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Page 4
"Well, Fritz, my boy, this is a fine winter's morning."
"So it is, but it is rather severe; don't you think so?"
"I am fond of a clear hard frost," he replied; "it promotes circulation.
If our old minister Tobias had but the courage to start out in weather
like this he would soon put an end to his rheumatic pains."
I smiled, I am afraid, involuntarily.
After an hour of this rapid pace Sperver slackened his speed and let me
come abreast of him.
"Fritz, I shall have to tell you the object of this journey at some time,
I suppose?"
"I was beginning to think I ought to know what I am going about."
"A good many doctors have already been consulted."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, some came from Berlin in great wigs who only asked to see the
patient's tongue. Others from Switzerland examined him another way. The
doctors from Paris stared at their patient through magnifying glasses to
learn something from his physiognomy. But all their learning was wasted,
and they got large fees in reward of their ignorance."
"Is that the way you speak of us medical gentlemen?"
"I am not alluding to you at all. I have too much respect for you, and if
I should happen to break my leg I don't know that there is another that I
should prefer to yourself to treat me as a patient, but you have not
discovered an optical instrument yet to tell what is going on inside of
us."
"How do you know that?"
At this reply the worthy fellow looked at me doubtfully as if he thought
me a quack like the rest, yet he replied--
"Well, Fritz, if you have indeed such a glass it will be wanted now, for
the count's complaint is internal; it is a terrible kind of illness,
something like madness. You know that madness shows itself in either nine
hours, nine days, or nine weeks?"
"So it is said; but not having noticed this myself, I cannot say that it
is so."
"Still you know there are agues which return at periods of either three,
six, or nine years. There are singular works in this machinery of ours.
Whenever this human clockwork is wound up in some particular way, fever,
or indigestion, or toothache returns at the very hour and day."
"Why, Gideon, I am quite aware of that; those periodical complaints are
the greatest trouble we have."
"I am sorry to hear it, for the count's complaint is periodical; it
comes back every year, on the same day, at the same hour; his mouth
runs over with foam, his eyes stand out white and staring, like great
billiard-balls; he shakes from head to foot, and he gnashes with his
teeth."
"Perhaps this man has had serious troubles to go through?"
"No, he has not. If his daughter would but consent to be married he
would be the happiest man alive. He is rich and powerful and full of
honours. He possesses everything that the rest of the world is coveting.
Unfortunately his daughter persists in refusing every offer of marriage.
She consecrates her life to God, and it harasses him to think that the
ancient house of Nideck will become extinct."
"How did his illness come on?" I asked.
"Suddenly, ten years ago," was the reply.
All at once the honest fellow seemed to be recollecting himself. He took
from his pocket a short pipe, filled it, and having lighted it--
"One evening," said he, "I was sitting alone with the count in the
armoury of the castle. It was about Christmas time. We had been hunting
wild boars the whole day in the valleys of the Rh�thal, and had returned
at night bringing home with us two of our boar-hounds ripped open from
head to tail. It was just as cold as it is to-night, with snow and frost.
The count was pacing up and down the room with his chin upon his breast
and his hands crossed behind him, like a man in profound thought. From
time to time he stopped to watch the gathering snow on the high windows,
and I was warming myself in the chimney corner, bewailing my dead hounds,
and bestowing maledictions on all the wild boars that infest the
Schwartzwald. Everybody at Nideck had been asleep a couple of hours,
and not a sound could be heard but the tread and the clank of the
count's heavy spurred boots upon the flags. I remember well that a crow,
no doubt driven by a gust of wind, came flapping its wings against the
window-panes, uttering a discordant shriek, and how the sheets of snow
fell from the windows, and the windows suddenly changed from white to
black--"
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