"They talk about the deterioration of the race," said the Doctor edifyingly, "and there seems to be a chronic ailment, but it is not dangerous. People use themselves as filters and pour in wine; so it has always been; and so it will be. If the sun shines very hot, they think they are entitled to drink; and if the weather is disagreeable and wet, they must strengthen themselves with a good draught."
They alighted at a house, which had in front a statue of the Holy Mother with a lantern in her hand.
"Up-stairs here," said the Doctor, "pure genuine wine is sold; the man here supplies the church and the church dignitaries with the communion wine, which must be unadulterated. This man's father is a famous embroiderer of church-cloths, and his brother an illustrious painter of saints; and when people can turn their religion to any profit, they it hold it in sacred earnest. The main point is, not to impugn the uprightness of believers, and then they are inclined not to question the uprightness of us unbelievers."
They went on farther to another house, and the Doctor said:—
"Here dwelt a merry rogue, who has actually made the house haunted; he was an old screech-owl, a mason by trade. It's known that he had a little chest made by a carpenter, with a lock by a lock-smith; and this chest he walled into the cellar, which he built alone by himself. It is now believed that there must have been a considerable sum of money concealed therein; and yet he may have been rogue enough to hide there an empty box, in order to play a joke upon those who should come after him. And now the people are undecided whether to pull down the house or not, in order to find the box. It's possible they may find an empty one, and have a demolished house for their pains."
The Doctor gave such a turn to his information about men and things, that Roland could derive advantage from it.
The Doctor greeted in a very friendly way an old man with a crafty countenance, who was sitting in front of his house. The man asked the physician if he would not take another drop of "the black cat," and they went with Eric and Roland into the cellar, where they drank a fiery wine from a cask on which, in fact, a black cat was sitting, though it was an artificial one with shining glass eyes. The old man was excessively merry; and clinking glasses with Roland, he said:—
"Yes, yes, we are all bunglers compared with your father."
Then, with great gusto, he praised the shrewdness and craft of Sonnenkamp, and Eric looked timidly at Roland, who appeared to be but little affected by what was said; when they went away the Doctor said:—
"This is the genuine peasant, for the genuine peasant is really the greatest egotist, thinking only of his own profit, though the whole world beside should fall to pieces. This is the old burgomaster who lent money to people needing it, and when a bad season came, he made an immediate demand for it, with unrelenting harshness, so that their vineyards were sold at public auction; and now he possesses a large landed property, yielding the best wines. Yes; he is a cunning rascal."