"I told you, I think, my dear sir, that my father was a minister; nay
more, my grandfathers on both sides were ministers, for my mother was a
minister's daughter; my great-grandfather was at least a sexton, who
had married the daughter of a shepherd--though of another flock.
Farther I cannot trace my pedigree--but _ex ungue leonem_! You see that
all of my family have pursued the same business, to keep flocks--of men
or of sheep. The spirit of my ancestors seems to dwell in me. It was
always my passion to carry animals to pasture, and even now I can stand
by the hour leaning against a fence and looking at calves and colts.
There is no doubt something paradisiacal in this kind of enjoyment
which reminds us of the earliest times of mankind and me of my early
youth. Sir, my first friend was a boy who kept the geese on the common;
then a swineherd became my Pylades, and the intimate intercourse with
this _Eumaeus posthumus_ has given me a relish for certain parts of the
Odyssey, which others lack who have not had the same previous training.
When my Pylades obtained the rank of regular shepherd I left our native
village, in tears, to go to college at Grunwald; there I entered an
advanced class, but my teachers, as well as the boys, looked at me as a
kind of monster; the latter mainly on account of my fabulous costume,
of which a pair of trousers consisting of good ox-hide up to the knees
was by no means the most remarkable part. My learning seemed to be as
fabulous to the professors. I knew half of Virgil by heart; I read the
New Testament as easily in the original as the others in the
translation--and all this at thirteen! I am shocked even now when I
think of it. Knowledge, however, was power, and I reaped the benefit at
once. For my father, who had a numerous family, and who was as poor as
a mouse in his own church, could give me next to nothing when I left
home, except his blessing and letters to six families in town, who gave
me as many free dinners every week. The seventh day, on which nobody
invited me, became thus naturally my regular fast-day. I was,
therefore, left entirely to myself; but I had no expensive habits;
instead of them the talent to be content with bread and butter, to read
with a train-oil lamp, and to write with pointed matches; to sit
through my six hours' tuition, and to be able to give as many private
lessons. Thus I could not only pay punctually the rent for my garret
and the bills for the necessaries of life, but actually exchange,
two months later, my ox-hide trousers, for another pair, of more
suitable shape and material. But I kept forever the nickname of
Leather-stocking, which my companions had given me, and which I had
hoped to shake off on this solemn occasion. Other inconveniences at
school I avoided mainly by a strict line of policy. I had found out
that the biggest and strongest boys in any class were generally also
the laziest and the most stupid. I never failed, therefore, to form an
alliance with them, which was based upon these two fundamental
principles: I write your tasks, and, in return, you neither molest me
yourself nor allow anybody else to molest me. I must admit that the
treaty was always religiously observed. When I was seventeen my teacher
decreed that I had been for a year ripe for the University, and this
was true, if we understand by it that I was as full of learning as the
yolk of an egg, but in every other respect as ignorant and helpless as
a chick that has just broke the shell. It was a matter of course that I
must study theology. The sons of former captains are made cadets, and
the sons of country parsons go to the seminary; that is as much a
matter of course as any part of natural history. Well, I studied
divinity; that is, I attended lectures diligently, and wrote whole
wagon-loads of most abstruse erudition. Otherwise I continued very much
the same kind of life I had led before; I had even kept my garret and
gave my private lessons as heretofore, especially as one of my younger
brothers was now staying with me who fell heir to all my little
privileges. The three years' course passed away monotonously enough,
but not unpleasantly. One day looked very much like all the others,
only Wednesday appeared somewhat dismal to me, because on that day we
had pork and beans for dinner, a dish which I have never been able to
like, in spite of my liberal views on such subjects. It reminded me
always too forcibly of the beautiful summer mornings when I sat by the
side of my Eumaeus posthumus, reading Virgil's eclogues, and I could not
swallow anything. You may think that sentimental, but we all have our
foibles. Of actual life I saw about that time as much as a camel sees
of the desert in a menagerie. The number of my friends was very small,
strictly proportioned to my means; for I have noticed that the
wealthier students are seen in lots together, while the poorer walk
singly through the streets. I do not know if it is so in life also. But
I had an enormous respect for these wealthier students, for there are
some even in Grunwald, and in my eyes every one of them who had a
hundred a year was a Cr[oe]sus. These mustached puss in boots appeared
to me like select creatures, and I could never quite comprehend how a
government, otherwise so anxiously concerned for the repose of its
subjects, could allow them to go about in such perfect freedom. I must
confess that I lived this three years in constant apprehension of a
challenge. Not that I am lacking in personal courage. I have
fortunately had several times occasion to convince myself of the
contrary; but I was afraid of the embarrassment such an event might
produce. I always looked upon students' duels as the most abominable
nonsense, injurious to health, but far more injurious to morality, for
the custom compels young men to subject their thoughts and their
feelings to a Moloch of barbarous notions about honor, the most
ridiculous caricature of a moral code. It accustoms them thus,
systematically, to that blind obedience which seems to me the true sin
against the Holy Ghost. I do not know if we agree on this point, my
dear sir?"
"Perfectly," replied Oswald. "Well," said Bemperlein, "and yet the most
surprising thing to me is the length of time during which that
intoxication lasts, long after the University years have been
forgotten. There is a Baron Lylow living near us at Berkow, a man of
forty, who has been married at least ten years. Well, yesterday, when I
took leave of him, with Julius,--the children have always been very
intimate,--the baron fell, after supper, to talking about his
University time, and gave us--I mean his tutor and myself--a sketch of
his heroic deeds in those days. Fortunately, my colleague had been a
fast young man in Halle, and could tell the baron all about the present
fashion as to duels. And now you ought to have seen how the good
gentleman became excited, how he pitied the low state of students'
minds in our day, how he regretted the small number of duels, the
miserably small quantity of beer which was consumed at night, and so
on. His eyes actually sparkled as he recalled the past glory, and he
became so deeply moved that he finally gave vent to the pious wish that
all the Rhenish Democrats, as he called them, those people who talked
about freedom of the press and such stuff, might have but one neck, in
order to make an end to all their cries by--here he made an expressive
gesture with the hand."
"Of course," replied Oswald. "When these great men are young, they
sing, 'Oh, Liberty, dear Liberty!' that is very poetical heard from
afar, and they sing and drink and sing, till they verily believe they
hold said opinions. But that is a mere hallucination, or if they ever
really think of it in earnest, they mean by it the liberty to smash
windows, to insult helpless men, to create a disturbance in public
places, and to achieve other heroic deeds of the kind with impunity.
Then comes another liberty--the liberty to remain forever, with undying
respect, your most humble, obedient servant, as long as they are
subalterns, and to treat the world like dogs when they become
ministers. But we have drifted away from our subject. You were spared,
I trust, the unpleasant alternative of hurting the feelings of those
privileged beings, or your own honor?"
"Yes, thanks to my policy to keep my existence as unknown as possible,
for what could a mouse like myself do against puss in boots? When my
three years were over, and I had succeeded in my first theological
examination, my fears were at an end, for nobody expects a candidate
for the ministry to fight. I should have liked at once to accept a
place as private tutor in the country, but my brother had but just
entered the upper class at college, and I did not wish to leave him
alone during the two years which he had still to stay there, as I saw
that he was not as perfect in the art of writing with pointed matches,
and the other secrets of life, as was desirable for the interests of
the family of a poor country parson. For this second brother was
expected to do unto the third as I had done unto him, and this younger
brother was to enter the third class when the others entered the
University, just as I began my studies when he entered the third
class."
"But how could that be?" said Oswald, astonished.
"Well, you see, my dear sir," replied Mr. Bemperlein, "how it could be
I cannot tell you, but that it was so I can swear to. I am the oldest
of them all, and born the twenty-second of March; then comes a sister,
two years younger, for she was born on the twenty-first of March; then
a brother, then again a sister, then a brother, and again a sister. How
many does that make?"
"Half a dozen, I should say," replied Oswald, smiling.
"Quite right--half a dozen, all two years apart, and all born in March
with the exception of my youngest sister, whose birthday is in April.
But then she is a kind of comet in the planetary system of our family.
Just imagine, only eighteen, and already engaged!"
"I do not see anything extraordinary in that, with so lovely a sister
as she no doubt is," observed Oswald.
"Nothing extraordinary!" cried Mr. Bemperlein--"nothing extraordinary?
Such a baby! Marry! At eighteen! I do not even know if that can be
done. You are laughing? Maybe. I never understood women, and I am sure
I do not know how I should have learnt to understand them, unless the
knowledge was given to me, on account of my special simplicity, in a
dream. I remained, therefore, two years longer in Grunwald, coaching
students and giving private lessons, by which I made enough to live
very well--the fast day I still observed, but merely from old habit and
to support my brother, as was my bounden duty. This brother gave me
some trouble, which afterwards appeared to have been unnecessary, for
he is already assistant-minister, although only four and twenty; but he
learnt rather slowly, had weak eyes, and was inconceivably sensitive to
cold and hunger. I saw, therefore, that it would be barbarous to put
upon him the care of his next younger brother, who was then coming up
to town, especially as he was weakly; he is now a hearty fellow of
twenty, a brave, diligent youth, who will shortly pass his theological
examination--well, but what was I going to say? Oh yes! He was then
rather weakly and sickly, and needed much attention. But to provide for
two----"
"And for yourself?" suggested Oswald.
"Well, that was the smallest part. But I saw the thing could not go on
any longer so, and the offer to become tutor at Berkow was, therefore,
most welcome. Full board, a fabulous salary--I was beside myself. Now I
had both hands free, and could at last do something for my family."
"I should think you had been doing that to your full power, or rather
beyond your power," said Oswald.
"Oh, nonsense," said the other. "My wish was good enough, but my
strength very feeble, and now they needed support more than ever. My
poor mamma had been suffering for some time, now father also was taken
dangerously ill, and his iron constitution so undermined that he has
never fully recovered, and we feared, of course, the worst. My three
sisters, too, were still unprovided. How fortunate, therefore, that I
had two hundred dollars in gold! I gave half to my brothers----"
"And the other half to your sisters?"
"And the other half to my sisters," continued Bemperlein, and rubbed
his hands with delight.
"But what did you keep for yourself?"
"For myself?" said Bemperlein, quite astonished. "Did I not tell you I
had full board? And now listen! I had been a year at Berkow, when one
fine day the good lady sends for me, and after we have been talking
about this and that, she says:--
"You have been here a year now, dear Bemperlein; now tell me candidly,
how do you like it here?--That needs no answer, Madam, replied
I.--Well, I am glad of that, said she, but have you no special
desire?--Not that I know, said I.--But your salary is evidently too
low, said she, with the kindest face in the world. I was so astonished
at these words that I could find no answer.
"I must tell you frankly, she said, with angelic goodness, that I have
looked at the time up to now only in the light of a trial, and that I
regulated the salary accordingly. I never imagined that a man, to whom
I can intrust my child's education with perfect confidence, could be
paid with money at all; and if I now ask you to let me double the
salary which you have heretofore received, I beg you to understand that
I still remain your debtor.
"If I had been surprised before, I was much more so now, or rather, I
was deeply moved--not so much by her generosity, as by the
indescribable kindness with which the offer was made, so that the tears
trickled down my cheeks. I stammered something about not being able to
accept so much and such like, but then she became quite angry, so that
I quickly recovered myself, and told her I would accept her present,
not for myself, because that would be unwarrantable, but for those whom
I had to support, because they could not support themselves.--Do with
it what you like, she said, in going out, but remember that you owe
something also to yourself. There the matter ended, but not so Frau von
Berkow's goodness, which has no end. But I was going to tell you
something very different; I mean, how I came to discover the error
which had crept into the account of my life, and what that error is."