Part 7 (2/2)

I should never have believed that anyone could lead me in such subterranean darkness through that winding labyrinth, where even in broad daylight I often entirely lost my whereabouts. I only wondered that this extraordinarily audacious girl could refrain from pulling my hair as she led me through that darkness, her arm in mine, though she had such a painful opportunity of doing so. Yes, I quite expected her to do so.

Finally we reached a door, before which there was no need of a lamp to a.s.sure a man of the room he was seeking. Through the door burst that most sorrowful of all human sounds, the sound of a child audibly wrestling with some unintelligible verse, twenty, fifty, a thousand times repeated anew, and anew, without becoming intelligible, while the verse had not yet taken its place in the child's head. Through the boards sounded afar a spiral Latin phrase.

”His atacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque.” Then again:

”His acatem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque.”

And again the same.

f.a.n.n.y placed her ear against the door and seized my hand as a hint to be quiet. Then she laughed aloud. How can anyone find an amusing subject in a poor hard-brained ”studiosus,” who cannot grasp that rule, inevitable in every career in life, that the second syllable of dropax, antrax, climax ”et caethra graeca” in the first case is long, in the second short--a rule extremely useful to a man later in life when he gets into some big sc.r.a.pe?

But f.a.n.n.y found it extremely ridiculous. Then she opened the door and nodded to me to follow her.

It was a small room under the staircase. Within were two beds, placed face to face; on one I recognized my own pillows which I had brought with me, so that must be my sleeping place. Beside the window was a writing-table on which was burning a single candle, its wick so badly trimmed as to prove that he who should have trimmed it had been so deeply engaged in work that he had not remarked whether darkness or light surrounded him.

Weeping, his head buried in his hands, my friend Henrik was sitting at that table; as the door opened he raised his head from the book over which he was poring. He greatly resembled his mother and grandmother: he had just such a p.r.o.nounced nose; but he had bristly hair, like his father, only black and not so closely cropped. He, too, had the family wart, actually in the middle of his nose.

As he looked up from his book, in a moment his countenance changed rapidly from fear to delight, from delight to suspicion. The poor boy thought he had gained a respite, and that the messenger had come with the white serviette to invite him to supper: he smiled at f.a.n.n.y entreating compa.s.sion, and then, when he saw me, became embarra.s.sed.

f.a.n.n.y approached him with an enquiring air, placed one hand on his thigh, with the other pointed to the open book, probably intending to ask him whether he knew his lessons.

The great lanky boy rose obediently before his little confessor, who scarce reached to his shoulder, and proceeded to put himself to rights.

He handed the book to f.a.n.n.y, casting a farewell glance at the disgusting, insufferable words; and with a great gulp by which he hoped to remove all obstacles from the way of the lines he had to utter, cleared his throat and began:--

”His abacem, phylacem ...”

f.a.n.n.y shook her head. It was not good.

Henrik was frightened. He began again:

”His abacem, coracem....”

Again it was wrong. The poor boy began over five or six times, but could not place those pagan words in the correct order, and as the mischievous girl shook her head each time he made a mistake, he finally became so confused that he could not even begin; then he reddened with anger, and, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth, tore the graceless book out of f.a.n.n.y's hand, threw it down upon the table and commenced an a.s.sault upon the heathen words, and with glaring eyes read the million-times repeated incantation: ”His abacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem facemque,” striking the back of his head with clinched fist at every word.

f.a.n.n.y burst into uncontrollable laughter at this scene.

I, however, was very sorry for my companion. My learning had been easy enough, and I regarded him with the air of a lord who looks from his coach window at the bare-footed pa.s.sers-by.

f.a.n.n.y was unmerciful to him.

Henrik looked up at her, and though I did not understand her words, I understood from his eyes that he was asking for something to eat.

The strong-headed sister actually refused his request.

I wished to prove my goodness of heart--my vanity also inclined me to inform this mischievous creature that I had not put away the bun for my own sake--So I stepped up to Henrik and, placing my hand on his shoulder with condescending friendliness, pressed into his hand the cake I had reserved for him.

Henrik cast a glance at me like some wild beast which has an aversion to petting, then flung the bun under the table with such violence that it broke into pieces.

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