This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND
By George Meredith
BOOK 3.
XV. WE ARE ACCOSTED BY A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE LADY IN THE FORESTXVI. THE STATUE ON THE PROMONTORYXVII. MY FATHER BREATHES, MOVES, AND SPEAKSXVIII. WE PASS A DELIGHTFUL EVENING, AND I HAVE A MORNING VISIONXIX. OUR RETURN HOMEWARDXX. NEWS OF A FRESH CONQUEST OF MY FATHER'SXXI. A PROMENADE IN BATHXXII. CONCLUSION OF THE BATH EPISODE
CHAPTER XV
WE ARE ACCOSTED BY A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE LADY IN THE FOREST
Bowls of hot coffee and milk, with white rolls of bread to dip in them,refreshed us at a forest inn. For some minutes after the meal Temple andI talked like interchangeing puffs of steam, but soon subsided to ourstaring fit. The pipes were lit again. What we heard sounded like alanguage of the rocks and caves, and roots plucked up, a language ofgluttons feasting; the word ja was like a door always on the hinge inevery mouth. Dumpy children, bulky men, compressed old women with bakedfaces, and comical squat dogs, kept the villages partly alive. Weobserved one young urchin sitting on a stone opposite a dog, and he andthe dog took alternate bites off a platter-shaped cake, big enough torequire both his hands to hold it. Whether the dog ever snapped morethan his share was matter of speculation to us. It was an education forhim in good manners, and when we were sitting at dinner we wished ourcompanions had enjoyed it. They fed with their heads in their plates,splashed and clattered jaws, without paying us any hospitable attentionwhatever, so that we had the dish of Lazarus. They were perfectly kind,notwithstanding, and allowed a portion of my great map of Germany to liespread over their knees in the diligence, whilst Temple and I pored alongthe lines of the rivers. One would thrust his square-nailed finger tothe name of a city and pronounce it; one gave us lessons in theexpression of the vowels, with the softening of three of them, whichseemed like a regulation drill movement for taking an egg into the mouth,and showing repentance of the act. 'Sarkeld,' we exclaimed mutually, andthey made a galloping motion of their hands, pointing beyond the hills.Sarkeld was to the right, Sarkeld to the left, as the road wound on.Sarkeld was straight in front of us when the conductor, according todirections he had received, requested us to alight and push through thisendless fir-forest up a hilly branch road, and away his hand gallopedbeyond it, coming to a deep place, and then to grapes, then to a tip-toestation, and under it lay Sarkeld. The pantomime was not bad. We wavedour hand to the diligence, and set out cheerfully, with our bags at ourbacks, entering a gorge in the fir-covered hills before sunset, afterstarting the proposition—Does the sun himself look foreign in a foreigncountry?
'Yes, he does,' said Temple; and so I thought, but denied it, for by thesun's favour I hoped to see my father that night, and hail Apollojoyfully in the morning; a hope that grew with exercise of my limbs.Beautiful cascades of dark bright water leaped down the gorge; we chasedan invisible animal. Suddenly one of us exclaimed, 'We 're in a Germanforest'; and we remembered grim tales of these forests, their awfulcastles, barons, knights, ladies, long-bearded dwarfs, gnomes and thinpeople. I commenced a legend off-hand.
'No, no,' said Temple, as if curdling; 'let's call this place the mouthof Hades. Greek things don't make you feel funny.'
I laughed louder than was necessary, and