and go off to indulge in some other idiotic miracle forvanity's sake.
Science has recently discovered that the ant does not lay up anythingfor winter use. This will knock him out of literature, to some extent.He does not work, except when people are looking, and only then when theobserver has a green, naturalistic look, and seems to be taking notes.This amounts to deception, and will injure him for the Sunday-schools.He has not judgment enough to know what is good to eat from what isn't.This amounts to ignorance, and will impair the world's respect forhim. He cannot stroll around a stump and find his way home again. Thisamounts to idiocy, and once the damaging fact is established, thoughtfulpeople will cease to look up to him, the sentimental will cease tofondle him. His vaunted industry is but a vanity and of no effect, sincehe never gets home with anything he starts with. This disposes of thelast remnant of his reputation and wholly destroys his main usefulnessas a moral agent, since it will make the sluggard hesitate to go to himany more. It is strange, beyond comprehension, that so manifest a humbugas the ant has been able to fool so many nations and keep it up so manyages without being found out.
The ant is strong, but we saw another strong thing, where we had notsuspected the presence of much
muscular power before. A toadstool--thatvegetable which springs to full growth in a single night--had torn looseand lifted a matted mass of pine needles and dirt of twice its own bulkinto the air, and supported it there, like a column supporting a shed.Ten thousand toadstools, with the right purchase, could lift a man, Isuppose. But what good would it do?
All our afternoon's progress had been uphill. About five or half past wereached the summit, and all of a sudden the dense curtain of the forestparted and we looked down into a deep and beautiful gorge and out over awide panorama of wooded mountains with their summits shining in the sunand their glade-furrowed sides dimmed with purple shade. The gorge underour feet--called Allerheiligen--afforded room in the grassy level at itshead for a cozy and delightful human nest, shut away from the world andits botherations, and consequently the monks of the old times had notfailed to spy it out; and here were the brown and comely ruins of theirchurch and convent to prove that priests had as fine an instinct sevenhundred years ago in ferreting out the choicest nooks and corners in aland as priests have today.
A big hotel crowds the ruins a little, now, and drives a brisk tradewith summer tourists. We descended into the gorge and had a supper whichwould have been very satisfactory if the trout had not been boiled.The Germans are pretty sure to boil a trout or anything else if left totheir own devices. This is an argument of some value in support of thetheory that they were the original colonists of the wild islands of thecoast of Scotland. A schooner laden with oranges was wrecked upon oneof those islands a few years ago, and the gentle savages rendered thecaptain such willing assistance that he gave them as many oranges asthey wanted. Next day he asked them how they liked them. They shooktheir heads and said:
"Baked, they were tough; and even boiled, they warn't things for ahungry man to hanker after."
We went down the glen after supper. It is beautiful--a mixture of sylvanloveliness and craggy wildness. A limpid torrent goes whistling downthe glen, and toward the foot of it winds through a narrow cleft betweenlofty precipices and hurls itself over a succession of falls. After onepasses the last of these he has a backward glimpse at the falls whichis very pleasing--they rise in a seven-stepped stairway of foamy andglittering cascades, and make a picture which is as charming as it isunusual.
