Oswald had been a week at Castle Grenwitz, and the week had seemed to
him but a day. It was his nature to take up every new thing with a
passion, even though the new thing was ordinary enough in itself, and
here it was far from being so. He had a new situation, new
surroundings, new acquaintances. All this caused him, with his sanguine
temper, for a time a most delightful sensation; he found it easy to
discover charms, and at least something interesting, in all with whom
he came into contact; in the baroness, with her cold, severe features;
even in the reticent coachman, against whom he had been so strongly
prejudiced on the very first evening; even in the humble familiar
servant, with his everlasting: "What are your orders, sir?" The letters
which he wrote at this time to his friends all bore the impress of this
happy, conciliatory disposition. "Here I am," he said in one of them,
"here I am in this new station of my strange life, and upon my word I
think I shall stay here, in spite of the impatience for which you blame
me so often, until Father Chronos has changed the horses in his stage,
and blows his horn once more. If I were not afraid of calling down upon
me your bitter irony by my enthusiasm, I might go so far as to thank
the kind star that has led me here. I am just in the temper to do so. I
have breathed in these days so freely in this air of salt water and
forests, that my poor head, filled with the dust of miserable old
folios, is quite unsettled. Certainly, if the people here are not
altogether unfit for this paradise, I have the finest future for some
years to come.
"Pardon me, my dear friend, that I did not ask your special permission
before I took the decisive step which brought me here. I have
heretofore followed your higher wisdom with implicit obedience, and so
you had a right to expect that I should have consulted you first. But I
had determined to take this step. I knew you would refuse your consent,
and therefore I preferred to meet your full-armed reasons with an
equally full-armed _fait accompli_, so as not to deprive your good
advice of its old privilege--to come too late. Besides, the whole thing
came so suddenly, and I had to decide so quickly, that I had but just
time to inform you of the fact. Finally, Professor Berger is the only
cause of the whole proceeding; he has to bear the blame of it, if blame
there must be, and him alone I make herewith solemnly responsible for
all the consequences.
"We have corresponded but rarely and very briefly, you know, since we
parted about a year ago in the capital. Thus I have probably hardly
ever mentioned Professor Berger to you, and it is high time to make you
acquainted with this original, who has of late played so important a
part in my life, and to whom alone I owe it if I did not miserably fail
in that principal scene of the tragi-comedy, my examination.
"When I left B-----for Grunwald, in the vague hope of being able to
find the necessary repose in this quiet seat of the Muses, with the
grass growing in the streets, which I could not obtain amid the
literary circles, the aesthetic teas, and musical suppers of the great
city, I found here, among the terrible judges who could make me happy
or condemn me forever, Professor Berger as the most terrible of all. My
poor fellow-sufferers, whose acquaintance I could not avoid making in
spite of all my objections, told me really fearful things of his
amazing erudition, and much that disquieted me about his eccentricities
and droll whimsicalities. They had numerous stories about his great
influence over the other members of the Board of Examiners, who were
completely overawed by his learning, and still more so by his caustic
wit, which spared no one, from the lowest to the highest. I had never
yet met the terrible man in person. He had one of his hypochondriac
attacks, during which, I was told, he kept himself locked up in his
room during the day, and wandered about all night in the woods of the
neighborhood.
"One day I received an invitation to dinner from a family to whom I had
brought letters of introduction. The company was very numerous; I took
a young lady of the house in to dinner, a pretty, fair-haired girl,
whose merry ways attracted me exclusively during the first part of the
dinner. But when the usual topics which are apt to be discussed with
young ladies fresh from school were nearly exhausted, I found my
attention engaged by a gentleman who sat opposite me. He was a small,
elderly man, with a massive brow, as if cut in granite, from beneath
which two clever eyes shone forth brightly. The somewhat full cheeks
betrayed a fondness for good living, which was not belied by the
earnestness with which the man did honor to the gifts of Ceres and
Bacchus. But the lines around the firm, well-shaped mouth were
enigmatical: sensuality, wit, humor, and melancholy demons and
genii--all seemed to dwell there.
"The conversation at our part of the table soon became general, and I
could venture to join in without presumption. They discussed art,
literature, and politics. Everywhere the strange man seemed to be
perfectly at home; everywhere he surprised us by clever views,
startling antitheses, and odd paradoxes. It seemed to give him special
pleasure to throw in a little spark of purgatory-fire, and then to see
how the tiny flames from below tickled the noses of the good people.
Thus he would suddenly assert that revolutions had never done any good
to mankind, and never would benefit us. You know my views on this
point, which have often been the subject of our discussions. I accepted
the challenge; I grew warm in speaking of my pet theme, and all the
warmer as my adversary tried hard to confuse me by all kinds of odd
questions. I forgot everything around me; I became pathetic, satiric--I
felt that I said some good things, at least that I had never in my life
spoken as well. At a later day I learnt to my humiliation that the good
man had highly enjoyed the sham fight,--for such it was to him,--but
then I only noticed that he gave up the combat and listened to what I
said, bending his large head a little upon his right shoulder, smiling
at my energy out of his large bright eyes beneath the bushy eyebrows,
and sipping one glass of hock after the other. Soon afterwards we left
the table. As I took my lady back to the room where tea was served, I
asked her: 'And who was the gentleman with whom I carried on a
conversation, which I fear was very dull to you?'
"'What! you do not know Professor Berger?' the little lady asked, quite
amazed.
"'That was Professor Berger?'
"'Certainly; shall I introduce you?'
"'For heaven's sake, no!' I cried, with genuine terror. 'Oh me! what a
misfortune!'"
"'Why, what is the matter?' asked the pretty girl. 'What is the
matter?'
"I had let her arm slip out of mine and made my escape to the remotest
room. There I threw myself upon a low sofa in a dark corner, and lay
brooding over the grievous blunder I had committed. While I thought I
was playing with a good-natured poodle-dog, I had been engaged with a
formidable bear! They had represented this man to me as just as
malicious as he was learned and witty. Would he not be sore to remember
my sarcasms and bitter sayings in that evil hour when I was lying
helpless on the examination-table, ready to be dissected? It was a
desperate case.
"I heard a noise near me, and raised my head--before me stood Professor
Berger. I jumped up instantly.
"'Allow me to sit down by you,' said the eccentric man, and sat down on
the low sofa, beckoning me to follow his example. 'I like you, and I
wish to become better acquainted with you. I am Professor Berger; whom
have I the honor to address?'
"'My name is Stein.'
"'You are a student, or, rather, you have been a student. What have you
studied?'
"'I wish I could simply answer, Philology; but as that would not be
exactly true, I can only say I would I had studied Philology.'
"'How so?'
"'Because then I would be less afraid of the honor of becoming better
known to you.'
"A smile played around the lips of the professor, passed up the cheek,
and was lost in the corner of the right eye.
"'You are a candidate for honors?'
"'Yes; but with little hope.'
"The smile came down again from the eye to the lips.
"'And therefore you are frightened at seeing me, as Hamlet was before
his father's ghost?'
"'At least I do not see you very clearly.'
"'Well, then, you see yourself that we must become better acquainted
with each other. Will you come to-morrow evening, or some other
evening, when you have time and inclination, and drink a glass of punch
with me?'
"Of course I did not refuse.
"And this was the beginning of my acquaintance with this strange man,
whom I now may call my friend. We have ever since that day met daily,
as long as I remained in Grunwald, and I value the deep insight into
one of the most remarkable characters which was thus afforded me by the
intimate intercourse with him, far more highly than the practical
advantages which I derived from my friendship with so great a scholar.
I am almost afraid there must exist some affinity between him and
myself, or we would not so quickly have discovered what was sympathetic
in each of us; nor would we have learnt so soon to speak with such
unreserved candor, and to understand each other by a mere word or a
hint. I say I am afraid, because Berger is a most unhappy man. The
bright lights of his brilliant wit play upon a dark background full of
storms. He is standing alone in the world, misjudged by everybody,
feared by many, loved by none. Why that is so, I dare not tell even
you, for friendship is a temple to which no third person can be
admitted. But I shudder whenever I think of the dark night that must
break down upon him as soon as old age dims the light of the bright
torch which now alone illumines the terrible waste of his miserable
heart. Perhaps, however--who knows?--that may prove fortunate for him.
Perhaps the words which he now often quotes, half in bitter irony and
half in melancholy conviction: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit!' may
yet become a truth for him.
"My intimacy with the learned man had surrounded me, in the eyes of the
world, with a halo, which made me hope that under such protection I
might, like the heroes of Homer, safely pass through the dangers of the
impending battle--the examination. On the morning of the decisive day,
Berger said to me: 'Do you know, dear Stein, I have a great mind to
reject you?'
"'Why?'
"'Because I fear to lose you--to lose you twice. Great God! what
changes may not happen to a man whom we seat in the easy-chair of an
office, and whom we crown with the night-cap of a dignity! You may
actually see the day when you will consider Horace a great poet and
Cicero a distinguished philosopher--why, you may in due time, and from
sheer disgust of life, become a learned professor like myself.'
"The examination had been held, and I had received, as Berger called
it, license to thresh empty straw. One day he came to me, an open
letter in his hand, and asked:
"'Would you like to become a tutor in a nobleman's family?'
"'I hardly think I would.'
"'Perhaps so; but the offer is so tempting that it is at least worth
your while to consider the matter. You would have to bind yourself for
four years.'
"'And you call that a tempting offer? Four years? Not four weeks!'
"'Just listen. Of these four years, two only will be spent at the
house; the other two you are to travel with your pupil. You want to see
the world, and you ought to see it, even if it were only in order to
learn that men have a right to like dogs everywhere. You have no means
of your own, and you are too civilized to be a good vagabond. Well now,
here you have the finest opportunity, such as may not present itself a
second time in all your life.'
"'And who is the Alexander whose Aristotle I am to be?'
"'A young lord, like the hero of Macedonia. I have seen the noble race
last year in Ostend. The father, a Baron Grenwitz, is a nullity; the
baroness, an unknown quantity, which I could not ascertain. At all
events, she is a clever woman. I know that that is no small attraction
for you. She speaks three or four modern languages, to say nothing of
her mother tongue. I even suspect her of having secretly read Latin and
Greek with her present tutor, a certain Bauer, who has studied here,
and was a thoroughly well-educated youth.'
"'And you, who have told me yourself that you have written a book about
the nobles and against the nobles, which, unfortunately, cannot
be printed anywhere in Germany, although specially intended for
Germany--you advise me, who hold the same pariah notions about this
Brahmin caste, to go over to the army of our hereditary enemies?'
"'That is exactly the fun,' laughed Berger. 'I want you to go there
like a Mohican into the camp of the Iroquois, and I am delighted at the
spoil you will bring back with you. We will hang them up in our
wigwams, and enjoy them heartily.'
"'And if I lose my scalp among them--what then?'
"'Then I am the last of the Mohicans, and smoke my calumet in
loneliness on the grave of my Uncas.'
"He rested his head on his hand, and stared grimly at the distance.
'Yes, yes, I know,' he growled, 'the Big Serpent, when it is tired
hissing at men, will creep into a deep morass and perish there alone.'
"I took his hand in mine: 'That shall not be so; at least not as long
as I live.'
"He looked at me sadly.
"'But you will die before me,' he said; 'the big Serpent is tough and
you are soft--much too soft for this hard world. But let us leave that
alone. What do you think of my offer?'
"'That I like it only so-so.'
"'Then I must play my last trump,' cried Berger, jumping up. 'Hear,
then, you incredulous man, that the house to which I wish to send you
owns an angel in the shape of a most lovely girl. She is the sister of
your Alexander, and, God be thanked, as yet at a boarding-school in
Hamburg. I hate her, for she has caused me infinite trouble. All the
mad dreams of my youth revived when I saw her, and worried me like fair
ghosts. At last I ran away as soon as I saw her coming on the smooth
sand of the beach, with her light straw-hat. Yes, I must tell you; I
wrote those sonnets which I read to you the other day, and which I told
you I had composed thirty years ago at Heligoland, only last year at
Ostend. You were good enough to call them glowing with love, and heaven
knows what else--well, I was bewitched by the fair demon, and I wrote
them with blood, the blood of my heart. But you will not tell that to
anybody?'
"'Why not? Not a soul would believe me.'
"'There you are right And now?'
"'Now I am less inclined than ever. I do not wish to repeat the foolish
story of the love affair between a tutor and the daughter of a noble
house, which I have read over and over again in so many a novel. And if
the girl is really so beautiful and lovely, that----'
"'That even the dry branches put out fresh leaves--what might then
happen to the green wood?' interrupted me Berger, laughing aloud.
'Well, then, fall in love! why not? My dear fellow, the book of life,
for people like ourselves, has the same title as one of Balzac's
novels: _Illusions Perdues_. Every day only adds a new chapter, and the
shorter the book, the better and the more interesting it is. But since
it must needs be written, and cannot be written by any other means, it
is, after all, immaterial whether we go east or west; we pass through
the same experiences here and there. Therefore I say once more: Go to
Grenwitz!'
"What could I do? It seemed to me my duty to fulfil the wish of my
friend, to whom I owed so much. And then, was not Berger right in
saying that it was immaterial whether I went east or west? In fine, I
packed my trunks, bade my Mentor farewell, and went across to this
island."