"That's quite enough," Lauscher interrupted him, flaring up. "Why the devil should other people's love affairs be your concern!"

"Calm yourself," the philosopher replied, with a pacifying smile. "My esteemed fellow, I had no intention of speaking of such affairs. That I concern myself with the intricacies of certain peculiar fates, and especially with the fates of poets, is entirely natural; it's part and parcel of my science. I have absolutely no doubt that some very subtile, magical ties that bind you to our Lulu have arisen; even if, as I surmise, at the present time certain insuperable obstacles prevent a favorable outcome."

"Please do explain yourself a bit more clearly," the poet replied, standoffish, but still curious.

The old man shrugged his shoulders. "Well now," he said, "each and every human Soul that exists on a higher plane instinctively strives for that Harmony which inheres in the happy balance of the Conscious and the Unconscious. However, as long as the Cognitive Self takes, as its life principle, a destructive Dualism, these striving temperaments tend to ally themselves-through only half-understood instinct-with temperaments whose striving directly opposes their own. Now understand me. Such bonds can be formed without words or knowledge; like affinities, they can arise unrecognized and have their life and effect solely through the Emotions. In any case, they are predetermined and stand outside the sphere of Personal Volition. They are an immeasurably important element of that which we call Fate. It so happens that the proper and actual benefits of such a bond can only be reaped at the moment of separation and renunciation; these being subject to our Will, over which this affinity has no power."

"I do understand you," said Lauscher in a completely different tone. "It seems you are my friend, Herr Turnabout!"

"Did you ever doubt it?" The other smiled merrily.

"You must come to my farewell party tonight at the Crown!"

"So we shall see, Herr Lauscher. According to certain calculations, tonight an old problem of mine should be resolved, an old dream be fulfilled ... But perhaps this can be combined with your party. Auf Wiedersehen!" He jumped to his feet, waved goodbye, and quickly disappeared on the road leading to the valley.

The friends stayed in the woods until noon, both of them thinking about Lauscher's departure, each one filled with his love and a host of conflicting emotions. They arrived late for the midday meal at the Crown. But they found Lulu in a gay mood, wearing a bright, new dress. She cheerfully accepted the flowers and put them in a vase on the corner table at which she served them their meal. Her lovely figure moved about, happy and industrious, bringing and taking away plates, bowls, and bottles. After the meal, she joined them for a gla.s.s of wine; plans for Lauscher's farewell party were the topic of conversation.

"We must get everything ready for the party; this room needs decorating," said Lulu. "As you can see, I've taken the first step myself, putting on this brand-new dress. We could use some flowers..."

"We'll see to that right away," Ugel interrupted.

"Good," she said, smiling. "A few Chinese lanterns, and some colored ribbons would be nice as well."

"As many as you like!" Ugel called out again. Lauscher nodded in silence.

"You're awfully quiet, Herr Lauscher," Lulu said, annoyed. "Have you any objections?"

Lauscher made no reply. While his gaze hung on her slender figure and lovely countenance, all he could say was: "How beautiful you are today, Lulu." And again: "How beautiful you are!"

He was insatiable, he had to look again and again at her breathtaking image. Watching her and his friend make arrangements for his departure pained him beyond description and made him silent and gloomy. Every moment, a bitter and tormenting thought repeatedly occurred to him: that his renunciation and departure were not to be. He had to throw himself at her feet, to encircle her with all the burning flames of his pa.s.sion, to woo and win her, to take her by force and ravish her. To do something, anything but sit idly by in her presence, while one blessed moment after another of his last hours in it hastily and irretrievably ran out. Nonetheless, he fought bitterly to gain control over his emotions, and in these last moments he concentrated on one thing: to impress her beautiful image deep into his soul, until it was branded there, glowing and painful, as desire never to be forgotten.

Finally, when the three were alone in the room and Ugel was pressing to leave, Lauscher got up, walked up to Lulu, and clasped her hand in his own hot, trembling hand. Then he said softly, in a forced, festively comic tone: "My beautiful Princess, may it please Your Majesty graciously to accept my offer of service! Regard me, I beg of you, as your knight, your slave, your dog, your fool; your wish is my command..."

"Good, my knight," Lulu broke in, smiling. "I do require a service of you. Tonight I need a glad-hearted companion and buffoon, one who can help me make a certain party entertaining and pleasant. Will you accept this task?"

Lauscher turned very white. Then he let out a harsh laugh and with comic exaggeration got down on his knees and spoke with pompous solemnity: "I do so promise, most n.o.ble lady!"

Then he and Ludwig Ugel hurried off. First they went to the horticulturist near the cemetery, and raged with merciless shears through the proprietor's rose garden. Lauscher especially was not to be restrained. "I must have a huge basket full of white roses," he cried repeatedly, leaving no branch untrimmed, shearing off dozens and dozens of his favorite flower for the lovely Lulu. Then he paid the gardener, told him to bring the roses to the Crown that evening, and sauntered off through the town with Ugel. Whenever they saw something bright or colorful in a shop window, they stormed in and made their purchases: fans, scarfs, silk ribbons, paper lanterns, and finally some small fireworks that would still make a fine display. Back at the Crown, the lovely Lulu had her hands full with receiving and arranging all these effects. But, unknown to anyone, the good Turnabout helped her until evening.

8.

LULU WAS EVEN more beautiful and more gay than ever. Lauscher and Ugel had finished their supper; one after another, their friends arrived at the inn. When they had all gathered together, following Lauscher-who gracefully led Lulu on his arm-they proceeded into the back room. Its walls were covered with scarfs, ribbons, and garlands. From the ceiling hung row upon row of colorful lanterns, every one of them lit. The large table was spread with a white cloth, set with champagne gla.s.ses, and strewn with fresh roses. The poet presented his lady with the philosopher's lily, put a half-opened tea rose in her hair, and escorted her to the place of honor. Everyone was in good cheer and sat down with some commotion; the evening was inaugurated with a choral song. Now the corks flew from the bottles; frothing over, the bright n.o.ble wine flowed into the fragile gla.s.ses, and Erich Tnzer made the champagne toast. Jokes were answered with laughter; Turnabout's late arrival was hailed with thunderous applause; Ugel and Lauscher each recited a few charming verses. Then the lovely Lulu sang this song: A King once lay in prison In deep and dark distress- But now he is arisen The King called Sorrowless.

And now bright lights are gleaming Throughout the happy land, And now glad poems are streaming From every poet's hand.

More white and red than ever Lilies and roses bloom; Silversong's harpstrings quiver With its most sacred song.

When the song ended, Lauscher dug deep into the basket of roses, and applauding the singer, he threw handful after handful of white roses her way. Then a merry war was declared: roses flew from seat to seat, in dozens, in hundreds, white roses, red roses; old Turnabout's hair and gray beard were completely covered with them. It was nearly midnight; Turnabout stood up and made a speech: "Dear Friends and Beautiful Lulu! We can all see that the reign of King Sorrowless has begun anew. Even I must say farewell today, but not without the hope that I may see you all again; for my King, into whose service I return, is a friend to the young and to poets. Were you philosophers, I would tell you all a mystical allegory about the Rebirth of the Beautiful, and especially about the Salvation of the Poetic Principle through the ironic Metamorphosis of Mythos, the happy ending of which you will soon come to know. But, as things are, I shall present the denouement of this Askian tale in pleasing pictures before your very eyes. Let the play go on!"

All eyes followed his index finger to a huge, embroidered curtain that closed off one corner of the room. The curtain was suddenly illuminated from within, revealing a weft of innumerable silver lilies framing the marble basin of a gushing fountainhead. The art of the textile and of the lighting was so fine that the lilies could be seen growing, swaying, interlacing, and the spring plashing and gushing; yes, one could definitely hear the cool rush of its n.o.ble waters.

All eyes were fixed on the splendid curtain, so no one noticed that every lantern in the room, one after another, quickly went out. Everyone was deeply engrossed in the magical play of the artificial lilies; only the poet paid it no mind. Through the darkness he raised his glowing eyes and turned them beseechingly on the lovely Lulu. Her face was bathed in a solemnly beautiful and delicate light; in her magnificent dark hair the white rose shimmered with an unearthly sheen.

In unspeakable harmony, the slender lilies circled round the fountain in a wonderfully strange ring dance. Their fine movements and delicate interweaving caught the senses of the breathless onlookers in a sweet, dreamy net of wonder and pleasure. Then a clock struck twelve. Quick as a flash, the resplendent curtain went up; a broad stage loomed in deep twilight. The philosopher got up; the movement of his chair could be heard in the darkness. He vanished and in the same instant appeared on the stage, his hair and beard still full of roses. Gradually, the stage filled with a light that grew stronger and stronger, until the curtain's wellspring and lilies-brilliantly clear-could distinctly be seen plashing and blooming in n.o.ble reality.

In the midst of it all stood the faithful Haderbart, recognizably Turnabout, despite his transfigured mien. In the background, fascinating in its pearl-blue beauty, the Opal Palace towered. Through its broad, vaulted windows you could see the great banquet hall, and there King Sorrowless, in perfect serenity, sat on his throne. While the radiance grew ever stronger, Haderbart, carrying an enormous, fabulous silver harp, made his way through the obeisant lilies to the center of the stage. The splendor was now blinding and broke over the walls of the Opal Palace in feverishly trembling waves, silvery and iridescent.

Poised to listen, the faithful Haderbart plucked one single deep string of the harp. A clear, kingly tone rang out and swelled. Slowly the lilies in the foreground stepped to the side; a splendid staircase dropped from the stage to the floor. In the dark room, tall and slender, the beautiful Lulu arose, and as she climbed the stairs they vanished behind her. Finally she stood there, the figure of the Princess, beautiful beyond words. Bowing deeply, Haderbart gave the harp into her hands; tears flowed from his clear, old eyes and fell, along with one of the roses loosed from his beard, to the ground.

Tall and resplendent, the Princess stood at the Harp Silversong. Making a sweeping gesture toward the palace, her right arm drew the harp toward her until it rested against her shoulder. Then her slender fingers swept over all its strings, from which issued a song of unprecedented bliss and harmony. All the tall lilies gathered round their mistress to pay homage. Once again, a pure, full chord sounded on the reverberating magical strings-then with a brief thud the curtain fell. One moment longer it remained wholly lit from within; the pa.s.sionate dance of the embroidered lilies grew faster and more furious, until all that could be discerned was a single, silver whirlpool, which suddenly and soundlessly foundered in utter darkness.

The friends remained standing or sitting in the darkness, stupefied and speechless. But soon enough they began to recover their senses. Lights were lit. Inadvertently, the forgotten fireworks were set off and exploded with a horrible din. Screaming and scolding, the innkeeper and his wife rushed in. A night.w.a.tchman in the street battered on the locked shutters with his stick. In the general confusion, questions and screams were volleyed back and forth.

But no one could find a trace of Lulu or the philosopher. Junior barrister Ripplein grew irritable and began to speak of trickery; but no one listened to him. Hermann Lauscher had escaped to his room and bolted the door from inside.

When, very early the next morning, Lauscher set out on his journey, still no trace had been found of the beautiful Lulu. Because he immediately left for parts unknown, we cannot expect his report on the subsequent course of events in Kirchheim. But it is to him we owe the above account, transcribed in strict accordance with the facts.

Hannes.

IN A SMALL TOWN lived a well-to-do artisan who had twice been married. From his first marriage he had a son who was strong and brutal; but his second son, Hannes, was a delicate boy, who from early on was taken to be somewhat simpleminded.

After his mother's death, hard times came upon Hannes; his brother despised and mistreated him, and his father always sided with the elder brother, for it disgraced him to have such a stupid son. Because he took no part in the pleasures and activities of other boys, spoke very little, and put up with quite a lot, Hannes gradually gained the reputation of being an extremely dull-witted child. And since he no longer had recourse to his mother, he had gotten into the habit of strolling about the meadows and gardens outside the town gate, whenever he was free to leave his father's house.

Sometimes he stayed out there half the day, taking pleasure in examining the plants and flowers, learning to distinguish the many cla.s.ses of stones, birds, beetles, and other animals; and he was on the best of terms with all these things and creatures. In these pursuits he was often quite alone, but not always. Small children not infrequently sought out his company, and it became apparent that although Hannes had nothing at all in common with boys of his own age, he made friends easily with many of the younger children. He showed them where the flowers grew, he played with them and told them stories; when they were tired he carried them, when they quarreled he made peace between them.

At first people did not like to see the young ones following him around. Then they grew accustomed to the sight, and many mothers were happy to sometimes leave their children in the boy's care.

Yet, in a few years' time, Hannes would suffer unpleasantness at the hands of his former charges. As soon as they outgrew his guardianship and heard from someone what a simpleton Hannes was, the well-bred avoided him, and the coa.r.s.e mocked him.

When this became too painful for him to bear, he would escape alone to the gardens or the woods and would lure goats with vegetables or birds with crumbs, cheering himself with the company of the trees and animals, from which he need have no fear of disloyalty or enmity. He saw G.o.d travel across the earth atop high thunderclouds, he saw the Saviour wander on the still field paths, and when he saw Him, he would hide himself in the bushes and wait, with pounding heart, until He pa.s.sed by.

When the time came for him to take up a profession, he did not go to work in his father's workshop as his brother had done, but rather he left the town for the farms and worked as a herdsman. He drove sheep and goats, swine and cattle, and even geese to pasture. No harm came to his animals, and soon they knew and loved him; recognizing his call, they followed him in preference to other herdsmen. Townspeople and farmers alike were quick to notice this, and after a few years they entrusted their best and finest herds to the young herdsman. But when he had to go to market in town, his gait was humble and shy; the apprentices teased him, the schoolchildren called him names, and his brother, refusing to acknowledge him, contemptuously turned his back on him. When their father fell victim to an epidemic, his brother cheated him out of more than half his inheritance; Hannes paid it no mind and made no protest. Whatever he saved of his herdsman's wages he sometimes gave to children or the poor, more often he would buy a collar with a bright bell for a cow or goat that he loved better than the others.

And so, many years went by; Hannes was no longer young. He knew very little of the life of men, but he knew quite a lot about wind and weather, livestock and dogs, the way the gra.s.s grows and the crops ripen. He could distinguish every one of his animals by its beauty and strength, by its disposition and age; moreover, he could identify all kinds of birds, knowing their habits and species; he also knew lizards, snakes, beetles, bees, flies, pine martens, and squirrels. He understood plants and herbs, soil and water, the seasons, and the phases of the moon. He settled disputes and put an end to jealousy among his animals, tended and healed them when they were sick, carefully raised those orphaned at birth, and never gave a thought to being anything other than a herdsman.

One day, while Hannes lay in the shade at the edge of the woods minding his cattle, a woman came running from the town into the woods; though she came quite near Hannes, she did not see him. Because she appeared to be in great distress, Hannes kept an eye on her, and soon he saw that she intended to take her own life, for she was tying a rope to the branch of a beech tree and was about to place the noose around her neck.

Cautiously but quickly, Hannes approached her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and put a stop to her plan. Terrified, the woman paused and gave him a hostile look. Then he obliged her to sit, and by speaking to her as one speaks to an inconsolable child, he brought her around; she told him her troubles and her whole story. She said she could no longer live with her husband, but Hannes could hear and sense quite clearly that she was still fond of him. He let her go on about her troubles until she calmed down a little. Then he tried to console her; he spoke of other things, his work, the woods and the herds, and finally he implored her to return home and try once more to talk to her husband. Weeping softly, she walked away, and for quite some time he neither saw nor heard anything more from her.

But, as autumn approached, the woman returned with her husband and his brother. She was happy and thankful; she told the herdsman the story of their reconciliation, invited him to visit them in town; and pointing to her brother-in-law, she asked Hannes not to deny counsel and consolation to him as well. The brother-in-law told Hannes his troubles: his mill had burned down and a son had died in the fire. Enormous serenity and strength dwelled in the shepherd as he looked at, listened to, and consoled the man. Without being conscious of it, he comforted the man and gave him new strength to live. With thanks, the townspeople left their comforter.

It was not long before the woman's brother-in-law came to Hannes, bringing along a friend in need of advice; this friend later returned with still another. And, after a few years had pa.s.sed, the whole town spoke of the shepherd Hannes's ability to heal the sick-in-spirit, to settle disputes, to counsel the disconsolate, and give hope to those in despair.

As always, there were many who scoffed at him, but almost every day some new pet.i.tioner sought him out. He led a young spendthrift and ne'er-do-well back onto the path of virtue; he bestowed patience and hope on those who were sorely distressed; and a great stir went up when the differences between two rich families were reconciled through his mediation.

Many people spoke of superst.i.tion and sorcery; but since the shepherd took payment from no one, all reproaches were dispelled; people went to seek the una.s.suming man's advice as if seeking the blessing of a saintly hermit. Legends and tales about his person and his life were popular everywhere; it was said that the beasts of the field followed him and that he understood the language of the birds, that he could make rain fall and divert the course of lightning.

His elder brother was foremost among those who still spoke of Hannes with scorn and envy. He called him a fool and a fool-catcher, and one evening, while carousing, he vowed to take his brother to task and put an end to his activities. True to his word, the next day he set off with two companions to find his brother. On an out-of-the-way moor, Hannes received him graciously, offered him bread and milk, inquired as to the health and well-being of himself and his family. And, before the elder brother could utter even one ill word, the herdsman's nature touched and soothed him so greatly that he begged his forgiveness and contritely made his way home.

This last story stopped all malicious tongues from wagging; it was told again and again, each time with new details, and a young man wrote a poem about it.

When Hannes reached the age of fifty-five, the town fell on evil days. Senseless disputes broke out among the citizenry, blood flowed, and fierce hostilities arose. Poisoning was rumored to be the cause of certain unexplained deaths. And, while the community was still immersed in pa.s.sionate factionalism, a horrifying pestilence spread through the region; first it brought death to children, then it struck down adults, and in a few weeks one-fourth of the population was swept off.

And, amidst these bad times, the old town burgomaster died. Now despondency and desperation gained the upper hand in a munic.i.p.ality afflicted with sickness and civil discord. Bands of thieves imperiled everyone's well-being, all but the rogues had lost their heads, threatening letters terrorized the rich, and the poor had nothing to eat.

Looking for some of his proteges, Hannes came into town one day. He found one dead, another ill, a third orphaned and impoverished; houses stood empty, and in the streets terror, anxiety, and suspicion reigned. Hannes's soul ached with the misery of his native town; and while he crossed the marketplace, several people in the crowd recognized him. A swarm of people, all in need of help, followed close behind him and would not let him get away. Without knowing how it came to pa.s.s, Hannes found himself on the uppermost step in front of the Town Hall, suddenly faced with a huge throng of people thirsty for words of consolation and hope.

Then an impulse to soothe and console them came over him; he stretched out his arms and spoke to the people, and they began to grow calm. He told them of sickness and death, sin and redemption, and he ended with a consoling tale. Yesterday, he said to them, on the hill above the town, he had seen Jesus, the Saviour of the World, who was on His way to put an end to all misery. And, while he spoke of this, his face beamed with compa.s.sion and love, and many wanted to believe that Hannes was the Redeemer sent by G.o.d to save them.

"Bring Him here!" cried the crowd. "Bring us the Saviour, that He may help us!"

Only now did Hannes begin to feel the terrible power and force of the intemperate hopes he had aroused. His senses clouded over and grew weary; for the first time in his life, he felt the misery of the world to be greater and more powerful than the power of his faith. The unfortunate ones who stood before him were no longer content to hear about the Saviour; so as not to doubt, they wanted to see Him themselves, to grasp His hands and hear His voice.

"I will pray to Him for you," he said in a strained voice. "For three days and three nights I will seek Him out and implore Him to return with me to help you."

Tired and confused, the prophet made his way through the swarming mult.i.tude; he crossed the bridge, went through the gate, and reached open ground, where the last few followers left him. Sorrowfully he entered the forest and with heavy thoughts he sought out that spot where at other times he sometimes had felt the nearness of G.o.d. Praying, but without hope, he went astray, oppressed by the misery of thousands. Without desiring it, he, a herdsman and friend of children, had become a spiritual adviser for the many; he had helped many and saved many, and now all this had been to no avail, and he was made to see that evil was inextinguishable and triumphant on earth.

On the fourth day, he entered the town slowly, bent over; his face had grown old, his hair had turned white. The people waited for him in silence, and many of them knelt down as he pa.s.sed by.

He ended his life with a lie, which, nonetheless, was the truth.

"Have you seen G.o.d? And what has He told you?" the people asked.

And he opened his eyes and answered them: "This is what He told me: 'Get you hence and die for your town, as I have died for the world.'"

For a while fear and disappointment held the mult.i.tude captive. Then an old man jumped to his feet, cursing, and spit in the prophet's face. And so Hannes met his end, and in silence succ.u.mbed to the wrath of the people.

The Merman.

FROM AN OLD CHRONICLE.

DESPITE THE SPREAD of humanism in Italy in the early years of the fifteenth century, many more things which defy rational explanation came to pa.s.s between Milan and Naples in those day than in ours; in any case, the chroniclers of that time, despite their occasional sophistication, were constantly opening their eyes wide in astonishment and telling, with candor befitting their vocation, of wholly curious matters. One such incident from that time, supported by the testimony of numerous eyewitnesses, is the following.

A seaside city, to be sure not very large, but very old, widely celebrated, and inhabited by any number of men who were a credit to the arts and sciences, erected a lovely church on the site where long before had stood a temple to Neptune. The building was completed and consecrated, and was admired, with pride and joy, by all who saw it-all, that is, but the jealous inhabitants of the neighboring town.

A short time after the bishop had consecrated the church, a hideous storm blew up and raged with unprecedented fierceness for four days and nights. Several fishing barques went down with all hands; a sailing ship carrying precious cargo sank not far from the coast; and the enormously heavy, gold-plated cross was torn from the steeple of the newly built church. It plummeted through the roof of the church and hung, ruined and bent out of shape, in the rafters. To many, its present form appeared to be that of a trident, and they concluded therefore that this was an act of vengeance by the outraged G.o.d of the Sea. Others took pains to demonstrate the untenability of this a.s.sertion; it became a matter of heated debate, and soon the whole city was up in arms about it. In the council chamber, the great historian Marcus Salestris delivered a treatise on the nature and history of the divinity of the sea G.o.d, a thorough piece of work, full of citations of and allusions to the works of the ancients and of the church fathers, which culminated in the conviction that the sea G.o.ds of former times had been either eradicated or else plunged into the unknown and desolate ocean on the other side of the continent.

The famous orator Caesarius answered him in a public address. While acknowledging Salestris's erudition and merits, he firmly maintained the opposing point of view; and to many people his view was exceedingly plausible, for he enumerated many instances-both from the chronicles and from the logbooks of sailors of more recent times-of encounters between human beings and heathen sea creatures.

In the meantime, the terrible storm had abated, and when the sea had properly calmed down, fishermen and other people whose livelihood depended on it could again ply their trades on the sh.o.r.e.

Then one morning fishwives came running into the city; screaming aloud, they brought the news: a naked man, half covered with seaweed, had been washed ash.o.r.e. They had supposed it was the corpse of a man who had died in the storm, and soon a large band of people-some ready to help, others merely curious-accompanied them to the sh.o.r.e. They brought along poles, nets, and ropes; some of them set their boats on the water; and thus they neared the body, which, not far from the beach, appeared to be caught in creeping seaweed and was bobbing up and down in time with the breakers which engulfed it. Women wailed and prayed; youths and children looked with horror upon the pale, shimmering body, now exposed to the breast, now showing only a hand over the water.

Because of the uncertainty of the sea floor and the numerous shoals, it was found advisable to haul in the body by means of a dragnet attached to three boats. Experienced men set out and accomplished their task.

But it was with horror that the throng of onlookers cried out as they saw the body suddenly and violently move in the net that surrounded it. Thrashing its arms, it tore at the net, and unexpectedly let out such a savage and hideous roar that every heart froze in terror. At the same time, he hurled himself, as if in spasm, high up into the air, and now all could see that the creature was equipped with a powerful fish tail in place of legs.

"A monster! A merman! A sea monster!" they cried out in confusion, and not a few ran away. But the men in the boats, though terrified, stood their ground and with superior strength pulled the inextricably entangled creature onto dry land. There they tied up the netted creature with heavy ropes, threw him into a two-wheeled cart, and conveyed him, amid the monstrous hue and cry of the people, into the city.

Meantime, those who had already fled had brought the news to every street and lane, and just as the men hurried the cart into the marketplace, a huge throng of people streamed in from all directions.

"Kill him!" "Draw and quarter him!" hundreds of voices cried out. Yet no one dared approach the prisoner, over whom his captors stood guard.

Men of name and esteem turned out in good numbers, along with the mayor, and there was much heated discussion among them. The historian Salestris and the orator Caesarius, having in mind closer observation, were the first to approach the monster, who lay in the wagon. No matter how widely their opinions diverged, they were, nevertheless, of one mind in this matter: every attempt must be made to keep the stranger alive. And they prevailed against the wishes of the mult.i.tude, enabling the men who had delivered the prisoner to throw him-bound as he was-into the fountain in the marketplace, and he immediately sank beneath the water's surface.

The fountain was garrisoned with sentries, and the overwrought townspeople prowled around the square for some time. Meanwhile, in the Town Hall, in consultation with the learned men, deliberations went on as to what further steps were to be taken. Salestris and Caesarius were granted permission and enjoined to study the triton as closely as they could; and, if at all possible, they were to speak with him.

They went to the fountain, where the guards shielded them from the thronging crowd of the curious. The merman lay at the bottom of the deep stone basin, and only after several hours did they succeed in luring him to the surface with bread and fish. Finally he emerged, and it was evident that in the interim he had managed to extricate himself from the net and lines. The two scholars made the sign of the cross, which provoked laughter from the merman. Then, first the one, then the other, spoke to him, in Italian and in Latin. But he did not understand them, though he seemed to listen intently and to take pains to respond partly through gesture, partly through the incomprehensible sounds of a foreign tongue.

A second session in the Town Hall was inconclusive. Caesarius expressed his conviction that it had to be possible to communicate with the stranger in some language or other. And so a southern sailor was found, one who lived in town as the manager of a shipping office, and who was fluent in the language of the Saracens. He, too, spoke to the monster and was not understood. But it struck him as plausible that the monster was speaking Greek, since the sounds the creature made were very like those of the Greek language, which, to be sure, he himself did not understand, but which he had sometimes heard spoken at sea.

It was now a matter of finding someone who knew Greek. And yet there was no one at hand, for at that time knowledge of the Greek language was not at all widespread. Still, the historian Salestris knew that one Doctor Charikles, a resident of the neighboring town, had in his possession books written in Greek and was given to boasting of his Greek studies. But no one wanted to fetch Charikles and thereby bestow favor on the detested neighboring town.

Late in the evening, however, in a final session of the town council, it was deemed proper to bring in the foreign doctor and scholar in secret; and Caesarius accepted the task, albeit reluctantly. Early the next morning he mounted his horse and rode to the town, which lay at no great distance; he called on Charikles, flattered him greatly, and bade him, finally, to accompany him without causing a sensation. Charikles replied that he had not the slightest intention of rendering a service to the enemy of his own town; nonetheless, in the interests of science, and for a suitable reward, he would, for all that, accompany Caesarius.

And so, in the late afternoon, the n.o.blemen, the scholars, and the doctor Charikles stood by the edge of the fountain basin. The sea monster emerged and, using both arms, set himself on the stone breastwork. Charikles spoke to him in Latin and in Italian, but with no result. Then he began to speak Greek, and scarcely had he uttered a few sentences when the monster, too, started making unfamiliar sounds.

"Good," said the doctor to the bystanders. "He is answering me."

"But it seems to me," Salestris opined, "that the monster is not speaking the same language as you, sir."

"You have a keen ear," rejoined the foreigner, smiling. "The triton speaks Greek all right, but it is an ancient Ionian dialect, the same one in which the Homeric songs are composed."

He continued to speak to the monster, until the latter, tired of the effort, dived into the water and disappeared. Thereupon Charikles read his conversation into the protocol in the Town Hall. According to this testimony, the merman had reported that he was an emissary of the G.o.d Poseidon. The G.o.d was angry that a temple to a strange G.o.d had been erected on the site of his former temple; for that reason he had sent the storm, destroyed fishermen, sailors, and their goods, and damaged the steeple and roof of the new temple. Should the inhabitants of the town be so bold as to repair the damages, his vengeance would know no bounds. Furthermore, he demanded as propitiation that his likeness be set on the pillar of the fountain in the marketplace.

Charikles received a fitting reward and was accompanied halfway back to his town by two n.o.blemen. That night the sea monster three times let out a hideous cry and was gone without a trace the next morning. Shortly thereafter, a bronze likeness of Neptune was placed over the fountain, and the hole in the roof of the new church went unrepaired, letting in both sunshine and rain. This contributed to the rapid deterioration of the building; that church is not the one standing today, for in the seventeenth century it was replaced by another, in the baroque style.