her plump figure, her fat hands, her dull expression,
her gentle spirit, her generous feet, her bonnetless head,
and the plaited tails of hemp-colored hair hanging down
her back.
The house was big enough for a hotel; it was a hundred
feet long and fifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground
to eaves; but from the eaves to the comb of the mighty roof
was as much as forty feet, or maybe even more. This roof
was of ancient mud-colored straw thatch a foot thick,
and was covered all over, except in a few trifling spots,
with a thriving and luxurious growth of green vegetation,
mainly moss. The mossless spots were places where
repairs had been made by the insertion of bright new
masses of yellow straw. The eaves projected far down,
like sheltering, hospitable wings. Across the gable that
fronted the road, and about ten feet above the ground,
ran a narrow porch, with a wooden railing; a row of
small windows filled with very small panes looked upon
the porch. Above were two or three other little windows,
one clear up under the sharp apex of the roof.
Before the ground-floor door was a huge pile of manure.
The door of the second-story room on the side of the house
was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow.
Was this probably the drawing-room? All of the front
half of the house from the ground up seemed to be
occupied by the people, the cows, and the chickens,
and all the rear half by draught-animals and hay.
But the chief feature, all around this house, was the big
heaps of manure.
We became very familiar with the fertilizer in the Forest.
We fell unconsciously into the habit of judging of a man’s
station in life by this outward and eloquent sign.
Sometimes we said, “Here is a poor devil, this is manifest.”
When we saw a stately accumulation, we said, “Here is
a banker.” When we encountered a country-seat surrounded
by an Alpine pomp of manure, we said, “Doubtless a duke
lives here.”
The importance of this feature has not been properly
magnified in the Black Forest stories. Manure is evidently
the Black-Forester’s main treasure–his coin, his jewel,
his pride, his Old Master, his ceramics, his bric-a-brac,
his darling, his title to public consideration,
envy, veneration, and his first solicitude when he gets
ready to make his will. The true Black Forest novel,
if it is ever written, will be skeletoned somewhat in this way:
SKELETON FOR A BLACK FOREST NOVEL
Rich old farmer, named Huss. Has inherited great wealth
of manure, and by diligence has added to it. It is
double-starred in Baedeker. [1] The Black forest artist
paints it–his masterpiece. The king comes to see it.
Gretchen Huss, daughter and heiress. Paul Hoch,
young neighbor, suitor for Gretchen’s hand–ostensibly;
he really wants the manure. Hoch has a good many cart-loads
of the Black Forest currency himself, and therefore is a
good catch; but he is sordid, mean, and without sentiment,
whereas Gretchen is all sentiment and poetry.
Hans Schmidt, young neighbor, full of sentiment,
full of poetry, loves Gretchen, Gretchen loves him.
But he has no manure. Old Huss forbids him in the house.
His heart breaks, he goes away to die in the woods,
far from the cruel world–for he says, bitterly, “What is man,
without manure?”
1. When Baedeker’s guide-books mention a thing and put
two stars (**) after it, it means well worth visiting.
M.T.
[Interval of six months.]
Paul Hoch comes to old Huss and says, “I am at last
as rich as you required–come and view the pile.”
Old Huss views it and says, “It is sufficient–take
her and be happy,”–meaning Gretchen.
[Interval of two weeks.]
Wedding party assembled in old Huss’s drawing-room. Hoch
placid and content, Gretchen weeping over her hard fate.
Enter old Huss’s head bookkeeper. Huss says fiercely,
“I gave you three weeks to find out why your books
don’t balance, and to prove that you are not a defaulter;
the time is up–find me the missing property or you go
to prison as a thief.” Bookkeeper: “I have found it.”
“Where?” Bookkeeper (sternly–tragically): “In the bridegroom’s