On the following day the cashier sent for me to say it was Herr
Oppovich's wish that I should be attached to some department in the
office, till I had fully mastered its details, and then be transferred
to another, and so on, till I had gradually acquainted myself with the
whole business of the house. “It's an old caprice of Herr Ignaz's,” said
he, “which repeated failures have not yet discouraged him with. You 're
the fifth he has tried to make a supervisor of, and you'll follow the
rest.”
“Is it so very difficult to learn?” asked I, modestly.
“Perhaps to one of your acquirements it might not,” said he, with quiet
irony, “but, for a slight example: here, in this office, we correspond
with five countries in their own languages; yonder, in that room, they
talk modern Greek and Albanian and Servian; there's the Hungarian group,
next that bow window, and that takes in the Lower Danube; and in what we
call the Expeditions department there are; fellows who speak seventeen
dialects, and can write ten or twelve. So much for languages. Then what
do you say to mastering--since that's the word they have for it--the
grain trade from Russia, rags from Transylvania, staves from Hungary,
fruit from the Levant, cotton from Egypt, minerals from Lower Austria,
and woollen fabrics from Bohemia? We do something in all of these,
besides a fair share in oak bark and hemp.”
“Stop, for mercy's sake!” I cried out “It would take a lifetime to gain
a mere current knowledge of these.”
“Then, there's the finance department,” said he; “watching the rise and
fall of the exchanges, buying and selling gold. Herr Ulrich, in that
office with the blue door, could tell you it's not to be picked up of
an afternoon. Perhaps you might as well begin with him; his is not a bad
school to take the fine edge off you.”
“I shall do whatever you advise me.”
“I'll speak to Herr Ulrich, then,” said he; and he left me, to return
almost immediately, and conduct me within the precincts of the blue
door.
Herr Ulrich was a tall, thin, ascetic-looking man, with his hair brushed
rigidly back from the narrowest head I ever saw. His whole idea of life
was the office, which he arrived at by daybreak, and never left, except
to visit the Bourse, till late at night. He disliked, of all things, new
faces about him; and it was a piece of malice on the cashier's part to
bring me before him.
“I believed I had explained to Herr Ignaz already,” said he to the
cashier, “that I am not a schoolmaster.”
“Well, well,” broke in the other, in a muffled voice, “try the lad. He
may not be so incompetent. They tell me he has had some education.”
Herr Ulrich raised his spectacles, and surveyed me from head to foot for
some seconds. “You have been in the yard?” said he, in question.
“Yes, sir.”
“And is counting oaken staves the first step to learning foreign
exchanges, think you?”
“I should say not, sir.”
“I know whose scheme this is, well enough,” muttered he. “I see it all.
That will do. You may leave us to talk together alone,” said he to the
cashier. “Sit down there, lad; there 's your own famous newspaper, the
'Times.' Make me a _précis_ of the money article as it touches Austrian
securities and Austrian enterprises; contrast the report there given
with what that French paper contains; and don't leave till it be
finished.” He returned to his high stool as he spoke, and resumed his
work. On the table before me lay a mass of newspapers in different
languages; and I sat down to examine them with the very vaguest notion
of what was expected of me.
Determined to do something,--whatever that something might be,--I
opened the “Times” to find out the money article; but, little versed in
journalism, I turned from page to page without discovering it. At last
I thought I should find it by carefully scanning the columns; and so
I began at the top and read the various headings, which happened to be
those of the trials then going on. There was a cause of salvage on the
part of the owners of the “Lively Jane;” there was a disputed ownership
of certain dock warrants for indigo, a breach of promise case, and
a suit for damages for injuries incurred on the rail. None of these,
certainly, were financial articles. At the head of the next column I
read: “Court of Probate and Divorce,--Mr. Spanks moved that the decree
_nisi_, in the suit of Cleremont v. Cleremont, be made absolute. Motion
allowed. The damages in this suit against Sir Roger Norcott have been
fixed at eight thousand five hundred pounds.”
From these lines I could not turn my eyes. They revealed nothing, it
is true, but what I knew well must happen; but there is that in a
confirmation of a fact brought suddenly before us, that always awakens
deep reflection: and now I brought up before my mind my poor mother,
deserted and forsaken, and my father, ruined in character, and perhaps
in fortune.
I had made repeated attempts to find out my mother's address, but all
my letters had failed to reach her. Could there be any chance of
discovering her through this suit? Was it possible that she might have
intervened in any way in it? And, last of all, would this lawyer,
whose name appeared in the proceedings, take compassion on my unhappy
condition, and aid me to discover where my mother was? I meditated
long over all this, and I ended by convincing myself that there are few
people in the world who are not well pleased to do a kind thing which
costs little in the doing; and so I resolved I would write to Mr.
Spanks, and address him at the court he practised in. I could not help
feeling that it was at a mere straw I was grasping; but nothing more
tangible lay within my «reach. I wrote thus:--
“Sir,--I am the son and only child of Sir Roger and Lady Norcott; and
seeing that you have lately conducted a suit against my father, I ask
you, as a great favor, to let me know where my mother is now living,
that I may write to her. I know that I am taking a great liberty in
obtruding this request upon you; but I am very friendless, and very
little versed in worldly knowledge. Will you let both these deficiencies
plead for me? and let me sign myself
“Your grateful servant,
“Digby Norcott.
“You can address me at the house of Hodnig and Oppovich, Fiume, Austria,
where I am living as a clerk, and under the name of Digby Owen,--Owen
being the name of my mother's family.”
I was not very well pleased with the composition of this letter; but it
had one recommendation, which I chiefly sought for,--it was short, and
for this reason I hoped it might be favorably received. I read it over
and over, each time seeing some new fault, or some omission to correct;
and then I would turn again to the newspaper, and ponder over the few
words that meant so much and yet revealed so little. How my mother's
position would be affected--if at all--by this decision I could not
tell. Indeed, it was the mere accident of hearing divorce discussed
at my father's table that enabled me to know what the terms of the law
implied. And thus I turned from my letter to the newspaper, and back
again from the newspaper to my letter, so engrossed by the theme that
I forgot where I was, and utterly forgot all about that difficult task
Herr Ulrich had set me. Intense thought and weariness of mind, aided
by the unbroken stillness of the place, made me heavy and drowsy. From
poring over the paper, I gradually bent down till my head rested on it,
and I fell sound asleep.
I must have passed hours thus, for it was already evening when I awoke.
Herr Ulrich was about to leave the office, and had his hat on, as he
aroused me.
“It is supper-time, youngster,” said he, laying his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, you may well wonder where you are. What are you looking for?”
“I thought, sir, I had written a letter Just before I fell asleep. I was
writing here.” And I turned over the papers and shook them, tossing them
wildly about, to discover the letter, but in vain. It was not there.
Could it have been that I had merely composed it in my mind, and never
have committed it to paper? But that could scarcely be, seeing how fresh
in my memory were all the doubts and hesitations that had beset me.
“I am sure I wrote a letter here,” said I, trying to recall each
circumstance to my mind.
“When you have finished dreaming, lad, I will lock the door,” said he,
waiting to see me pass out.
“Forgive me one moment, sir, only one,” cried I, wildly, scattering
the papers over the table. “It is of consequence to me--what I have
written.”
“That is, if you have written anything,” said he, dryly.
The grave tone of this doubt determined the conflict in my mind.
“I suppose you are right,” said I; “it was a dream.” And I arose and
followed him out.
As I reached the foot of the stairs, I came suddenly on Herr Ignaz and
his daughter. It was a common thing for her to come and accompany him
home at the end of the day's work; and as latterly he had become much
broken and very feeble, she scarcely missed a day in this attention.
“Oh, here he is!” I heard her say as I came up. What he replied I could
not catch, but it was with some earnestness he rejoined,--
“Herr von Owen, my father wishes to say that they have mistaken his
instructions regarding you in the office. He never expected you could at
once possess yourself of all the details of a varied business; he meant
that you should go about and see what branch you would like to attach
yourself to, and to do this he will give you ample time. Take a week;
take two; a month, if you like.” And she made a little gesture of
friendly adieu with her hand, and passed on.