For Dilsberg is a quaint2 place. It is most quaintly3 and picturesquely5 situated6, too. Imagine the beautiful river before you; then a few rods of brilliant green sward on its opposite shore; then a sudden hill—no preparatory gently rising slopes, but a sort of instantaneous hill—a hill two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet high, as round as a bowl, with the same taper7 upward that an inverted8 bowl has, and with about the same relation of height to diameter that distinguishes a bowl of good honest depth—a hill which is thickly clothed with green bushes—a comely9, shapely hill, rising abruptly10 out of the dead level of the surrounding green plains, visible from a great distance down the bends of the river, and with just exactly room on the top of its head for its steepled and turreted11 and roof-clustered cap of architecture, which same is tightly jammed and compacted within the perfectly12 round hoop13 of the ancient village wall.
There is no house outside the wall on the whole hill, or any vestige14 of a former house; all the houses are inside the wall, but there isn’t room for another one. It is really a finished town, and has been finished a very long time. There is no space between the wall and the first circle of buildings; no, the village wall is itself the rear wall of the first circle of buildings, and the roofs jut15 a little over the wall and thus furnish it with eaves. The general level of the massed roofs is gracefully17 broken and relieved by the dominating towers of the ruined castle and the tall spires18 of a couple of churches; so, from a distance Dilsberg has rather more the look of a king’s crown than a cap. That lofty green eminence19 and its quaint coronet form quite a striking picture, you may be sure, in the flush of the evening sun.
We crossed over in a boat and began the ascent20 by a narrow, steep path which plunged21 us at once into the leafy deeps of the bushes. But they were not cool deeps by any means, for the sun’s rays were weltering hot and there was little or no breeze to temper them. As we panted up the sharp ascent, we met brown, bareheaded and barefooted boys and girls, occasionally, and sometimes men; they came upon us without warning, they gave us good day, flashed out of sight in the bushes, and were gone as suddenly and mysteriously as they had come. They were bound for the other side of the river to work. This path had been traveled by many generations of these people. They have always gone down to the valley to earn their bread, but they have always climbed their hill again to eat it, and to sleep in their snug23 town.
It is said that the Dilsbergers do not emigrate much; they find that living up there above the world, in their peaceful nest, is pleasanter than living down in the troublous world. The seven hundred inhabitants are all blood-kin to each other, too; they have always been blood-kin to each other for fifteen hundred years; they are simply one large family, and they like the home folks better than they like strangers, hence they persistently24 stay at home. It has been said that for ages Dilsberg has been merely a thriving and diligent25 idiot-factory. I saw no idiots there, but the captain said, “Because of late years the government has taken to lugging26 them off to asylums27 and otherwheres; and government wants to cripple the factory, too, and is trying to get these Dilsbergers to marry out of the family, but they don’t like to.”
The captain probably imagined all this, as modern science denies that the intermarrying of relatives deteriorates28 the stock.
Arrived within the wall, we found the usual village sights and life. We moved along a narrow, crooked29 lane which had been paved in the Middle Ages. A strapping30, ruddy girl was beating flax or some such stuff in a little bit of a good-box of a barn, and she swung her flail31 with a will—if it was a flail; I was not farmer enough to know what she was at; a frowsy, barelegged girl was herding32 half a dozen geese with a stick—driving them along the lane and keeping them out of the dwellings33; a cooper was at work in a shop which I know he did not make so large a thing as a hogshead in, for there was not room. In the front rooms of dwellings girls and women were cooking or spinning, and ducks and chickens were waddling34 in and out, over the threshold, picking up chance crumbs35 and holding pleasant converse36; a very old and wrinkled man sat asleep before his door, with his chin upon his breast and his extinguished pipe in his lap; soiled children were playing in the dirt everywhere along the lane, unmindful of the sun.
Except the sleeping old man, everybody was at work, but the place was very still and peaceful, nevertheless; so still that the distant cackle of the successful hen smote37 upon the ear but little dulled by intervening sounds. That commonest of village sights was lacking here—the public pump, with its great stone tank or trough of limpid38 water, and its group of gossiping pitcher-bearers; for there is no well or fountain or spring on this tall hill; cisterns39 of rain-water are used.
Our alpenstocks and muslin tails compelled attention, and as we moved through the village we gathered a considerable procession of little boys and girls, and so went in some state to the castle. It proved to be an extensive pile of crumbling40 walls, arches, and towers, massive, properly grouped for picturesque4 effect, weedy, grass-grown, and satisfactory. The children acted as guides; they walked us along the top of the highest walls, then took us up into a high tower and showed us a wide and beautiful landscape, made up of wavy41 distances of woody hills, and a nearer prospect42 of undulating expanses of green lowlands, on the one hand, and castle-graced crags and ridges43 on the other, with the shining curves of the Neckar flowing between. But the principal show, the chief pride of the children, was the ancient and empty well in the grass-grown court of the castle. Its massive stone curb44 stands up three or four feet above-ground, and is whole and uninjured. The children said that in the Middle Ages this well was four hundred feet deep, and furnished all the village with an abundant supply of water, in war and peace. They said that in the old day its bottom was below the level of the Neckar, hence the water-supply was inexhaustible.
But there were some who believed it had never been a well at all, and was never deeper than it is now—eighty feet; that at that depth a subterranean45 passage branched from it and descended46 gradually to a remote place in the valley, where it opened into somebody’s cellar or other hidden recess48, and that the secret of this locality is now lost. Those who hold this belief say that herein lies the explanation that Dilsberg, besieged49 by Tilly and many a soldier before him, was never taken: after the longest and closest sieges the besiegers were astonished to perceive that the besieged were as fat and hearty50 as ever, and were well furnished with munitions51 of war—therefore it must be that the Dilsbergers had been bringing these things in through the subterranean passage all the time.
The children said that there was in truth a subterranean outlet52 down there, and they would prove it. So they set a great truss of straw on fire and threw it down the well, while we leaned on the curb and watched the glowing mass descend47. It struck bottom and gradually burned out. No smoke came up. The children clapped their hands and said:
“You see! Nothing makes so much smoke as burning straw—now where did the smoke go to, if there is no subterranean outlet?"
So it seemed quite evident that the subterranean outlet indeed existed. But the finest thing within the ruin’s limits was a noble linden, which the children said was four hundred years old, and no doubt it was. It had a mighty53 trunk and a mighty spread of limb and foliage54. The limbs near the ground were nearly the thickness of a barrel.
That tree had witnessed the assaults of men in mail—how remote such a time seems, and how ungraspable is the fact that real men ever did fight in real armor!—and it had seen the time when these broken arches and crumbling battlements were a trim and strong and stately fortress55, fluttering its gay banners in the sun, and peopled with vigorous humanity—how impossibly long ago that seems!—and here it stands yet, and possibly may still be standing56 here, sunning itself and dreaming its historical dreams, when today shall have been joined to the days called “ancient.”
Well, we sat down under the tree to smoke, and the captain delivered himself of his legend:
THE LEGEND OF DILSBERG CASTLE
It was to this effect. In the old times there was once a great company assembled at the castle, and festivity ran high. Of course there was a haunted chamber57 in the castle, and one day the talk fell upon that. It was said that whoever slept in it would not wake again for fifty years. Now when a young knight58 named Conrad von Geisberg heard this, he said that if the castle were his he would destroy that chamber, so that no foolish person might have the chance to bring so dreadful a misfortune upon himself and afflict59 such as loved him with the memory of it. Straightway, the company privately60 laid their heads together to contrive61 some way to get this superstitious62 young man to sleep in that chamber.
And they succeeded—in this way. They persuaded his betrothed63, a lovely mischievous64 young creature, niece of the lord of the castle, to help them in their plot. She presently took him aside and had speech with him. She used all her persuasions65, but could not shake him; he said his belief was firm, that if he should sleep there he would wake no more for fifty years, and it made him shudder66 to think of it. Catharina began to weep. This was a better argument; Conrad could not hold out against it. He yielded and said she should have her wish if she would only smile and be happy again. She flung her arms about his neck, and the kisses she gave him showed that her thankfulness and her pleasure were very real. Then she flew to tell the company her success, and the applause she received made her glad and proud she had undertaken her mission, since all alone she had accomplished67 what the multitude had failed in.
At midnight, that night, after the usual feasting, Conrad was taken to the haunted chamber and left there. He fell asleep, by and by.
When he awoke again and looked about him, his heart stood still with horror! The whole aspect of the chamber was changed. The walls were moldy68 and hung with ancient cobwebs; the curtains and beddings were rotten; the furniture was rickety and ready to fall to pieces. He sprang out of bed, but his quaking knees sunk under him and he fell to the floor.
“This is the weakness of age,” he said.
He rose and sought his clothing. It was clothing no longer. The colors were gone, the garments gave way in many places while he was putting them on. He fled, shuddering69, into the corridor, and along it to the great hall. Here he was met by a aged71" target="_blank">middle-aged70 stranger of a kind countenance72, who stopped and gazed at him with surprise. Conrad said:
“Good sir, will you send hither the lord Ulrich?”
The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said:
“The lord Ulrich?”
“Yes—if you will be so good."
The stranger called—“Wilhelm!” A young serving-man came, and the stranger said to him:
“Is there a lord Ulrich among the guests?”
“I know none of the name, so please your honor.”
Conrad said, hesitatingly:
“I did not mean a guest, but the lord of the castle, sir.”
The stranger and the servant exchanged wondering glances. Then the former said:
“I am the lord of the castle.”
“Since when, sir?”
“Since the death of my father, the good lord Ulrich more than forty years ago.”
Conrad sank upon a bench and covered his face with his hands while he rocked his body to and fro and moaned. The stranger said in a low voice to the servant:
“I fear me this poor old creature is mad. Call some one.”
In a moment several people came, and grouped themselves about, talking in whispers. Conrad looked up and scanned the faces about him wistfully.
Then he shook his head and said, in a grieved voice:
“No, there is none among ye that I know. I am old and alone in the world. They are dead and gone these many years that cared for me. But sure, some of these aged ones I see about me can tell me some little word or two concerning them.”
Several bent73 and tottering74 men and women came nearer and answered his questions about each former friend as he mentioned the names. This one they said had been dead ten years, that one twenty, another thirty. Each succeeding blow struck heavier and heavier. At last the sufferer said:
“There is one more, but I have not the courage to—O my lost Catharina!”
“Ah, I knew her well, poor soul. A misfortune overtook her lover, and she died of sorrow nearly fifty years ago. She lieth under the linden tree without the court.”
Conrad bowed his head and said:
“Ah, why did I ever wake! And so she died of grief for me, poor child. So young, so sweet, so good! She never wittingly did a hurtful thing in all the little summer of her life. Her loving debt shall be repaid—for I will die of grief for her.”
His head drooped76 upon his breast. In the moment there was a wild burst of joyous77 laughter, a pair of round young arms were flung about Conrad’s neck and a sweet voice cried:
“There, Conrad mine, thy kind words kill me—the farce78 shall go no further! Look up, and laugh with us—’twas all a jest!”
And he did look up, and gazed, in a dazed wonderment—for the disguises were stripped away, and the aged men and women were bright and young and gay again. Catharina’s happy tongue ran on:
“’Twas a marvelous jest, and bravely carried out. They gave you a heavy sleeping-draught before you went to bed, and in the night they bore you to a ruined chamber where all had fallen to decay, and placed these rags of clothing by you. And when your sleep was spent and you came forth79, two strangers, well instructed in their parts, were here to meet you; and all we, your friends, in our disguises, were close at hand, to see and hear, you may be sure. Ah, ’twas a gallant80 jest! Come, now, and make thee ready for the pleasures of the day. How real was thy misery81 for the moment, thou poor lad! Look up and have thy laugh, now!”
He looked up, searched the merry faces about him in a dreamy way, then sighed and said:
“I am aweary, good strangers, I pray you lead me to her grave.”
All day the people went about the castle with troubled faces, and communed together in undertones. A painful hush83 pervaded84 the place which had lately been so full of cheery life. Each in his turn tried to arouse Conrad out of his hallucination and bring him to himself; but all the answer any got was a meek85, bewildered stare, and then the words:
“Good stranger, I have no friends, all are at rest these many years; ye speak me fair, ye mean me well, but I know ye not; I am alone and forlorn in the world—prithee lead me to her grave.”
During two years Conrad spent his days, from the early morning till the night, under the linden tree, mourning over the imaginary grave of his Catharina. Catharina was the only company of the harmless madman. He was very friendly toward her because, as he said, in some ways she reminded him of his Catharina whom he had lost “fifty years ago.” He often said:
“She was so gay, so happy-hearted—but you never smile; and always when you think I am not looking, you cry.”
When Conrad died, they buried him under the linden, according to his directions, so that he might rest “near his poor Catharina.” Then Catharina sat under the linden alone, every day and all day long, a great many years, speaking to no one, and never smiling; and at last her long repentance86 was rewarded with death, and she was buried by Conrad’s side.
Harris pleased the captain by saying it was good legend; and pleased him further by adding:
“Now that I have seen this mighty tree, vigorous with its four hundred years, I feel a desire to believe the legend for its sake; so I will humor the desire, and consider that the tree really watches over those poor hearts and feels a sort of human tenderness for them.”
We returned to Necharsteinach, plunged our hot heads into the trough at the town pump, and then went to the hotel and ate our trout dinner in leisurely87 comfort, in the garden, with the beautiful Neckar flowing at our feet, the quaint Dilsberg looming88 beyond, and the graceful16 towers and battlements of a couple of medieval castles (called the “Swallow’s Nest” [1] and “The Brothers.”) assisting the rugged89 scenery of a bend of the river down to our right. We got to sea in season to make the eight-mile run to Heidelberg before the night shut down. We sailed by the hotel in the mellow90 glow of sunset, and came slashing91 down with the mad current into the narrow passage between the dikes. I believed I could shoot the bridge myself, and I went to the forward triplet of logs and relieved the pilot of his pole and his responsibility.
1. The seeker after information is referred to Appendix E
for our captain’s legend of the “Swallow’s Nest” and
“The Brothers."
We went tearing along in a most exhilarating way, and I performed the delicate duties of my office very well indeed for a first attempt; but perceiving, presently, that I really was going to shoot the bridge itself instead of the archway under it, I judiciously92 stepped ashore93. The next moment I had my long-coveted desire: I saw a raft wrecked94. It hit the pier95 in the center and went all to smash and scatteration like a box of matches struck by lightning.
I was the only one of our party who saw this grand sight; the others were attitudinizing, for the benefit of the long rank of young ladies who were promenading96 on the bank, and so they lost it. But I helped to fish them out of the river, down below the bridge, and then described it to them as well as I could.
They were not interested, though. They said they were wet and felt ridiculous and did not care anything for descriptions of scenery. The young ladies, and other people, crowded around and showed a great deal of sympathy, but that did not help matters; for my friends said they did not want sympathy, they wanted a back alley22 and solitude97.
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1
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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picturesquely
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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turreted
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| a.(像炮塔般)旋转式的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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13
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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15
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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21
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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22
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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23
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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deteriorates
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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30
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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31
flail
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| v.用连枷打；击打；n.连枷（脱粒用的工具） | |
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herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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cisterns
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| n.蓄水池，储水箱( cistern的名词复数 )；地下储水池 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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51
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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52
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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53
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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54
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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moldy
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| adj.发霉的 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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