Villa Elsa Part 2

At the Buchers Gard had manfully to face six meals a day. Must he be swamped in order to put the desirable adipose tissue on his bones?

By all the laws of American dieting and Prohibition the German race should have been destroyed by indigestion and drunkenness centuries ago. But here they were more flouris.h.i.+ng than ever--the generally acknowledged nation of masters!

And his bed--the German bed. He could not remember whether Mark Twain ever described it, but he should have. Gard's haven of rest appeared to lie on solid foundations. It was constructed with German stability. There were as many blankets in summer as in winter.

Worst of all, two immense feather pillows lay across its middle. The only place for them seemed to be on his sorely tried stomach or on the floor. In a month an attack of insomnia resulted. For hours at night he lay awake, listening to the frequent rain on the roof or the wind whining Teutonically in the leaves of his linden.

In his initial troubles and anxieties he went to a German doctor.

This spectacled wise man prescribed more beer. German physicians seemed to be in league with the brewers. Gard was of the kind who would suffer rather than complain. So he worried along.

He did not fall in with the urgent, conscientious a.s.sumption of the Buchers that he would at once want to begin driving away at "lessons." His hosts reminded him openly at times that his prospective teachers were still waiting, still recommending themselves. Responsibility was evidently felt for his programme of work. He realized that he was somewhat disappointing, for instruction, education, is such a pus.h.i.+ng, unceasing business with the Germans. It may be said they never finish school.

Yet he wished first to take a good look at the historic city, its celebrated art treasures. He wanted to make a few excursions in the environs before the winter set in with its dampness and gloom.

Besides, he never before had had a chance at fine opera, at fine symphonies and music recitals.

"But ought not Herr Kirtley at least begin with the free evening lectures?"--with which Dresden shone through the illuminations of many profound and oracular professors in lofty pulpits. He submitted that his German was too feeble of wing to enable him to soar into the heights of such wisdom.

The zest in Germany for learning and accomplishments was truly wonderful to him. Half his life of instruction now quickly seemed to have been idling. As far as industriousness, drilling, well-defined ambitiousness, were concerned, the young German had many advantages.

The modest Bucher household was run educationally with the dynamic regularity of military establishments. It was, of course, no exception. Lessons and lectures commenced mornings at eight, with Sundays partly included. This routine begins with the German child at six.

Evenings, too, had their busy duties. No baseball, no tennis, no lazy days of swimming and fis.h.i.+ng. Playtime was spent in martial exercise, in evenings at the opera or seeing the cla.s.sical dramas of all races and epochs on the stage. Gard became aware that the Bucher children had carried six or seven studies at an age when he had thought he was abused, overburdened, with four.

Besides, their courses were more mature. And yet he had come to Germany, despite Rebner's eulogiums of the Germans, with the complacent idea that, as he was the respectable American average, he could look the other youth of the world in the face unashamed, asking no odds.

Little Ernst at fifteen was studying, among numerous things, philosophy and didactic religion. The way he could cite facts and carry on a discussion on these and similar subjects!

"What part do philosophy and religion play in our system of instruction for the young?" Gard asked himself with a deprecatory smile. "Is it a miracle that the Germans can teach us desirable knowledge and morals, as Rebner insists?"

Kirtley readily perceived that he had scarcely sufficient precise information to discuss intelligently general topics with this boy.

The latter could always quote some acknowledged and ponderous authority--German, of course, and all the more awe-inspiring, but of whom Gard had not heard. For it usually came down to the question, Who are your authorities? He rarely could tell who his were. They promptly faded away before all the weight and definiteness Ernst could bring to bear.

While Rudolph and Ernst were so far along as a result of a busy adolescence, Fraulein Elsa, as Gard discovered, was in her way not behind. She knew English and French pretty well and was quite an accomplished musician, able to play from memory on the winged Pleyel almost whole books of cla.s.sic music. She could paint fairly well in oil and was now taking up etching with enthusiastic a.s.siduity. She could sew, cook, run the house. In brief, her days were as full as her brothers' in propelling tasks. _She_, apparently, did not have "boys on the brain."

Kirtley threw up his hands in imitation of his venerated professor.

This was just an ordinary German miss. He had scarcely dreamed of such things in a girl.

It was all ill.u.s.trated by Gard's piano playing, which was cheap and meaningless strumming. He could rattle through a lot of popular tunes and stumble through a few short simple school-girl salon pieces. The Buchers were a real orchestra. With the ladies at the piano, the old Herr at the flute, Ernst at the violin and Rudi at the 'cello, they could play a dozen programmes and furnish enjoyment for the listener.

And always salutary, enlightened, cultivated music. The house reverberated with a mult.i.tude of choice enduring arias, sung, hummed or whistled, and this made Villa Elsa almost take on a charm for Gard. He had not known how his melodious soul was starved.

Why should not the Germans be expected to have n.o.ble souls with all the wealth of distinguished, inspiring music flowing through their lives? Should it not give them necessarily a strong, desirable spirit, fortify them in healthy aspirations, encourage them to get the best out of existence? This incentive and pleasureableness, making for the good, the true and the beautiful--must it not contribute a deep richness and righteousness to the Teuton heart?

And is it to be wondered at--the Germans' big supply of red blood?

For the strength of the Teuton's body, Gard observed, was built up, maintained, in equal measure with his other training. The military drilling and strenuous gymnastics provided him with straight shoulders, a full chest, a sound spine, strength of limb--in short, good, presentable health.

The Bucher fireside had no doctor, no adored specialists, hanging about. It had been taught to handle simple complaints itself.

Medical and surgical bills did not upset its modest financial equilibrium. The family were extraordinarily well. Their brawn, energetically looked after as well as the brain, accounted partly for their marvelous appet.i.tes.

So nothing seemed to Gard to be missed in this potent scheme of instruction and _Kultur_.

CHAPTER VI

THE HOME

Often when he peeked down from his attic window he spied the s.h.i.+ning bald head of the very elderly Herr Bucher surrounded by the ma.s.s of lively colors of his rose garden. He loved to spend hours there in the suns.h.i.+ne with his posies, tying up their branches, clipping choice specimens with which he was fond of decorating the members of Villa Elsa, its dining table, its living room. Roses, roses, everywhere.

It was his hobby, this spot of blossoms, and in it his short, bulky form, so whitened by his Jovian beard meerschaumed by the stains from his huge, curving German pipe, was often almost lost to view.

He was like some droll gnome waddling about in a flower patch.

Frequently someone had to be sent to find him among all those pets which he knew so well by their Latin and popular names and by their characteristics. While he grumbled and so often stormed about in the house, speaking always in gruff tones of command, he was quite sunny out there in his plot, although still guttural and dictatorial.

He was a retired professor of phonetics and diction, but now and then prepared a pupil. This was how he had met his wife a long, long time before, when she was a young singer. She was twenty years his junior and had become so completely a housewife that you could scarcely a.s.sociate her with any art. She was fat, harsh, homely, masculine in the way of German women, an occasional long hair sticking from her face in emulation of a beard.

Devoid of any graces of seduction, putting out her heavy fists in every direction she exhibited a bearish kindness toward Gard that seemed calculated at first to frighten him. She was loud-voiced, iron-jawed. One of her favorite boasts was that she had never been to a dentist. She pulled out her rarely aching teeth, or some one of the family pulled them for her.

The Herr could be smoother and he a.s.sumed a fatherly solicitude over Gard, looking out for his advantages, anxious that he should make progress. But Bucher evidently was annoyed at times by not having authority in the matter of the slow way in which his young guest set about with his "studies." Kirtley had not come to study, had not been trained to study, in the German sense. It would have been difficult to make the old man see any virtue in such desultoriness.

It doubtless proved to his mind that Americans are only half trained, half tamed, half domesticated.

The couple surrounded Kirtley with a protection, an honesty, a reliability, a zeal, that was as surprising as it was, on the whole, gratifying. He felt a security he had hardly known in his own home.

If he were cheated or otherwise imposed upon anywhere in Dresden--and this did not often happen--the Buchers were violently up in arms about it and never ceased pursuit of the recreant until the wrong was righted.

"The good German name must not be tarnished."

In a word, they tried to treat him like a son; and so forceful and constant were their efforts in this direction that he sometimes wished their well-meant attentions were less formidable. The easy American "forget it," "why bother," "never again," were expressions of a mood unfamiliar to them. They visibly had small patience with such slackness which only, to their minds, encouraged lawlessness.

The setting for Gard's approaching German love affair was appropriately picturesque and propitious. A tight little meadow, with a gra.s.sy path wandering through by the Elbe, lay near at hand, and beyond, at the right, a pine wood--the Waldpark--with neat graveled walks and rustic seats where the tonic air was often to brace his musings.

Adjacent was the small summer house, still poetically standing, where Schiller wrote "Don Carlos" a century and a quarter before. A leafy lane led from the meadow to the walled garden inclosure of Villa Elsa, whose branches, vines and flowering bushes insisted on making it almost a hidden retreat. The spot could not be more _gemutlich_--that familiar expressive word which Kirtley soon learned to rely on amid the scant artillery of his defensive weapons of conversational German.

Through a swinging gate in the wall, and usually to the clanging of a bell that announced you, you entered the house on a level with the ground. On this floor were the kitchen and dining room. Next came the _belle etage_, with the salon and music room opening into each other, and with another apartment or two. Above, the chambers. And still above, the two attic rooms. All was plain but substantial.

The garden furnished not only flowers but vegetables. And in one corner stood a table and chairs for afternoon tea with cakes or beer with cheese. Here the ever-busy sewing and knitting mainly went on in summer, and a forgotten book, half read, was usually left by some one of the young folks. There was a drowsy, old-fas.h.i.+oned air about the premises that recalled ill.u.s.trations in some of the editions of Grimm's fairy tales.

Aside from the abundance of bound music, Gard had been far from expecting that fine examples of art and literature would be so meagerly represented in this representative German home. There were poor pictures of Bismarck, of William the Second, and of his grandfather aping the appearance of Gambrinus.

Prominent also were steel engravings of Saxon and Prussian kings of whom Kirtley had never heard. But there they were, conspicuous household G.o.ds, with fierce, epic miens and lordly bodies, surrounded by wreaths of glory and Latin texts, and supported by cannon pointed at the observer with menaces of angry welcome. And not to be forgotten were the august thrones, avenging swords of royalty, and the dark swirling clouds suggesting the German Olympus.

"It all harmonizes with the a.r.s.enal down in the entrance,"

muttered Gard.

As for books, he was taken at an angle still more unexpected and significant. Goethe and Schiller and the other old Teuton cla.s.sics, breathing of liberalness and freedom--figures that had always stood out in the world as leading exponents and guardians of a cultured enlightenment--were only present in the Bucher home in the form of musty, unused volumes.

These authors, who were so loved, advocated and expounded in American colleges and whom Kirtley had come to Germany to know better and to wors.h.i.+p, were scarcely ever mentioned. He was astonished to find that the Germans thought little of them. And Heine likewise, that naughty child of the Vaterland! At the Buchers the presentable red and gilt edition of his poems was kept in Fraulein's escritoire in her room.

American education, Gard began to realize, was somehow on the wrong track here. It was trying to cultivate a Germany that no longer seemed to exist. It was diligently teaching and acclaiming Teutons who were repudiated in their own land. It was separating the spirit and taste of the two peoples instead of bringing them together.