The firm of T. O. Schröter had one day in the year invariably dedicated
to enjoyment. It was the anniversary of their principal's first entrance
into partnership with his father. Upon this festive occasion there was a
dinner given to the whole counting-house assembled, after which they all
drove to a neighboring village, where the merchant had a country house,
and whither a number of public gardens and summer concerts always
attracted the inhabitants of the town. There they drank coffee, enjoyed
nature, and returned home before dark.
This year was the five-and-twentieth of these jubilees. Early in the
morning came deputations of servants and porters to congratulate, and
all the clerks appeared at the early dinner in full state; M. Liebold in
a new coat, which, for many years past, he had been in the habit of
first wearing upon this auspicious day.
After dinner, the carriages drove up and took them to the great
"Restauration" of the village. There they got out, the gentlemen all
surrounding their young lady, and loud music sounding a welcome as they
entered the beechen avenues of the garden, which was bright to-day with
gay toilettes from the town.
Sabine floated on with a perfect nebula of gentlemen around her.
Possibly this court would have given more pleasure to most other women,
but, at all events, the effect was very striking. The gentle Liebold's
face wore a continual smile of delight, which he was obliged to
suppress, as well as he could, from the fear of being supposed to laugh
at the passers-by: Sabine's shawl hung on his arm. Specht had, by a bold
_coup de main_, possessed himself of her parasol, and walked on, hoping
that some falling blossom, some passing butterfly, might afford him a
pretext for beginning a conversation with her. But this was no easy
matter, for Fink was on the other side. He was in one of his most
malevolent moods, and Sabine could not help laughing against her will at
his unmerciful comments upon many of the company. And so they walked on
among the tripping, rustling crowd of pleasure-seekers. There was a
constant bowing, smiling, and greeting; the merchant had each moment to
take off his hat, and, whenever he did so, the fourteen clerks took off
theirs too, and created quite a draught; and very imposing it was. After
having swum thus with the stream for some time, Sabine expressed a wish
to rest. Instantly benches were set, the table got ready, and an
ubiquitous waiter brought a giant coffee-pot and the number of cups
required. Sabine's office was no sinecure. She chose Anton for her
adjutant, and it was a pretty sight to see how kindly she gave each one
his cup, how watchful she was lest the sugar-bowl and the cream-jug
should be interrupted in their rounds, and at the same time how she
contrived to bow to her passing acquaintance, and to carry on a
conversation with any friends of her brother's who came up to her. She
was very lovely thus. Anton and Fink both felt how well her serene
activity became her; and Fink said, "If this be for you a day of
recreation, I do not envy your other days. No princess has such a
reception--so many to bow, smile, and speak to as you; but you get on
capitally, and have no doubt studied it. Now comes the mayor himself to
pay his compliments. I am really sorry for you; you have to lend me your
ear; Liebold's cup is in your hand, and your eyes must be reverentially
fixed upon the great civic official. I am curious to know whether you
understand my words."
"Take your spoon out of your cup, and I will fill it immediately," said
Sabine, laughing, as she rose to greet her old acquaintance. Meanwhile,
Anton amused himself by listening to the remarks made on his party by
the passers-by. "That is Herr von Fink," whispered a young lady to her
companion. "A pretty face; a capital figure," drawled a lieutenant.
"What is one among so many?" muttered another idler. "Hush! those are
the Schröters," said a clerk to his brother. Then two tall handsome
forms came slowly by--Dame Ehrenthal and Rosalie. Rosalie passed next to
the table: a deep flush suffused her face. She threw a troubled glance
at Fink, who, in spite of the lively conversation he was carrying on
with Sabine, had eyes for every thing that was going on. Anton rose to
bow; and the imperturbable Fink coolly took off his hat, and looked at
the two ladies with as much unconcern as though he had never admired the
bracelets on Rosalie's white arm. Anton's bow, Rosalie's striking
beauty, and, perhaps, some peculiarity in their dress, had attracted
Sabine's attention.
Ehrenthal's daughter did not heed the bow, but fixed her dark eyes on
Sabine, whom she took for her fortunate rival, with such a flashing
glance of anger and hatred that Sabine shrank as though to avoid the
spring of a beast of prey.
Fink's lip curled, and he slightly shrugged his shoulders. When the
ladies had passed by, Sabine asked who they were.
"Some acquaintances of Anton's," said he, satirically.
Anton named them as the mother and sister of the young student of whom
he had lately told her.
Sabine was silent, and leaned back on the bench; her gay spirits were
over. The conversation flagged; and when her brother returned from a
visit to the next table, she rose and invited the party to come and see
her garden. Again the nebula followed her, but Fink was no longer at her
side. That burning glance had withered the green tendrils that had been
drawing them together. Sabine turned to Anton, and tried to be cheerful,
but he saw the effort it cost her.
This large garden, with its hot-houses and conservatories, was one of
Sabine's favorite resorts, both in summer and winter. While the merchant
carried off Fink to look at a plot of neighboring ground which he
thought of buying, the clerks besieged Sabine with questions as to the
names and peculiarities of the different plants. She showed them a
great palm-tree that her brother had given her, tropical ferns, gorgeous
cactuses, and told them that she often drank coffee under these large
leaves on sunny winter days. Just then the gardener came up to her with
crumbs of bread and bird-seed on a plate. "Even when I have not so large
a party with me as to-day, I am not quite alone," said she.
"Pray let us see your birds," cried Anton.
"You must go out of sight, then, and keep quite still. The little
creatures know _me_, but so many gentlemen would terrify them."
Sabine then went out a few steps, scattered the crumbs on the gravel,
and clapped her hands. A loud chirping instantly succeeded, and numbers
of birds shot down, hopping boldly about, and picking up the crumbs
close to her feet. They were not a very distinguished company--finches,
linnets, and a whole nation of sparrows. Sabine gently stepped back to
the door, and said, "Can you see any difference among these sparrows?
They have, I assure you, individualities of dress and character. Several
of them are personal acquaintances of mine." She pointed to a large
sparrow with a black head and a bright brown back. "Do you see that
stout gentleman?"
"He is the largest of them all," said Anton, with delight.
"He is my oldest acquaintance, and it is my dinners that have made him
so fat. He moves about among the others like a rich banker. Only hear
him! His very chirp has in it something aristocratic and supercilious.
He looks upon this crumb-scattering as a duty society owes him, and
determines generously to leave for the others all he can not eat up
himself. But I think I see a tuft on his little breast."
"A loose feather?" whispered Specht.
"Yes," continued Sabine; "I much fear his wife has pulled it out; for,
important as he seems, he is under petticoat government. That gray
little lady yonder, the lightest of them all, is his wife. Now look,
they are going to quarrel." And a great contest began for an especially
large crumb, in which all the birds manifested a strong dislike to the
banker, and the wife came off victorious.
"And now, do look!" cried Sabine, joyfully; "here comes my little
one--my pet;" and down plumped a young sparrow, with helpless outspread
wings, and fluttered up to the maternal bird, who hacked the large crumb
into little bits, and put them into its wide-opened beak, while the
father hopped up and down, at a little distance, looking with a certain
misgiving at his energetic better half.
"What a pretty sight!" cried Anton.
"Is it not?" said Sabine. "Even these little creatures have characters
and a family life."
But the scene was suddenly changed; a quick step came round the
hot-house; the birds flew away, and the mother called piteously to her
child to follow. But the little thing, heavy and stupefied with all it
had eaten, could not so quickly lift its weak wings. A cut from Fink's
riding-whip caught him, and sent its little body dead among the flowers.
An angry exclamation arose, and all faces looked darkly on the murderer.
As for Sabine, she went to the bed, picked up the bird, kissed its
little head, and said, in a broken voice, "It is dead." Then she put it
down on the bench near the door, and covered it with her handkerchief.
An awkward silence ensued. At length Jordan said reproachfully, "You
have killed Miss Sabine's favorite bird."
"I am sorry for it," replied Fink, drawing a chair to the table. Then
turning to Sabine, "I did not know that you extended your sympathy to
this class of rogues. I really believed that I deserved the thanks of
the house for disposing of the young thief."
"The poor little fellow!" said Sabine, mournfully; "his mother is
calling for him; do you hear her?"
"She will get over it," rejoined Fink; "I consider it overdone to expend
more feeling upon a sparrow than his own relatives do. But I know you
like to consider all around you in a tender and pathetic light."
"If you have not this peculiarity yourself, why ridicule it in others?"
asked Sabine, with a quivering lip.
"Why," cried Fink, "because this eternal feeling, which here I meet with
every where, expended on what does not deserve it, makes people at
length weak and trivial. He who is always getting up emotions about
trifles will have none to give when a strong attachment demands them."
"And he who ever looks on all around him with cold unconcern, will not
he too be wanting in emotion when a strong attachment becomes a duty?"
returned Sabine, with a mournful glance.
"It would be impolite to contradict you," said Fink, shrugging his
shoulders. "At all events, it is better that a man should be too hard
than too effeminate."
"But just look at the people of this country," said he, after another
uncomfortable pause. "One loves the copper kettle in which his mother
has boiled sausages; another loves his broken pipe, his faded coat, and
with these a thousand obsolete customs. Just look at the German
emigrants! What a heap of rubbish they take away with them--old
birdcages, worm-eaten furniture, and every kind of lumber! I once knew a
fellow who took a journey of eight days merely to eat _sauer-kraut_. And
when once a poor devil has squatted in an unhealthy district, and lived
there a few years, he has spun such a web of sentimentalism about it
that you can not stir him, even though he, his wife and children, should
die there of fever. Commend me to what you call the insensibility of the
Yankee. He works like two Germans, but he is not in love with his
cottage or his gear. What he has is worth its equivalent in dollars, and
no more. 'How low! how material!' you will say. Now, I like this. It has
created a free and powerful state. If America had been peopled by
Germans, they would be still drinking chicory instead of coffee, at
whatever rate of duty the paternal governments of Europe liked to
impose."
"And you would require a woman to be thus minded?" asked Sabine.
"In the main, yes," rejoined Fink. "Not a German housewife, wrapped up
in her table-linen. The larger her stock, the happier she. I believe
that they silently rate each other as we do men on 'Change--worth five
hundred, worth eight hundred napkins. The American makes as good a wife
as the German, but she would laugh at such notions. She has what she
wants for present use, and buys more when the old set is worn out. Why
should she fix her heart on what is so easily replaced?"
"Oh, how dreary you make life!" rejoined Sabine. "Our possessions lose
thus their dearest value. If you kill the imagination which lends its
varied hues to lifeless things, what remains? Nothing but an egotism to
which every thing is sacrificed! He who can thus coldly think may do
great deeds perhaps, but his life will never be beautiful nor happy, nor
a blessing to others;" and unconsciously she folded her hands and looked
sadly at Fink, whose face wore a hard and disdainful expression.
The silence was broken by Anton's cheerfully observing, "At all events,
Fink's own practice is a striking refutation of his theory."
"How so, sir?" asked Fink, looking round.
"I shall soon prove my case; but first a few words in our own praise. We
who are sitting and standing around are working members of a business
that does not belong to us, and each of us looks upon his occupation
from the German point of view which Fink has been denouncing. None of us
reasons, 'The firm pays me so many dollars, consequently the firm is
worth so many dollars to me.' No; when the house prospers we are all
pleased and proud; if it loses, we regret it perhaps more than the
principal does. When Liebold enters his figures in the great book, and
admires their fair caligraphical procession, he silently smiles with
delight. Look at him; he is doing so now."
Liebold, much embarrassed, pulled up his shirt collar.
"Then there is our friend Baumann, who secretly longs for another
calling. A short time ago he brought me a report of the horrors of
heathenism on the African coast, and said, 'I must go, Wohlfart; the
time is come.' 'Who will attend to the calculations?' asked I; 'and what
will become of the department which you and Balbus keep so entirely in
your own hands?' 'Ay, indeed,' cried Baumann, 'I had not thought of
that; I must put it off a little longer.'"
The whole party looked smilingly at Baumann, who said, as if to himself,
"It was not right of me."
"As for the tyrant Pix, I will only say that there are many hours in
which he is not quite clear as to whether the concern is his or Mr.
Schröter's."
All laughed. Mr. Pix thrust his hand into his breast, like Napoleon.
"You are an unfair advocate," said Fink; "you enlist private feelings."
"You did the same," replied Anton. "And now I will soon dispose of you.
About half a year ago, this Yankee went to our principal and said, 'I
wish no longer to be a volunteer, but a regular member of your house.'
Why was this? Of course, only for the sake of a certain number of
dollars."
Again all smiled and looked kindly at Fink, for it was well known that
he had said on that occasion, "I wish for a regular share of employment,
I wish for the responsibility attached to it, and I thoroughly like my
work."
"And then," continued Anton, triumphantly, "he shares all the weak
sentimentalities he so condemns. He loves his horse, as you all know,
not as the sum of five hundred dollars represented by so many hundred
weight of flesh, and covered by a glossy skin--he loves it as a friend."
"Because he amuses me," said Fink.
"Of course," said Anton; "and thus table-linen amuses our housewives, so
that is even. And then his pair of condor wings, his pistols,
riding-whips, red drinking-glasses, are all trifles that he values, just
as a German emigrant does his birdcages; and, in short, he is, in point
of fact, nothing more than a poor-spirited German, like the rest of us."
Sabine shook her head, but she looked more kindly at the American, and
his face too had changed. He looked straight before him, and there was a
something playing over his haughty features that, in any one else, would
have been called emotion.
"Well," said he, at length, "both the lady and I were perhaps too
positive." Then pointing to the dead sparrow, "Before this serious fact
I lay down my arms, and confess that I wish the little gentleman were
still alive, and likely to reach a good old age among the cherries and
other delicacies of the firm. And so," turning to Sabine, "you will not
be angry with me any more, will you?"
Sabine smiled, and cordially answered "No."
"As for you, Anton, give me your hand. You have made a brilliant
defense, and gained me a verdict of 'Not guilty' from a German jury.
Take your pen and scratch out a few weeks from our calendar; you
understand?" Anton pressed his hand, and threw his arm around his
shoulder.
Once more the party was in a thoroughly genial mood. Mr. Schröter joined
them, cigars were lit, and all tried to be as pleasant as possible. Mr.
Liebold rose to ask permission from the principal and his sister--that
is, if it would not be considered an interruption--to sing a few
concerted pieces with some of his colleagues. As he had for several
years regularly made the same proposition in the same words, all were
prepared for it, and Sabine good-naturedly cried, "Of course, Mr.
Liebold; half the pleasure would be gone if we had not our quartette."
Accordingly, the four singers began. Mr. Specht was the first tenor,
Liebold the second, Birnbaum and Balbus took the base. These formed the
musical section of the counting-house, and their voices went really very
well together, with the exception of Specht's being rather too loud, and
Liebold's rather too low; but their audience was well-disposed, the
evening exquisite, and all listened with pleasure.
"It's an absurd thing," began Fink, when the applause was over, "that a
certain sequence of tones should touch the heart, and call forth tears
from men in whom all other gentle emotions are dead and gone. Every
nation has its own simple airs, and fellow-countrymen recognize each
other by the impression these make. When those emigrants of whom we
spoke just now have lost all love for their fatherland--nay, have
forgotten their mother tongue, their home melodies still survive, and
many a foolish fellow, who piques himself on being a naturalized Yankee,
suddenly feels himself German at heart on chancing to hear a couple of
bars familiar to him in youth."
"You are right," said the merchant. "He who leaves his home is seldom
aware of all that he relinquishes, and only finds it out when home
recollections become the charm of his later years. Such recollections
often form a sanctuary, mocked and dishonored indeed, but always
revisited in his best hours."
"I confess, with a certain degree of shame," said Fink, "that I am
little conscious of this charm. The fact is, I do not exactly know where
my home is. Looking back, I find that I have lived most of my years in
Germany, but foreign countries have left a livelier impression on my
mind. Destiny has always torn me away before I could take deep root any
where. And now, at times, I find myself a stranger here. For example,
the dialects of the provinces are unintelligible to me. I get more
presents than I deserve on Christmas-day, but am not touched by the
magic of the Christmas-tree; and few of the popular melodies you are all
so proud of, haunt my ear. And, besides these smaller matters, there are
other things in which I feel deficient," continued he, more earnestly;
"I know that at times I make too heavy demands upon the indulgence of my
friends. I shall have to thank your house," said he, in conclusion,
turning to the merchant, "if I ever acquire a knowledge of the best side
of the German character."
Fink spoke with a degree of feeling he rarely showed. Sabine was happy;
the sparrow was forgotten; and she cried, with irrepressible emotion,
"That was nobly said, Herr von Fink."
The servants then announced that supper was ready.
The merchant took his place in the middle, and Sabine smiled brightly
when Fink sat down, at her side.
"I must have you opposite me, Liebold," cried the principal; "I must
see your honest face before me to-day. We have now been connected for
five-and-twenty years. Mr. Liebold joined us a few weeks after my father
took me into partnership," said he, by way of explanation to the younger
clerks; "and while I am indebted to you all, I am most indebted to him."
He held up his glass: "I drink your good health, my old friend; and so
long as our desks stand side by side, separated only by a thin
partition, so long shall there exist between us, as heretofore, a full
and firm confidence, without many spoken words."
Liebold had stood at the beginning of this speech, and he remained
standing. He wished to propose a health, it was evident, for he looked
at the principal, held up his glass, and his lips moved. At last he sat
down again, speechless. Straightway, to the amazement of all, Fink rose,
and said, with deep earnestness, "Join me in drinking to the prosperity
of a German house where work is a pleasure, and honor has its home.
Hurrah for our counting-house and our principal!"
Thundering hurrahs followed, in which Sabine could not help joining. The
rest of the evening was unbroken hilarity, and it was long past ten when
they reached the town.
As they went up stairs, Fink said to Anton, "To-day, my boy, you are not
to pass me by. I have found it a great bore to be so long without you;"
and the reconciled friends sat together far into the night.
Sabine went to her own room, where her maid gave her a note in an
unknown handwriting. The smell of musk and the delicate characters
showed that it came from a lady.
"Who brought it?" inquired she.
"A stranger," replied the maid; "he said that there was no answer, and
would not give his name."
Sabine read, "Do not triumph too soon, fair lady. You have by your
coquetry allured a gentleman who is accustomed to mislead, to forget,
and shamefully to use those who trust him. A short time ago he said to
another all he now says to you. He will but betray and forsake you
also."
The note was not signed: it came from Rosalie.
Sabine knew well who had written it. She held it to the taper, and then
flinging it on the hearth, silently watched spark by spark die out. Long
did she stand there, her head against the mantel-piece, her eyes fixed
upon the little heap of ashes.
Tearless, voiceless, she held her hand pressed firmly on her heart.