One warm summer evening, office hours being over, Fink said to Anton,
"Will you accompany me to-day? I am going to try a boat that I have just
had built." Anton was ready at once; so they jumped into a carriage, and
drove to the river. Fink pointed out a round boat that floated on the
water like a pumpkin, and said, in a melancholy tone, "There it is--a
perfect horror, I declare! I cut out the model for the builder myself
too; I gave him all manner of directions, and this is the sea-gull's egg
he has produced."
"It is very small," replied Anton, with an uncomfortable foreboding.
"I'll tell you what it is," cried Fink to the builder, who now came
forward, respectfully touching his hat, "our deaths will be at your
door, for we shall inevitably be drowned in that thing, and it will be
owing to your want of sense."
"Sir," replied the man, "I have made it exactly according to your
directions."
"You have, have you?" continued Fink. "Well, then, as a punishment, you
shall go with us; you must see that it is but fair that we should be
drowned together."
"No, sir, that I will not do, with so much wind as this," returned the
man, decidedly.
"Then stay ashore and make sawdust pap for your children. Give me the
mast and sails." He fitted in the little mast, hoisted and examined the
sails, then took them down again, and laid them at the bottom of the
boat, threw in a few iron bars as ballast, told Anton where to sit, and,
seizing the two oars, struck out from shore. The pumpkin danced gayly on
the water, to the great delight of the builder and his friends, who
stood watching it.
"I wanted to show these lazy fellows that it is possible to row a boat
like this against the stream," said Fink, replacing the mast, setting
the sail, and giving the proper directions to his pupil. The wind came
in puffs, sometimes filling the little sail, and bending the boat to
the water's edge, sometimes lulling altogether.
"It is a wretched affair," cried Fink, impatiently; "we are merely
drifting now, and we shall capsize next."
"If that's the case," said Anton, with feigned cheerfulness, "I propose
that we turn back."
"It doesn't matter," replied Fink, coolly; "one way or other, we'll get
to land. You can swim?"
"Like lead. If we do capsize I shall sink at once, and you will have
some trouble to get me up again."
"If we find ourselves in the water, mind you do not catch hold of me,
which would be the surest way of drowning both. Wait quietly till I draw
you out; and, by the way, you may as well be pulling off your coat and
boots; one is more comfortable in the water _en négligé_." Anton did so
at once.
"That's right," said Fink. "To say the truth, this is wretched sport. No
waves, no wind, and now no water. Here we are, aground again! Push off,
will you? Hey, shipmate! what would you say if this dirty shore were
suddenly to sink, and we found ourselves out on a respectable sea--water
as far as the horizon, waves as high as that tree yonder, and a good
hearty wind, that blew your ears off, and flattened your nose on your
face?"
"I can't say that I should like it at all," replied Anton, nervously.
"And yet," said Fink, "there are few plights so bad but they might be
still worse. Just think; in that case it would be some comfort to have
even these good-for-nothing planks between us and the water; but what if
we ourselves lay on the stream--no boat, no shore--mountain waves all
round?"
"I at least should be lost!" cried Anton, with genuine horror.
"I have a friend, a good friend, to whom I trust implicitly in any
crisis, to whom this once happened. He sauntered down to the shore on a
glorious evening, had a fancy to bathe, stripped, plunged, and struck
out gayly. The waves lifted him up and drew him down; the water was
warm, the sunset dyed the sea with ten thousand exquisite hues, and the
golden sky glowed above him. The man shouted with ecstasy."
"You were that man?" inquired Anton.
"True. I went on swimming for about an hour, when the dull look of the
sky reminded me that it was time to return; so I made for land; and what
think you, Master Wohlfart, that I saw?"
"A ship?" said Anton; "a fish?"
"No. I saw _nothing_--the land had vanished. I looked on all sides--I
rose as high as I could out of the water--there was nothing to be seen
but sea and sky. The current that set out from the land had
treacherously carried me out. I was in mid ocean, somewhere between
England and America, that I knew; but this geographical fact was by no
means soothing to one in my circumstances. The sky grew dark, the
hollows filled with black uncanny shadows, the waves got higher, and a
cold wind blew round my head; nothing was to be seen but the dusky red
of the sky and the rolling waters."
"Horrible!" cried Anton.
"It was a moment when no priest in the world could have prevented a poor
human being from wishing himself a pike, or some such creature. I knew
by the sky where the land lay. Now came the question, which was
stronger--the current or my arm? I began a deadly struggle with the
treacherous ocean deities. I should not have done much by such swimming
as they teach in schools. I rolled like a porpoise, and struck out
desperately for about two hours; then the labor got hard indeed. It was
the fiercest battle I ever fought. The sky grew dark, the emerald waves
pitchy black, only they were crested with foam that blew in my face. At
times a single star peeped from the clouds--that was my only comfort. So
I swam on and on, and still there was no land to be seen. I was tired
out, and the hideous darkness sometimes made me think of giving up the
struggle. The clouds gathered darker, the stars disappeared; I began to
doubt whether I was taking the right direction, and I was making very
little way. I knew the game was nearly up--my chest heaved--countless
sparks rose before my eyes. Just then, my boy, when I had glided half
unconsciously down the slope of a wave, I felt something under my feet
that was no longer water."
"It was land!" cried Anton.
"Yes," said Fink; "it was good firm sand. I found myself on shore about
a mile to leeward of my clothes, and fell down like a dead seal." Then
stopping, and with a steady look at Anton, "Now, mate, get ready!" cried
he; "take your legs from under the bench; I am going to tack and make
for shore. Now for it!"
At that moment came a violent gust of wind; the mast creaked, the boat
heeled over, and could not right herself. According to promise, Anton
went to the bottom without any more ado. Quick as lightning Fink dived
after him, brought him up, and, with a violent effort, reached a spot
whence they could wade ashore. "Deuce take it," gasped Fink; "take hold
of my arm, can't you?"
But Anton, who had swallowed a quantity of water, was hardly conscious,
and only waved Fink off.
"I do believe he'll be down again," cried the latter, impatiently,
catching hold of him and making for the shore.
A crowd had by this time assembled round the spot where Fink was holding
his companion in his arms and exhorting him to recover himself. At
length Anton opened his eyes.
"Why, Wohlfart," said Fink, anxiously, "how goes it, my lad? You have
taken the matter too much to heart. Poncho y ponche!" cried he to the
by-standers; "a cloak and a glass of rum--that will soon bring him
round."
A cloak was willingly lent, and our hero carried to the builder's house.
"Here is an end of boat, sails, oars, and all," said Fink,
reproachfully, "and of our coats into the bargain. Did not I tell you
that it was a good-for-nothing tub?"
For an hour, at least, Fink tended his victim with the greatest
tenderness, but it was late before Anton was sufficiently recovered to
walk home.
The next day was Sunday, and the principal's birth-day besides. On this
important occasion, the gentlemen of the office spent some hours after
dinner with the family circle, and coffee and cigars were served. As
they were sitting down to table, the good-natured cousin said to Fink,
"The whole town is full of the fearful risk which you and Mr. Wohlfart
ran yesterday."
"Not worth mentioning, my dear lady!" replied Fink, carelessly; "I only
wanted to see how Master Wohlfart would behave in drowning. I threw him
into the water, and he was within a hair's-breadth of remaining at the
bottom, considering it indiscreet to give me the trouble of saving him.
Only a German is capable of such self-sacrificing politeness."
"But," cried the cousin, "this is a sheer tempting of Providence. It is
dreadful to think of it!"
"It is dreadful to think of the impurity of your river. The water
sprites that inhabit it must be a dirty set. But Wohlfart did not mind
their mud. He fell into their arms with enthusiasm. He threw both legs
over the boat's edge before there was any occasion."
"You told me to do so," cried Anton, in self-exculpation.
"Poor Mr. Wohlfart!" exclaimed the astonished cousin. "But your coats!
This morning I met a policeman with the wet bundle in his arms, and it
was he who told me of your accident."
"The coats were fished up at an early hour," said Fink, "but Karl doubts
whether they will ever dry. Meanwhile, Wohlfart's boots are on a voyage
of discovery toward the ocean."
Anton blushed with anger at his friend's jests, and looked stealthily
toward the upper end of the table. The merchant glanced darkly at the
cheerful Fink. Sabine was pale and downcast--the cousin alone was fluent
in her pity for the coats.
The dinner was more solemn than usual. After the plates were removed,
Mr. Liebold rose to fulfill the arduous duty imposed upon him by his
position--to propose the health of their principal. He took all possible
pains not to retract or qualify his eulogiums and good wishes; but even
this toast fell flat--a certain painful excitement seemed to prevail at
the head of the table.
After dinner they all stood round in groups, drinking their coffee; and
bold spirits--Mr. Pix, for instance, ventured upon a cigar as well.
Meanwhile, Anton roamed through the suite of rooms, looking at the
paintings on the walls, turning over albums, and fighting off ennui as
well as he could. In this way he reached the end room, and stopped there
in amazement. Sabine stood before him, tears falling from her eyes. She
was sobbing silently, her slender form shaken by the conflict within,
but yet she was trying to repress her grief with an energy that only
made it the more touching.
As Anton, filled with deepest sympathy, turned to go, she looked round,
composed herself, passed her handkerchief over her eyes, and said
kindly, "Take care, Mr. Wohlfart, that the foolhardiness of your friend
leads you into no fresh danger. My brother would be very sorry that your
intercourse with him should prove an injury to you."
"Miss Sabine," replied Anton, looking reverentially at her, "Fink is as
noble as he is reckless. He saved me at the peril of his own life."
"Oh yes!" cried Sabine, with an expression Anton did not quite
understand; "he loves to play with whatever is sacred to others."
At that moment Mr. Jordan came to request her to give them some music.
She went at once.
Anton was excited to the utmost. Sabine Schröter stood so high in the
estimation of the gentlemen of the counting-house that they paid her the
compliment of rarely naming her. Most of the younger clerks had been
desperately in love with her; and though the flames had burned down for
want of fuel, yet the embers still glowed in the innermost recesses of
their hearts. All alike would have fought for her against any enemy in
the world. But they looked upon her as a marble saint, a being beyond
the influence of human weaknesses.
Anton, however, now doubted whether she were really this. To him, too,
the young lady of the house had been like the moon, only visible afar
off, and on one side. Daily he sat opposite her, saw the delicate
sadness of her face--the deep glance of her beautiful eyes--heard her
speak the same commonplace sentences, and knew no more of her. All at
once an accident made him her confidant. He felt sure, by many a token,
that this grief was connected with Fink; and although he had for him the
devoted admiration that an unsophisticated youth readily bestows upon a
daring and experienced comrade, yet, in this case, he found himself
enlisted on the lady's side against his friend; he resolved to watch him
narrowly, and be to her a brotherly protector, a faithful
confidant--all, in short, that was sympathizing and helpful.
A few hours later, Sabine sat in the window with folded hands. Her
brother had laid aside his newspaper, and was watching her anxiously. At
last he rose, stepped silently up to her, and laid his hand on her head.
She clasped him in her arms. There they stood, leaning against each
other, two friends who had so shared their lives that each knew the
other's thoughts without a spoken word.
Tenderly stroking his sister's hair, the merchant began: "You know what
large dealings we have with Fink's father?"
"I know that you are not satisfied with the son."
"I could not help taking him into our house, but I regret the hour I did
so."
"Do not be hard upon him," pleaded the sister, kissing her brother's
hand; "think how much there is that is noble in his character."
"I am not unjust toward him. But it is yet to be proved whether he will
be a blessing or a curse to his fellow-men. He may become a more paltry
aristocrat, who wastes his energies in refined self-indulgence, or a
covetous, unscrupulous money-maker, like his uncle in America."
"He is not heartless!" murmured Sabine; "his friendship for Wohlfart
shows that."
"He does but play with him--throws him into the water, and picks him out
again."
"Nay," cried Sabine; "he esteems his good sense and high principles, and
feels that he has a better nature than his own."
"Do not deceive yourself and me," replied the merchant; "I know the
fascination that this strange man has long had for you. I have said
nothing, for I could trust you. But, now that I see that he makes you
really unhappy, I can not but wish for his absence. He shall leave our
house without delay."
"Oh no, no!" cried Sabine, wringing her hands. "No, Traugott, that shall
not, must not be! If there be any way of rescuing him from the evil
influences of his past life, it is the being with you. To see, to take
part in the regular activity, the high honor of your mercantile career,
is salvation to him. Brother," continued she, taking his hand, "I have
no secrets from you; you have found out my foolish weakness; but I
promise you that henceforth it shall be no more to me than the
recollection of some tale that I have read. Never by look or word will I
betray it; only do not, oh! do not be angry with him--do not send him
away, and that on my account."
"But how can I tell whether his remaining here may not subject you to a
painful conflict?" inquired the merchant. "Our position as regards him
is difficult enough without this. He ranks as a brilliant match in every
sense of the word. His father has intrusted him to me. If an attachment
were to spring up between you, it would be treachery to his father to
withhold it from him. It might seem to him as if we had a wish to secure
the young heir; and he, accustomed as he is to easy conquests, might
perhaps laugh at what he would call your weakness and my
long-headedness. The very thought calls up all my pride."
"Brother," cried Sabine, with burning cheeks, "do not forget that I am
your sister. I am a merchant's daughter, and he would never belong
entirely to our class. I am as proud as you, and have always had the
conviction that not all the love in the world could ever fill the gulf
between us. Trust me," continued she, with tears; "you shall see no more
sad looks. But be kinder to him; think what his fate has been, tossed
about among strangers; think how he has grown up without affection,
without a home; spoiled in many ways, but still with a high sense of
honor, an abhorrence of all that is little. Trust me, and be kinder to
him."
"He shall stay," said the merchant; "but besides, my darling, there is
another whom we should seek to guard from his influence."
"Wohlfart!" cried Sabine, cheerfully; "oh, I will answer for him."
"You undertake a good deal. So he, too, is a favorite?"
"He is tender-hearted and honorable, and devoted to you; and he has
plenty of spirit too. Trust him, he will be a match for Fink. I happened
to meet him at the time that Fink had insulted him, and I have given him
a place in my heart ever since."
"How does this heart find room for every thing?" cried the merchant,
playfully; "above and beyond all, the great store-room, the oaken
presses of our grandmother, and the piles of white linen; then, in a
side-chamber apart, your strict brother; then--"
"Then all the others in the ante-chamber," broke in Sabine.
Meanwhile Fink entered Anton's room, humming a tune, little suspecting
the storm in the front part of the house, and, truth to tell, little
caring what they thought about him there. "I have fallen into disgrace
on your account, my son," cried he, merrily. "His majesty has treated me
all the day long with killing indifference, and the black-haired has not
deigned me a single glance--good sort of people, but desperately matter
of fact. That Sabine has at bottom plenty of life and spirit, but she
plagues herself about the merest trifles. She would raise a question as
to whether it was a fly's duty to scratch its head with the right leg or
the left. Why, you are on the way to be looked upon as the 'Mignon' of
the counting-house, and I as your evil genius. Never mind; to-morrow we
will go together to the swimming-school."
And so it was. From that day forth Fink delighted to initiate his young
friend into all his own pursuits. He taught him to swim, to ride, to
leap, to shoot at a mark, and even threatened to get him an invitation
to a hunting-party. Against this Anton vehemently protested.
Anton on his side rewarded him by the greatest devotion. They were happy
evenings for both when, sitting under the shadow of the condor's wings,
they chatted away and laughed so loud that through the open window the
sound reached old Pluto the watch-dog, who, feeling himself the guardian
of the establishment, and considered by all as a distinguished member of
it, woke up to bay out his hearty sympathy with their enjoyment--ay,
they were happy hours; for their intimacy ripened for the first time in
the life of either into sincere friendship. And yet Anton never left off
watching Fink's bearing to Sabine; although he did not name her to him,
he was always expecting to hear of some important event: a betrothal, or
a quarrel between Fink and the merchant, or something extraordinary. But
nothing of the kind occurred; the solemn daily meals went on, and
Sabine's behavior to both friends was the same as before.
Another year had passed away, the second since our apprentice's arrival,
and again the roses blossomed. One evening Anton bought a large nosegay
of them, and knocked with them at the door of Jordan, who was a great
lover of flowers. He was surprised to find all the clerks assembled, as
they had been on the day of his arrival, and he saw at a glance that
they were embarrassed by his appearance. Jordan hurried to meet him,
and, with a slight degree of confusion, requested that he would leave
them for about an hour, as they were discussing a subject into which he,
as an apprentice, could not enter. It was the first time that these
kind-hearted men had ever allowed him to feel any difference between his
position and theirs, and therefore his banishment slightly depressed
him. He carried back his nosegay, placed it with a resigned air upon his
own table, and took up a book.
Meanwhile a solemn deliberation was going on in Jordan's room. He rose,
struck the table with a ruler, and went on to state that a colleague
having, as they all knew, left the business, a vacancy had occurred,
which Mr. Schröter himself wished should be filled by Wohlfart; but as
his case would thus be made exceptional--he having been an apprentice
only two years instead of four--the principal kindly referred the
decision to the body of the clerks.
An imposing silence succeeded to these words, which was at length
interrupted by Mr. Pix proposing punch, and that they should order in
the kettle for the tea-drinkers.
The other gentlemen preserved a dignified silence, looked with
solemnity at the preparations going forward, and each felt his
responsibility and his importance as a man and a clerk.
The next question was, "How shall we vote?"
It was decided that the youngest should begin.
Specht was the youngest. "First of all, I have to remark that Herr von
Fink is not present," said he, looking around in some excitement.
A general murmur arose, "He does not belong to us; he is a volunteer."
"In that case," continued Specht, somewhat taken down by this universal
opposition, "I am of opinion that Anton ought, according to custom, to
remain an apprentice for four years; but, as he is a good fellow, and
likely to prove useful, I am also of opinion that an exception should be
made in his favor; while I propose that, in order to remind him of his
former position, he be appointed to make tea for us during a year, and
to mend a hundred pens for each of his colleagues."
"Stuff and nonsense!" muttered Pix; "you have always such overstrained
notions."
"What do you mean by overstrained notions?" inquired Specht, angrily.
"I must call you to order," said Mr. Jordan.
The rest of the colleagues proceeded to give in their adherence to the
plan. Baumann did so with enthusiasm. At last it came to the turn of
Pix. "Gentlemen," said he, "what is the use of much talking? His
knowledge of business is fair, considering that he is but a young
fellow; his manner is pleasant--the servants respect him. According to
my notions, he is too tender and considerate; but it is not given to all
to manage others. He is a poor hand at cards, and can make little or
nothing of punch--that's about what he is. But, as these last
peculiarities have nothing to do with the present proposal, I see no
reason why he should not, from the present date, become our colleague."
Then came Purzel and Liebold, who each gave his vote in his own
characteristic way, and the affair was settled. Baumann was about to
rush off and call Anton, when Specht insisted upon the solemnity of a
deputation, and Liebold and Pix were appointed to escort the astonished
youth, who could not conceive what it all meant, till Jordan, advancing
to meet him, said, with the utmost cordiality, "Dear Wohlfart, you have
now worked with us two years; you have taken pains to learn the
business, and have won the friendship of us all. It is the will of the
principal, and our united wish, that the term of your apprenticeship
should be abridged, and that you should to-morrow enter upon your duties
as a clerk. We congratulate you sincerely, and hope that, as our
colleague, you will show us the same friendly regard that you have
hitherto shown." So said worthy Mr. Jordan, and held out his hand.
Anton stood for a moment as if stupefied, and then there followed an
amount of hand-shaking and congratulation never witnessed before in that
apartment. Next came toasts, speeches, and, after an evening of most
hearty enjoyment, the colleagues separated at a late hour.
Anton could not go to bed, however, without imparting his good fortune
to his friend Fink. So he went to meet him on his return home, and told
him the important event in the bright moonlight. Fink made a grand
flourish in the air with his riding-whip, and said, "Bravo! bravo! I
should not have given our despot credit for such contempt of precedent.
You will be launched a year the sooner into life."
The following day the principal called the new clerk into his own
sanctuary, and received his thanks with a smile.
Last of all, at dinner, the ladies congratulated the new official.
Sabine even came down the whole length of the table to where Anton
stood, and greeted him in the kindest terms. A bottle of wine was placed
beside each cover; while the merchant, raising his glass, and bowing to
our happy hero, said, with earnest kindness, "Dear Wohlfart, we drink to
the memory of your excellent father."