Veitel Itzig still occupied the same sleeping-quarters as on the evening
of his arrival. If, according to the assertions of the police, every man
must have some home or other--and, according to popular opinion, our
home be where our bed stands--Veitel was remarkably little at his home.
Whenever he could slip away from Ehrenthal's, he would wander about the
streets, and watch for such youths as were likely to buy from or sell to
him. He had always a few dollars to rattle in his pocket. He never
addressed the rawest of schoolboys but as a grown-up man; he was a
proficient in the art of bowing, could brighten up old brass and silver
as good as new, was always ready to buy old black coats, and possessed
the skill of giving them a degree of gloss which insured their selling
again.
With every bargain that he made for Ehrenthal he combined one for
himself, and soon won a reputation that excited the envy of gray-bearded
fripperers. He did not confine his activity to any one department
either, but became a horse-dealer's agent, the _employé_ of secret
money-lenders--nay, a money-lender himself. Then he had the faculty of
never getting tired, was all day on his feet, would run any length for a
few pence, and never resented a harsh word. He allowed himself no other
recreation than that of counting over his different transactions and
their probable results. He lived upon next to nothing; a slice or two of
bread abducted from Ehrenthal's kitchen would serve for his supper. Only
once during the first year of his town life did he allow himself a glass
of thin small beer, and that after a very profitable bargain.
He was always remarkably neat in his attire, considering it essential
that a man of business should bear the aspect of a gentleman. In short,
at the end of twelve months his six ducats had increased thirty fold.
He soon became indispensable in Mr. Ehrenthal's household. Nothing
escaped him. He never forgot a face, and was as familiar with the daily
state of the funds as any broker on 'Change. He still occupied the post
of errand-boy, blacked Bernhard's boots, and dined in the kitchen; but
it was plain that a stool in the office, which Ehrenthal kept for form's
sake, would ultimately be his. This was the goal of his ambition--the
paradise of his hopes. He soon saw that he only wanted three things to
attain to it--a more grammatical knowledge of German, finer caligraphy,
and an initiation into the mysteries of book-keeping, of which he as yet
knew nothing.
Meanwhile, he had become a distinguished man in his caravanserai, one
whom even Löbel Pinkus himself treated with respect. Veitel owed this to
his own sharp-wittedness. Ever since his first arrival, the hollow sound
of the wooden partition had a good deal excited him, and he had often
vainly sought to explore the mystery. At last, one Saturday evening, he
pretended to be ill, and remained at home, when his host and the rest of
the household had gone to the synagogue.
Having had the good fortune to widen a chink in the partition, he beheld
what delighted him in the extreme. A large dirty room, quite full of
chests, coffers, and a chaos of desirable articles--old clothes, beds,
piles of linen, stuffs, hangings, hardware-goods, etc. Aladdin at his
first entrance into the magician's cave was hardly so enraptured as
Itzig by his discovery, which he carefully kept to himself. Sometimes at
night he heard a stir in the mysterious room; nay, once whispers reached
him, some of them in the deep voice of Pinkus himself. One evening, too,
coming home late, he saw boxes and bundles in a little carriage before
the next house, all modestly covered up with white linen; and that very
night two silent guests disappeared, and came back no more; from all of
which Veitel concluded that his host was a commission agent, who had his
reasons for carrying on business by night rather than by day.
It was as clear as possible. These goods were taken eastward, smuggled
over the border, and spread all over Russia.
Veitel used his discovery judiciously, only giving such hints of it to
Pinkus as to insure his most respectful behavior.
On one eventful day Veitel returned in thoughtful mood to his lodgings,
and sat in the public room. He was pondering how best to get hold of
some scribe who would initiate him into the mysteries of grammar and
book-keeping for the smallest possible fee; nay, perhaps for a certain
old black coat, which, owing to the peculiarity of its cut, he had never
yet been able to dispose of. Happening to look up in the midst of his
reflections, his eye fell on a stranger who held a pen in his hand, and
conversed with a tradesman. It was plain that this man was no Jew. He
was little and fat. He had a red turned-up nose, bushy gray hair, and he
wore an old pair of spectacles, which had great difficulty in keeping on
the nose aforesaid. Veitel remarked that he had on an unusually bad
coat, and took snuff. It was plain that this man was a writer of some
kind; so, as soon as he had seen him hand over a paper to the tradesman,
and receive a small piece of money, Veitel approached, and began:
"I wished, sir, to ask you if you happened to know any one who could
give lessons in writing and book-keeping to a man of my acquaintance?"
"And this man of your acquaintance is yourself?" said the little man.
"Why should I make a secret of it?" said Veitel. "Yes, it is I; but I am
only a beginner, and able to give but little."
"He who gives little receives little, my dear fellow," said the elderly
scribe, taking a pinch of snuff. "What is your name, and with whom are
you placed?"
"My name is Veitel Itzig, and I am in Hirsch Ehrenthal's office."
The stranger grew attentive. "Ehrenthal," he said, "is a rich man, and a
wise. I have had dealings with him in my time; he has a very fair
knowledge of law. What fee are you willing to pay, provided a master
could be found?"
"I do not know what should be given," said Veitel.
"Then I will tell you," said he of the spectacles. "I might or might not
give you instructions myself; but first I must know more about you. If I
were to do so, in consideration of your being but poor, and a beginner,
as you say, and also of having myself a little spare time on hand, I
should only ask fifty dollars."
"Fifty dollars!" cried Veitel, in horror, sinking down on a stool, and
repeating mechanically, "fifty dollars!"
"If you think that too much," said he of the spectacles, sharply, "know
that I am not going to deal with a greenhorn; secondly, that I never
gave my assistance for so little before; and, thirdly, that I should
never think of teasing myself with you if I had not a fancy to spend a
few weeks here."
"Fifty dollars!" cried Itzig; "why, I had thought it would not cost more
than three or four, and a waistcoat and a pair of boots, and"--for
Veitel saw that a storm was coming, and that the hat on the table was
much dilapidated--"a hat almost as good as new."
"Go, you fool!" said the old man, "and look out for a parish
schoolmaster."
"Then," said Itzig, "you are not a writing-master?"
"No, you great donkey," muttered the stranger; then, in a soliloquy,
"Who could have supposed that Ehrenthal would keep such a booby as this?
He takes me for a writing-master!"
"Who are you, then?"
"One with whom you have nothing to do," was the curt reply, and the
little man rose and betook himself to the loft, while Veitel went off to
ask Pinkus, as unconcernedly as he could, the name and calling of the
new guest.
"Don't you know him?" said Pinkus, with an ironical smile; "take care
you don't know him to your cost. Ask him his name; he knows it better
than I do."
"If you will put no confidence in me, I will in you," said Veitel, and
told him the whole conversation.
"So he would have given you instruction?" said Pinkus, shaking his head
in amazement; "fifty dollars is a large sum; but many a man would give a
hundred times as much to know what he does. Not that I care what you
learn, or from whom."
Veitel went to his lair in greater perplexity than ever. Soon came
Pinkus with a slight supper for the stranger, to whom he manifested a
remarkable degree of sociability.
He now called him out on the balcony, and after a short talk in the
dark, of which Veitel guessed himself the subject, re-entered the room,
saying,
"This gentleman wishes to spend a few weeks here in private; therefore,
even if questioned, you will not mention it."
"I don't even know who the gentleman is," said Veitel; "how could I tell
any one that he is living here?"
"You may trust this young man," observed Pinkus to the stranger, and
then wished the two good-night.
The man in spectacles sat down to his supper, every now and then casting
such a glance at Veitel as an old raven might do at an unfledged
chicken, who had innocently ventured within his reach.
Meanwhile, the thought darted across Itzig's mind that this mysterious
person might be one of the chosen few--a possessor of the infallible
receipt by which a poor man could become rich. Veitel knew now that
there was no magic in this, that the receipt consisted in being more
cunning than the rest of the world, and that this cunning was not
without its serious consequences to its possessor; nay, it seemed to him
as though to acquire it were to make a compact with Satan himself. His
hand trembled, his pale face glowed, but his desire for more certain
knowledge on the subject prevailed; and he told the stranger that,
having heard that there was an art of always buying and selling to the
best advantage, and so of making a fortune, he wished to ask whether it
was that art that he (the stranger) could impart if he chose.
The old man pushed his plate away, and looked at him with amazement.
"Either," said he, "you are a great dolt, or the best actor I have ever
seen."
"No; I am only a dolt, but I wish to become clever," was the reply.
"A singular fellow," said the other, adjusting his spectacles so as to
see him better. After a long examination, he went on: "What you, my lad,
call an art, is only a knowledge of law, and the wisdom to turn it to
one's own profit. He who is up to this can not fail to be a great man,
for he will never be hanged." At which he laughed in a way that made a
painful impression even upon Itzig.
"This art," he went on, "is not easily acquired, my boy. It takes much
practice, a good head, prompt decision, and, above all, what the knowing
call 'character.'" At which he laughed again.
Veitel felt that a crisis in his life had come. He fumbled for his
worn-out pocket-book, and held it for a moment in his trembling hand.
During that moment, all manner of conflicting thoughts flashed like
lightning through his mind. He thought of his worthy mother's tearful
farewell, and how she had said, "Veitel, this is a wicked world; gain
thy bread honestly." He saw his old father on his death-bed, with his
white head drooping over his emaciated frame. He thought, too, of his
fifty dollars gathered together so laboriously--of the insults he had
had to bear for their sake--the threatened blows. At that thought he
threw his pocket-book on the table, and cried, "Here is the money!" but
he knew, at the same time, that he was committing sin, and an invisible
weight settled on his heart.
A few hours later, the lamp had burned low, but still Veitel sat with
mouth open, eyes fixed, and face flushed, listening to the old man, who
was speaking about what most people would vote a tiresome
subject--promissory notes.
Later still, the light was gone out; and the stranger, having emptied
his bottle of brandy, was asleep on his straw bed, but still Veitel sat
and wrote in fancy on the dark walls fraudulent bonds and receipts,
while the sweat ran down from his brow; then he opened the balcony door,
and, leaning on the railing, saw the water rush by like a mighty stream
of ink. Again he traced bonds on the shadows of the opposite walls, and
wrote receipts on the surface of the stream. The shadows fled, the water
ran away; but his soul had contracted, in that dark night, a debt to be
one day required with compound interest.
From that night Veitel hurried home every evening, and the lessons went
on regularly.
We may here briefly relate what he gradually discovered as to the
history of his teacher.
Herr Hippus had seen better days. He had once been a leading attorney,
and had then taken to the Bar, where he soon gained a high reputation
for his skill in making a doubtful cause appear a good one. At first he
had no intention of gaining a fortune by confounding right and wrong. On
the contrary, he had a painful sense of insecurity when retained for a
client whose cause seemed to him unjust. He differed but little, indeed,
from the best of his colleagues; perhaps he had somewhat fewer scruples;
and, certainly, he was too fond of good red wine. He had a caustic wit,
made an admirable boon companion, and, having a subtle intellect, was
fond of paradoxes and skillful hair-splitting. Thanks to the red wine,
he fell into the habit of spending much, and so into the necessity of
making much also. Vanity and the love of excitement led him to devote
the whole energy of his brilliant intellect to winning bad cases, and
thus that frequent curse of barristers overtook him; all who had bad
cases applied to him. For a long time this annoyed him; but gradually,
very gradually, he became demoralized by the constant contact with
falsehood and wrong. His wants went on increasing, temptations
multiplied, and conscience weakened. But, though long hollow within, he
continued outwardly prosperous, and many prophesied that he, with his
immense practice, would die one of the richest men in the city, when,
cunning lawyer as he was, he had the misfortune to provoke inquiry by
appearing in a desperate case. The result was, that he was at once
disgraced, and vanished like a falling star from the circle of his
professional brethren. He soon lost the last remains of respectability.
In reality, he had amassed very little, and his love of drink went on
increasing. He sunk to a mere frequenter of brandy-shops, a promoter of
unfair litigation, and an adviser of rogues and swindlers. Owing to some
of these practices it was that he now found it convenient, under the
pretense of a long journey, to become for a time invisible. Pinkus was
an old ally, and hence the opportunity for Veitel's lessons.
These lessons soon became an absolute necessity to the old man's
heart--ay, to his heart; for, bad as he was, its warmth was not yet
utterly extinguished.
It grew a melancholy pleasure to him to open out his mental resources to
the youth, whose attention flattered him, and gradually he began to
attach himself to him. He would put by a portion of his supper, and even
of his brandy for him, and enjoy seeing him consume it. Once, when
Veitel had caught a feverish cold, and lay shivering under his thin
coverlet, the old man spread his own blankets over him, and felt a glow
of pleasure on seeing his grateful smile.
Veitel repaid these sparks of friendly feeling with a degree of
reverence, greater than ever pupil felt before. He did many small
kindnesses on his side, and made Hippus the confidant of all his own
transactions. It is true that this intimacy had its thorns. The old man
could not refrain from practicing his sharp wit on Itzig, who called
him, too, by many an irreverent name when he had stupefied himself with
brandy; but, on the whole, they got on capitally, and were essential to
each other.
During the months that the old man spent in this retreat, Veitel learned
much besides the special science already alluded to; he improved in
speaking and writing German, and gained a great amount of general
information. This change did not escape Mr. Ehrenthal, who mentioned it
in his family circle much as a farmer would the promising points of a
young bullock; and, at the end of the quarter, announced of his own
accord to Veitel that the shoe-blacking and kitchen dinner were to
cease, and that he was prepared to give him a place in his office, and a
small salary besides. Veitel received the long-desired intelligence with
great self-command, and returned his humble thanks, adding, "I have
still one very, very great favor to ask. May I have the honor of dining
once a week at Mr. Ehrenthal's table, that I may see how people conduct
themselves in good society? If you will do me this kindness, you may
deduct it from my salary."
Ehrenthal shook his head, and said that he must refer the question to
his wife; the result of which consultation was, that on the following
Sabbath Veitel was invited to eat a roast goose with the family.