I noticed slight changes when I arrived home. The lodging was the same,
but I missed several pieces of furniture, which I knew had formerly
been there. At first I wanted to ask for them, but a strange sensation
of fear and cowardice closed my lips. There was also a pipe lying on
one of the shelves.
"Who smokes a pipe?" I remarked.
My mother threw a quick glance at it.
"Father, of course; he thinks a pipe comes cheaper."
There were also other things that I thought surprising, but I would ask
no more.
"I dare say you know that Charlie has left his master," said my mother.
"How should I know? Nobody has told me; where is he?"
"With father; I expect they will come in soon."
Although I felt pleased to see my brother again, of whom I had heard
nothing all the time he had been away, I was not pleased that he had
broken off his apprenticeship and had to begin afresh.
My mother had started to put the children to bed and to lay the table.
When it was dark my father came in with my brother, and after the
simple greetings were exchanged we sat down to supper. I noticed now
how handsome my brother had become. Although he was only sixteen years
of age, he was much taller than my father, and of such gracefulness
that I could hardly take my eyes from him. His face was very beautiful.
His eyes blue and large, and shadowed by most exquisite lashes. On his
upper lip a fair, downy moustache showed, but his under-lip was, I
thought, just a little too full.
"What are you going to do now?" I asked him once during the meal.
"Speaking frankly, you are too big (and too handsome I had almost
added) to be an apprentice."
"You are right, my beloved sister," he answered with a touch of scorn
in his voice; "for that sort of position I have grown too big and, to
tell the truth, too superior."
"Too superior?" I asked in amazement, and noticed how white and
beautiful his hands were. He looked at his well-kept nails thoughtfully
for awhile.
"Yes, too big and too superior to have my ears boxed."
"Did they?" I gasped, not daring to complete my sentence.
"Yes, and that's why I ran away."
"Perhaps you ought to have stayed there, after all," remarked my mother
somewhat timidly. "What will you do now?"
He gave my mother a look that alarmed me. It was an ugly, almost
threatening look, which robbed his face of all its beauty. But as if
conscious of the impression produced upon me, he calmly leant back on
the wooden chair and smiled self-contentedly.
"There is no need for you to lament," he said, addressing my mother; "I
shall not be a burden to you.... I am going to Vienna," he finished,
turning to me.
"To Vienna?" I asked. "What are you going to do there?"
He smiled again, and on this occasion contemptuously.
"I don't know yet; but there is no need to worry about such a fellow
as I am; it is true that I have no money, but here (he pointed at his
forehead) I have got something that is worth more than money," and
after this introduction he started to picture his future.
"To begin with," he said, "it is undoubtedly a great misfortune to be
born in the country. Think of the vast possibilities that are open to
you in town. There are the well-managed schools, the places of historic
importance, the innumerable means of earning a living, and the very
air of culture and refinement that envelopes everybody. There is no
real work in the country, and there never will be. It is true that
the people get up in the mornings and try to do what there is to be
done; but where is, I ask you, that race of all the different brain
and bodily powers that is so characteristic of life in town, where the
clever man is superseded by the cleverest man, and everybody tries to
reach the top in consequence?... If I were silly enough to stay at
a little country-place, what would become of me? Nothing but a mere
loafer, who drags about quite uselessly the great gift of intelligence
that fortune (my dear, I am above that nonsense of God and Church) has
bestowed upon his cradle or rather upon his brain. I have therefore
decided to throw in my lot with the quickest and cleverest of my age,
and it must be hell itself playing against me if I do not succeed
in getting enough money to enable me to buy a few hundreds of such
dens"--he looked round the room contemptuously--"in a couple of years."
With my hands folded almost devoutly I sat silent during the whole of
this speech, and did not quite know what to make of it. I greatly
admired the graceful flow of his words, as well as his thoughts which
were entirely new to me. Nevertheless there was something within me
that warned me not to surrender the views and ideas I had so far held.
"I hope you will have good luck," I said at last when he made a little
pause; "but I should like to know what you are going to be."
"Alas!" he replied, "I can see for myself now that you are not much
better than these folks"--he pointed with his thumb at my parents--"and
that you have never, not even in the least, raised yourself above
the level of your birth. Your way of thinking is the way these folks
think"--he pointed at my parents again--"and they think as their
grandparents did. Progress is to all of you as foreign as China. How
can you be so silly," he continued, somewhat more gently, "to ask me
what I am going to be? How can I tell to-day? At the present I have
not the faintest notion of the conditions and circumstances of Vienna,
and how am I to know which of my capacities is likely to be the most
eminent? Let me have the choice of a profession, the possibility of a
trial, and I will tell you what I am made of."
Greatly ashamed of my ignorance, I was silent again.
"If you possessed brain," my brother continued--"a thing which I am
sorry to say I do not suspect you of after I have had the pleasure
of exchanging these few words"--he bowed ironically--"you might have
perceived by now that I am no ordinary person, but of an artistic
turn of mind. These people"--he pointed again at my parents--"have,
unfortunately, little or no understanding of that, and will in all
probability fail to comprehend the greatness that the future holds in
store for me. That is, however, of little consequence; it is you whom
I expect to escape from your present station in life"--I admired the
delicate way in which he referred to my station--"as soon as possible.
It is true that you will never succeed in reaching the height destined
for me, but you may, nevertheless, go on to perfect yourself in every
way possible, in order to spare me the distress of blushing for your
ignorance and social standing later on."
My father had got up from the table some time before, and with his
hands crossed on his back nervously paced the room. He coughed now and
again, as if something irritated his throat, and it was plain that he
was angry. All at once he stopped in front of my brother.
"Don't you think," he asked, "that it would be best for you to mix with
your own class of people as soon as possible?"
"Why, of course," my brother replied with utter coolness, "I have
already decided to leave for Vienna to-morrow; all that I must ask you
is to let me have the money for the journey, a sum so trivial that I
can repay it to you multiplied a hundred times in a few months."
They looked quite calmly at each other, but it was a calm that seemed
to be loaded with thunder and lightning. My mother must have felt the
same, for she got up rather hastily, and her voice trembled as she
said: "There is plenty of time to settle that to-morrow. You had
better go to bed now."
The thunderstorm, however, broke next day. My brother insisted on a
certain sum of money, which my father thought too great and refused to
let him have the whole of it.
"Do you want me to reach Vienna without a single penny in my pockets?"
"I will give you as much as I can spare; there are the little ones to
be thought of; I cannot let them starve."
"Then you wish rather that I should starve?"
"I don't think that it would come to that. You are old enough to earn
your living."
"Old enough! Do you really mean to say that a fellow sixteen years of
age is old enough to earn his living?"
"Why not? I myself had to leave home when I was only a child of eleven,
and have worked for my living ever since."
"Worked for your living!" my brother cried scornfully. "Wasting money
and getting into debt to such an extent that no dog will take the
trouble to look at us. Do you call that working for your living?"
The veins showed thickly on my father's forehead.
"You wretch!" he cried, and flew at my brother's throat, "is that what
I get for having taken endless trouble to bring you up?"
It was evident that my brother had not expected so violent an outburst
on the part of my habitually gentle father. He grew deadly pale and
tried to free himself from my father's clutch.
After he had succeeded in doing so, he reached for his hat and turned
to the door. But, before he closed it behind him, he said: "You will
find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me to-morrow."
What he called the Kamp was a river of considerable depth. After he
had left, the room looked a picture of misery and grief. My mother was
leaning against the wall weeping violently; my father was pacing the
room, his face rigidly set and breathing rapidly; the smallest of the
children, roused by the noise, had started to cry; and I trembled in
every limb with excitement.
It was my brother's last words that worried me beyond expression--"You
will find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me
to-morrow."
I imagined him plunging into the dark green water, sinking slowly and
being found entangled in the tall reeds near the banks. "Mother," I
said, speaking incoherently and almost inaudibly, "do you think that he
will?"
"Don't ask me anything," she replied; "I am the most unfortunate woman
under the sun."
During the whole day I hoped that he might still come back. He did
not return, however, and when evening drew near I dismissed all hope
of ever seeing him again. The next day I could not remain indoors any
longer, so I went out and walked towards the river without actually
knowing or wishing it. Every time I saw a group of people coming
towards me I stopped in terror, for I believed that they had found
him. Nobody, however, seemed to be on so terrible a mission.
The people looked gaily at me, and passed on to their work in the
vineyards. When I reached the church square, the very sight of
which was enough to arouse such sad and sweet memories that I felt
more wretched, my brother appeared on the scene. Giving a joyous
exclamation, I hastened towards him.
"Where did you spend the night, Charlie?"
But this question did not seem to please him.
"I certainly expected more tact on your part," he replied, stepping
over to my side, "than even to allude to that distressing scene at
which you were unfortunate enough to be present."
I did not dare to ask another question, and walked along in silence.
Secretly I was surprised at his composure.
"I am extremely sorry for your misfortune," my brother said after a
pause. According to my opinion it was he who was the more unfortunate
of the two.
"Why are you sorry for me?" I asked him, and regretted the question the
next moment, because his face flushed with anger.
"How can you ask why, when you yourself were present at this miserable
occurrence, which must have taught you of what low descent you are."
"I?"
"Well, of course I mean we, but as I have ceased to belong to these
folks any longer, I cannot help feeling extremely sorry at the thought
that you will have to spend the whole of your life amongst these
narrow-minded people, who are little better than savages. Ever since
yesterday I have thought how I could help you."
According to my opinion he needed help far more than I did; but he did
not seem to think so.
"What I have decided to do is this: I will take you down to Vienna,
where I shall watch over you, cultivate any abilities that you may
show--in short, educate you. As soon as I have shaken my boots free
from the dust of this place and reached Vienna, I am going to work day
and night in order to save enough money to enable me to write for you,
and to let you learn all the important branches of art and science,
such as languages, music, etc. Do you agree to it?"
I felt mightily touched at his generosity and could not speak for a
while.
"As a matter of course," he continued hurriedly, "that cannot be
done right away; you will have to wait a little, and in the meantime
there is nothing to prevent you from accepting the place that mother
has found for you. Your leisure time, however, I want you to fill
up usefully, so that I shall not be ashamed of you when I introduce
you to my friends. I strongly advise you to read Schiller. There is
everything in his dramas that you may need to appear clever and witty
in whatever situation you find yourself. It would be an excellent thing
if you could quote from his works at every possible opportunity. I also
advise you to read Goethe's works. Be careful, however, not to quote
from them, as your mind is not yet ready to fathom the profound depth
of his thoughts, and you might fall into the evil habit of quoting
passages at quite inappropriate moments. Perhaps it is better for you
to refrain altogether from reading his deeper works, until I myself
shall be able to expound them to you. But," and a very winning smile
parted his lips, "it is now time for me to say good-bye."
"Good-bye!" I exclaimed; "where do you want to go to?"
"I am travelling down to Vienna."
"But you have got no money!"
His lips closed, and the winning smile vanished.
"I can see," he retorted, "that you are backward in every way.
The thing you most lack, and that you need to acquire first, is
tactfulness. Because, alas! one of our family happens to have no
feeling at all, do you really expect everybody to be in the same
miserable state? Always be careful, I tell you, about mentioning
anything that might recall occurrences or situations of a distressing
character. A certain pride exists, which is alive even within the most
pitiable wretch ... take care never to rouse that," and holding out his
hand, he said good-bye.
I did not take his hand, but stared at his beautiful fingers.
"I don't mean to hurt your feelings," I said almost crying, "but how
can you get to Vienna without a single penny?"
He frowned, and his handsome face darkened.
"It seems that I cannot expect from you that delicacy of feeling which
you must possess if you are ever to deserve my affection. But since you
are my sister, and really not to blame for your imperfections--because
it is the duty of parents to attend to their children's education, and
yours, I mean ours, have neglected that important thing entirely--I
will answer your question about the money. You are perfectly right in
suspecting that I have not a single penny, but let me tell you that I
would much rather walk all the distance from here to Vienna than bring
myself to accept another sou from the man who, on account of a strange
accident, is entitled to call himself my father. I have tried to find
out when the goods-train leaves for Vienna, and have decided to hide
myself in it."
I shook my head in horror.
"No, never!" I cried; "you must not do that. I have got some money,"
and I pressed the rest of my ten shillings, which I had carefully
wrapped up in a piece of white paper, into his hand; whereupon I
detected signs of both anger and pity on his face.
"Surely," he said, "I should be a scoundrel of the meanest order if I
touched this small sum of yours. Far be it from me to do such a thing;"
and he put the money back into my hand. "It is true," he added, "that
you have shown great tactlessness again, but I will forgive you this
time."
Almost immediately he was gone, and although I was standing in the
street, I began to cry most piteously, regretting my poverty, my lack
of nobleness, even my very existence. I felt convinced that my brother
was not only an artist, but also a hero and a martyr.