The baron looked down thoughtfully. Ideas of the sort had often flitted across his mind. It was just the time when numerous industrial speculations had started up, and landed proprietors looked upon them as the best way to increase their means. Mr. Ehrenthal perceived the effect his words had taken, and concluded in the obsequious tone most natural to him: "But what right have I to give any advice to a nobleman like you? Only, every capitalist will tell you that in our days this is the surest method by which a man of rank can provide for his family; and, when the grass is growing over old Ehrenthal's grave, you will think of me and say, 'Ehrenthal was but a plain man, but he gave me advice which has proved advantageous to my family.'"
The baron still looked thoughtfully down. His mind was made up, but he merely replied, with affected indifference, "I will think the matter over." Ehrenthal asked no more.
It was a pity that the baron did not see the expression of the tradesman's face as he got into his conveyance and drove away. He told the coachman to go slowly through the grounds, and looked with delight at the flourishing crops on either side. "A fine property," he went on muttering to himself; "truly a fine property."
Meanwhile the baroness sat in the shrubbery, and turned over the leaves of a new magazine, every now and then casting a look at her daughter, who was occupied in framing, with old newspapers and flowers, a grotesque decoration for the pony's head and neck, while he kept tearing away all of it that he could reach. As soon as she caught her mother's glance, she flew to her, and began to talk nonsense to the smart ladies and gentlemen who displayed the fashions in the pages of the magazine. At first her mother laughed, but by-and-by she said, "Lenore, you are now a great girl, and yet a mere child. We have been too careless about your education; it is high time that you should begin and learn more systematically, my poor darling."
"I thought I was to have done with learning," said Lenore, pouting.
"Your French is still very imperfect, and your father wishes you to practice drawing, for which you have a talent."
"I only care for drawing caricatures," cried Lenore; "they are so easy."
"You must leave off drawing these; they spoil your taste, and make you satirical." Lenore hung her head. "And who was the young man with whom I saw you a short time ago?" continued the baroness, reprovingly.
"Do not scold me, dear mother," cried Lenore; "he was a stranger—a handsome, modest youth, on his way to the capital. He has neither father nor mother, and that made me so sorry for him."
Her mother kissed her, and said, "You are my own dear, wild girl. Go and call your father; his coffee will get cold."
As soon as the baron appeared, his head still full of his conversation with Ehrenthal, his wife laid her hand in his, and said, "Oscar, I am uneasy about Lenore!"
"Is she ill?" inquired her father, in alarm.
"No, she is well and good-hearted, but she is more free and unconventional than she should be at her age."
"She has been brought up in the country, and a fine, clever girl she is," replied the baron, soothingly.
"Yes, but she is too frank in her manner toward strangers," continued his wife; "I fear that she is in danger of becoming an original."
"Well, and is that a very great misfortune?" asked the baron, laughing.
"There can be no greater to a girl in our circle. Whatever is unusual in society is ridiculous, and the merest shade of eccentricity might ruin her prospects. I am afraid she will never improve in the country."
"What would the child do away from us, and growing up with strangers?"
"And yet," said the baroness, earnestly, "it must come to this, though I grieve to tell you so. She is rude to girls of her own age, disrespectful to ladies, and, on the other hand, much too forward to gentlemen."
"She will change," suggested the baron, after a pause.
"She will not change," returned the baroness, gently, "so long as she leaps over hedge and ditch with her father, and even accompanies him out hunting."
"I can not make up my mind to part with both children," said the kind-hearted father; "it would be hard upon us, indeed, and hardest upon you, you rigid matron!"
"Perhaps so," said the baroness, in a low voice, and her eyelids moistened; "but we must not think of ourselves, only of their future good."
The baron drew her closer to him, and said in a firm voice, "Listen, Elizabeth; when in earlier days we looked forward to these, we had other plans for Lenore's education. We resolved to spend the winter in town, to give the child some finishing lessons, and then to introduce her into the world. We will go this very winter to the capital."
The baroness looked up in amazement. "Dear, kind Oscar," cried she; "but—forgive the question—will not this be a great sacrifice to you in other respects?"
"No," was the cheerful reply; "I have plans which make it desirable for me to spend the winter in town."
He told them, and the move was decided upon.
The sun was already low when the travelers reached the suburbs of the capital. First came cottages, then villas, then the houses crowded closer, and the dust and noise made our hero's heart sink within him. He would soon have lost his way but for Veitel Itzig, who seemed to have a preference for by-streets and narrow flag-stones. At length they reached one of the main streets, where large houses, with pillared porticoes, gay shops, and a well-dressed crowd, proclaimed the triumph of wealth over poverty. Here they stopped before a lofty house. Itzig pointed out the door with a certain degree of deference, and said, "Here you are, and here you will soon get as proud as any of them; but, if you ever wish to know where I am to be found, you can inquire at Ehrenthal's, in Dyer Street. Good-night."
Anton entered with a beating heart, and felt for his father's letter. He had become so diffident, and his head felt so confused, that he would gladly have sat down for a moment to rest and compose himself. But there was no rest here. A great wagon stood at the door, and within, colossal bales and barrels; while broad-shouldered giants, with leathern aprons and short hooks in their belts, were carrying ladders, rattling chains, rolling casks, and tying thick ropes into artistic knots; while clerks, with pens behind their ears and papers in their hands, moved to and fro, and carriers in blue blouses received the different goods committed to their care. Clearly there was no rest to be had here. Anton ran up against a bale, nearly fell over a ladder, and was with difficulty saved by the loud "Take care!" of two leathern-aproned sons of Anak from being crushed flat under an immense tun of oil.
In the centre of all this movement—the sun around which porters, and clerks, and wagoners revolved—stood a young official, of decided air and few words, holding a large black pencil in his hand, with which he made colossal hieroglyphics on the bales before he desired the porters to move them. To him Anton addressed himself in a nearly inaudible voice, and was directed by a wave of the pencil to the counting-house. Slowly he approached the door, which it cost him a mighty effort to open, and as it gently yielded, and he saw the great room before him, his alarm was such that he could scarcely enter. His entrance, however, did not make much sensation. Half a dozen clerks were dashing in haste over the blue folio paper before them, to save the post. Only one of them, who sat next the door, rose, and asked what Anton was pleased to want.
Upon his replying that he wished to speak to Mr. Schröter, there emerged from an inner room a tall man, with a deeply-marked visage, standing shirt-collar, and thoroughly English aspect. Anton took a rapid survey of his countenance, and felt his courage return. He at once discovered uprightness and kindness of heart, though the air and manner were somewhat stern. He rapidly drew out his letter, gave his name, and, in a broken voice, mentioned his father's death.
At this a friendly light beamed from the merchant's eyes; he opened the letter, read it attentively, and stretched out his hand, saying, "You are welcome." Then turning to one of the clerks, who wore a green coat and a gray over-sleeve on the right arm, he announced, "Mr. Wohlfart enters our office from this day." For an instant the six pens were silent, and the principal went on to say to Anton, "You must be tired; Mr. Jordan will show you your room: the rest to-morrow." So saying, he went back to his office, and the six pens began again with fearful rapidity.
The gentleman in the green coat rose, drew off his over-sleeve, carefully folded and locked it up, and invited Anton to follow him. Anton felt a different man to that he had done ten minutes before; he had now a home, and belonged to the business. Accordingly, as he passed, he patted a great bale as though it had been the shoulder of a friend, at which his conductor turned and benevolently vouchsafed the word "cotton;" next he rapped a gigantic barrel, and received the information "currants." He no longer fell over ladders—nay, he boldly pushed one out of his way, bestowed a friendly greeting upon one of the leathern-aproned Anakims, and felt pleased to be politely thanked in return, especially when informed that this was the head porter.
They crossed the court, mounted a well-worn staircase, and then Mr. Jordan opened the door of a room which he told Anton would most probably be his, and had been formerly occupied by a friend of his own. It was a neat little room, with a beautiful stucco cat sitting on the writing-table, which had been left by the former tenant for the benefit of his successor.
Mr. Jordan hurried off to the office, where he had to be earliest and latest of all; and Anton, with the help of a friendly servant, arranged his room and his dress.
Soon the green coat reappeared, and said that Mr. Schröter was gone out, and not to be seen again that day. "Would the new-comer make the acquaintance of his colleagues? It was not necessary to dress."
Anton followed him down stairs, and Mr. Jordan was just about to knock at the door of a certain room, when it was opened by a handsome, slender young man, whose whole appearance made a great impression upon our hero.
He wore a riding-dress, had on a jockey's cap, and a whip in his hand. "So you are trotting your colt round already?" said the stranger, laughing. Mr. Jordan looked solemn, and went on to introduce Mr. Wohlfart, the new apprentice, just arrived; Herr von Fink, son of the great Hamburg firm, Fink and Becker.
"Heir of the greatest train-oil business in the world, and so forth," broke in Fink, carelessly. "Jordan, give me ten dollars; I want to pay the groom; add them to the rest." Then turning to Anton, he said, with some degree of politeness, "If you were coming to call upon me, as I guess from the festive air of your Mercury, I am sorry not to be at home, having to buy a new horse. I consider your visit paid, return you my most ceremonious thanks, and give you my blessing on your entrance." And, with a careless nod, he went rattling down the stairs.
Anton was a good deal discomposed by this cool behavior, and Jordan thought it desirable to add a short commentary of his own. "Fink only half belongs to us, and has been here but a short time. He was brought up in New York, and his father has sent him here to be made a rational being."
"Is he not rational, then?" inquired Anton, with some curiosity.
"Why, he is too wild, too full of mischief—else, a pleasant fellow enough. And now come with me; I have invited all our gentlemen to tea, that they may make your acquaintance."
Mr. Jordan's room was the largest of those appropriated to the clerks, and having a piano-forte and a few arm-chairs, it was occasionally used as a drawing-room.
Here, then, the gentlemen were sitting and standing, awaiting the new-comer. Anton went through the ceremony of introduction with becoming gravity, shaking each of them by the hand, and asking for their good-will and friendly assistance, as he had been but little in the world, and was totally inexperienced as to business. This candor produced a favorable impression. The conversation grew animated, and was seasoned with many allusions and jests wholly unintelligible to the stranger, who held his peace, and devoted himself to observation. First, there was the book-keeper, Liebold, a little, elderly man, with a gentle voice and a modest smile, that seemed to apologize to the world at large for his having taken the liberty of existing in it. He said but little, and had a way of always retracting what he had advanced, as, for example, "I admit this tea is too weak; though, to be sure, strong tea is unwholesome," and so on. Next came Mr. Pix, the despotic wielder of the black pencil, a decided kind of man, who seemed to look upon all social relations as mere business details, respectable but trivial. As a chair was wanting, he sat astride on a small table. Near him was Mr. Specht, who spoke much, and dealt in assertions that every one else disputed. Then there was a Mr. Baumann, with short hair and thoughtful aspect, very regular in his attendance at church, a contributor to every missionary association, and, as his friends declared, much inclined to be a missionary himself, but that the force of habit retained him in Germany and with the firm. Anton remarked with pleasure the courtesy and good feeling that prevailed. Being tired, he soon made his retreat; and having contradicted no one, and been friendly to all, he left a favorable impression behind.
Meanwhile, Veitel Itzig made his way through the narrow and crowded streets till he reached a large house, the lower windows of which were secured by iron bars; while, on the drawing-room floor, the panes of glass were large, and showed white curtains within; the attic windows again being dirty, dusty, and here and there broken; in short, the house had a disreputable air, reminding one of an old gipsy who has thrown a new and gayly-colored shawl over her rags.
Into this house he entered, kissing his hand to a smart maid-servant, who resented the liberty. The dirty staircase led to a white door, on which the name "Hirsch Ehrenthal" was inscribed. He rang; and an old woman, with a torn cap, appeared, who, having heard his request, called out to those within, "Here is one from Ostrau, Itzig Veitel by name, who wishes to speak to Mr. Ehrenthal." A loud voice replied, "Let him wait;" and the clatter of plates showed that the man of business meant to finish his supper before he gave the futuremillionnairea hearing. Accordingly, Veitel sat upon the steps admiring the brass plate and the white door, and wondering how the name of Itzig would look upon just such another. That led him to reflect how far he was from being as rich as this Hirsch Ehrenthal; and, feeling the half dozen ducats his mother had sewn into his waistcoat, he began to speculate how much he could daily add to them, provided the rich man took him into his service. In the midst of these reflections the door was flung open, and Mr. Ehrenthal stood before him, no longer the same man we saw in the morning; the deference, the kindness, all were gone. No Eastern despot so proud and lofty. Itzig felt his own insignificance, and stood humbly before his master.
"Here is a letter to Baruch Goldmann, in which Mr. Ehrenthal has sent for me," began Veitel.
"I wrote Goldmann word to send you, that I might see whether you would suit; nothing is yet settled," was the dignified reply.
"I came that you might see me, sir."
"And why did you come so late, young Itzig? this is not the time for business."
"I wished to show myself to-night, in case, sir, you should have any commission to give me for to-morrow. I thought I might be useful, as it is market-day; and I know most of the coachmen of the farmers who come in with rape-seed and other produce; and I know many of the brokers too."
"Are your papers in good order," was the reply, "so that I may have no trouble with the police?"
When Veitel had given satisfaction on this important subject, Ehrenthal vouchsafed to say, "If I take you into my house, you must turn your hand to any thing that I, or Mrs. Ehrenthal, or my son, may chance to order; you must clean the boots and shoes, and run errands for the cook."
"I will do any thing, Mr. Ehrenthal, to make you satisfied with me," was the humble reply.
"For this you will receive two dollars a month; and, if I make a good bargain by your assistance, you will have your share. As for your sleeping-quarters, they had better be with Löbel Pinkus, that I may know where to find you when wanted." So saying, Ehrenthal opened the door, and called, "Wife, Bernhard, Rosalie, come here."
Mrs. Ehrenthal was a portly lady in black silk, with strongly-marked eyebrows and black ringlets, who laid herself out to please, and was extremely successful, report averred. As for her daughter, she was, indeed, a perfect beauty, with magnificent eyes and complexion, and a very slightly aquiline nose. But how came Bernhard to be one of the family? Short, slight, with a pale, deeply-lined face, and bent figure, it was only his mouth and his clear eye that bespoke him young, and he was more negligently attired, too, than might have been expected. They all looked at Veitel in silence, while Ehrenthal proceeded to say that he had taken him into his service; and Veitel himself mentally resolved to be very subservient to the mother, to fall in love with the daughter, to clean carelessly Bernhard's boots, and carefully to search his pocket in brushing his coat. On the whole, he was well pleased with the arrangement made, and smiled to himself as he went along to Löbel Pinkus.
This Löbel Pinkus was a householder who kept a spirit-shop on the ground floor; but one thing was certain, no mere spirit-shop could have enriched him as this did. However, he bore a good character. The police willingly took a glass at his counter, for which he always declined payment. He paid his taxes regularly, and passed, indeed, for a friend of the executive. On the first floor he kept a lodging-house for bearded and beardless Jews. These gentlemen generally slipped in late and out early. Besides such regular guests, others of every age, sex, and creed arrived at irregular intervals. These had strictly private dealings with the host, and showed a great objection to having a lucifer match struck near their faces. The other lodgers took their own views of these peculiarities, but judged it best to keep them to themselves. In this house it was that Itzig went up a dark stair, and, groping along a dirty wall, came to a heavy oaken door, with a massive bolt, and, after a good push, entered a waste-looking room that ran the whole length of the house. In the middle stood an old table with a wretched oil lamp, and opposite the door a great partition, with several smaller doors, some of which were open, and showed that the whole consisted of narrow subdivisions, with hooks for hanging clothes. The small windows had faded blinds, but on the opposite side of the room the twilight entered through an open door that led to a wooden gallery running along the outside of the house.
Itzig threw down his bundle and went out on this gallery, which he viewed with much interest. Below him rolled a rapid stream of dirty water, hemmed in on either side by dilapidated wooden houses, most of which had similar galleries to every story. In olden times, the worthy guild of dyers had inhabited this street, but now they had changed their quarters, and instead of sheep and goat skins, there hung over the worm-eaten railings only the clothes of the poor put out to dry. Their colors contrasted strangely with the black woodwork; the light fell in a remarkable way upon the rude carvings, and the dark posts that started here and there out of the water. In short, it was a wretched place, save for cats, painters, or poor devils.
Young Itzig had already been here more than once, but never alone. Now he observed that a long, covered staircase led down from the gallery to the water's edge, and that a similar one ran up to the next house, whence he concluded that it would be possible to go from one house to another without doing more than wetting the feet; also, that when the water was low, one could walk along at the base of the houses, and he wondered whether there were men who availed themselves of these possibilities. His fancy was so much excited by this train of thought, that he ran back, crept into the partition, and found out that the wall at the back of it was also of wood. As this was the wall dividing the neighboring house from the one in which he was, he considered it a pleasant discovery, and was just going to see whether some chink in the main wall might not afford a further prospect, when he was disturbed by a hollow murmur, which showed him that he was not alone. So he settled himself upon a bag of straw opposite his companion, who was too sleepy to talk much. By-and-by Pinkus came in, placed a jug of water on the table, and locked the door outside. Itzig ate in the dark the dry bread he had in his pocket, and at length fell asleep to the snoring of his companion.
At the same hour his fellow-traveler wrapped himself round in his comfortable bed, looked about him more asleep than awake, and fancied that he saw the stucco cat rise on his feet, stretch out his paws, and proceed to wash his face. Before he had time to marvel at this, he fell asleep. Both the youths had their dreams. Anton's was of sitting on a gigantic bale, and flying on it through the air, while a certain lovely young lady stretched her arms out toward him; and Itzig's was of having become a baron, and being teased into flinging an alms to old Ehrenthal.
The following morning each set to work. Anton sat at the desk and copied letters, while Itzig, having brushed the collective boots and shoes of the Ehrenthal family, stationed himself as a spy at the door of the principal hotel, to watch a certain gentleman who was discontented with his master, and suspected of applying to other moneyed men.
The first idle hour he had, Anton drew from memory the castle, the balcony, and the turrets, on the best paper the town could afford; the next, he put the drawing in a gilt frame, and hung it over his sofa.
Just at first Anton found some difficulty in adapting himself to the new world in which he was placed.
The business was one of a kind becoming rare nowadays, when rail-roads and telegraphs unite remotest districts, and every merchant sends from the heart of the country to bid his agents purchase goods almost before they reach the shore. Yet there was a something about this old-fashioned house of a dignified, almost a princely character; and what was still better, it was well calculated to inspire confidence. At the time of which we speak, the sea was far off, facilities of communication were rare, so that the merchants' speculations were necessarily more independent, and involved greater hazard. The importance of such a mercantile house as this depended upon the quantity of stores it bought with its own money and at its own risk. Of these, a great part lay in long rows of warehouses along the river, some in the vaults of the old house itself, and some in the warehouses and stores of those around. Most of the tradesmen of the province provided themselves with colonial produce from the warehouses of the firm, whose agents were spread to east and south, and carried on, even as far as the Turkish frontier, a business which, if less regular and secure than the home trade, was often more lucrative than any other.
Thus it happened that the every-day routine afforded to the new apprentice a wide diversity of impressions and experiences. A varied procession poured through the counting-house from morning to evening; men of different costumes, all offering samples of different articles for sale—Polish Jews, beggars, men of business, carriers, porters, servants, etc. Anton found it difficult to concentrate his thoughts amid this endless going and coming, and to get through his work, simple as it was.
For instance, Mr. Braun, the agent of a friendly house in Hamburgh, had just come in and taken a sample of coffee out of his pocket. While it was being submitted to the principal, the agent went on gesticulating with his gold-headed cane, and talking about a recent storm, and the damage it had done. The door creaked, and a poorly-dressed woman entered.
"What do you want?" asked Mr. Specht.
Then came lamentable sounds, like the peeping of a sick hen, which changed, as soon as the merchant had put his hand into his pocket, into a joyful chuckle.
"Waves mountain-high," cried the agent.
"God reward you a thousand-fold," chuckled the woman.
"Comes to 550 merks, 10 shillings," said Baumann to the principal.
And now the door was vehemently pushed open, and a stoutly-built man entered, with a bag of money under his arm, which he triumphantly deposited on the marble table, exclaiming, with the air of one doing a good action, "Here am I; and here is money!"
Mr. Jordan rose immediately, and said, in a friendly voice, "Good-morning, Mr. Stephen; how goes the world in Wolfsburg?"
"A dreadful hole!" groaned Mr. Braun.
"Where?" inquired Fink.
"Not such a bad place either," said Mr. Stephen; "but little business doing."
"Sixty-five sacks of Cuba," returned the principal to a question of one of the clerks.
Meanwhile, the door opened again, and this time admitted a man-servant and a Jew from Brody. The servant gave the merchant a note of invitation to a dinner-party—the Jew crept to the corner where Fink sat.
"What brings you again, Schmeie Tinkeles?" coldly asked Fink; "I have already told you that we would have no dealings with you."
"No dealings!" croaked the unlucky Tinkeles, in such execrable German that Anton had difficulty in understanding him. "Such wool as I bring has never been seen before in this country."
"How much a hundred weight?" asked Fink, writing, without looking at the Jew.
"What I have already said."
"You are a fool," said Fink; "off with you!"
"Alas!" screamed he of the caftan, "what language is that? 'Off with you!'—there's no dealing so."
"What do you want for your wool?
"41-2/3," said Tinkeles.
"Get out!" suggested Fink.
"Don't go on forever saying 'Get out!'" implored the Jew, in despair; "say what you will give."
"If you ask such unreasonable prices, nothing at all," replied Fink, beginning another sheet.
"Only say what you will give."
"Come, then, if you speak like a rational man," answered Fink, looking at the Jew.
"Iamrational," was the low reply; "what will you give?"
"Thirty-nine," said Fink.
At that Schmeie Tinkeles went distracted, shook his black greasy hair, and swore by all he held holy that he could not take it under 41, whereupon Fink signified that he should be put out by one of the servants if he made so much noise. The Jew, therefore, went off in high dudgeon; soon, however, putting his head in again, and asking, "Well, then, what will you give?"
"Thirty-nine," said Fink, watching the excitement he thus raised much as an anatomist might the galvanic convulsions of a frog. The words "thirty-nine" occasioned a fresh explosion in the mind of the Jew; he came forward, solemnly committed his soul to the deepest abyss, and declared himself the most unworthy wretch alive if he took less than 41. As he could not profit by Fink's repeated exhortations to quit, a servant was called. His appearance was so far composing, that Mr. Tinkeles now declared he could go alone, and would go alone; whereupon he stood still, and said 40-1/2. The agent, the provincials, and the whole counting-house watched the progress of the bargain with some curiosity; while Fink, with a certain degree of cordiality, proceeded to counsel the poor Jew to retire without further discussion, seeing that he was an utter fool, and there really was no dealing with him. Once more the Jew went out, and Fink said to the principal, who was reading a letter the while, "He'll let us have the wool if I let him have another half dollar."
"How much is there of it?" asked the merchant.
"Six tons," said Fink.
"Take it," said Mr. Schröter, reading on.
Again the door opened and shut, the chattering went on, and Anton kept wondering how they could speak of a purchase when the seller had been so decided in his refusal of their terms. Once more the door was gently pushed open, and Tinkeles, creeping behind Fink, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, in a melancholy but confidential voice, "What will you give, then?"
Fink turned round, and replied with a good-natured smile, "If you please to take it, Tinkeles, 39-1/3; but only on the condition that you do not speak another word, otherwise I retract the offer."
"I am not speaking," answered the Jew. "Say 40."
Fink made a movement of impatience, and silently pointed to the door. The wool-dealer went out once more.
"Now for it!" said Fink.
In a moment or two Tinkeles returned, and, with more composure of manner, brought out "39-1/2, if you will take it at that."
After some appearance of uncertainty, Fink carelessly replied, "So be it, then;" at which Schmeie Tinkeles underwent an utter transformation, behaving like an amiable friend of the firm, and politely inquiring after the health of the principal.
And so it went on; the door creaking, buyers and sellers coming and going, men talking, pens scratching, and money pouring ceaselessly in.
The household of which Anton now formed part appeared to him to be most impressive and singular. The house itself was an irregular and ancient building, with wings, court-yards, out-houses, short stairs, mysterious passages, and deep recesses. In the front part of it were handsome apartments, occupied by the merchant's family. Mr. Schröter had only been married for a very short time, his wife and child had died within the year, and his sister was now his only near relation.
The merchant adhered rigidly to the old customs of the firm. All the unmarried clerks formed part of the household, and dined with him punctually at one o'clock. On the day after Anton's arrival, a few minutes before that hour, he was taken to be introduced to the lady of the house, and gazed with wonder at the elegance and magnificence of the rooms through which he passed on his way to her presence.
Sabine Schröter's pale, delicate face, crowned with hair of raven black, shone out very fair above her graceful summer attire. She seemed about Anton's own age, but she had the dignity of a matron.
"My sister governs us all," said the merchant, looking fondly at her. "If you have any wish, make it known to her; she is the good fairy who keeps the house in order."
Anton looked at the fairy, and modestly replied, "Hitherto I have found every thing exceed my wishes."
"Your life will, in time, appear a monotonous one," continued the merchant. "Ours is a rigidly regular house, where you have much work to look forward to, and little recreation. My time is much engrossed; but, if you should ever need advice or assistance, I hope you will apply directly to myself."
This short audience over, he rose and led Anton to the dining-room, where all his colleagues were assembled; next, Sabine entered, accompanied by an elderly lady, a distant relation, who looked very good-natured. The clerks made their obeisance, and Anton took the seat appointed to him at the end of a long table, among the younger of his brethren. Opposite him sat Sabine, beside her brother, then the elderly relative, and next to her, Fink. On the whole, it was a silent dinner. Anton's neighbors said little, and that under their breath; but Fink rattled away with thorough unconcern, told droll stories, mimicked voices and manners, and was exaggerated in his attentions to the good-natured relative. Anton was positively horrified at this freedom, and fancied that the principal did not like it much better. The black-coated domestics waited with the utmost propriety; and Anton rose with the impression that this repast had been the most solemn and stately of which he had ever partaken, and that he should get on with all the household with the exception of "that Von Fink."
One day that they accidentally met on the staircase, Fink, who had not for some time appeared conscious of his existence, stopped and asked him, "Well, Master Wohlfart, how does this house suit you?"
To which Anton replied, "Exceedingly well, indeed. I see and hear so much that is new to me that I have hardly thought of myself as yet."
"You'll soon get accustomed to it," said Fink, laughing; "one day is the same as the other all the year long. On Sunday, an extra good dinner, a glass of wine, and your best coat—that's all. You are one of the wheels in the machine, and will be expected to grind regularly."
"I am aware that I must be industrious in order to merit Mr. Schröter's confidence," was the rather indignant reply.
"Truly a virtuous remark; but you'll soon see, my poor lad, what a gulf is fixed between the head of the firm and those who write his letters. No prince on earth stands so far removed above his vassals as this same coffee-lord above his clerks. But do not lay much stress on what I say," added he, more good-naturedly; "the whole house will tell you that I am not quitecompos. However, I'll give you a piece of good advice. Get an English master, and make some progress before you got rusty. All they teach you here will never make a clever man of you, if you happen to want to be one. Good-night." And, turning upon his heel, he left our Anton somewhat disconcerted.
Indeed, he too, in course of time, began to be conscious of the monotony of a business life, but he did not fret about it, having been taught by his parents habits of industry and order.
Mr. Jordan took much pains to initiate him into the mysteries of divers wares; and the hours that he first spent in the warehouses, amid the varied produce of different lands, were fraught with a certain poetry of their own, as good, perhaps, as any other. There was a large, gloomy, vaulted room on the ground floor, in which lay stores for the traffic of the day. Tuns, bales, chests, were piled on each other, which every land, every race, had contributed to fill. The floating palace of the East India Company, the swift American brig, the patriarchal ark of the Dutchman, the stout-ribbed whaler, the smoky steamer, the gay Chinese junk, the light canoe of the Malay—all these had battled with winds and waves to furnish this vaulted room. A Hindoo woman had woven that matting; a Chinese had painted that chest; a Congo negro, in the service of a Virginian planter, had looped those canes over the cotton bales; that square block of zebra-wood had grown in the primeval forests of the Brazils, and monkeys and bright-hued parrots had chattered among its branches. Anton would stand long in this ancient hall, after Mr. Jordan's lessons were over, absorbed in wonder and interest, till roof and pillars seemed transferred to broad-leaved palm-trees, and the noise of the streets to the roar of the sea—a sound he only knew in his dreams; and this delight in what was foreign and unfamiliar never wore off, but led him to become, by reading, intimately acquainted with the countries whence all these stores came, and with the men by whom they were collected.
Thus the first months of his life in the capital fled rapidly away; and it was well for him that he took so much interest in his studies, for Fink proved right in one respect. In spite of the daily meal in the stately dining-room, Anton remained as great a stranger as ever to the principal and his family. He was too rational, indeed, to murmur at this, but he could not avoid feeling depressed by it; for, with the enthusiasm of youth, he was ready to revere his chief as the ideal of mercantile greatness. He admired his sagacity, decision, energy, and inflexible uprightness, and would have been devoted to him heart and soul, but that he so seldom saw him. When the merchant was not engaged by business, he lived for his sister, whom he most tenderly loved. For her he kept a carriage and horses which he himself never used, and gave evening parties to which Anton and his colleagues were not invited. Gay equipages rolled in one after the other, liveried servants ran up and down stairs, and graceful shadows flitted across the windows, while Anton sat in his little upper chamber, and yearned eagerly after the brilliant gayeties in which he had no part. True, his reason told him that they did not belong to men of his class, but at nineteen reason is not always supreme; and many a time he went back with a sigh from his window to his books, and tried to forget the alluring strains of the quadrille and waltz in the descriptions of the lion's roar and the bull-frog's croak in the far-off tropics.
The Baron of Rothsattel had moved to his town residence. It was not indeed large, but its furniture, the arabesques on its walls, the arrangement of its hangings were so graceful, that it ranked as a model of comfort and elegance. The baron had made all his preparations in silence. At length the day came when the new carriage stopped at the door, and, lifting down his wife, he led her through the suite of apartments to her own little boudoir, all fitted up with white silk. Enchanted beyond measure, she flew into his arms, and he felt as proud and happy as a king. They were soon perfectly settled, and able to begin their course of visiting.
It was the custom of a large portion of the nobility to spend the winter in town, and accordingly the Rothsattels met many friends, and several of their acquaintance. Every one was pleased to welcome them, and after a few weeks they found themselves immersed in gayety. The baroness soon became a leader of the feminine world, and her husband, after at first missing his walks through his farm and his woods, began to take equal pleasure in reviving his youthful acquaintance. He became member of a nobleman's club, indulged his virtuoso tendencies, played whist, and filled his idle hours with a little politics and a little art. And so the winter passed pleasantly on, and the baron and his wife often wondered why they had not earlier indulged in this agreeable variety.
Lenore was the only one dissatisfied with the change. She continued to justify her mother's fear lest she should become an original. She found it difficult to pay proper respect to the numberless elderly cousins of the family, and still more difficult to refrain from accosting first any pleasant gentleman she had known in the country, and now chanced to meet in the streets. Likewise, the Young Lady's Institution, which she had to attend, was in many ways objectionable to her. She had certain maps and tiresome lesson-books to take to and fro, and her mother did not approve of the servants' time being occupied in carrying them after her. One day, when walking like an angry Juno—the tokens of her slavery upon her arm, and her little parasol in her hand—she beheld the young gentleman to whom she had shown her flower-garden coming to meet her, and she rejoiced at it, for he was pleasantly associated in her mind with home, the pony, and the family of swans. He was still some way off when her hawk's eye discerned him, but he did not see her even when he came nearer. As her mother had forbidden her ever to accost a gentleman in the street, there was nothing for it but to stand still and to strike her parasol on the flags.
Anton looked up and saw to his pleasant surprise the lovely lady of the lake. Blushing, he took off his hat, and Lenore observed with satisfaction that, in spite of the satchel on her arm, she impressed him as much us ever.
"How are you, sir?" she inquired, in a dignified way.
"Very well," replied Anton; "how delighted I am to see you in town!"
"We are living here at present," said the young lady, with less stateliness, "at No. 20 Bear Street."
"May I inquire for the pony?" said Anton, respectfully.
"Only think, he had to be left behind!" was the sorrowful reply; "and what are you doing here?"
"I am in the house of T. O. Schröter," said Anton, bowing.
"Oh! a merchant; and what do you deal in?"
"In colonial produce. It is the largest firm in that department in the whole town," replied Anton, complacently.
"And have you met with kind people who take care of you?"
"My principal is very kind, but I must take care of myself."
"Have you any friends here with whom you can amuse yourself?"
"A few acquaintances. But I have much to do, and I must improve myself in my leisure hours."
"You look rather pale," said the young lady, with motherly interest; "you should move more about, and take long walks. I am glad to have met you, and shall be pleased to hear of your well-doing," added she, majestically; and, with an inclination of her pretty little head, she vanished in the crowd, while Anton remained gazing after her, hat in hand.
Lenore did not consider it necessary to mention this meeting. But a few days later, when the baroness happened to inquire where they should get some necessary stores, she looked up from her book and said, "The largest firm here is that of T. O. Schröter, dealer in colonial produce."
"How do you know that?" inquired her father, laughing; "you speak like an experienced merchant."
"All the result of the Young Lady's Institution," answered Lenore, pertly.
Meanwhile, in the midst of his social pleasures, the baron did not forget the chief end of his town life. He made close inquiries as to the speculations of other landed proprietors, visited the factories in the town, became acquainted with educated manufacturers, and acquired some knowledge of machinery. But the information thus gained was so contradictory, that he thought it best not to precipitate matters, but to wait till some specially advantageous and safe undertaking should offer.
We must not omit to mention that about this time the family property was increased by a small, handsome, brass-inlaid casket, with a lock that defied any thief's power of opening, so that, if minded to steal, he would have nothing for it but to carry off the casket itself. In it were laid forty-five thousand dollars in the form of new promissory notes. The baron contemplated these with much tenderness. At first he would sit for hours opposite the open casket, never weary of arranging the parchment leaves according to their numbers, delighting in their glossy whiteness, and forming plans for paying off the capital; and even when, for safety's sake, the casket had been made over to the keeping of the Joint-stock Company, the thought of it was a continual pleasure. Nay, the spirit of the casket began to peep out even in household arrangements. The baroness was surprised at her husband counseling certain economies, or telling with a degree of pleasure of ten louis d'or won last evening at cards. She was at first a little afraid that he had become in some way embarrassed; but, as he assured her, with a complacent smile, that this was far from being the case, she soon learned to treat these little attempts at saving as an innocent whim, especially as they only extended to trifling details, the baron insisting as much as ever upon keeping up a dignified and imposing social appearance. Indeed, it was impossible for him to retrench just now. The town life, the furnishing of the house, and the necessary claims of society, of course increased the outgoings.
And so it came to pass that the baron, after having paid a visit to his property to settle the yearly accounts, returned to town much out of tune. He had become aware that the expenditure of the last year had exceeded the income, and that the income of the next year gave no promise of balancing the existing deficit of two thousand dollars. The thought occurred that the sum must be taken from the white parchments; and the man who would have stood calm beneath a shower of bullets, broke out into a cold perspiration at the idea of the debts thus to be incurred. It was plain that there had been an error in his calculations. He who wishes to raise a sum by small yearly savings must not increase, but lessen his expenditure. True, the increase in his case had been unavoidable; but still, a most unlucky coincidence. The baron had not felt such anxiety since his lieutenant-days. There were a thousand good reasons, however, against giving up the town house; it was rented for a term of years; and then, what would his acquaintance say? So he kept his troubles to himself; quieted the baroness by talking of a cold caught on his journey; but all day long the same thought kept gnawing at his heart. Sometimes in the evening he was able to drive it away a while, but it was sure to return in the morning.
It was one of these weary mornings that Mr. Ehrenthal, who had to pay for some grain, was announced. The very name was at that moment unpleasant to the baron, and his greeting was colder than usual; but the man of business did not mind little ups and downs of temper, paid his money, and was profuse in expressions of devoted respect, which all fell coldly, till, just before going away, he inquired, "Did the promissory notes duly arrive?"
"Yes," was the ungracious reply.
"It is sad," cried Ehrenthal, "to think of forty-five thousand dollars lying dead. To you, baron, a couple of thousands or so is a mere trifle, but not to one of my sort. At this moment I might speculate boldly, and safely too; but all my money being locked up, I must lose a clear four thousand." The baron listened attentively; the trader went on: "You have known me, baron, for years past, to be a man of honor, and of some substance too; and now I will make a proposition to you. Lend me for three months ten thousand dollars' worth of promissory notes, and I will give you a bill of exchange, which is as good as money. The speculation should bring in four thousand dollars, and that I will divide with you in lieu of interest. You will run no risk; if I fail, I will bear the loss myself, and pay back the principal in three months."
However uninteresting these words may appear to the reader, they threw the baron into such a state of joyous excitement that he could scarce command himself sufficiently to say, "First of all, I must know what sort of a bargain it is that you wish to drive with my money." Ehrenthal explained. The offer of purchasing a quantity of wood had been made to him, which wood lay on a raft in an upper part of the province. He would take all the expense of transport on himself; and he proceeded to demonstrate the certain profit of the transaction.
"But," said the baron, "how comes it that the present proprietor does not carry out this profitable scheme himself?"
Ehrenthal shrugged his shoulders. "He who means to speculate must not always inquire the reason of bargains. An embarrassed man can not wait two or three months; the river is at present frozen, and he wants the money in two or three days."
"Are you sure that his right to sell is incontestable?"
"I know the man to be safe," was the reply; "and that, if I pay him this evening, the wood is mine."
Now it was painful to the baron, much as he wanted money, to turn the embarrassment of another to his own profit; and he said, "I consider it unfair to reckon upon what is certain loss to the seller."
"Why should it be certain loss?" cried Ehrenthal. "He is a speculator—he wants money; perhaps he has a greater bargain still in his eye. He has offered me the whole quantity of wood for ten thousand dollars, and I have no business to inquire whether he can or can not make more of my money than I of his wood."
And so far Ehrenthal was right; but this was not all. The seller was an unlucky speculator, pressed by his creditors, threatened with an execution, and determined to frustrate their hopes by driving an immediate bargain with a stranger, and then making off with the money. Perhaps Ehrenthal knew this; perhaps the baron too surmised that there must be a mystery, for he shook his head. And yetheran no risk, incurred no responsibility; he but lent his money to a safe man, whom he had known for years, and in a short time he should get rid of the evil genius that tormented him ceaselessly. Too much excited to reflect whether this was not a casting out of devils by Beelzebub, their chief, he rang the bell for his carriage, and said, in a lordly tone, "You shall have the money in an hour."
From that day the baron led a life of anxious suspense. He was always going over this interview, always thinking of the piles of wood; and, whenever he rode out, his horse's head was turned to the river, that he might watch the progress of the thaw.
He had not seen Ehrenthal for some time. At length he came one morning with his endless bows, and, taking out a large packet, said triumphantly, "Well, baron, the affair is settled. Here are your notes, and here the two thousand dollars, your share of the profit."
The baron snatched the packet. Yes; they were the very same parchments he had taken out of the casket with so heavy a heart, and a bundle of bank-notes besides. A weight fell from him. The parchments were safe, the deficit made up. Ehrenthal was courteously dismissed. That very day the baron bought a turquoise ornament for his wife, which she had long silently wished for, and sunshine prevailed in the family circle.
But a dark shadow from the recent past had yet to fall athwart it. The baron, reading the paper one day in his wife's room, observed an advertisement concerning a bankrupt dealer in wood, who had made his escape after swindling his creditors. He laid down the paper, and the drops stood on his brow. "If it should be the same man!"
Ehrenthal had given no name. Had he, a man of honor, been the means of defrauding just claims; had he taken part in a swindling transaction, ay, and gained by it too! The thought was too fearful. He hurried to his desk that he might pack up and send off the accursed profits—whither he knew not, but any where, away. He saw with horror that only a small portion of them remained. In extreme agitation, he rang the bell, and sent for Ehrenthal.
As chance would have it, Ehrenthal was gone on a journey. Meanwhile arose those soothing inward voices which know so well how to place things doubtful in a favorable light. "How foolish this anxiety! There were hundreds of dealers in wood in that part of the country; and was it likely that this very man should be Ehrenthal's client? Or, even if he were, in a business point of view, how could they help the use he might make of their money? Nothing could be fairer than the transaction itself." Thus the voices within; and oh! how attentively the baron listened.
But still, when Ehrenthal at length appeared, the baron met him with an expression that positively appalled him. "What was the name of the man from whom you bought the wood?" cried he.
Ehrenthal had read the newspaper too, and the truth now flashed upon him. He gave a name at once.
"And the place where the wood lay?"
Ehrenthal named that too.
"Are you telling me the truth?" asked the baron, drawing a third deep breath.
Ehrenthal saw that he had a sick conscience to deal with, and treated the case with the utmost gentleness. "What is the baron uneasy about?" said he, shaking his head; "I believe that the man with whom I dealt has made a good profit out of the affair. Nothing could be more fair than the whole transaction. But, even had it not been so, why, my good sir, should you be troubled? There was no reason why I should not tell you the names, both of the man and place, before; but I did not do so, because the bargain was mine, not yours. I became your debtor, and I have repaid you with a bonus—a large one, it is true; but I have dealt with you for years, and why should I keep back from you the share of profit which I should have had to give any one else?"
"That is all right, Ehrenthal," said the baron, more graciously; "and I am glad that the case stands thus. But, had this man been the bankrupt in question, I should have broken off our connection, and should never have forgiven you for involving me in a fraudulent transaction."
Ehrenthal bowed himself out, muttering, as he went down stairs, "He's a good man, this baron; a good, good man."
We now return to Anton, who had been placed under the joint command of Messrs. Jordan and Pix, and who found himself the small vassal of a great body corporate, containing a variety of grades and functions little dreamed of by the uninitiated. First in the counting-house was the book-keeper Liebold, who, as minister of the home department, reigned supreme and solitary in a window of his own, forever recording figures in a colossal book, and seldom looking off their columns.
In the opposite part of the room ruled the second dignitary in the state, the cashier Purzel, surrounded by iron safes, heavy bags, and with a large stone table before him, on which dollars rung, or gray paper money fell noiselessly the whole day through.
Jordan was the principal person in the office. He was the head clerk, and his opinion was sometimes asked by the principal himself. In him Anton found, from the day of his arrival, a good adviser, and an example of activity and healthy common sense.
Of all the clerks under Jordan's superintendence, the most interesting to Anton was Baumann, the future missionary. Not only was he a truly religious man, he was an admirable and infallible accountant. But, besides all these, the firm had some officials who did not live in the house. One was Birnbaum, the custom-house clerk, who was seldom visible in the office, and only dined with the principal on Sundays. Then there was the head of the warehouse department, Mr. Balbus, who, though by no means a cultivated man, was always treated by the chief with great respect; and, as Anton heard it said, had a mother and sick sister entirely dependent upon him.
But of all these men, the most aggressively active, the most despotic in his measures, was Pix, the manager of the provincial traffic department. His domain began in the office, and extended throughout the house, and far into the street. He was the divinity of all the country shopkeepers, who looked upon him as the real head of the business. He arranged the whole exports of the house, knew every thing, was always to be found, and could do half a dozen things at once. Like all dignitaries, he was impatient of contradiction, and fought for his opinions against the merchant himself with a stiff-neckedness that often horrified Anton. One of his peculiarities was that of abhorring a vacuum as much as nature herself. Wherever there was an empty corner, a closet, a cellar, a recess to be discovered, there Pix would intrude with tuns, ladders, ropes, and all imaginable commodities; and wherever he and his giant band of porters had once got a footing, no earthly power could dislodge them—not even the principal himself.
"Where is Wohlfart?" called Mr. Schröter from the door of his office.
"Up stairs," calmly replied Pix.
"What is he doing there?" was the amazed inquiry.
At that moment loud voices were heard, and Anton came thundering down the steps, followed by a servant, and both laden with cigar-boxes, while behind them appeared the female relative in much excitement.
"They will not tolerate us up stairs," said Anton, hurriedly, to Pix.
"Now they have actually come to the laundry," said the lady, just as hurriedly, to the principal.
"The cigars can not stand down here," declared Pix to both.
"And I will not have cigars in the laundry," cried the distant cousin. "I declare there is not a place in the house safe from Mr. Pix. He has filled the maid-servants' rooms with cigars, and they complain that the smell is intolerable."
"It is dry up there," explained Mr. Pix to the merchant.
"Could you not, perhaps, place them elsewhere?" inquired the latter, respectfully.
"Impossible!" was the decided reply.
"Do you really require the whole laundry, my dear cousin?" said the principal, turning to the lady.
"The half of it were ample," interpolated Pix.
"I hope, Pix, you will content yourself with a corner," said the head of the firm, by way of decision. "Tell the carpenter to run up a partition at once."
"If Mr. Pix once gets admittance, he will take the whole of our laundry," expostulated the too experienced cousin.
"It is the last concession we will make," was the reply.
Mr. Pix laughed silently—or grinned rebelliously, as the lady phrased it; and, as soon as the authorities were out of sight, sent Anton up again with the cigar-boxes.
But what chiefly constituted the importance of Pix in the eyes of the community were the Herculean porters under his command. When these men rolled mighty casks about, and lifted hundred weights like pounds, they seemed to the new apprentice like the giants of fairy lore. Some of them belonged to this firm exclusively, others to a corporation of porters who worked for different houses, but T. O. Schröter's was the house they liked best. For more than one generation the head of this particular firm had enjoyed their highest consideration, and stood godfather to all their large-headed babies.
Among these men, the strongest and tallest was Sturm, their chief—a man who could hardly get through narrow streets, and was frequently called to move a weight found impracticable by his comrades. Wonderful stories were told of his exploits; and Specht affirmed that there was nothing on earth beyond his powers.
His relations with the firm were very intimate indeed; and having an only child, upon whom he doted, and who had early lost his mother, he placed him, at the age of fifteen, in T. O. Schröter's house, in a nondescript capacity. The boy was a universal favorite, knew every hole and corner, collected all the nails and pieces of packthread, folded all the packing-paper, fed Pluto the watch-dog, and did sundry other odd jobs. Up to every thing, invariably good-humored and ready-witted, the porters fondly called him "our Karl;" and his father often glanced aside from his work to look at him with delight.
But in one point Karl did disappoint him: he gave no promise of ever attaining to his father's stature. He was a handsome, fair-haired, rosy-cheeked youth; but all the giants agreed that he would never be more than a middle-sized man; and so his father fell into the habit of treating him like a sort of delicate dwarf, with the utmost consideration, and a certain touch of compassion.
"I don't care," said the indulgent parent to Mr. Pix, when introducing the boy into the business, "what the little fellow learns besides, so that he does learn to be honorable and practical." This was a speech after Mr. Pix's own heart; and this system of education was at once begun by Sturm taking his son into the great vaulted room, and saying, "Here are the almonds and the raisins—taste them."
"Oh, they are good, father," cried the boy.
"I believe you, Liliputian," nodded Sturm. "Now, see, you may eat as many of them as you like; neither Mr. Schröter, Mr. Pix, nor I shall interfere. But, my little lad, you had better see how long you can hold out without beginning. The longer the better for yourself, and the more honor in it; and when you can stand it no longer, come to me and say 'Enough;'" upon which he left him, having laid his great turnip of a watch on a chest standing by. The boy proudly placed his hands in his pockets, and walked up and down among the goods. After more than two hours, he came, watch in hand, to his father, exclaiming "Enough."
"Two hours and a half," said old Sturm, nodding at Mr. Pix. "Very well, child; come and nail up this chest; here is a new hammer for you; it cost tenpence."
"It's not worth it," was the reply. "You always pay too much." Such was Karl's education.
The day after Anton's arrival, Pix had introduced him to Sturm, and Anton had said, in a tone of respect, "this is my first experience of business; pray give me a hint whenever you can."
"Every thing is to be learned in time," replied the giant; "yonder is my little boy, who has got on capitally in a year. So your father was not a merchant?"
"My father was an accountant; he is dead," was the reply.
"I am sorry to hear it," said Sturm; "but you have still the comfort of a mother?"
"My mother, too, is dead."
"Alas! alas!" cried the porter, compassionately. He went on shaking his head for a long time, and at length added, in a low voice, to his Karl, "He has no mother."
"And no father either," rejoined Karl.
"Be kind to him, little one," said old Sturm; "you are a sort of orphan yourself."
"Not I," cried Karl; "any one with such a great father as mine to look after has his hands full."
"Why, you are a perfect little monster!" said his father, cheerfully hammering away at a cask.
From that hour Karl showed all manner of small attentions to Anton, and a species of affectionate intimacy sprang up between the two youths.
Indeed, Anton was on excellent terms with all the officials. He listened attentively to Jordan's sensible remarks, was prompt and unconditional in his obedience to Mr. Pix, entered into political discussions with Specht, read with interest Baumann's missionary reports, never asked Mr. Purzel for money in advance, and often encouraged Mr. Liebold to utter some palpable truth without retracting the statement. There was only one with whom he could not get on well, and that was the volunteer clerk, Fink.
One gloomy afternoon, Mr. Jordan chanced to give our hero a certain message to take to another house, and, as he rose, Fink looked up from his desk, and said to Jordan, "Just send him at the same time to the gunsmith—the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun by him."
Our hero crimsoned. "Do not give me that commission," said he to Jordan; "I shall not execute it."
"Really!" asked Fink, in amazement; "and why not, my fine fellow?"
"I am not your servant," replied Anton, bitterly. "Had you requested me to do this for you, I might have complied; but I will take no orders from you."
"Dolt!" muttered Fink, and went on writing.
The whole office had heard him, and every eye turned to Anton, whose eyes flashed as he exclaimed, "You have insulted me—I will not bear an insult from any one—you must explain yourself."
"I am not fond of giving any one a thrashing," said Fink, negligently.
"Enough!" cried Anton, turning deadly pale; "you shall hear farther;" and off he rushed to deliver Jordan's message.
A cold rain was falling, but Anton was not aware of it: he felt nothing but an agonizing sense of insult and wrong. As he reached the establishment he sought, he saw his principal's carriage at the door, and as he came out again he met Sabine just about to enter it. He could not avoid handing her in; and, struck with his appearance, she asked him what was the matter.
"A trifle," was the reply.
Insignificant as the incident was, it changed Anton's mood. Her courteous greeting and kindly inquiry raised his spirits. He felt that he was no longer a helpless child; and, raising his hand to heaven, his resolve was taken.
On his return to the office, he quietly went on with his work, heedless of the inquiring glances around him; and, when the office was closed, he hurried to Jordan's room, where Pix and Specht were already met. They all treated him with a commiseration not quite free from contempt; but he, having inquired from Jordan, in their presence, whether Fink had any right to give him such an order, and whether in his (Jordan's) opinion he had done wrong in resenting it, and having been satisfactorily answered on both heads, requested a few moments' private conversation, and then proceeded to declare that he should demand a public apology from Fink.
"Which he will never consent to," said Jordan, with a shake of the head.
"In that case I challenge him, either with sword or pistols."
Now, if Jordan had seen a dusky vapor rise from his ink-bottle, and take the form of a hideous genie, after the manner of fairy tales, and this genie had announced his intention of strangling him on the spot, he could not have been more amazed. "The devil is in you, Wohlfart," said he at last; "you want to fight a duel with Herr von Fink, a dead shot, while you are only an apprentice, and not half a year in the business: impossible."
"I should now be a student if I had not been brought up to be a merchant. Curses on business, if it so degrades me that I can not even ask satisfaction for insult. I shall go to Mr. Schröter at once, and give in my resignation."
Jordan's surprise increased. Here was the good-natured apprentice transformed before his eyes. At length it was agreed that he should take the message; but Fink was not found at home. "Very possibly he has forgotten all about it, and is amusing himself at some club or other," was Jordan's commentary on the fact.
"In that case," said Anton, "I shall at once write to him, and have the letter laid on his table."
Meanwhile great conferences were held in Jordan's room; for, although Pix and Specht had promised secrecy, they indulged in such dark and mysterious hints that the truth was soon known. Baumann stole up to Anton to implore him not to peril two human lives for the sake of a rough word; and, when he was gone, Anton found a New Testament on his table, open at the words, "Bless them that curse you." Although not exactly in the mood to enter into their spirit, he took up the sacred book, and, having read the passages his good mother so often repeated to him, he prepared for bed in a softened frame of mind.
Meanwhile, a rumor of some impending catastrophe pervaded the whole house.
Sabine was in her treasure-chamber. Along its walls stood great oaken presses, richly carved; in the middle, a table with twisted legs, and a few old-fashioned chairs around. On the shelves of the presses appeared piles of linen, and rows of glass, china, and plate, collected by the taste of more than three generations. The air was fragrant with old lavender and recent eau de Cologne. Here Sabine reigned supreme. She herself took out and replaced whatever was wanted, and was not fond of admitting any other person. She was now standing at the table, which was covered with newly-washed linen, and, as she looked over the arabesques of the exquisitely fine table-napkins, a cloud passed over her brow. Two, three, four holes! She rang for the servant.
"It is intolerable, Franz," said she; "there are three spoiled now in No. 24; one of the gentlemen runs his fork through the napkins. There is surely no need for that here."
"That there is not," was the indignant reply; "the plate is under my own care."
"Which of the gentlemen is so reckless?" asked Sabine, severely.
"It is Herr von Fink," was the reply; "he has a habit of constantly running his fork through the napkins. It goes to my heart, Miss Sabine; but what can I do?"
Sabine hung her head. "I knew that it was he," she sighed; "but we can not go on thus. I will give you a set for Herr von Fink's use, and we must sacrifice it." She went to the cupboard, and began to look for one, but the choice was difficult; the beautiful table-linen was dear to her heart. At length, with a lingering look at the pattern, she sorrowfully laid a set on the servant's arm.
Franz still lingered. "He has burned a curtain in his bed-room," said he; "the pair is spoiled."
"And they were quite new!" sighed Sabine again. "Take them away to-morrow. What more, Franz? What else has happened?"
"Ah! ma'am," replied the servant, mysteriously, "Herr von Fink has insulted Herr Wohlfart, who is quite raging, and Herr Specht says there is to be a duel."
"A duel!" cried Sabine; "you must have misunderstood Herr Specht."
"No, indeed, ma'am, it's all too true. Something dreadful will happen. Herr Wohlfart brushed past me angrily, and did not touch his tea."
"Has my brother returned?"
"He does not come back till late to-day; he is on committee."
"Very well," said Sabine; "say nothing about it, Franz, to any one."
And Sabine sat down again at the table, but the damask was forgotten. "So that was what made poor Wohlfart look so sad! This wild youth—he came to us like a whirlwind, and the blossoms all fall in his path. His whole life is confusion and excitement, and he carries away with him all who approach within his reach. Even me—even me! Do what I will, I too feel his spell—so beautiful, so brilliant, so strange. He is always grieving me, and yet all day long I am thinking and caring about him. Oh, my mother! it was in this room that I sat at your feet for the last time when, with your hand on my head, you prayed that Heaven might shield me from every sorrow. Beloved mother, shield thy daughter against her own beating heart. Strengthen me against him, his ensnaring levity, his daring mockery."
Long did Sabine sit thus, communing with her guardian spirits. Then wiping her eyes, she resolutely returned to count and arrange the table-linen.
Anton had got into bed, and was just going to put out his candle, when a loud knock was heard at the door, and the man he least expected stood before him—Herr von Fink himself, with his riding-whip, and his usual careless manner. "Ah! in bed already!" said he, sitting astride on a chair close by. "I am sorry to disturb you. You have written me a very spirited letter, and Jordan has told me the rest, so I am come to answer you in person."
Anton was silent, and looked darkly at him.
"You are all good and very sensitive people," continued Fink, whipping his boots; "I am sorry that you took my words so to heart, but I am glad you have so much spirit."
"Before I listen further," said Anton, angrily, "I must know whether it is your intention to make an apology to me before the other gentlemen. Perhaps a more experienced man would not consider this sufficient, but it would satisfy me."
"There you are right," nodded Fink; "youmaybe quite satisfied."
"Will you make this apology to-morrow morning?" inquired Anton.