"And what is your branch of learning?" interrupted the host, unmoved.
"I am a philologist."
"That means one who studies ancient languages?" asked the Proprietor.
"It is so," continued the Professor. "It is stated by a monk, in the volume I have mentioned, that about the year 1500 there existed in the monastery a valuable manuscript, containing a history by the Roman, Tacitus. The work of the renowned historian is only very imperfectly preserved to us in some other well-known manuscripts. A second notice from the same book, in April, 1637, mentions that during the troublous wartimes the last monks of the monastery had concealed from the Swedes their church treasures and manuscripts in a hollow, dry place in the Manor-house of Bielstein. These are the words I have found; I have nothing further to impart to you. We have no doubt of the genuineness of both notices. I have brought with me an abstract of the passages concerning it, and I am ready to submit the original to your inspection, or that of any competent judge whom you may choose. I will only add now that both I and my friend know well how unsatisfactory is the communication we make to you, and how uncertain is the prospect that after two centuries any of the buried possessions of the monastery should be forthcoming. And yet we have made use of a vacation to impart to you this discovery, even at the probable risk of a fruitless search. But we felt ourselves bound in duty to make this journey, not especially on your account--although this manuscript, if found; would be of great value to you--but principally in the interest of science, for in that point of view such a discovery would be invaluable."
The Proprietor had listened attentively, but he left untouched the paper that the Professor had laid on the table before him. Then he began: "I see that you do not mean to deceive me, and that you tell me the whole truth with the best intentions. I understand your explanation. Your Latin I cannot read; but that is not necessary, for, with regard to this matter, I believe you. But," he continued, laughing, "there is one thing which the learned gentlemen living so far away do not know, and that is, that this house has the misfortune to be considered throughout the whole country as a place in which the old monks have concealed treasures."
"That was not, of course, unknown to us," rejoined the Doctor, "and it would not diminish the significance of these written records."
"Then you were greatly in error. It is surely clear that such a report, which has been believed in a country through many generations, has meanwhile stirred up persons who are superstitious and greedy of gain, to discover these supposed treasures. How can you imagine that you are the first to conceive the thought of making a search? This is an old, strong-built house, but it would be stronger still if it did not show traces from cellar to roof that in former times holes have been made and the damage left unrepaired. Only a few years ago I had, at much cost and trouble, to place new beams into the roof, because roof and ceiling were sinking, and it appeared, on examination, that unscrupulous men had sawed off a piece of the rafter, in order to grope into a corner of the roof. And I tell you frankly, that if I have met with anything disagreeable from the old house, in which for twenty years I have experienced both happiness and misfortune, it has been from this troublesome report. Even now an investigation is being carried on in the town respecting a treasure-seeker, who has deceived credulous people in giving out that he could conjure up treasures from this hill. His accomplices are still being tracked. You may ascribe it to your questions in the town, that the people there, who are much excited because of the deception, have taken you to be assistants of the impostor. My rude greeting was also owing to this. I must therefore ask your pardon for it."
"Then you will not agree," asked the Professor, dissatisfied, "to make use of our communication for further researches?"
"No," replied the Proprietor, "I will not make such a fool of myself. If your book mentions nothing more than what you have told me, this account is of little use. If the monks have concealed anything here, it is a hundred to one that they have taken it away again in quieter times. And even if, contrary to all probability, the concealed objects should remain in their place--as since then some hundred years have passed--other hungry people would long ago have disinterred them. These are, pardon me, nursery stories, only fit for spinning-rooms. I have a great aversion to all these notions that necessitate pulling down walls. The husbandman should dig in his fields and not in his house; his treasures lie beneath God's sun."
The cold demeanor of the man made the Professor's blood boil. He with difficulty controlled his rising anger, and, approaching the window, looked out at a bevy of sparrows that were twittering vehemently at one another. At last, turning round, he began:--