In this enchanted cave Hans saw the father, Samuel, going about, like a magician, with brush and glue-pot, stuffing birds and quadrupeds, collecting curious goblets and tankards, buying up odd portraits of other people's ancestors. He listened attentively when father and son talked of the history of their race, he lost himself completely in old Dutch descriptions of travel, with their copperplates, one day he even saw a real ostrich-egg. Moses was far ahead of Hans in all branches of knowledge. Samuel Freudenstein had taught his son that knowledge and money were the two most effective means of power and now they were both indefatigable, the son in acquiring the former, the father in accumulating the latter. Things were well classified in Moses' head, he could find what he wanted there, any minute;—he had never been a child, a real, true, natural child.
Hans Unwirrsch, on the other hand, remained a real child. His imagination still retained its dominion over his reason; the circle in which he stood, like any other human child, now expanded and became filled with ever gayer, brighter, more enticing figures, scenes and dreams.
One evening Hans came meditatively out of the darkness of the junkshop, hurried across to his mother's house and there, in answer to Auntie Schlotterbeck's questions, blurted out that Moses was going to learn Latin and go to the "Gymnasium" while he should have to be a cobbler and stay a cobbler all his life. Unfortunately for Hans these words were overheard by Uncle Grünebaum, who happened to be present and whom Hans had not noticed. There followed a dangerous scene. First Auntie Schlotterbeck had to protect Hans so that his indignant relative, as uncle, godfather, guardian, and master of the laudable trade of shoemaking, did not half kill him but merely squeezed him between his knees and talked urgently to him till Hans, yielding to the double pressure, declared himself to be inthorough agreement with his uncle's views. Then Auntie Schlotterbeck changed from defence to attack. She read Uncle Grünebaum a lecture on his own conduct, reminding him that he was not looked up to anywhere but on the bench behind his mug of beer in the "Red Ram," that he neglected his house and trade and was indeed no shining example of what the trade of shoemaking turned out. When she finally threatened to call Frau Christine to her aid the doughty cobbler speedily took a flight.
In the evening, however, he appeared as a hero in the "Red Ram," where he conducted himself like a great politician, for which rôle the news, which had just come, of the outbreak of a revolution in Paris, offered him a splendid opportunity. He finally went to bed rather tipsy and fully convinced of his greatness, and slept the sleep of the just, which Hans Unwirrsch did not do, nor his mother, nor Auntie Schlotterbeck either.]
A lovely, fine night had followed the day; the moon shone above all Europe and its peoples. All the clouds had been driven away and now lay loweringly on the Atlantic Ocean: all who could sleep, slept; but not everyone could sleep.
Bridal night and night of death in one! Through the woods the brooks flashed their silver sparks; the great streams flowed on, calm and shining. The woods, meadows and fields, the lakes, rivers and brooks—they were all in full harmony with the moon, but the odd pygmy-folk, men, in their cities and villages, far from being in harmony with themselves, left much to be desired in that respect. If she had not been the "gentle" moon, if she had not had a good reputation to maintain, she would not have lighted mankind, in spite of all the poets and lovers. She was gentle, and shone;—moreover, perhaps, she was touched bythe confidence of the municipal authorities, who depended on her, and on her account did not light the street lamps.
She shone with the same brilliance and calm on all Europe—on the poor, tumultuous city of Paris where so many dead still lay unburied and so many wounded wrestled with death, and on the tiny town of Neustadt in its wide, peaceful valley. She glanced softly into the over-crowded hospitals and morgues;—she glanced softly into the traveling-coach of Charles X. and not less softly into the low chamber in which lay Christine Unwirrsch with her boy.
The child slept, but the mother lay awake and could not sleep for thinking of what she had heard when she came home so tired after her hard work.
It had taken her a long time to understand the confused report that Hans and Auntie Schlotterbeck had given; she was a simple woman who needed time before she could grasp anything that lay beyond her daily work and her poor household. To be sure, when once she did understand a thing she could analyze it properly and intelligently and consider and weigh the pros and cons of every detail; but she could scarcely understand in its broadest outlines this, her child's, aspiration out of the darkness toward the light.
THE COMMANDER OF THE FORTRESSPermission Franz HanfstaenglKarl Spitzweg
THE COMMANDER OF THE FORTRESSPermission Franz HanfstaenglKarl Spitzweg
She only knew that in this child the same hunger had now made itself apparent, from which her Anton had suffered, that hunger which she did not understand and for which she nevertheless had such respect, that hunger which had so tormented her beloved, sainted husband, the hunger for books and for the marvelous things which lay hidden in them. The years which had passed since her husband had been carried to the grave had not blurred a single remembrance. In the heart and mind of the quiet woman the good man still lived with all his peculiarities, even the smallest and most insignificant of which death had transfigured and transformed into a good quality. How he paused in his work to gaze for minutes into the glass globe in front of his lamp in self-forgetfulness, how on his walks, on a beautiful holiday, he would suddenly stand still andlook at the ground and at the blue dome above, how at night he woke and sat awake for hours in bed, murmuring unconnected words—all that was not, and never could be, forgotten. How the good man had toiled on at his trade between sighs and flushes of joy, cheerful and depressed moods,—how in his rare leisure hours he had studied so hard and, above all, what hopes he had set on his son and with what wonderful aspirations he had dreamt of this son's future—all lay clear before Christine Unwirrsch's soul.
The mother raised herself on her pillow and looked over at her child's bed. The moonlight played on the counterpane and the pillows and transfigured the face of the sleeping boy who had cried himself to sleep after telling his sorrowful tale, and on whose cheeks the traces of tears were still to be seen, although he now smiled again in his slumber and knew no more of the day's trouble. Round about the town of Neustadt the birds of night stirred in the bushes and along the edges of the streams and ponds; the night-watchman's hoarse voice sounded now near, now far; the clocks of the two churches quarreled about the right time and were of very different opinions; all the bats and owls of Neustadt were very lively, knowing their hours exactly and never making a mistake of a minute; mice squeaked in the wall of the bedroom and one mouse rustled under Mrs. Christine's bed; a bluebottle that could not sleep either flew about buzzing, now here, now there, now banging his head against the window, now against the wall and seeking in vain for some way out; in the next room the grandfather's chair behind the stove cracked and there was such a weird and ghostly pattering and creeping about in the attic that it was hard to adhere to the soothing belief in "cats." Mrs. Christine Unwirrsch, who, being gifted with a foreboding mind, usually had a keen and fearful ear for all the noises and sounds of the night and who did not in the least doubt the penetration of the spirit-world into her bedroom, had no time in this night to listen to thesethings and get goose-flesh in consequence. Her heart was too full of other matters and the ghosts that roam between earth and heaven and play at will on the nerves of men had no power over her. The mother felt her responsibility for the destiny of her child weigh heavy upon her and although she was a poor, ignorant woman she was not therefore less concerned; indeed, her concern was perhaps greater because her idea of her child's desire was incomplete and inadequate.
She looked long at sleeping Hans till the moon glided on in the firmament and the rays slipped from the bed and slowly retired toward the window. When at last complete darkness filled the room she sighed deeply and whispered:
"His father wished it, and no one shall set himself against his father's will. God will surely help me, poor, stupid woman that I am, to make it come out right. His father wished it and the child shall have his way according to his father's will."
She rose quietly from her couch and crept out of the room with bare feet, so as not to wake the sleeping boy. In the living room she lit the lamp. She sat down for a few moments on her husband's work-chair and wiped the tears from her eyes; and then she carried the light to that chest in the corner of which we have already told, knelt down and opened the ancient lock which offered obstinate resistance to the key as long as possible.
When the lid was laid back the room was filled with the scent of clean linen and dried herbs, rosemary and lavender. This chest contained everything precious and valuable that Mrs. Christine possessed and carefully she controlled herself so that no tear should fall into it. Carefully she laid back the white and colored linen, smoothing each fold as she did so; carefully she laid aside the little boxes with old, trivial knickknacks, broken, cheap jewelry, loose amber beads, bracelets of colored glass beads and similar treasures of the poor and of children, until, nearly at the bottom of the chest, she came to what she was seeking in the stillness of the night. With timid hand she first pulled out a little case with a glass cover; her head sank lower as she opened it. It contained Master Anton's book of songs and on the book lay a dried myrtle wreath. It was as if distant bells, the tones of an organ trembled through the night and through the soul of the kneeling woman; Auntie Schlotterbeck did not see the dead alive more clearly and distinctly than Christine Unwirrsch saw them at that moment. She folded her hands above the open case and her lips moved softly. No other prayer came to her mind but "Our Father" and that sufficed.
A second case stood beside the first, an old box made of oak, trimmed with iron, with a strong lock, an ingenious piece of work belonging to the seventeenth century, which had been in the possession of the Unwirrsches for generations. Mrs. Christine carried this box to the table and before she opened it she put everything back in its place in the chest; she loved order in all things and did nothing in haste even now.
It was a bright light that the little lamp and the hanging glass globe gave, but the box on the table, black with age as it was, outshone them both, its contents spoke louder of the preciousness of parents' love than if its price had been announced by a thousand trumpets in all the marketplaces of the world. The lock turned, the lid sprang open: money was in the box!—much, much money—silver coins of all kinds and even one gold piece wrapped in tissue paper. Rich people might well have smiled at the treasure but if they had had to pay the true value of every thaler and florin all their riches might not have sufficed to buy the contents of the black box. Hunger and sweat had been paid for every coin and a thousand noble thoughts and beautiful dreams clung to each. A thousand hopes lay in the dark box, Master Anton had hidden his purest self in it, and Christine Unwirrsch had added all her love and her faithfulness.
Who, just looking at the scanty heap of well-fingered pieces of money, could have imagined all this?
A little book, consisting of a few sheets of gray paper stitched together, lay beside the money; the father's hand had filled the first pages with letters and figures but then death had closed worthy Master Anton's account and for many years now the mother had done the bookkeeping, by faith, without letters and figures, and the account still balanced.
How often had Christine Unwirrsch gone hungry to bed, how often had she suffered all possible hardships without yielding to the temptation to reach out her hand for the black box! In every form distress had approached her in her miserable widowhood, but she had resisted with heroism. Even without letters and figures, she could render her account at any moment;—it was not her fault if the happy, honorable future which the dead man had dreamt of for his son did not rise out of the black box.
Mrs. Christine sat in front of the table for more than an hour that night, counting on her fingers and calculating, while across the street in a little back room of the junk-dealer's house a man also sat figuring and counting. Samuel Freudenstein, too, was sitting up for his sleeping boy's sake. More than a few rolls of gold pieces, more than a few rolls of silver pieces lay before him; he had more to throw into his child's scales of fortune than the poor widow.
"I will arm him with everything that is a weapon," he murmured. "They shall find him prepared in every way, and he shall laugh at them. He shall become a great man; he shall have everything that he wants. I was a slave, he shall be a master among a strange people, and I will live in his life. He has a good head, a sharp eye; he will make his way. He shall think of his father when he has reached the height; I will live in his life."
The widow divided her scanty day's wages into two parts. The greater part fell into the oak box and wasadded to the other savings of long years of toil, and the small coins gave a clear ring. Samuel Freudenstein added more than a hundred shining thalers to his son's fortune; no one in Kröppel Street as much as suspected what a rich man the junk-dealer had again gradually grown to be.
The moonlight had entirely disappeared from the widow's bedroom when she crept shiveringly back from the living room. Hans Unwirrsch still slept soundly and not even the kiss that his mother pressed on his forehead waked him. The lamp too went out and Mrs. Christine soon slept as peacefully as her child. About the bed of King Solomon stood sixty strong men with swords in their hands, skilled in battle, "for the sake of the fear in the night;" but at the head of the widow and her child there stood a spirit that kept better watch than all the armed men in Israel.
Throughout nearly the whole summer the battle with Uncle Grünebaum went on. It was long since the world had seen such an obstinate cobbler. Tears, pleadings, and remonstrances did not soften, touch or convince him. A man who could hold his own with the Seven Wise Masters, in every respect, could not be moved from his standpoint so easily by two silly women and a stupid boy. He had resolved in his shaggy, manly breast that Hans Unwirrsch, like all the other Unwirrsches and Grünebaums, should become a shoemaker and with a mocking whistle he repulsed every attack on his understanding, his reason and his heart. Scarcely a day passed on which he did not with his piping rouse Auntie Schlotterbeck from her calm. The more irritated the women grew, the hotter in their arguments, the sharper in their words, the more melodious did Uncle Grünebaum become. He generally accompanied the beginning of every new discussion with a valiant, warlike tune and brought the conversation to a vain conclusion with the most melting, yearning melodies.
"Master Grünebaum, Master Grünebaum," cried Auntie, "if the child is unhappy later it will be your fault—yourfault alone! I have never seen a man like you in all my born days."
Whether Prince Eugene's song was sung as an answer to these words was open to doubt: Master Grünebaum whistled it like "himself a Turk."
"Oh, Niklas," cried his sister, "what kind of a man are you? He is such a good child and his teachers are so satisfied with him and his father wanted him to learn everything that there is to learn. Think of Anton, Niklas, and do give in, please do, I beg you to."
Uncle Grünebaum did not give in for a long time yet. He expressed the thought that cobbling was also a fine, meditative, learned business and that "trade is the mother of money," very strikingly by means of the melody: "The linen-weavers have a fine old guild," but refused to say more.
"That's right, go on whistling!" screamed Auntie Schlotterbeck with her arms angrily akimbo. "Go on whistling, you fool! But I tell you, you may stand on your head, the child shall go to the great schools and the universities nevertheless. Sit there like a blind bullfinch and go on whistling. Cousin Christine, don't cry, don't show him you care, it only gives him a wicked pleasure. Such a tyrant! Such a barbarian! And after all, it's your child, not his! But the Lord will set things right, I know, so do take your apron from your eyes. Keep on whistling now, Master Grünebaum, but remember, you'll answer for it by and by; think what you will say to Master Anton up above when the time comes!"
It seemed as if when the time came Uncle Grünebaum intended to justify himself to his sainted brother-in-law by the beautiful song: "A squirrel sat on the thorny hedge"—at least he whistled it with pensive emotion, and twiddled his thumbs in accompaniment.
"Oh, Niklas, what a hard-hearted man you are!" sobbed his sister. "Auntie is right, you will never be able to justify yourself for what you are doing to your brother-in-law's child——"
"And it's better to be a rag-picker than such a shiftless cobbler who wastes the time God has given him at the beer table in the Red Ram. And a creature like that wants to balk and kick out behind if a poor child wants to get ahead! If he'd only wash his hands and comb his hair, the fellow! I'd like to see anybody that would want to take him for an example and a model. There isn't anybody else like him and a man like that wants to keep others from washing themselves and being an honor to their parents. But I build on God, Master Grünebaum. He'll show you what you really are. It's really absurd that a man wants to play the guardian who can't even guard himself."
The melody "Kindly moon, thou glidest softly" must have a very soothing effect indeed on human feelings; Uncle Grünebaum whistled it meltingly as long as Auntie Schlotterbeck continued to speak, and however great may have been the anger that boiled in his breast, the world saw nothing of it. When Hans Unwirrsch came home from school with his bag of books he found the two women in a very excited state with scarlet faces, and his uncle quite composed, even-tempered and calm;—he did indeed guess what they had been talking about again but he seldom learnt any of the details of the discussion.
Usually Uncle Grünebaum took his departure while whistling a hymn or some other solemn air and at the same time pinching poor Hans' ear with a grin; Mephistopheles might have envied him his smile and after he had gone the women generally dropped on the nearest chairs, exhausted and broken in spirit, and for several hours were incapable of believing in human and divine justice.
In the cornfields the scythes flashed and swished; Uncle Grünebaum had still not given in. Without the aid of any wind all kinds of fruit detached themselves from the branches and fell to the ground; Uncle Grünebaum held more obstinately to his opinion than ever. Silver threadsspread over the earth and wavered through the air: Uncle Grünebaum did not waver with them but laughed scornfully from his low three-legged stool. The foliage in the woods changed daily to an ever gayer hue, but Uncle Grünebaum's view of the world and life did not change. Moses Freudenstein boasted more and more proudly in his triumph, and Hans Unwirrsch's expression grew more and more miserable and depressed. The song-birds chirped their last melodies and prepared for their flight to the South: Uncle Grünebaum joined in the chirping, but he put his trust in the psalmist's promise "so shalt thou dwell in the land and verily thou shalt be fed," for he was too thoroughly convinced that he was indispensable in Neustadt, in the "Red Ram" and in his family. NoDeus ex machinadescended to bring aid to poor Hans and so he finally had no alternative but to help himself. He carried out a plan which had required a long time to mature in his mind, thus throwing Auntie Schlotterbeck and his mother into giddy amazement and putting his stiff-necked Uncle Grünebaum entirely beside himself.
One Sunday morning at the beginning of September Professor Blasius Fackler, doctor of philosophy and one of the lights of the local "Gymnasium," ruled alone in his house and felt safe and comfortable, as he seldom did, in his study.
His wife with her two daughters was at church, in all probability praying to God to forgive her for the agitated hours which she occasionally caused the "good man," that is, her lord and master. The maid had absented herself on private business; the house was still, it was indeed a gray day that looked into the study filled with clouds of tobacco smoke, but the joyful soul of the professor roamed over a blue welkin with the song-book of Quintus Valerius Catullus and drank in the ecstatic moments of freedom,—
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,rumoresque senum severiorumomnes unius aestimemus assis.
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,rumoresque senum severiorumomnes unius aestimemus assis.
He strolled in the shade of the pomegranates and pines by the lake of Benakus on the blessed peninsula of Sirmio and the sparkling rhythmic waves of the Roman poet washed into nothingness all thoughts of the present and of that Lesbia who at that moment was singing sharply and shrilly in the church. He failed to hear the sound of the doorbell, did not catch the timidly soft tread that mounted the stairs; he was not roused till something scratched and tapped gently at his door. Quickly the Latin rogue Catullus hid himself under a heap of more serious scholarly equipment, and with dignity the professor and doctor of philosophy called:
"Come in!"
No one accepted the invitation and it was repeated more loudly, but this time too without success. Bewildered, the scholar rose from his chair, drew his long dressing-gown tight about him, and now with still greater amazement admitted a tiny laddie of about eleven years into his study, a laddie who trembled in every joint and over whose cheeks the tears ran down. No one was present at the interview that this visitor had with Professor Fackler and we cannot give the details of the conversation. Only this we can say, that when Lesbia returned from church with her two daughters, the charming pledges of the "thousands and thousands of kisses," she found her husband in a very pleased mood. He did not give her the attention which she expected from him but continued to straddle up and down the room and to murmur:
"I declare! A plucky little fellow!Puer tenax propositi!He shall have his way! By all the gods of Olympus he shall attain what he desires and may it be of benefit to him!"
"What shall be of benefit? Of benefit to whom, Blasius?" asked Lesbia, laying down her hymn-book.
"Someone shall be taken by the heel and dipped into the Styx, dearest, so that he may be proof against the afflictions of life and emerge victorious from the battle of men."
"This is one of your silly, incomprehensible days, Blasius," cried Mrs. Fackler, with vexation and looked as if she would have liked to give her husband a good shaking. Fortunately, however, at that moment Eugenia and Cornelia came running in and hung on their father's arms with all kinds of childish questions and requests. The latter pointed to their mother and quoted with hollow voice:
"Jove tonante, fulgurante, comitia populi habere nefas,"
"Jove tonante, fulgurante, comitia populi habere nefas,"
drew on his coat, put on his hat, took his stick, went out and—paid a visit to Uncle Grünebaum. Uncle Nikolaus Grünebaum, however, to his own "highest perplexity" made a long, beautiful speech that afternoon in Kröppel Street to the accompaniment of some most excellent coffee which Auntie Schlotterbeck had brewed, and expressed himself more or less in the following expectoration:
"Inasmuch as a cobbler is a noble and honorable calling yet nevertheless all the children of men cannot be cobblers, but there must also be other people, tailors, bakers, carpenters, masons and such like, so that every feeling and sentiment may be provided for and no sense be left without its necessary protection. But also because there are other wants in the world and man needs much before and prior to the time when he needs nothing more, there are also advocates and doctors more than too many and in addition professors and pastors more than enough. But God lets things go on as they will and the devil takes one and all, odd and even, which is to say that a boy who wants to choose his occupation must look far ahead and consider carefully in which direction his bent lies, for it has happened more than once that an ass has thought that he could play the lute. But it isn't everyone who can make a boot either, it isn't as easy as it looks. Now there are present here Christine Unwirrsch, widow of the late Anton Unwirrsch, secondly the unmarried spinster Schlotterbeck, also a very good specimen of sound common sense andnatural ability. Moreover, there is present, Master Nik'las Grünebaum, who am not up in the air, either, but without wanting to boast, stand squarely on my feet. Before these three there stands the individual whom the matter concerns, Hans Jakob Nik'las Unwirrsch, who at least has demonstrated himself to be a youth of courage and who has sought to trip up his dearest relatives behind their backs. Such a little bantam!"
Both women raised their hands to beseech the blessing of heaven on the youthful genius, Hans Unwirrsch; but his uncle continued.
"When the professor stood in front of me all of a sudden, I said to myself, 'Steady, Grünebaum, hold on to your chair!' Such a boy! But the professor is an estimable, reasonable, pleasant gentleman and so the long and short of the matter is this, that from half past eleven this morning on, I will have nothing more to do with it and will wash my hands."
"In which you do very well, Master Grünebaum," said Auntie Schlotterbeck.
"And so things may go as they like, the devil takes both odd and even!" concluded Uncle Grünebaum.
"Nik'las!" cried Mrs. Christine, irritated, "I hope that my son will never have to do with the devil either in an odd or even way, and as for letting things go as they like, I hope he won't do that either."
"Come, come, don't be sacrilegious and touchy," growled her brother. "Well then, what I and Professor Fackler wanted to say, as an over-learned individual is still a man after all, you shall have your way, my boy, as far as we are concerned. Enough, I have said it! And I don't suppose the highly laudable profession of cobbling will lose any miracle in you, scamp."
The mother's feelings found relief in a stream of tears, Auntie Schlotterbeck nearly melted away with joyful emotion; Hans Unwirrsch was never able afterwards to give an account of his feelings in that hour, either to himself orto others. But the person who remained entirely unmoved and calm, or seemed to, was Uncle Grünebaum. He complacently pressed the tobacco down in his short pipe with his cobbler's thumb, closed the lid carefully like a man who has done a good work and who at most will allow the credit that rightly belongs to him to be entered in the great ledger of heaven.
But however he might appear, he had lost his power over his nephew and could never regain it. From the moment when Hans Unwirrsch gave the rudder of his life such an effective jerk with his own small hand, he confronted the worthy master with a fully enfranchised will of his own and the latter's amazement and bewilderment were only the more boundless, the greater the equanimity that he displayed.
Destinies had to be fulfilled and Hans Unwirrsch started on the road that Anton Unwirrsch had not been allowed to travel. The following noon Auntie Schlotterbeck met the deceased master; he was bent and hung his head in his usual manner, but he smiled contentedly.
[Hans and Moses now worked on from class to class through the "Gymnasium." But the way that led through the vocabulary, declinations and conjugations to the open and sunny clearness of classical antiquity was considerably more difficult for Hans than for Moses, for the former wanted to realize the beauty of the classic age in his imagination, while the latter contented himself with the effort to understand it and to master the languages in which it has come down to us. But in every act of mental work Moses' highest aim was to forge weapons with which to meet the world. He despised or smiled at everyone who did not, like himself, sacrifice all other qualities in order to forge and whet the keen-edged sword of reason, andexcepted neither his "half-childish" father nor his good-natured friend. Hans Unwirrsch, on the contrary, did not forget what he owed to his parents' self-denial and heroism, and all the sacrifices that poverty demanded of him became for him precious duties, as is ever the case with noble natures. Professor Fackler remained his paternal friend and also put him in the way of making his first earnings by recommending him as a tutor for the two sons of the director of a government office named Trüffler. At the same time this afforded Hans the opportunity to see something of so-called "higher social life." Although it was only with the deepest humility that he raised his eyes to the goddesses of this other world, the director's daughters, yet there were times when he was in danger of despising Uncle Grünebaum and underestimating Auntie Schlotterbeck. Against his will, however, the sardonic Moses rendered him valuable service in this respect. The latter analyzed Hans' feelings to him and explained that he was tormented by envy. Once having recognized this condition the value of his mother's home became clear to him again and he was irresistibly drawn back into its simple, heart-refreshing atmosphere.]
Uncle Grünebaum in holiday raiment was a dignified, substantial, self-assured and firm figure. Whoever took a fleeting glance at him at first was usually so pleasantly surprised that he followed the glance with steady observation lasting some minutes, observation which Uncle Grünebaum either permitted with admirable composure or put an end to by an inimitable: "Well?" according to the person who made it.
In his Sunday raiment Uncle Nik'las Grünebaum stood at the corner opposite the "Gymnasium" and resembled an angel in so far as he wore a long blue coat which, to be sure,as far as the cut was concerned, had little in common with the garments in saints' pictures. The waist of this coat had been placed by the manufacturer as near as possible to the back of the neck and twonon plus ultrabuttons marked its beginning. The pockets showed themselves plainly in the lower region of the coat-tails and a short pipe with gracefully dangling tassels looked curiously out of one of them. Uncle Grünebaum wore a yellow and brown striped waistcoat and trousers of a greenish blue color, somewhat too short but of agreeable construction, too tight above, too wide below. The watch charms which swung beneath the stomach of the worthy man would really deserve several pages of description, and we will say nothing of his hat, for fear that we should then be carried irresistibly beyond the limits of the space at our disposal.
Wherefore did Uncle Grünebaum, dressed in his Sunday clothes on an ordinary week-day, stand at the corner opposite the "Gymnasium"? Tell us, Oh Muse, the reason of this! You have observed Master Nik'las long enough, eloquent calliope, turn your divine eye toward the school-house and tell us, like a good girl who hasn't it in her heart to let anyone dangle long, what is going on in there!
Truly, there was reason enough for more than one of the persons who have been mentioned in these pages to be excited, for on this Wednesday before Maundy Thursday Hans Unwirrsch and Moses Freudenstein were taking their final examination and, if they should pass, would thus conclude their school life.
That was why Uncle Grünebaum had taken an unusual holiday and stood at the corner in festive attire, that was why he held his position in the market-day crowd with an obstinacy that deserved recognition, that was why he plucked so convulsively at the coat buttons of those acquaintances who incautiously inquired into the reason of his unusually elaborate get-up. It was most unwillingly that Master Grünebaum let go of any of the buttons that he took hold of that day. His soul was full of the important event. It might be regarded from almost too many points of view! If what was going on over there in the school-house should turn out as was expected and desired, whom would the world have to thank for it? None other than the honorable Master Grünebaum! When the confused neighbor or acquaintance had finally torn himself out of Master Grünebaum's grasp, he was far from being clear for some minutes as to who it was that was being examined by Professor Fackler, Uncle Grünebaum or Uncle Grünebaum's nephew, Hans Unwirrsch.
At twelve o'clock the examination was to be over and from moment to moment Uncle Grünebaum's nervous system vibrated more and more violently. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief; he clapped it on again, pushed it back, pushed it forward, to the right and to the left. He took his long coat-tails under his arms and dropped them again; he blew his nose so that the report could be heard three streets off. He began to talk aloud to himself and gesticulated much at the same time, to the high edification of all the male and female gapers in the shop doors and behind the windows nearby. The market-women whose path he had blocked all the morning, often set down their baskets of eggs and vegetables and their cans of milk in order to make him budge, at least morally, but he was deaf to their pointed suggestions. On that day he would have let even a dog treat him contemptuously.
At a quarter to twelve he drank his sixth glass of bitters in the nearest grocer's shop and it was high time that he did so, for he felt so weak on his feet that he was nearly ready to fall. From now on he held his watch, an heirloom for which a collector of curiosities would have paid much money, convulsively in his trembling hand and when the clock of the town church struck twelve he nearly went home and to bed, "finished and done for."
He drank another glass of bitters; it was the seventh, and together with the others it had its effect, and its consequences were more noticeable than those of the previous ones.
Uncle Grünebaum now leant firmly against the wall; he smiled through tears. From time to time he made gestures of warding something off as if he would drive uninvited feelings back within bounds; it was fortunate for him that at this hour the younger portion of the population was abandoning itself to the pleasures of the dinner table—this spared him many affronts and ironical remarks. He began to attract the attention of the police and they, maternally concerned about him, gave him the advice not to wait any longer but to go home, the result of which was only that he leant still more firmly against the wall and with displeased grunts, snorts and hiccoughs gave utterance to his intention to wait at that corner for "the lad" till doomsday. Since as yet he did not seriously disturb the public peace, the police retired a little but kept a sharp eye upon him ready at any moment to spring forward and seize him.
Fortunately not only the laudable protectors of public safety watched over Master Nik'las but also his guardian angel, or rather, the latter just returned from attending to some private business, to resume his watch. He saw with horror how matters stood and it was most probably due to his mediation that over in the school-house a violent shock ran suddenly through the learned soul of Professor Fackler as he remembered his Lesbia waiting for him to come home to dinner. He glanced hastily at his watch and jumped from his seat; the other gentlemen rustled after him,secundum ordinem. The candidates, before whose eyes everything had gradually begun to swim, rose also, dizzy, sweating and exhausted. Uncle Grünebaum now had to keep his balance for only a short quarter of an hour more;—at a quarter to one he sank, he fell, he toppled into the arms of his pale, excited nephew—Victory! Hans Unwirrsch had triumphed, Master Grünebaum had triumphed; the one over the questions of seven examining instructors, the other over the seven glasses of bitters—Victory!
Professor Fackler wanted to go up to Hans' uncle to congratulate him but refrained in shocked surprise when he recognized the excellent man's upset condition; Moses Freudenstein,primus inter pares, laughed not a little at the helpless and piteous glances that Hans Unwirrsch threw in all directions; the happiness of the hour however had made his heart softer than usual, he offered to aid his friend, and between the two youths the jolly old boy Nik'las Grünebaum made for Kröppel Street, smiling and babbling, staggering and sobbing.
What did it matter that as soon as he got into the low, dark room Uncle Grünebaum dropped onto the nearest chair, laid his arms on the table and his head on his arms? What did Mother Christine and Auntie Schlotterbeck care about Uncle Grünebaum in this hour? They left him entirely to himself and to his seven glasses of bitters! The two women were almost as bewildered and confused as the master; they sobbed and smiled at the same time, as he had sobbed and smiled and Hans was not behind them in emotion and jubilance.
The day was won by the two boys from Kröppel Street; Moses Freudenstein of course had passed first among all the candidates; but Hans Unwirrsch had achieved the second place.
Everything in the room looked different from usual; a magic light had spread over everything. It was no wonder that the glass globe shone; it was too intimate with the sun not to sparkle on such a day as if it were a little sun itself. Anyone who looked at it carefully saw that more was reflected in it than he would have suspected: laughing and weeping faces, bits of the walls, a part of Kröppel Street with a piece of blue sky, the royal Westphalian body-servant and the junk-dealer Samuel Freudenstein who pulled the said servant from his hook with strange haste and shut the shutters and door of his house.
Auntie Schlotterbeck saw this occurrence, which was reflected in the hanging globe, through the window and was just about to give vent to her wonder at it when Uncle Grünebaum raised his tired head from the table and began to survey his surroundings with more than astonished glances. He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair and took his place once more in the family circle with the remark that any excess of joy and jubilance was very dangerous and might bring on attacks of something like apoplexy, as his "own bodily example" had just shown. With his senses he had regained in rich measure the gift of dulcet speech and as usual immediately made liberal use of it.
"So this young man here, our nephew and descendant, has been an honor to his beloved relatives and now it's certain that cobbling isn't the thing for him. He has now successfully put his head through the hole according to his desire, and thus with time and experience will probably be able to squeeze body and legs through also, and we may certainly be of good hope that he will not forget us on this side of the wall when he has drawn his feet after his head. There are indeed instances of examples to show that a genius will get his head wrenched in pushing himself through and that he consequently loses all memory of what is behind the wall and who is there and has helped to push with all his strength. But this Hans here present will remember his uncle, also his mother and, of course, don't let us forget, Auntie Schlotterbeck. He will ever recall what they have done for him and how he can never thank them enough for it. There he stands now, Christine Unwirrsch,néeGrünebaum; there he stands, Auntie Schlotterbeck, and his head is full of good things and the tears run over his cheeks, so that it is a joyful spectacle and a painful pleasure. We will not deny that he has learnt more than what's right and reasonable, and if Auntie questions him in Greek he will answer in Hebrew. So let us be thankful for the good gift and not trouble ourselves about thedevil's taking one and all, odd and even. Come here, my boy, and even if you did once infamously despise the most honorable trade, and are at present nearer to a pastor than to the pitch-cobbler Grünebaum, yet come here and embrace me; from the bottom of his heart your uncle says 'here's to you' on this your day of honor!"
There was sense in the nonsense that Uncle Grünebaum delivered with such pathos; but even if it had been nothing but drivel Hans would have thrown himself into the worthy man's wide open arms notwithstanding. After hugging and squeezing his uncle for some minutes he kissed his mother over again, then once more went through the same process with Auntie Schlotterbeck, striving all the time to express his overflowing feelings in words.
"Oh, how shall I thank you all for what you have done for me!" he cried. "Oh Mother, if only my father were still alive!"
At this exclamation of her son's his mother naturally broke into loud sobs; but Auntie Schlotterbeck merely folded her hands in her lap, nodded her head and smiled without giving utterance to her thoughts. All at once however she rose quickly from her chair, seized Mrs. Christine by the skirt and pointed mysteriously to the window.
They all looked in the direction she indicated, but no one else saw anything. Kröppel Street lay bathed in the noonday sunshine but none of its inhabitants was to be seen; the junk-dealer's house looked as if its inmates had deserted it half a century ago; only a cat made use of the quiet moment to cross the street cautiously.
"She is enough to give one the shivers in broad daylight," murmured Uncle Grünebaum with a timid sidelong glance at Auntie Schlotterbeck; the mother clasped her son's hand tighter and drew him nearer to her; whatever may have been Hans' opinion of Auntie Schlotterbeck's mysterious gifts he was not able at that moment to defend himself against the feeling that her behavior aroused in him.
What a waking was that on the morning after this difficult and happy day! A victor who has triumphantly pitched his tent on a conquered battlefield, a young girl who has become engaged the evening before at a ball, may perhaps wake with the same feelings as Hans Unwirrsch after his examination. The nerves have not yet grown calm but one is permeated by the blissful feeling that they have time to become calm. After-tremors of the great excitement still twitch through the soul but in spite of that, nay, just on that account, one has a sense of security approaching ecstasy. What remains of human happiness if we subtract from it the hope that goes before the struggle, before the attainment of the desire and these first confused, indistinct moments that follow it?
Summa cum laude!smiled the sun that played about the bed in which Hans Unwirrsch lay with half-closed eyelids.Summa cum laude!twittered the early sparrows and swallows in front of his window.Summa cum laude!cried the bells that rang in Maundy Thursday.Summa cum laude!said Hans Unwirrsch as he stood in the middle of his room and made a low bow—to himself.
He had not quite finished dressing when his mother slipped into the room. She had left her shoes below, near the stairs, so as not to wake Auntie Schlotterbeck, whose bedroom was next to that of Hans. She sat down on her son's bed and regarded him with simple pride and her glance did him good to the inmost recesses of his soul.
Downstairs the holiday coffee was waiting and Auntie Schlotterbeck sat at the table. She had left her shoes upstairs by her bedroom door so as not to wake the student and Mrs. Christine, and their consideration of one another gave rise to much laughter. There was a piece of jubilee cake too and although Maundy Thursday is only a half holiday, as every toiler knows, it was settled that it was to be kept as a whole one.
First, of course, they went to church after Hans had knocked again vainly at the junk-dealer's door. Since oldSamuel had taken the body-servant of King Jerome from his hook and thus removed him forever from what to him in truth had been the swirl and swing of life, the door had not been opened again. What was going on behind it was a riddle to Kröppel Street, but a still greater riddle to Hans who had not seen his friend since they had walked home together after the examination and who had returned unsuccessful from every attempt to penetrate into the house opposite. Murx, the retired town constable, who still kept watch on Kröppel Street, from his armchair, in helpless fury and goutier than ever, had already drawn the attention of his successor in office to the "confoundedly suspicious case;" indeed, the burgomaster had already shaken his head over it. The silent house began to disturb the peace of the town more than the most drunken brawler could have done.
But the bells called people to church, and along came Uncle Grünebaum, in his blue coat, sea-green breeches and striped waistcoat, armed with the mightiest of all hymnbooks as a shield against all bitter and sweet temptations, an ornament to every street through which he marched, an adornment to every gathering of Christians, politicians and civilized men that he honored with his presence.
Hans and his mother walked hand in hand and at Auntie Schlotterbeck's side strode Uncle Grünebaum, who lost a little of his self-conscious respectability only when he turned the corner where the day before he had—where his feelings had overwhelmed him the day before. He drew out a very red handkerchief, blew his nose violently and thus passed successfully by the disastrous spot and landed his dignity without damage in the family pew. It is a pity that we cannot devote a chapter to his singing; no cobbler ever caroled with greater reverence and power through his nose.
Hans did not understand much of the sermon on that day and although it was rather long it seemed to him very short. Even the stone skeleton on the old monument beside the Unwirrsches' place in church, that monster which Hans, long after he had ceased to be a child, could never dissociate from the idea of church, grinned "Summa cum laude!" "Summa cum laude!" sang all the pipes of the organ and it was to this accompaniment that the family left the house of God. Above all there was "Summa cum laude!" in Professor Fackler's smile, who had also been at church with Cornelia and Eugenia, and who did not think it beneath his dignity to walk part of the way with his favorite's relatives, thus being enabled to offer Uncle Grünebaum the congratulations he had had ready the day before.
"Summa cum laude!" seemed to shine in the faces of everyone they met; it was really very curious.
Professor Fackler had taken his leave with good wishes and hand-shakings and Eugenia and Cornelia had returned dainty little courtesies to the shy and blushing student's awkward bow;—there was Kröppel Street again and its inhabitants had already taken off their Sunday raiment and put on their workday clothes.
They were not working however; there was great excitement in Kröppel Street; old and young ran hither and thither shouting and gesticulating.
"Hullo, what's the matter now?" exclaimed Uncle Grünebaum. "What's happened? What's the matter, Master Schwenckkettel?"
"He's got it! It's got him!" was the answer.
"The devil! Who's got it? What's got him?"
"The Jew! Freudenstein! He's lying on his back and gasping——"
The women clasped their hands. Hans Unwirrsch stood rigid, and turned pale, but Uncle Grünebaum said, phlegmatically:
"The devil takes one and all, odd and even! Don't hurry, Hans,—well, I declare, he's off already!"
Hans ran at full speed toward the junk-dealer's shop which, with its door wide open, was besieged by a densethrong of people. They looked over one another's shoulders and although no one saw anything extraordinary in the dark space yet no one would have moved from the spot where he stood; Kröppel Street was too fond of excitements like this that cost nothing.
It was only with difficulty that Hans, in his bewilderment, was able to make a path for himself. At last he stood in the dusk of the shop, feeling as if he were shut out forever from the fresh, open air of spring. The faces of the people on the steps of the entrance stared down at him as through a mist; just as he was about to lay his trembling hand on the handle of the door that led to the back room it was opened.
The doctor came out and straightened his spectacles.
"Ah, it's you, Unwirrsch," he said. "He's in a bad way in there.Apoplexia spasmodica.Gastric, convulsive apoplexy. Everything possible has been done for the moment. I'll look in again in an hour. A pleasant day to you, sir!"
Hans Unwirrsch did not return the doctor's last greeting, which seemed a little out of keeping with the present circumstances. He summoned all his energy and stepped into the back room which was now transformed into a death chamber. A penetrating odor of spirits of ammonia met him, the sick man on his bed in the corner already had the rattle in his throat; the Rabbi had come, sat at the head of the bed and murmured Hebrew prayers in which, from time to time, the voice of old Esther on the other side of the bed, joined.
At the foot stood Moses, motionless. He was leaning on the bed-posts, looking at the patient. Not a muscle of his face twitched, his eyes showed no sign of tears, his lips were firmly closed.
He turned as Hans stepped up to him and laid his cold right hand in that of his friend; then he turned his face away again at once and gazed once more at his sick father. He seemed to have grown a head taller since his examination, the expression in his eyes was indescribable,—to use a dreadful simile, it was as if the angel of death were waiting for the last grain of sand to fall;—Moses Freudenstein had gradually grown to be a handsome youth.
"Oh, God, Moses, speak! How did it happen? How did it happen so all of a sudden?" whispered Hans.
"Who can tell!" said Moses, just as softly. "Two hours ago we were sitting here quietly together and—and—he showed me all sorts of papers that we were putting in order,—we have had various things to put in order since yesterday—suddenly he groaned and fell off his chair and now—there he lies. The doctor says he will never get up again."
"Oh, how dreadful! I knocked at your door so often yesterday; why didn't you want to let anyone in?"
"He didn't want to; he always was peculiar. He had made up his mind that on the day when I should have passed my examination successfully he would close his shop for ever. He did not want to have any witness, anyone to disturb us when he showed me his secret chests and drawers. He was a peculiar man and now his life will close with the shop,—who would have thought it, who, indeed?"
The voice in which these words were spoken was dull and mournful; but in Moses' eyes glittered something quite different from sorrow or mourning. A secret gratification lay in them, a concealed triumph, the certainty of a happiness which had suddenly revealed itself, which in such plenitude he had not even dared to hope for and which for the moment had still to be hidden under the dark cloak of decorous grief.
Let us see how the father and son had spent the time since the day before and we shall be able to explain this glance which Moses Freudenstein cast on his dying father.
In as great a state of excitement as the relatives of Hans Unwirrsch, Master Samuel had awaited his son's return. He wandered restlessly about the house and began to burrow among his effects, to open and shut chests, to rummage through the most forgotten corners, as if he wanted to hold a final review of his possessions and his thousand different articles of trade. At the same time he talked to himself unceasingly and although not a drop of spirituous liquor ever crossed his lips, yet at the time when Uncle Grünebaum was leaning firmly against the wall opposite the school-house, Samuel Freudenstein seemed to be more intoxicated than he. The great resolve which he had carried in his heart for so long and which was now about to be put into execution affected him like strong drink. Toward eleven o'clock he drove the housekeeper Esther out of the back room and bolted even that door. He now brought to light mysterious keys, opened mysterious drawers in his writing-table, creakingly unlocked a mysterious door in a mysterious closet. There was a jingling as of gold and silver, a rustling as of government bonds and other negotiable paper, and among the jingling and the rustling Father Samuel's voice murmured:
"He was born in a dark corner, he will long for the light; he has sat in a gloomy house, he will dwell in a palace. They have mocked him and beaten him, he will repay them according to the law; an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth! He is a good son and he has learnt what a man needs in order to rise. He has not been impatient, he has sat quietly over his books here at this table. He has done his work and I have done mine. He shall find me here at this table where he has sat quietly throughout his young life. Now he will go out into life, and I will stay here; but my eyes will follow him on his way and he will give me great joy. I have always followed him with my eyes, he is a good son. Now he has grown to be a man and his father will have nothing more in secret from him. Six hundred—seven hundred—two thousand—a good son—may the God of our fathers bless him and his children and his children's children."
The screaming, blessings and beseechings of Estheroutside and a knocking at the door drove the old man from his calculations and thoughts onto his feet.
"God of Abraham, he is here!"
With a trembling hand he pushed back the bolt and clasped his son, who was just entering, in his arms.
"Here he is! Here he is! My son, the son of my wife! Well, Moses, speak, how did it go?"
Moses' face showed not a sign of change, he appeared cold, as always, and calmly he held out his certificate to his father.
"I knew that they would have to write what they have written. They probably made faces over it but they had to give me the first place. Come now! Don't be ridiculous, Father; don't go mad, Esther. Oh say, how they would like to have put that sentimental Hans over there ahead of me, but they couldn't manage it; I knew it. By all the silly gods, Father, what have you been doing this morning? Gold? Gold and no end of it? What's that? What does that mean? Great God, where——"
He broke off and bent over the table.Thatwas a sight that entirely destroyed his accustomed self-control, at least for a time.
"Yours! Yours! It is all yours!" cried his father. "I told you that I would do my part if you did yours at the table there. That is not all! Here! Here!"
The old man had rushed to the closet again and threw a few more jingling bags on the black floor and a few more bundles of securities on the table. His eyes glowed as with fever.
"You are equipped and armed, now raise your head. Eat when you are hungry and reach out for everything that you desire. They will bring it to you if you are wise; you will become a great man among the strangers! Be wise on your way! Don't stand still, don't stand still, don't stand still!"
The hanging globe in the house opposite reflected Samuel Freudenstein as he hurried out, tore the Westphalian body-servant from his hook and buried him in the depths of the shop; thus he closed his business for ever,—the lackey had served as a sign for many things which had really nothing to do with junk-dealing; it was not to be regretted that he disappeared from Kröppel Street.
If only the glass globe of Master Anton Unwirrsch could have reflected the figure of Moses Freudenstein as, during his father's short absence he stood with folded arms in front of the richly burdened table! He was pale and his lips twitched, he passed his finger tips over several of the rows of gold-pieces and at their touch a slight tremor ran through his body. A thousand thoughts chased one another through his brain with the rapidity of lightning, but not one of them rose from his heart; he did not think of the toil, the care, the—love that clung to this piled-up wealth. He thought only of what his own attitude must be to these riches which were suddenly thrust before him, of the changed existence that would begin from this moment—for him. His cold heart beat so violently that it almost caused him physical pain. It was an evil moment in which Samuel Freudenstein announced to his son that he was rich and that the latter would one day be so. From that moment a thousand dark threads stretched out into the future; whatever was dark in Moses' soul became still darker from this moment; nothing became lighter; egoism raised its head menacingly and stretched out hungry arms, like those of an octopus, to grasp the world.
In this headlong, wildly increasing tumult of thoughts his father's existence no longer counted for anything, it was rubbed out as if it had never been. Moses Freudenstein thought only of himself and when his father's step sounded again behind him he started and clenched his teeth.
Samuel Freudenstein had bolted the door; he had closed the shop and thus also locked out the wide, lovely spring world, the blue sky, the beautiful sun—woe to him!
He had nothing to do with the joyful sounds, the shiningcolors of life, they would only have been in his way; he wanted to celebrate a triumph in which he did not need them—woe to him! The gray dusk which fell through the dirty panes of the back room sufficed perfectly for him to lay his secret account book before his son and show him in what way the wealth that he had spread out before him had been acquired.
The sun went down, but before taking his farewell, he flooded the world with unequaled beauty; he smiled a parting greeting through every window that he could reach; but he could not say farewell to poor Samuel Freudenstein—woe to him!
Night came on and Esther carried the lighted lamp into the little back room. The children were put to bed, the night watchman came; the older people too disappeared from the benches before their front doors. Everyone carried his cares to bed; but Samuel and Moses Freudenstein counted and figured on, and it was not until the gray dawn that the latter sank into a restless, feverish slumber only to start up again almost as soon as he had closed his eyes. He did not wake like Hans Unwirrsch; he woke with a cry of fear, stretched his hands out and crooked his fingers as if something infinitely precious were being torn from him, as if he were striving in deadly fear to hold it tight. He sat upright in bed and stared about him, pressed his hands to his forehead and then jumped up. Hastily he drew on his clothes and went down into the back room where his father still lay asleep restlessly murmuring disconnected sentences. The son stood before his father's bed and his gaze wandered from his father's face to the empty table which had lately been so richly burdened.
Oh, the hunger, the terrible hunger, by which Moses Freudenstein was tormented, was consumed! Between the feast and the sufferer there stood a superfluous something, the life of an old man. The son of this old man gnashed his teeth—woe to you too, Moses Freudenstein!
How did the hour-glass from the pulpit of the Christianchurch come to be in the shop? It was there and it stood beside the bed of the old man on a shelf against the wall. In former years it had often served Moses and Hans as a plaything and they had watched the sand ran through with delight; it was long now since any hand had touched it, the spiders had spun their webs about it; it was a useless thing. What notion could suddenly have shot into the mind of the junk-dealer's son to make him turn the hour-glass over now? A frightened spider scuttled up the wall; the sand began to trickle down again and Samuel Freudenstein woke with a start. He drew the bed-clothes close about him and felt under his pillow for his bunch of keys; then he asked almost in a screech:
"What do you want, Moses? Is it you? What do you want? It's still night!"
"It's bright daylight. Have you forgotten, Father, that we did not finish yesterday? It is bright daylight; and you still have so much to say to me."
The father glanced at the son, and then looked at him again. Then his eye fell on the hour-glass.
"Why did you turn the glass over? Why do you wake me before it is day?"
"Oh come! You know, Father, that time is precious and runs away like sand. Will you get up?"
The old man turned uneasily in his bed several times, and glanced ever anew at his son, now searchingly, now fearfully, now angrily.
Moses had turned away and went to the writing table near the window; the old man sat upright and drew up his knees. The sand in the glass trickled down—down, and the old man's eyes became more and more fixed. Had he had a dream during his short sleep and was now considering whether this dream might not be truth; who could say? Had it become clear to him all of a sudden that in giving his child the treasure that he had concealed so long and so well he was giving him only darkness and ruin?What a life he had led in order to be able to celebrate that hour of triumph yesterday! Woe to him!
The son threw shifty glances over his shoulder at his father.
"What is the matter, Father? Are you not well?"
"Quite well, Moses, quite well. Be quiet, I will get up. Do not be angry. Be quiet—that your days may be long upon earth."
He rose and dressed. Esther came with breakfast but she almost let the tray fall when she looked into her old master's face.
"God of Israel! What is the matter, Freudenstein?"
"Nothing, nothing! Be quiet, Esther; it will pass."
He sat in his chair all morning without moving. His mouth alone moved, but only once did an audible word cross his lips; he wanted them to open the door and the shutters again.
"Why should Esther unlock the house?" asked Moses. "We want to finish our business of yesterday first, and don't need people gaping and listening."
"Be quiet, you are right, my son. It is well, Esther. Take the keys from under my pillow, Moses."
The sand in the hour-glass had run through again; Moses Freudenstein himself had unlocked the closet once more and was looking through the papers. The old man did not move, but he followed his son's every movement with his eyes and now and then started and shivered. Esther had put an old cover about his shoulders; he was like a child that must let everything be done for it.
Moses took out another bag of money; it slipped from his hands and fell ringing on the floor, scattering part of its contents over the room. With the ringing and jingling of the money a scream mingled that froze one's blood.
"Apoplexia spasmodica!" said the doctor fifteen minutes later. "Hm, hm—an unusual case in a man of his constitution!"