The Oak Shade, or, Records of a Village Literary Association

by Unknown

After thus briefly introducing my acquaintance in as favorable a manner as circumstances permit, I will narrate a little incident in the adventurous portion of his life, which occurred whilst he was yet in the vigor of manhood physically, and intellectually no better off than he is now. Time, which never progresses without making some changes, has utterly failed to renovate or improve him. Whilst advancing years have worn upon his bodily powers, apparently the only thing impressible about him, experience has had no effect, either for the better or worse, upon his mind, into which no idea, unless connected with his ruling desire, seems capable of penetrating. A life so selfish, and absorbed in the contemplation of one thing, and that by no means as well intended to expand his intellect as to contract his heart, can afford but little of adventure; yet the trifles which we sometimes encounter in such a life, are so peculiar in their nature, or so marked in their effects, that we welcome and enjoy them the more. They often provoke our merriment or elicit our surprise, excite our admiration or awaken our sympathies. The cold torpor which becomes natural to the inactive man through the eternal sameness of his daily career, renders him a fitting and interesting object for our gaze when he is drawn into positions demanding the exercise of his energies. Whatever may be the effect of the occurrences here related—whether their recital may interest or prove tedious—they certainly constitute the most prominent events in the life of my acquaintance, the Dutch miser of the village.

A party of young men who had for years been in the habit of congregating twice each week at the southern corner of the village school-house, to review the gossip of the neighborhood and amuse themselves with boyish sports on the pleasant play-grounds of the scholars; or, by way of variety, occasionally to contrive some idle mischief to disturb the equanimity of the usually quiet and industrious villagers; at one of these frequent meetings determined to exhibit, in some extraordinary manner, Hans Dundermann’s passion for money. Various expedients were accordingly suggested, and duly discussed and considered, until they finally resolved upon one supposed to be capable of accomplishing the end in view. After levying a contribution amongst themselves of all the antiquated coin they could obtain,—for they wisely concluded that he could not be aroused from his accustomed stupidity but through the instrumentality of such a token,—the sum was secretly conveyed to him. This was accompanied by a very mysterious letter, which purported to be the favor of some supernatural power. It spoke of the coin as coming from an almost inexhaustible fund, and generously concluded by fully recognising him as a judicious person to be entrusted with the care and keeping of so valuable a treasure. As was anticipated, this had a marvelous effect upon him. He straightways connected it with a standing tale of the village, which he had heard upon different occasions, and which had more than once greatly excited his curiosity. It was a well-circulated tradition, (and what town has not a similar one?) that many years before the village numbered a score of substantial buildings, vast treasures were undoubtedly hidden in its immediate vicinity. He had frequently heard how a wealthy Englishman, at a time the date whereof was never definitely fixed, had lived near the village in all imaginable splendor, and how he had died without leaving even so much as a shilling to be found upon his entire premises. This splendid gentleman (so runs the tradition,) had been the descendant of a prominent English nobleman attached to the house of Lancaster, who, when the Red Rose drooped under the terror inspired by the triumph of the house of York, had gathered together his estates, which of course were very large, and retired from the kingdom. The union of the two Roses, which followed the extinction of the Plantagenets, and the partiality exhibited by Henry VII. towards the Lancastrians, never tempted him to return. The last of his descendants, inheriting all his wealth, yet depressed by the death of friends and connexions, eventually emigrated to America, and took up his abode near the village. Here he revelled in all the luxuries that riches could supply, and when nothing was discovered after his decease, the great surprise of the villagers soon conjured up numerous tales of hidden wealth, which have ever since been carefully transmitted to each succeeding generation. It was with one of these that Hans associated the mysterious epistle.

After they had thus interested the miser’s feelings, one of the company visited him on the evening of the following day. When brought into the presence of Hans, he commenced a train of very vague remarks, as though he had something important to reveal, yet seemed doubtful whether it were better to make it known than to treasure the secret. Confining himself to the subjects which he knew were ever uppermost in Hans’ thoughts, he soon succeeded in drawing the miser into a very animated conversation, which, however, was rendered somewhat uneasy by his mysterious demeanor. From some cause or other, perhaps because he was thinking of the matter at the time, for he had thought of little else during the entire day, Hans immediately surmised that his visitor sustained some connexion with the singular letter he had received. This impression was not only strengthened more and more by every word that fell from the stranger, but his very dress, which gave him the appearance of a fashionable gentleman of the preceding century, seemed to confirm it. When, however, his visitor introduced the general carelessness of the world, a point upon which Hans had always been well decided, and to which alone, he had often said, was to be attributed all the poverty in it, he became certain that his surmise was correct, and watched carefully for something which might reveal the rich mine referred to in that mysterious and treasured billet. When he had been worked into a state of uncontrollable anxiety and excitement, the stranger, still preserving his mysterious air, suddenly rose from his seat, and rolling his eyes upwards in an agonized manner, preceded by several terrible yawns, he rapidly repeated a few very singular words, not found in Hans’ vocabulary, if in any other. This had the desired effect, for it so surprised and stupefied the poor Dutchman that the stranger, in the increasing darkness, readily made his exit unobserved. After the miser had somewhat recovered from the shock occasioned to his nerves and ascertained that his visitor had vanished, it was clear to him that the stranger could not have disappeared as he had entered, but must either have sunk through the floor or ascended through the ceiling. Recollecting the supplicating manner in which he had turned up his eyes, Hans quickly inferred that the latter was the course he had taken, and under the exciting circumstances of the occasion, it was not long before the inference became a conviction which has ever since been most sacredly believed and maintained.

Now, Hans Dundermann, it should be known, had frequently held interesting conversations with Heinrich Speitzer and Yorick Bozum, two of his most intimate friends in “vaterland,” and was perfectly satisfied that ghosts and spirits had as real an existence as gold and silver, though their presence was far less acceptable. He used to listen to the stories of these tried companions, and tremble from head to foot when he was told how the wicked Frederick Metzel, on a dark and dismal winter’s night, had been claimed in pursuance of a contract, attested by his own hand and seal, and carried off by the devil, amid great lightning and thunder, to no one knew whither; for the place of his abode was beyond the power of human discovery. It is true some of his warmest friends, who had always been his companions, and enjoyed his favors during his prosperity, and who had never neglected to sound his praises upon every fitting occasion, now shook their heads significantly and solemnly whenever his name was mentioned. This may have been intended as nothing but an exhibition of their deep regret for what they had lost, yet the uncharitable soon interpreted it unfavorably for the future of poor Frederick, whilst the more humane and hopeful remained silent, simply because they knew not what to say. Hans still remembered how the spirit of old Herr Von Reicher, sorely troubled because he had refused to reveal an important secret before his departure from the lower world, returned to the home six months previously left to mourn his death, and made known to the daughter of his grand-child,—who had always been his favorite,—the cause that prevented his rest. This was done by directing her to a dark and almost impenetrable recess of his castle, where great treasures were concealed, which he had hoarded up and frequently visited during his life. Now, however, that he had no further occasion for such visits, his sense of justice, which had never in the least troubled him whilst living, would not permit him to deprive his friends, who had so carefully attended to his dying wants, of so valuable a secret, nor his creditors of the only means through which their demands could be satisfied. Nor had Hans Dundermann forgotten how the son of Karl Keiser, a pleasant companion with whom he had spent many hours rehearsing wonderful tales, the accuracy of which he never doubted, had been accosted in the rough woods, on a dark October night, by a copper-colored man, out of the crown of whose head issued a constant flame of fire, and led several leagues from home. What had been the object of this singular and startling apparition—whether it had been an evil spirit and intended the young man as one of its victims, or whether it had merely meant to disclose some great and troublesome mystery—had to remain undetermined, for day intervened and summoned the vision to its abiding place. Many surmises were occasioned by this strange affair, vouched for by the person himself whom it most concerned; but the majority agreed in the opinion that no harm had been intended to the young man, otherwise the spectre would not have waited until daylight to be deprived of its prey: others expressed their conviction that it simply designed to relieve itself of some serious trouble, whilst there was still a third class who pronounced the matter all a foolish tale, which owed its origin to too much Rhienish wine and the cold winds of October.

Whilst Hans was reflecting upon these marvelous stories of his youthful wonder, and thus endeavoring to assist his mind in determining the character of his late visitor, he gave evident signs of being engaged in a new employment. Although he had heard many strange things in his time, and often threw up his hands towards the skies, opened his mouth as wide as nature permitted, and exclaimed “mein Gott!” in surprise, he certainly had never before been called upon to decide whether any of his visions had been a ghost or a spirit, a witch or the devil himself. In this troublesome dilemma he resolved to consult his old housekeeper, whom he had brought with him from Germany, and whose greater age and experience, he hoped, might be capable of relieving him from his perplexity. This indispensable article of his household seemed to have descended to him with his father’s estate, and presented an appearance even more than ridiculously Dutch; but Hans had been taught to regard her as a pattern of good taste, and as she had always manifested the strongest devotion to his interests, he never doubted her superior excellence. To give a faint description of her would be no trifling labor, for she had apparently been worked together by nature without reference to form or proportion; and whenever seen, was invariably covered with a superfluous amount of greasy calico, which seemed to have no other support but a twisted chord that encircled her extensive waist. Her head was remarkable for nothing but a large quantity of light flaxen hair, to which the sun had failed to give a ruddier tinge, although, as since her twentieth year she had scarcely ever worn a covering, it had shone upon her pate fairly and with full effect for more than thirty summers. Increasing age, though it had robbed her of her teeth, put wrinkles in her face, and somewhat loosened her joints, seemed to be equally powerless to make the least visible impression upon it. The singular conduct of the stranger, who had been observed but casually by the old woman as he had entered, was fully considered and commented upon by her and Hans. Though she sympathized with him as much as her nature permitted, and gave ample evidence of her desire to render him all possible assistance, she could offer no suggestions which tended in the least to solve the mystery. Her many exclamations, however, if useless in the explication of a mysterious and difficult problem, brought some relief; and thus consoled, he reluctantly concluded to await the full development of what he believed had just fairly commenced with the letter he had received and the visit of the stranger.

“Whatever this may forebode,” said Hans, “it is so very strange that we must wait until the end shall come; yet I hope that my end may not be like that of Frederick Metzel. Let me be spared the terrors that fell to the lot of Karl Keiser’s son, and if the worst should come, let it be no worse than that which happened to the great-grand-daughter of Herr Von Reicher.”

These remarkable occurrences, constituting some of the most startling he had stored up in his memory, had been so repeatedly told to his housekeeper, with great embellishments, that she had become perfectly familiar with them. Although Hans did not much like to have dealings with spirits; yet, had he been certain that the mysterious stranger would never afterwards have troubled him, he would gladly have entertained him once more, if assured of a revelation similar to that made to the youthful daughter of Herr Von Reicher’s grand-child.

“Yes, yes,” responded the old woman, whose frame trembled violently at the supposition that calamities so terrible could possibly befall them, “heaven avert such fatalities! Surely, Hans, nothing of this kind can happen to us, for you have never had any intercourse with the evil one, nor have you ever been closely allied to any of those poor creatures whose spirits are not even permitted to rest quietly in their graves.”

As he had thus, for several days been moved by strange thoughts, it was observed by those whom he happened to meet that a very singular change had suddenly come over him. His actions seemed to be dictated by a variety of conflicting impulses, and the little mind he had once possessed was absent more than half the time. He would make long pauses in his conversation, abruptly change from one topic to another, and occasionally, to the great amazement of those with whom he conversed, he would walk off before he had half completed a sentence. Then, too, he was frequently seen to stop in his solitary walks and engage in earnest conversation with himself, a smile sometimes animating his countenance, whilst at others he appeared very sullen and dejected. On several of these occasions he was overheard to speak audibly of spirits and treasures, which so greatly surprised all who heard him that some even suggested an investigation into his soundness of mind. To those acquainted with the design to play upon his stupid and credulous nature, it was daily becoming more apparent that he believed vast quantities of gold were somewhere concealed in the vicinity, and that he was troubled to know where, and how he could secure them. At length his changed demeanor became the subject of remark throughout the entire neighborhood. Some of the villagers, in their efforts to account for it, expressed the belief that his heart was beginning to soften and that he was relenting of his former penuriousness—a reformation which, in his case, it was generally conceded would have been sufficient to account for his singular conduct. Others, however, more strenuously maintained, that so far from his heart undergoing so favorable a change, it was simply passing through the last stages of ossification. That the former were mistaken in their charitable surmises, was soon ascertained by an experiment eminently calculated to arouse his generosity; but there are those still amongst the latter, who contend that they were correct in their opinion, and are determined to obtain positive evidence of the fact, upon the miser’s decease, through the aid of an anatomist, who has already been duly engaged for that purpose.

When it was supposed that Hans was exclusively abstracted in the train of reflections suggested to his mind by the circumstances related, it was deemed expedient for the stranger to venture another visit, which he accordingly did. It so happened that he obtained admission unobserved into the same room in which he had before met Hans, and giving seven distinct raps on the old oaken floor, he was soon brought into the presence of the miser. After the latter’s surprise had partially subsided, and his face assumed something like its original hue, the stranger commenced addressing him in a manner equally hasty and incoherent, but Hans was all attention as if determined to absorb the import of every word as it was uttered. He by no means comprehended all that was said, yet he distinctly understood the request of his visitor to meet him that night, at the hour of twelve, at the edge of the wood bordering on the western extremity of the village, where the important secret was to be revealed. The stranger had scarcely finished this request, when he was seized with a violent cough, resulting from a stream of munched tobacco which had unforbidden entered down his gullet, as if offended at being imprisoned within his mouth whilst personating a character whose dignity would not permit him to eject it. Giving vent to an almost inaudible curse, which was unfortunately mistaken for a call for water, Hans immediately seized a pitcher, and hurried out of the room, informing the old housekeeper, as he was in the act of passing her in the kitchen, of the presence of the spirit. Upon her reminding him that spirits were never in want of such earthly necessaries, surprised at his own absence of thought, he dropped the pitcher and quickly returned; but the stranger, no doubt glad of so favorable an opportunity, had disappeared.