A GENIUS
Never had any one felt surer that he had a genius for a son than did
Konrad Kurt. Not only that the lad was a thorough botanist, and knew
every secret of gardening, but there was not a piece of work on all the
farmstead, from the cow-house to the kitchen, which he had not soon
learned to know all about. It was easy to see that he had been brought
up in some back premises, among gardeners, cooks, and dairy people, and
had been well taught into the bargain.
Nothing would serve him but to go on board the ships, and boats, and
learn how to manage them, for he had never lived in a seaport town
before.
And then how he learned Norse, in only a week or two! First and
foremost the art of swearing. His father convulsed himself with
laughter over all the oaths which the lad began to make use of with the
funniest accent. Then, what stories he would tell! Even before he had
properly learned the language, he could interest the work-people in a
way which was really extraordinary, and he was therefore allowed to
play any tricks he liked; it was all looked upon as fun.
When he spoke Norse easily, how he would gammon them! It was his
father's delight to steal behind one of the high hedges and listen to
him. The boy would tell them what the English Court was like, where he
had been as page; it was he who, with some of his companions, used to
walk before the lovely young Queen, while behind came all the bigwigs.
Probably he had seen something of the sort at the theatre, or in some
picture. Then the tremendous warlike achievements he had seen in India,
when he was over there or a little tour with the Queen of England. The
father stood hidden, and admired the vivid colours in which the boy
painted it all, although he still knew so little Norse. The father
enticed his son to go on telling him adventures. He drank no more
whisky toddy; the boy himself inebriated him. What a genius! ah! what a
genius!
There was a continual chasing away of cats from the garden; they came
up from the town after the birds; and John, as this last Master Kurt
was called, having one day captured one of the most determined of the
depredators, ordained that the murderer should be crucified. As not
one, even of the youngest of the labourers, would help him in this, he
temporarily fastened up the cat, giving her plenty to eat, while he
himself went to fetch some rough boys from the harbour.
Such extraordinary sounds of glee soon afterwards reached his father's
ear, that he hastened to see what it might portend, especially as some
more dubious notes were mingled with the cries of delight. He found the
executioners performing an Indian dance before the victim, a poor
bleeding cat, fastened to the storehouse door. The boy's inordinate
delight hindered him from seeing his father, whose first thought on
this occasion was not that his son John was a genius; although, when he
came to think it over, he must confess that it was a very remarkable
invention, and decidedly well done into the bargain. It is no easy
thing to crucify a cat.
However, another occasion came when he thought differently.
As the weather was excessively bad, his father had forbidden John to go
down to the garden, and the boy took his revenge by attacking his
father's finest apple-tree, a young one, which was in fruit for the
first time. He set to work to saw it right through at the roots, and
covered it up again with earth. His father was by no means so struck
this time, nor did he say much about the invention. He entirely forgot
to think of his son as a genius, to such an extent indeed that he
talked to him in his room, with a new well-twisted birch rod in his
hand. The boy never guessed, could not grasp, that his father was going
to flog him, and when this utterly incredible, this impossible thing
did happen, he rushed towards the door, with a look of mad terror in
his face. His father was as supple and active as he, and sprang on him
like a tiger, flung the boy on to the floor, and began beating him with
an absolutely wild pleasure. John screamed, prayed, promised, begged
for mercy. He got up on his knees, sprang up, and threw himself down
again, his eyes seemed to start out of his head, and his cries became
nothing more than a continuous, meaningless sound, his face turning
almost black. The maids, servants, and workmen came rushing in from the
passage, and tore open the doors. Kurt became frantic at this
interruption. He rushed first to one door, then to another, shutting
them in the faces of those who stood there. He had become almost as
crazed as his son, who, in the meantime, had contrived to make his
escape.
Only an hour later the boy was out among the gardeners, and there could
not have been anywhere, a more good-natured, more submissive, brighter,
livelier lad than John Kurt.
He lent a hand first to one, then to another, with flattering
coaxing words. Then he began to tell them stories about the apes at
Gibraltar--why, it swarms with apes! they stand there looking across to
Africa.
And then he mimicked them, snarling and making himself as inquisitive,
frolicsome, timid, wild, and nasty as they. Likely enough he had seen
monkeys somewhere, though not precisely at Gibraltar. As his father was
passing by, he heard the fun, and concealed himself as usual, stooping
down, and peeping.
That evening, he and his son had a talk together, in the very same
room, the old "Kurt room." There the two last of the Kurts wept in each
other's arms; the son promised to be always, always, always good, and
the father never to beat him again--never!
It was but a short time after this, that a lad who used to run errands
for Konrad Kurt, had got a new Sunday jacket. His brother, who was a
mate, had bought it at an English seaport, for next to nothing, from a
woman in the street, and every one concurred in the boy's belief that
there had never been such a fine one seen in the town before. Alas! as
he prepared to put it on the next Sunday, he found that it had been cut
to pieces. The cuts were small, but so carefully executed, that though
as long as it hung up it appeared to be whole, it was in reality
nothing but a useless rag. Of course all thoughts turned at once to
John, who happened at that moment to be out rowing. Owing to the cruel
way in which his father had punished his last fault, and the affection
which they had for him, every one hesitated to speak. But the
gardener's boy, Andreas Berg, as he was named, had only this one
jacket, and it was the delight of his heart: he could not restrain his
tears; and old Kurt, at last observing that something was amiss, the
whole truth had to come out.
It really seemed impossible that John should not have known what was
sure to happen, and have realised that after his performances with the
cat, and with the fruit-tree, suspicion must inevitably fall upon him.
It may be that he imagined that it would never go further than between
the little fellow and himself, or that he might rely on his father's
promise never to beat him again. Be that as it may, he came calmly up
from the water, bragging before he was well inside the garden gate, of
all the exploits that he had performed during the day. His father
called him from the open window of his room. The boy answered him with
a ringing "Yes," and was up the steps in a moment.
The instant he saw the jacket lying on the table, and a well-twisted
whip by the side of it, he became as white as a sheet, and seemed
entirely to lose the control of his senses. He turned round and round
in a circle as he stood there, and hurriedly exclaimed, in a voice
hoarse from holding back his breath, "It was not I. It was not I. It
was not I. It was not I." Then, seeing his father lift the whip, he
instantly changed to his own voice, crying, "Yes, it was I, it was I,
it was I, it was I." "Will you ask pardon?" "Yes, yes." He was on his
knees in a moment, and with his hands crossed above his head, he cried,
"Pardon, pardon, pardon, pardon!" "And will you beg the boy's pardon?"
"Oh! yes, where is the boy? Let us go to him." He was up and by the
door in a moment, casting terrified glances at his father, who
followed, with the whip in his hand, though he did not go so far as to
strike him.
John fell down once more on his knees before the little boy, tearing
off his own jacket and waistcoat to give to him, although no one had
suggested to him to do so. An English gold coin, and two Norwegian
silver ones, which were in the waistcoat pocket, fell out, and these he
gave to the lad at once, an act which so touched the father that he was
obliged to turn away. But a very short time afterwards, while the
workmen were at dinner, John made his appearance, and went through the
performance of the Gibraltar monkeys for their benefit. Then, returning
to his father, he asked him confidentially, if part of what had been
taken up in the garden that day, might be given to the men to take
home, and, on permission being granted, he went off with them to help
to carry the things away. His father stood and watched him from the
window.
John's next exploit was on the sea. He had probably found that such
performances were dangerous on land, and it remained to be seen if
there were more freedom on the water. One day he set off in a boat,
with a little boy as his companion, having formed the plan of throwing
the child overboard, in order that he might rescue him. The idea may
have arisen from something he had read, or he may only have wished to
see the boy's terror; at all events he obtained this gratification. The
little fellow could not swim a stroke, and thought that if he could
make his companion understand this, he would give up his plan; but in
vain. The boy's terror increased every moment, he screamed with all his
small strength, and John might have recognised a fear so like his own.
But no. The child clung to John's clothes with all his little fingers.
He was shaken off again. He seized hold of the boat, and then, utterly
bewildered, tried to grasp the empty air; but overboard he went. John
sprang after him, caught the boy just as he was sinking, and held him
up, but it was only with the greatest difficulty that he got him back
into the boat, the child having been seized with cramp. A number of
people rowed out from all quarters, believing that a murder had been
committed.
John did not return home that evening, and during three days search was
made for him. First by every one on "The Estate," later by the police,
and by a number of the townspeople who felt for his father's distress.
He was at length discovered up a _s[oe]ter_. He flung himself down at
once, and screamed at the top of his voice, absolutely refusing to
return home until he had received a promise that no one would beat him.
This last adventure made him known all over the town. Whether it were
good for him or not, that every one came to the conclusion that he was
not like the other children, not quite right, the fact remains that
even at school the masters were rather too forbearing, of course not
his schoolfellows--they excuse nothing.
He did the most horrible things; for instance as he was approaching
manhood he committed an act of such frightful indecency that it is
impossible to write it, but on this occasion, his father came to the
school to beg that he might be pardoned, and, as all the teachers
pitied the father, who worked so honestly, it was looked over that
time.