We now return to Anton, who had been placed under the joint command of
Messrs. Jordan and Pix, and who found himself the small vassal of a
great body corporate, containing a variety of grades and functions
little dreamed of by the uninitiated. First in the counting-house was
the book-keeper Liebold, who, as minister of the home department,
reigned supreme and solitary in a window of his own, forever recording
figures in a colossal book, and seldom looking off their columns.
In the opposite part of the room ruled the second dignitary in the
state, the cashier Purzel, surrounded by iron safes, heavy bags, and
with a large stone table before him, on which dollars rung, or gray
paper money fell noiselessly the whole day through.
Jordan was the principal person in the office. He was the head clerk,
and his opinion was sometimes asked by the principal himself. In him
Anton found, from the day of his arrival, a good adviser, and an example
of activity and healthy common sense.
Of all the clerks under Jordan's superintendence, the most interesting
to Anton was Baumann, the future missionary. Not only was he a truly
religious man, he was an admirable and infallible accountant. But,
besides all these, the firm had some officials who did not live in the
house. One was Birnbaum, the custom-house clerk, who was seldom visible
in the office, and only dined with the principal on Sundays. Then there
was the head of the warehouse department, Mr. Balbus, who, though by no
means a cultivated man, was always treated by the chief with great
respect; and, as Anton heard it said, had a mother and sick sister
entirely dependent upon him.
But of all these men, the most aggressively active, the most despotic in
his measures, was Pix, the manager of the provincial traffic department.
His domain began in the office, and extended throughout the house, and
far into the street. He was the divinity of all the country shopkeepers,
who looked upon him as the real head of the business. He arranged the
whole exports of the house, knew every thing, was always to be found,
and could do half a dozen things at once. Like all dignitaries, he was
impatient of contradiction, and fought for his opinions against the
merchant himself with a stiff-neckedness that often horrified Anton. One
of his peculiarities was that of abhorring a vacuum as much as nature
herself. Wherever there was an empty corner, a closet, a cellar, a
recess to be discovered, there Pix would intrude with tuns, ladders,
ropes, and all imaginable commodities; and wherever he and his giant
band of porters had once got a footing, no earthly power could dislodge
them--not even the principal himself.
"Where is Wohlfart?" called Mr. Schröter from the door of his office.
"Up stairs," calmly replied Pix.
"What is he doing there?" was the amazed inquiry.
At that moment loud voices were heard, and Anton came thundering down
the steps, followed by a servant, and both laden with cigar-boxes, while
behind them appeared the female relative in much excitement.
"They will not tolerate us up stairs," said Anton, hurriedly, to Pix.
"Now they have actually come to the laundry," said the lady, just as
hurriedly, to the principal.
"The cigars can not stand down here," declared Pix to both.
"And I will not have cigars in the laundry," cried the distant cousin.
"I declare there is not a place in the house safe from Mr. Pix. He has
filled the maid-servants' rooms with cigars, and they complain that the
smell is intolerable."
"It is dry up there," explained Mr. Pix to the merchant.
"Could you not, perhaps, place them elsewhere?" inquired the latter,
respectfully.
"Impossible!" was the decided reply.
"Do you really require the whole laundry, my dear cousin?" said the
principal, turning to the lady.
"The half of it were ample," interpolated Pix.
"I hope, Pix, you will content yourself with a corner," said the head of
the firm, by way of decision. "Tell the carpenter to run up a partition
at once."
"If Mr. Pix once gets admittance, he will take the whole of our
laundry," expostulated the too experienced cousin.
"It is the last concession we will make," was the reply.
Mr. Pix laughed silently--or grinned rebelliously, as the lady phrased
it; and, as soon as the authorities were out of sight, sent Anton up
again with the cigar-boxes.
But what chiefly constituted the importance of Pix in the eyes of the
community were the Herculean porters under his command. When these men
rolled mighty casks about, and lifted hundred weights like pounds, they
seemed to the new apprentice like the giants of fairy lore. Some of them
belonged to this firm exclusively, others to a corporation of porters
who worked for different houses, but T. O. Schröter's was the house they
liked best. For more than one generation the head of this particular
firm had enjoyed their highest consideration, and stood godfather to all
their large-headed babies.
Among these men, the strongest and tallest was Sturm, their chief--a man
who could hardly get through narrow streets, and was frequently called
to move a weight found impracticable by his comrades. Wonderful stories
were told of his exploits; and Specht affirmed that there was nothing on
earth beyond his powers.
His relations with the firm were very intimate indeed; and having an
only child, upon whom he doted, and who had early lost his mother, he
placed him, at the age of fifteen, in T. O. Schröter's house, in a
nondescript capacity. The boy was a universal favorite, knew every hole
and corner, collected all the nails and pieces of packthread, folded all
the packing-paper, fed Pluto the watch-dog, and did sundry other odd
jobs. Up to every thing, invariably good-humored and ready-witted, the
porters fondly called him "our Karl;" and his father often glanced aside
from his work to look at him with delight.
But in one point Karl did disappoint him: he gave no promise of ever
attaining to his father's stature. He was a handsome, fair-haired,
rosy-cheeked youth; but all the giants agreed that he would never be
more than a middle-sized man; and so his father fell into the habit of
treating him like a sort of delicate dwarf, with the utmost
consideration, and a certain touch of compassion.
"I don't care," said the indulgent parent to Mr. Pix, when introducing
the boy into the business, "what the little fellow learns besides, so
that he does learn to be honorable and practical." This was a speech
after Mr. Pix's own heart; and this system of education was at once
begun by Sturm taking his son into the great vaulted room, and saying,
"Here are the almonds and the raisins--taste them."
"Oh, they are good, father," cried the boy.
"I believe you, Liliputian," nodded Sturm. "Now, see, you may eat as
many of them as you like; neither Mr. Schröter, Mr. Pix, nor I shall
interfere. But, my little lad, you had better see how long you can hold
out without beginning. The longer the better for yourself, and the more
honor in it; and when you can stand it no longer, come to me and say
'Enough;'" upon which he left him, having laid his great turnip of a
watch on a chest standing by. The boy proudly placed his hands in his
pockets, and walked up and down among the goods. After more than two
hours, he came, watch in hand, to his father, exclaiming "Enough."
"Two hours and a half," said old Sturm, nodding at Mr. Pix. "Very well,
child; come and nail up this chest; here is a new hammer for you; it
cost tenpence."
"It's not worth it," was the reply. "You always pay too much." Such was
Karl's education.
The day after Anton's arrival, Pix had introduced him to Sturm, and
Anton had said, in a tone of respect, "this is my first experience of
business; pray give me a hint whenever you can."
"Every thing is to be learned in time," replied the giant; "yonder is my
little boy, who has got on capitally in a year. So your father was not a
merchant?"
"My father was an accountant; he is dead," was the reply.
"I am sorry to hear it," said Sturm; "but you have still the comfort of
a mother?"
"My mother, too, is dead."
"Alas! alas!" cried the porter, compassionately. He went on shaking his
head for a long time, and at length added, in a low voice, to his Karl,
"He has no mother."
"And no father either," rejoined Karl.
"Be kind to him, little one," said old Sturm; "you are a sort of orphan
yourself."
"Not I," cried Karl; "any one with such a great father as mine to look
after has his hands full."
"Why, you are a perfect little monster!" said his father, cheerfully
hammering away at a cask.
From that hour Karl showed all manner of small attentions to Anton, and
a species of affectionate intimacy sprang up between the two youths.
Indeed, Anton was on excellent terms with all the officials. He listened
attentively to Jordan's sensible remarks, was prompt and unconditional
in his obedience to Mr. Pix, entered into political discussions with
Specht, read with interest Baumann's missionary reports, never asked Mr.
Purzel for money in advance, and often encouraged Mr. Liebold to utter
some palpable truth without retracting the statement. There was only one
with whom he could not get on well, and that was the volunteer clerk,
Fink.
One gloomy afternoon, Mr. Jordan chanced to give our hero a certain
message to take to another house, and, as he rose, Fink looked up from
his desk, and said to Jordan, "Just send him at the same time to the
gunsmith--the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun by him."
Our hero crimsoned. "Do not give me that commission," said he to Jordan;
"I shall not execute it."
"Really!" asked Fink, in amazement; "and why not, my fine fellow?"
"I am not your servant," replied Anton, bitterly. "Had you requested me
to do this for you, I might have complied; but I will take no orders
from you."
"Dolt!" muttered Fink, and went on writing.
The whole office had heard him, and every eye turned to Anton, whose
eyes flashed as he exclaimed, "You have insulted me--I will not bear an
insult from any one--you must explain yourself."
"I am not fond of giving any one a thrashing," said Fink, negligently.
"Enough!" cried Anton, turning deadly pale; "you shall hear farther;"
and off he rushed to deliver Jordan's message.
A cold rain was falling, but Anton was not aware of it: he felt nothing
but an agonizing sense of insult and wrong. As he reached the
establishment he sought, he saw his principal's carriage at the door,
and as he came out again he met Sabine just about to enter it. He could
not avoid handing her in; and, struck with his appearance, she asked him
what was the matter.
"A trifle," was the reply.
Insignificant as the incident was, it changed Anton's mood. Her
courteous greeting and kindly inquiry raised his spirits. He felt that
he was no longer a helpless child; and, raising his hand to heaven, his
resolve was taken.
On his return to the office, he quietly went on with his work, heedless
of the inquiring glances around him; and, when the office was closed, he
hurried to Jordan's room, where Pix and Specht were already met. They
all treated him with a commiseration not quite free from contempt; but
he, having inquired from Jordan, in their presence, whether Fink had any
right to give him such an order, and whether in his (Jordan's) opinion
he had done wrong in resenting it, and having been satisfactorily
answered on both heads, requested a few moments' private conversation,
and then proceeded to declare that he should demand a public apology
from Fink.
"Which he will never consent to," said Jordan, with a shake of the head.
"In that case I challenge him, either with sword or pistols."
Now, if Jordan had seen a dusky vapor rise from his ink-bottle, and take
the form of a hideous genie, after the manner of fairy tales, and this
genie had announced his intention of strangling him on the spot, he
could not have been more amazed. "The devil is in you, Wohlfart," said
he at last; "you want to fight a duel with Herr von Fink, a dead shot,
while you are only an apprentice, and not half a year in the business:
impossible."
"I should now be a student if I had not been brought up to be a
merchant. Curses on business, if it so degrades me that I can not even
ask satisfaction for insult. I shall go to Mr. Schröter at once, and
give in my resignation."
Jordan's surprise increased. Here was the good-natured apprentice
transformed before his eyes. At length it was agreed that he should take
the message; but Fink was not found at home. "Very possibly he has
forgotten all about it, and is amusing himself at some club or other,"
was Jordan's commentary on the fact.
"In that case," said Anton, "I shall at once write to him, and have the
letter laid on his table."
Meanwhile great conferences were held in Jordan's room; for, although
Pix and Specht had promised secrecy, they indulged in such dark and
mysterious hints that the truth was soon known. Baumann stole up to
Anton to implore him not to peril two human lives for the sake of a
rough word; and, when he was gone, Anton found a New Testament on his
table, open at the words, "Bless them that curse you." Although not
exactly in the mood to enter into their spirit, he took up the sacred
book, and, having read the passages his good mother so often repeated to
him, he prepared for bed in a softened frame of mind.
Meanwhile, a rumor of some impending catastrophe pervaded the whole
house.
Sabine was in her treasure-chamber. Along its walls stood great oaken
presses, richly carved; in the middle, a table with twisted legs, and a
few old-fashioned chairs around. On the shelves of the presses appeared
piles of linen, and rows of glass, china, and plate, collected by the
taste of more than three generations. The air was fragrant with old
lavender and recent eau de Cologne. Here Sabine reigned supreme. She
herself took out and replaced whatever was wanted, and was not fond of
admitting any other person. She was now standing at the table, which was
covered with newly-washed linen, and, as she looked over the arabesques
of the exquisitely fine table-napkins, a cloud passed over her brow.
Two, three, four holes! She rang for the servant.
"It is intolerable, Franz," said she; "there are three spoiled now in
No. 24; one of the gentlemen runs his fork through the napkins. There is
surely no need for that here."
"That there is not," was the indignant reply; "the plate is under my own
care."
"Which of the gentlemen is so reckless?" asked Sabine, severely.
"It is Herr von Fink," was the reply; "he has a habit of constantly
running his fork through the napkins. It goes to my heart, Miss Sabine;
but what can I do?"
Sabine hung her head. "I knew that it was he," she sighed; "but we can
not go on thus. I will give you a set for Herr von Fink's use, and we
must sacrifice it." She went to the cupboard, and began to look for one,
but the choice was difficult; the beautiful table-linen was dear to her
heart. At length, with a lingering look at the pattern, she sorrowfully
laid a set on the servant's arm.
Franz still lingered. "He has burned a curtain in his bed-room," said
he; "the pair is spoiled."
"And they were quite new!" sighed Sabine again. "Take them away
to-morrow. What more, Franz? What else has happened?"
"Ah! ma'am," replied the servant, mysteriously, "Herr von Fink has
insulted Herr Wohlfart, who is quite raging, and Herr Specht says there
is to be a duel."
"A duel!" cried Sabine; "you must have misunderstood Herr Specht."
"No, indeed, ma'am, it's all too true. Something dreadful will happen.
Herr Wohlfart brushed past me angrily, and did not touch his tea."
"Has my brother returned?"
"He does not come back till late to-day; he is on committee."
"Very well," said Sabine; "say nothing about it, Franz, to any one."
And Sabine sat down again at the table, but the damask was forgotten.
"So that was what made poor Wohlfart look so sad! This wild youth--he
came to us like a whirlwind, and the blossoms all fall in his path. His
whole life is confusion and excitement, and he carries away with him all
who approach within his reach. Even me--even me! Do what I will, I too
feel his spell--so beautiful, so brilliant, so strange. He is always
grieving me, and yet all day long I am thinking and caring about him.
Oh, my mother! it was in this room that I sat at your feet for the last
time when, with your hand on my head, you prayed that Heaven might
shield me from every sorrow. Beloved mother, shield thy daughter against
her own beating heart. Strengthen me against him, his ensnaring levity,
his daring mockery."
Long did Sabine sit thus, communing with her guardian spirits. Then
wiping her eyes, she resolutely returned to count and arrange the
table-linen.
Anton had got into bed, and was just going to put out his candle, when a
loud knock was heard at the door, and the man he least expected stood
before him--Herr von Fink himself, with his riding-whip, and his usual
careless manner. "Ah! in bed already!" said he, sitting astride on a
chair close by. "I am sorry to disturb you. You have written me a very
spirited letter, and Jordan has told me the rest, so I am come to answer
you in person."
Anton was silent, and looked darkly at him.
"You are all good and very sensitive people," continued Fink, whipping
his boots; "I am sorry that you took my words so to heart, but I am glad
you have so much spirit."
"Before I listen further," said Anton, angrily, "I must know whether it
is your intention to make an apology to me before the other gentlemen.
Perhaps a more experienced man would not consider this sufficient, but
it would satisfy me."
"There you are right," nodded Fink; "you _may_ be quite satisfied."
"Will you make this apology to-morrow morning?" inquired Anton.
"Why should I not? I don't want to fight with you, and I will declare
before the assembled firm that you are a hopeful young man, and that I
was wrong to insult one younger and--forgive me the expression--much
greener than myself."
Our hero listened with mingled feelings, and then declared that he was
not satisfied with this explanation.
"Why not?" asked Fink.
"Your manner at this moment is unpleasant to me; you show me less
respect than is conventional. I know that I am young, have seen little
of the world, and that in many points you are my superior; but, for
these very reasons, it would better become you to behave differently."
Fink stretched out his hand good-humoredly, and said in reply, "Do not
be angry with me, and give me your hand."
"I can not do so yet," cried Anton, with emotion; "you must first assure
me that you do not treat the matter thus because you consider me too
young or too insignificant, or because you are noble and I am not."
"Hark ye, Master Wohlfart," said Fink, "you are running me desperately
hard. However, we'll settle these points too. As for my German
nobility"--he snapped his fingers--"I would not give that for it; and as
for your youth and position, all I can say is, that, after what I have
seen this evening, the next time we quarrel I will fight you with any
murderous weapon that you may prefer." And again he held out his hand,
and said, "Now, then, take it; we have settled every thing."
Anton laid his hand in his, and Fink, having heartily shaken it, wished
him good-night.
The following morning, the clerks being all assembled earlier than
usual, Fink made his appearance last, and said, in a loud voice, "My
lords and gentlemen of the export and home-trade, I yesterday behaved to
Mr. Wohlfart in a manner that I now sincerely regret. I have already
apologized to him, and I repeat that apology in your presence; and beg
to say that our friend Wohlfart has behaved admirably throughout, and
that I rejoice to have him for a colleague." At this the clerks smiled,
Anton shook hands with Fink, Jordan with both of them, and the affair
was settled.
But it had its results. It raised Anton's position in the opinion of his
brother officials, and entirely changed his relation to Fink, who, a few
days after, as they were running up stairs, stopped and invited him into
his own apartment, that they might smoke a friendly cigar.
It was the first time that Anton had crossed the threshold of the
volunteer, and he stood amazed at the aspect of his room. Handsome
furniture all in confusion, a carpet soft as moss, on whose gorgeous
flowers cigar-ashes were recklessly strewed. On one side a great press
full of guns, rifles, and other weapons, with a foreign saddle and heavy
silver spurs hanging across it; on the other, a large book-case,
handsomely carved, and full of well-bound books, and above, the
outspread wings of some mighty bird.
"What a number of books you have!" cried Anton, in delight.
"Memorials of a world in which I no longer live."
"And those wings--are they a part of those memorials?"
"Yes, they are the wings of a condor. I am proud of them, as you see,"
answered Fink, offering Anton a packet of cigars, and propelling a great
arm-chair toward him with his foot. "And now let us have a chat. Are you
knowing in horses?"
"No," said Anton.
"Are you a sportsman?"
"Not that either."
"Are you musical?"
"Very slightly so," said Anton.
"Why, what specialities have you, then, in Heaven's name?"
"Few in your sense of the word," answered Anton, indignantly. "I can
love those who please me, and can, I believe, be a true friend; I can
also resent insolence."
"Very well," said Fink, "I am quite aware of that. I know there is
plenty of spirit in you. Now let me hear what fate has hurled you into
this dreary tread-mill, where all must at last go dusty and resigned,
like Liebold, or, at best, punctual and precise, like Jordan."
"It was a kind fate, after all," replied Anton, and began to tell the
story of his life.
Fink kept nodding approvingly, and then said, "After all, the greatest
difference between us is that you remember your mother, and I do not
mine. I have known people who found less love in their home than you
have done."
"You have seen so much of the world," pleaded Anton; "pray let me hear
how you chanced to come here."
"Very simply," began Fink; "I have an uncle at New York, one of the
aristocrats of the Exchange. When I was fourteen, he wrote to my father
to send me over, as he meant to make me his heir. My father was a
thorough merchant. I was packed up and sent across. In New York I soon
became an accomplished scapegrace, was up to every species of folly, and
kept race-horses at an age when German boys eat bread and butter, and
play with tops in the streets. I had my favorite _danseuses_ and
_cantatrices_, and so bullied my servants, both white and black, that my
uncle had enough to do to bribe them into taking it quietly. My friends
had torn me from my home without consulting my feelings, and I did not
care a straw for theirs. In short, I was the most renowned of the young
scamps who pique themselves upon their devilry on the other side the
water. It was on one of my birth-days that, returning home from a
certain _petit souper_, the thought suddenly struck me that this career
must come to an end, or it would end me. So I went to the harbor instead
of to my uncle's house, and having, on my way, bought a coarse sailor's
dress and put it on, I hired myself to an English captain. We sailed
round Cape Horn, and when we reached Valparaiso I thanked the Englishman
for my passage, treated the crew, and jumped on shore with twenty
doubloons in my pocket, to make my fortune by the strength of my arm. I
soon fell in with an intelligent man, who took me to his _hacienda_,
where I won my laurels as herdsman. I was about half a year with him,
and liked the life. I was treated as a useful guest, and much admired as
sportsman and horseman. What did I need further? We were just going to
have a great buffalo hunt, when suddenly two soldiers made their
appearance on the scene, and trotted me off with them to the town, where
I was made over to the American consul; and as my uncle had moved heaven
and earth to track me, and as I found, from a long letter he had
written, that my father was really unhappy, I resolved to return to
Europe by the next ship. I at once told my father that I did not mean to
be a merchant, but an agriculturist. At this the firm of Fink and Becker
went distracted; but I stood to my point. At last we came to a
compromise. I went for two years to a business-house in North Germany;
then I came here to learn office-work, through which discipline they
hope to tame me. So here I am now in a cloister. But it's all in vain. I
humor my father by sitting here, but I shall only stay long enough to
convince him that I am right, and then I shall take to agriculture."
"Will you buy land in this country?" inquired Anton.
"Not I," returned Fink; "I prefer riding half the day without coming to
the end of my property."
"Then you mean to return to America?"
"There or elsewhere. I am not particular as to hemisphere. Meanwhile, I
live like a monk, as you see," said Fink, laughing, as he mixed for
himself a fiery potion, and pushed the bottle to Anton. "Brew for
yourself, my lad," said he; "and let us chat away merrily, as becomes
good fellows and reconciled foes."
From that evening forth Fink treated our hero with a friendship that he
showed to none of the other clerks. He often took him into his room, and
even went up the long staircase to his. Anton soon discovered that his
new friend was a well-known character in the town--a perfect despot
among the fashionables, and the leader of all riding and hunting parties
given. Accordingly, he was much in society, and often did not come home
till morning. Anton could not help admiring the strength and energy of
this man, who could take his place at the desk after only two or three
hours' sleep without showing a trace of fatigue. Fink also departed from
the rigid regularity of the house by sometimes appearing after
office-hours had begun, or leaving before they ended. Of this, however,
Mr. Schröter took no notice.
Thus the winter passed away, and signs of spring penetrated even here.
The visitors no longer brought in snow-flakes, but left brown footmarks.
The brokers began to speak of the yellow blossoms of the olive, and at
length Mr. Braun came in with a rose in his button-hole.
A year was gone since Anton crossed the little lake with the fleet of
swans behind him. The whole year through he had thought of that one
day.