Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace

by Wilhelm Hauff

His great triumph, however, was at the Gruenwiesel ball. No one could dance more gracefully and rapidly than he. None could execute such uncommonly difficult steps. His uncle dressed him in the greatest splendor, after the latest fashion; and although the clothes did not fit his body very well, yet every one thought him charmingly dressed. The men, to be sure, thought themselves somewhat insulted by the new fashion which he introduced. The mayor had always been accustomed to open the ball in his own person, while the leading young people had the right to arrange the other dances; but since the appearance of the young Englishman, all this was changed. Without much ceremony, he took the next best lady by the hand and led her out on the floor, arranged every thing to suit himself, and was lord and master and king of the ball. But because these innovations were acceptable to the ladies, the men did not venture to make any objections, and the nephew held firmly to his self-appointed office.

This ball seemed to furnish great entertainment for the old gentleman; he never once took his eyes off his nephew, wore a smiling face, and when all the world of Gruenwiesel moved up to him to sound the praises of the noble well-bred youth, he could no longer contain himself from very joy, but broke out into a hearty laugh, and conducted himself almost foolishly. The Gruenwiesel people attributed these singular manifestations of pleasure to his great love for his nephew, and did not think them unnatural. Still, every now and then he had to turn his fatherly attention to his nephew, for, in the middle of an elegant dance, the young man would leap up to the platform where the town musicians sat, take away the bass-viol from its owner, and scrape out a horrible medley; or for a change he would throw his heels up into the air and dance about on his hands. At such times, the old gentleman would take him aside, would talk to him very seriously, and tighten his neck-tie, until he once more was tractable.

Thus did the nephew conduct himself in society. It is usually the case with social customs, that the objectionable ones spread much more rapidly than the good ones; and a new and striking fashion, even though ludicrous in itself, may have something attractive in it for young people who have not thought very deeply about themselves and the world. Thus it was in Gruenwiesel, over the young Englishman and his singular manners. When the young people saw how he, with his perverse disposition, with his coarse laughs and jests, with his rude answers to elderly people, was more praised than blamed, that all this was considered spirited, they said to themselves, "It would be very easy for me to become such a spirited fellow." They had formerly been industrious and clever young people; now they thought, "Of what use is study, when ignorance is more highly rewarded?" They let books alone, and spent their time on the square and in the streets. Formerly they were well-behaved and polite towards every one--had waited until they were spoken to, and then replied modestly; but now they placed themselves in the company of their elders, gossiped with them, gave expression to their opinions, and even laughed in the mayor's face when he spoke, and affirmed that they knew better than he. Formerly the young men of Gruenwiesel had had a horror of a coarse and vulgar life; but now they sang all kinds of low songs, smoked tobacco in enormous pipes, and frequented the worst saloons. They also bought large goggles, although their sight was not impaired, set them on their nose, and thought that they were now made, as they looked just like the celebrated young Englishman. At home, or when they were visiting, they would lie down on the lounge with their boots and spurs on; they tilted back their chairs in company, or put their elbows on the table and rested their cheeks on their fists--a posture that was in the highest degree charming to look at. All in vain did their mothers and friends tell them how foolish and disgraceful these actions were; they quoted the shining example of the nephew in defence of their behavior. All in vain was it represented to them that one should overlook in the nephew, as a young Englishman, a certain national rudeness;--the young men of Gruenwiesel would assert that they had just as good a right as the best Englishman living, to be rude in a spirited way; in short, it was a pity to see how the evil example of the nephew had completely destroyed the customs and good manners of Gruenwiesel.

But the joy of the young men, in their rude unrestrained life did not last long, as the following event wrought a complete change in the scene. The Winter amusements were to close with a concert, that was to be given, partly by the town musicians, and partly by the lovers of music in Gruenwiesel. The mayor played the violoncello, the doctor the bassoon, extremely well; the apothecary, although he had a very poor talent for it, blew the flute; the young ladies of Gruenwiesel had learned some songs, and every thing was all nicely arranged. But the strange gentleman gave out that while the concert would undoubtedly be a success, yet it was a mistake not to introduce a duet, as a duet was a recognized feature of every concert. The old gentleman's declaration proved quite an embarrassment to the managers. It was true that the mayor's daughter sang like a nightingale; but where should they find a gentleman who could sing a duet with her? In their perplexity, they at last hit upon the old organist who had once possessed an excellent bass voice; but the strange gentleman asserted that they need have no uneasiness on that score, as his nephew was an exceptionally fine singer. They were not a little surprised over this new accomplishment of the young man, and requested him to sing something, that they might judge of his acquirements. He sang for them, and, barring a few outlandish affectations which were supposed to be the English style, he sang like an angel. The duet was therefore decided on and hurriedly practiced, and the evening finally came on which the ears of the Gruenwiesel people were to be refreshed with a concert.

The old gentleman, sad to say, was sick and could not attend the concert; but he gave the mayor, who called on him just before the hour of opening the concert, some directions regarding his nephew. "He is a good soul, my nephew," said he, "but now and then he is overtaken by all sorts of singular fancies, and does many stupid things; it is, therefore, a great misfortune that I can not be present at your concert, as in my presence he always behaves himself--he well knows why! I must say, in his favor, that he does not commit these actions in a spirit of wantonness, but they are a fault of his constitution, deeply implanted in his nature. If then, Mr. Mayor, he should sit down on the music-desk, or attempt to play the bass-viol, just loosen his neck-tie a little; or, if that does not help matters, pull it off entirely, and you will see how quiet and well-behaved he will become." The mayor thanked the sick man for his confidence, and promised that if it should be necessary he would carry out his instructions.

The concert-hall was crowded; all Gruenwiesel and the surrounding country were there. All the royal gamekeepers, the ministers, officials, landlords, and others, within a circumference of ten miles, came with their numerous families to share the rare enjoyment of the concert with the Gruenwiesel people. The town musicians did themselves honor. After them, the mayor appeared with his violoncello, accompanied by the apothecary with his flute; after these, the organist sang, amid universal applause; and the doctor, too, was cheered not a little when he appeared with his bassoon.

The first part of the concert was over, and every one was impatiently awaiting the second part, in which the young stranger was to sing a duet with the mayor's daughter. The nephew was present, in a brilliant costume, and had already attracted the attention of all present. He had, with the greatest composure, laid himself back in an easy chair, which had been reserved for a countess of the neighborhood, stretched his legs out before him, and stared at everybody through a large spyglass, stopping occasionally to play with a large mastiff which he, in spite of the rule excluding dogs, had brought with him into this goodly company. The countess for whom the chair had been reserved, put in an appearance; but he showed no disposition to vacate the seat,--on the contrary, he settled himself down in it more comfortably, and as no one dared say any thing to the young man about it, the noble lady was forced to take a common straw-bottomed chair in the midst of the other ladies; a proceeding that vexed her not a little.

During the excellent playing of the mayor, during the fine singing of the organist, yes, even while the doctor was performing some fantasias on the bassoon, and all were breathlessly listening, the young Englishman amused himself by having the dog fetch his handkerchief, or chatted aloud with his neighbors, so that every one who was not acquainted with him wondered at the extraordinary conduct of the young man.

It was no wonder, therefore, that there was great curiosity to hear him in the duet. The second part began; the town musicians had opened with a short piece of music, and now the mayor, with his daughter, stepped up to the young man, handed him a sheet of music, and said: "Mosjoh! Will it please you to sing the duet now?" The young man laughed, gnashed his teeth, sprang up, and the others followed him to the music-stand, while the entire company were in full expectation. The organist began the accompaniment and beckoned the nephew to begin. The young Englishman looked through his goggles at the music, and broke out into the most discordant tones. The organist called out to him, "Two tones deeper, your honor! You must sing in C, C!"

Instead of singing in C, however, the nephew took off his shoe, and struck the organist such a blow on the head that the powder flew in all directions. As the mayor saw this, he thought: "Ha! he has another attack!" and sprang forward, seized him by the throat, and loosened his neck-tie; but this only increased the young man's violence; he no longer spoke German, but a strange language instead, that no one understood, and began to leap about in an extraordinary manner. The mayor was very much annoyed by this unpleasant disturbance; he therefore resolved, inasmuch as the young man must have been attacked by some very unusual symptoms, to remove the cravat entirely. But he had no sooner done this, than he stood motionless with horror, for instead of a human skin and complexion, the neck of the young man was covered with a dark-brown fur. The young man took some higher leaps, grasped his hair with his gloved hands, pulled it, and, oh, wonder! this beautiful hair was simply a wig, which he flung into the mayor's face; and his head now appeared, covered with the same brown fur.