He replied: "I shall be much obliged for any service I shall be capable
to do," and passed me the slate with a hopeful smile.
"What can you do?" I asked.
He answered: "I copy the manuscripts, I translate from the one language
to others with some perfect exactitude, I arrange the libraries, I
make the catalogues, I am capable to be any secretary." And he looked
up as if he saw in my eyes a vast vista of catalogues, manuscripts,
libraries, and Fatherland at the end of it.
"How would you like to be companion to a literary man?" I inquired.
He nodded expressively, and wrote: "I should that like over all. But I
speak and hear not."
"No matter," I replied. "You will only have to sit and appear to
listen, and nod occasionally."
"You shall be the gentleman?" he asked, with a bright, pleased look.
I explained to him that the gentleman was an unfortunate connection of
my family, whom we could not regard as being quite in his right mind.
Jacob Menzel smiled, and touched his forehead interrogatively.
I nodded, adding on the slate, "He is perfectly harmless, but he can
only be kept quiet by having some person to talk and read to. He will
talk and read to you. He must not know you are deaf. He is very deaf
himself, and will not expect you to reply." And, for a person wishing a
light and easy employment, I recommended the situation.