Anton stood by the sick-bed of his friend Bernhard, and looked with
sincere sympathy at his wasted form. The young student's face was more
furrowed than ever, his complexion was transparent as wax, his long hair
hung in disorder around his damp brow, and his eyes shone with feverish
excitement.
"All the time you have been away," said he, sadly, "I have been longing
for you; now that you are returned, I shall be better."
"I will often come if our conversation does not excite you too much,"
replied Anton.
"No," said Bernhard, "I will merely listen, and you shall tell me about
your travels."
Anton began his recital: "I have seen of late what we have both of us
often wished to see--foreign scenes and a life of adventures. I have
found pleasant companionship in other countries, but the result of my
experience is that there is no greater happiness than that of living
quietly among one's own people. I have met with much that would have
delighted you, because it was poetical and soul-stirring, but
disappointment was largely mingled with it all."
"It is the same all over the earth," said Bernhard. "When a mighty
feeling shakes the heart, and seeks to impel onward, the world stains
and tarnishes it, and fair things die, and lofty aims become ridiculous.
So it is no better with others than with us."
"That is our old bone of contention," said Anton, cheerily; "are you not
converted, you skeptic?"
Bernhard looked down embarrassed. "Perhaps I am, Wohlfart."
"Oh ho!" cried Anton; "and what has brought this change about? Was it
some experience of your own? It must have been, I am sure."
"Whatever it was," said Bernhard, with a smile that irradiated his face,
"I believe that with us, too, beauty and loveliness are to be found;
that with us, too, life can give birth to great passions, holy joys, and
bitter griefs; and I believe," continued he, mournfully, "that even
with us many sink under the burden of a terrible destiny."
Anton listened anxiously to these words, and remarked that the large
eyes of the invalid shone with a sudden inspiration.
"No doubt," said he, "it is as you say, but the fairest and most
ennobling thing this life can boast is the triumph of the mind over all
external influences. I honor the man who lets neither his passions nor
his destiny overpower him, but who, even if he have erred, can tear
himself away and regain his liberty."
"But how if it be too late, and if the force of circumstances be
stronger than he?"
"I am not willing to believe in such force of circumstances," replied
Anton. "I imagine that, however sore pressed a man may be, if he sets
himself to work in earnest, he may hew his way out. True, he will bear
the scars of such an encounter, but, like a soldier's, there will be
honor in them. Or, even if he does not overcome, he can at least fight
valiantly, and if conquered at last, he deserves the sympathy of all;
but he who yields himself up without resistance, the wind blows such
away from the face of the earth."
"No spell will change down into stone, sings the poet," said Bernhard,
taking a feather from his pillow and brushing it away. "I have a
question to ask you, Wohlfart," said he, after a pause. "Fancy that I am
a Christian, and that you are my father-confessor, from whom no secrets
must be kept back." Then looking anxiously at the door of the next room,
he whispered, "What do you think of my father's business?"
Anton started in amazement, while Bernhard watched him in painful
suspense. "I understand little about these matters," continued he;
"alas! too little, perhaps. I do not want to know whether he passes for
poor or rich; but I ask you, as my friend, what do strangers think of
the way in which he makes his money? It is dreadful, and perhaps sinful,
that I, his son, should put such a question as this, but an irresistible
impulse urges me on. Be honest with me, Wohlfart." He rose in his bed,
and, putting his arm round Anton's neck, said in his ear, "Does my
father rank with men of your class as an upright man?"
Anton was silent. He could not say what he really thought, and he could
not tell a lie. Meanwhile the invalid sank back upon his pillows, and a
low groan quivered through the room.
"My dear Bernhard," replied Anton, at length, "before I answer to a son
such a question as this, I must know his motive for asking it."
"I ask," said Bernhard, solemnly, "because I am exceedingly uneasy about
the good of others, and your answers may spare much misery to many."
"Then," said Anton, "I will answer you. I know of no particular dealing
of your father's which is dishonorable in the mercantile sense of the
word. I only know that he is numbered among that large class of business
men who are not particular in inquiring whether their own profit is
purchased at the price of another's loss. Mr. Ehrenthal passes for a
clear, keen-sighted man, to whom the good opinion of solid merchants is
more indifferent than to a hundred others. He would probably do much
that men of higher principle would avoid, but I do not doubt that he
would also shrink from what certain other speculators around venture
upon."
Again there came a trembling sigh from the invalid, and a painful
silence ensued. At last he lifted himself up again, and, placing his
lips so near Anton's ear that his burning breath played upon his
friend's cheek, he said, "I know that you are acquainted with the Baron
Rothsattel. The young lady herself told me so."
"It is as she has said," replied Anton, with difficulty concealing his
excitement.
"Do you know any thing of the connection between my father and the
baron?"
"But little; only what you have yourself occasionally told me, that your
father had money on the baron's estate. But when I was abroad, I heard
that a great danger threatened the baron, and I was even authorized to
warn him against an intriguer." Bernhard watched Anton's lips in agony.
Anton shook his head. "And yet," said he, "it was one who is no stranger
in your house. It was your book-keeper Itzig."
"He is a villain," cried Bernhard, eagerly, clenching his thin hand. "He
is a man of low nature. From the first day that he entered our house, I
felt a loathing of him as of an unclean beast."
"It appears to me," continued Anton, "that Itzig, of whom I knew
something in earlier years, is plotting against the baron behind your
father's back. The warning I received was so obscure, I hardly knew what
to make of it; however, I could but inform the baron of what had been
told me."
"That Itzig rules my father," whispered Bernhard. "He is a demon in our
family. If my father acts selfishly toward the baron, that man is
answerable for it."
Anton soothingly assented. "I must know how matters stand between the
baron and my father," continued the invalid. "I must know what is to be
done to help that family out of their difficulties. I can help," he went
on to say, and again a ray of joy lit up his pale face. "My father loves
me. He loves me much. In my present weak state, I have found out how his
heart clings to me--when he comes in the evening to my bed, and strokes
my forehead; when he sits where you do, Wohlfart, and mournfully looks
at me for hours together! Wohlfart, after all, he is my father!" He
clasped his hands, and hid his face in the pillows. "You must help me,
my friend; you must tell me how to save the baron. I charge you to do
this. I myself will speak to my father. I dreaded the hour before, but,
after what you have told me, I fear now either that he does not know
all, or," added he, in a low murmur, "that he will not tell me all. You
yourself must go to the baron."
"You must not forget, Bernhard," replied Anton, "that, even with the
best will in the world, it is not permitted us to force ourselves thus
into the affairs of others. However good our intentions may be, still I
am a stranger to the baron. My interference may seem, both to him and to
your father, sheer presumption. I do not say that the step is a useless,
but it is a most uncertain one. It would be better that you should first
find out the nature of your father's proceedings."
"Go, though, to the baron," implored Bernhard, "and if he remain silent,
ask the young lady. I have seen her," continued he; "I have kept it back
from you as men will keep their dearest secret; now you shall hear it. I
have been more than once on the Rothsattel estate. I know how fair she
is, how proud her bearing, how noble her every gesture. When she walks
over the grass, she seems the queen of nature; an azure glory shines
around her head; wherever she looks, all things bow down before her; her
teeth like pearls, her bosom a bed of lilies," whispered he, and sank
down on his pillows with folded hands and flashing eyes.
"He too!" cried Anton to himself. "My poor Bernhard, you are delirious!"
Bernhard shook his head. "Since that day," said he, "I know that life is
not commonplace, but it is terrible! Will you now consent to speak to
the baron and his daughter?"
"I will," said Anton, rising to go. "But I repeat to you that, in doing
this, I am taking an important step, which may easily lead to fresh
involvements for us both."
"One in my state fears no involvements," said Bernhard; "and as for
you," and he cast a searching glance at Anton, "you will be what you
have spoken of to me this day, a man who can cut his way through
difficulties, and whose business it is, even though wounded, to fight
with fate. Me, Anton Wohlfart, me the whirlwind will sweep away."
"Faint-heart," cried Anton, tenderly, "it is your disease that speaks
thus. Courage will return with health."
"You hope so?" inquired the invalid, doubtingly. "I do so too, at times;
but often I grow faint-hearted, as you say. Yes, I will live, and I will
live no longer as of yore. I will try hard to grow stronger. I will not
dream so much as I do now, will not fret and excite myself in solitude.
I will make trial of the life of a brave and wise man, who gives back
every blow that he receives," cried he, with flushed cheeks, and holding
out his hand to his friend. Anton bent over him, and left the room.
That evening Ehrenthal went to his son's bedside, as he always did,
after having closed the office door and hidden the key in his own room.
"What did the doctor say to you to-day, my Bernhard?"
Bernhard had turned his face to the wall, but he now suddenly flung
himself round, and said impetuously, "Father, I have something to speak
to you about. Lock the door, that no one may disturb us."
Ehrenthal, in amazement, ran to both doors, locked and bolted them
obediently, and then hurried back to his son's bedside.
"What is it that vexes you, my Bernhard?" inquired he, stretching out
his hand to feel his son's brow.
Bernhard drew back his head, and his father's hand sank on the
bedclothes.
"Sit down there," said the invalid, darkly, "and answer my questions as
sincerely as if you were speaking to yourself."
The old man sat down. "Ask, my son, and I will answer you."
"You have told me that you have lent much money to Baron Rothsattel;
that you will lend him no more, and that the nobleman will not be able
to retain his estate."
"It is as I have said," replied his father, as cautiously as if
undergoing a legal examination.
"And what is to become of the baron and of his family?"
Ehrenthal shrugged his shoulders. "He will forfeit his property; and
when the day comes that the estate has to be sold, I shall, on account
of my money invested therein, bid for it, and I hope I shall be the
purchaser. I have a large mortgage on it, which is safe, and a small
mortgage besides, which is not worth much."
"Father," cried Bernhard, with a piercing voice, which made Ehrenthal
start, "you wish to turn this man's misfortunes to your own profit; you
wish to seat yourself in his place. Yes, you drove to the baron's
estate, and took me with you, and perhaps you were then planning how to
turn his embarrassment to advantage. It is horrible! horrible!" He threw
himself back on the pillows and wrung his hands.
Ehrenthal moved restlessly on his seat: "Speak not of matters that you
do not understand. Business is for the day; when I come to you in the
evenings, then you are not to trouble yourself about my occupations. I
will not have you lift up your hands, and cry 'Horrible!'"
"Father!" exclaimed Bernhard, "if you would not see me die with shame
and sorrow, you will give up your plan."
"Give up!" cried Ehrenthal, indignantly. "How can I give up my gold? How
can I give up the estate about which I have taken thought night and day?
How can I give up the greatest stroke of business I have yet carried on?
You are a disobedient child, and do grieve me for nothing. What fault of
mine was it that I gave the baron my money? He would have it so. What
fault is it of mine that I buy the property? I but redeem my money."
"Cursed be every dollar that you have laid out thus! Cursed be the day
that this unblessed purpose entered your mind!" continued Bernhard, and
he raised his hand threateningly against his father.
"What is this!" cried Ehrenthal, springing up; "what evil thoughts have
taken hold of my son's heart, that he should thus speak to his father?
What I have done, have I not done it for thee, not for myself--not for
my old days? I always thought of thee, and of how thou shouldst be a
different man to thy father. I should have the labor and the anxiety,
and thou shouldst go from the castle to the garden, book in hand, and
back to the castle again, and move to and fro as thou wouldst. The
bailiff should take off his cap, and the servants their hats, and they
should all say, 'That is our young master, he who walks yonder.'"
"Yes," cried Bernhard, "this is your love: you want to make me partaker
in an unrighteous deed. You are mistaken, father. Never will I go out of
the castle into the garden, book in hand; rather will I, a poor beggar,
beg my bread on the public road, than set my foot on an estate that has
been gained by sin."
"Bernhard," cried the old man, wringing his hands in his turn, "thou
castest a stone on thy father's heart, and its weight sinks him to the
earth."
"And you ruin your son," cried Bernhard, in uncontrolled passion. "See
to it for whom you are lying and cheating; for, as sure as there is a
heaven above us, it shall never be said that you have done it for your
unhappy son."
"My son," wailed the father, "do not smite my heart with your curses.
Ever since you were a little lad, carrying your satchel to school, you
have been all my pride. I have always allowed you to do your own
pleasure. I have bought you books. I have given you more money than you
required. I have watched your eyes to read your wishes there. While I
was toiling hard all day below, I used to think, 'Because of my pains,
my son will rejoice.'" He took the corner of his dressing-gown to wipe
his eyes, and tried to recover his composure. And so he sat, a
broken-down man, face to face with his son.
Bernhard looked silently at his father's bent head. At last he reached
out his hand. "My father!" he gently said.
Ehrenthal instantly seized the proffered hand between his, and holding
it fast for fear it should be again withdrawn, he came nearer, kissed
and stroked it. "Now thou art my own kind son once more," said he, with
emotion; "now thou wilt not speak such wicked words again, or quarrel
with me about this baron."
Bernhard snatched his hand away.
"I will not press him; I will have patience about the interest," said
Ehrenthal, beseechingly, trying to recover his son's hand.
"Ah! it is useless to speak to him!" cried Bernhard, in deepest
distress; "he does not even understand my words."
"I will understand every thing," gasped out Ehrenthal, "if you will only
give me back your hand."
"Will you relinquish your plan about the estate?" asked Bernhard.
"Speak not of the estate," besought the old man.
"In vain!" murmured Bernhard, turning away and hiding his face in his
hands.
Ehrenthal sat by him annihilated and sighing deeply. "Hear me, my son,"
said he, at length; "I will see if I can not get him another estate that
he can buy with his remaining means. Do you hear me, my son Bernhard?"
"Go!" cried Bernhard, without anger, but with the energy of intense
grief. "Go, and leave me alone!"
Ehrenthal rose and left the room, walking up and down vehemently in the
next, wringing his hands, and talking to himself. Then he opened the
door, approaching Bernhard's bed, and asked, in a piteous voice, "Wilt
thou not give me thy hand, my son?" But Bernhard lay silent, with
averted face.
It was with a beating heart that Anton, two days later, gave his name to
the baron's servant.
"Wohlfart!" cried the baron, and the recollection of the letter returned
disagreeably to him; "bring him in." He met Anton's low bow rather
coolly. "I am obliged to you," said he, "for a letter lately received,
and you must excuse my having, on account of much business on hand, left
it unanswered."
"If," began Anton, "I now take the liberty of calling with reference to
the same subject, I implore you not to look upon it as intrusive. I come
here charged with a message from a friend of mine who feels the most
devoted respect for you and your family. He is the son of Ehrenthal the
merchant. He himself is prevented from waiting upon you by illness, and
therefore implores you, through me, to make use of the influence he
possesses with his father. In the event of your thinking it probable
that he may be of use, may I request you to communicate your wishes to
him?"
The baron listened eagerly. Now, when every thing forsook him upon which
he had himself relied, strangers began to interfere with his fate--this
Itzig, for instance, and Wohlfart, and now Ehrenthal's son. "I know but
little of the young man," said he, with reserve; "I must request you,
first of all, to explain to me how I happen to have the honor of
exciting such an unusual amount of interest in his mind."
Anton replied with some warmth "Bernhard Ehrenthal has a noble heart,
and his life is stainless. Having grown up among his books, he
understands little or nothing of his father's business matters, but he
is under the impression that the latter is led on by wicked advisers to
act the part of an enemy toward you. He has influence over his
father--his fine sense of rectitude is much disturbed--and he ardently
wishes to hold back a parent from proceedings which he himself considers
dishonorable."
Here was help. It was a breath of fresh air piercing through the choking
atmosphere of a sick-room; but the fresh air made the patient
uncomfortable. These honorable men, so ready to condemn all that did not
approve itself to their own sense of honor, had become distressing to
the baron. At all events, he would not expose himself to this
Wohlfart--the very essence, no doubt, of scrupulous conscientiousness.
And, accordingly, he replied with affected cordiality, "My relations to
the father of your friend are precisely such as might be facilitated by
the kindly intervention of one mutually interested in us both. Whether
young Ehrenthal, however, be the proper person, I can not decide.
Meanwhile, tell him that I am grateful for his sympathy, and that I
purpose calling upon him at his own time to consult him on the subject."
Upon which announcement Anton rose, the baron accompanying him to the
door, and, wonderful to say, making him a low bow.
It was the result of no accident that, as Anton passed through the
ante-chamber, Lenore should enter it. "Mr. Wohlfart!" she cried, with
delight, and hurried to him. "Dear young lady!" cried he; and they met
as old friends.
They forgot their interval of separation; they were as of old, partners
in the dance. Both said how much they had altered since then, and while
they said so, all the intervening years dropped off unperceived from
each.
"You wear upright collars again," cried Lenore, with a slightly
reproachful voice. Anton instantly turned them down.
"Have you got the hood you then wore? It was lined with red silk, and it
became you exquisitely."
"My present hood is lined with blue," said Lenore, laughing. "And only
think, the little Countess Lara is to be married next week! She and I
were talking of you not long ago; and Eugene, too, has written to us
about you. How enchanting, that you should have become acquainted with
my brother! Come this way, Mr. Wohlfart; I must hear how the time has
passed with you." She led him into the drawing-room, and made him sit by
her on the sofa, looking at him with those smiling eyes, whose light
used formerly to make him so happy. Much in him had changed since then;
perhaps another maiden occupied his imagination now; but when he looked
upon the mistress of his early youth, the wild, high-spirited girl
matured into the noble and graceful woman, all the feelings of the past
revived, and he breathed with rapture the perfumed air of the elegant
saloon.
"Now that I see you," said Lenore, "it seems to me as if our
dancing-lessons had only been yesterday. That was a pleasant time for me
too. Since then I have had much sorrow," added she, drooping her head.
Anton lamented this with a fervor which made her look up brightly again.
"What has brought you to my father?" inquired she, at length, in an
altered tone.
Anton spoke of Bernhard, of his long sickness, and deep regard for her
family, not concealing that she herself was the chief cause of it, which
made her look down, and fold the corners of her handkerchief together.
"If you can find a way of recommending your father to use Bernhard's
influence, do so. I can not get rid of a fear that there is a conspiracy
carrying on against him in Ehrenthal's office. Perhaps you will find
means of letting Bernhard or me know how we can best be useful."
Lenore looked mournfully in Anton's face, and moved nearer to him. "You
are to me like an old friend, and I can trust my sorrows to you. My
father conceals the cause of his anxiety from my mother and me, but he
is sadly changed the last few years. This factory requires much money,
and he is often without any, I am sure. My mother and I pray daily that
peace may be restored to us--a happy time like that when I first became
acquainted with you. As soon as I can discover any thing, I will write
to you," said she, with firm resolve; "and when Eugene comes home on
leave, he will seek you out."
Thus Anton left the baron's house, excited by his meeting with his fair
friend, and full of anxiety to serve the whole family. At the house door
he stumbled upon Ehrenthal, who, in return for his distant bow, called
after him to come very soon again to see his son Bernhard.
Ehrenthal had spent a miserable day. He had never, in the whole course
of his life, sighed or shaken his head so much before. It was in vain
that his wife, Sidonia, asked her daughter, "What ails the man, that he
sighs so deeply?" It was in vain that Itzig sought to cheer his master's
spirits by drawing glowing pictures of the future. All the
dissatisfaction in Ehrenthal's breast exploded against his book-keeper.
"It was you who advised me to take these steps against the baron," he
screamed at him on the morning after his scene with Bernhard. "Do you
know what you are? You are a good for nothing fellow." Itzig shrugged
his shoulders, and returned an ironical reply, which made Ehrenthal glad
to bury his head in the newspaper. Longer than two days he could not
endure the sight of the sorrow of his son, who got visibly worse, and
only answered his father in monosyllables. "I must make a sacrifice,"
said Ehrenthal to himself. "I must give back sleep to his eyes, and put
an end to his groaning. I will remember my son; and I will get the baron
the Rosmin property, or I will save the money that he has invested in
it, without any profit for myself. I shall lose in that way, for I might
have arranged with Löwenberg so as to gain more than a thousand dollars.
I think this will please my Bernhard." And putting his hat firmly on his
head, as if to crush down all rebellious thoughts, he entered the
dwelling of his debtor.
The baron received his unexpected visitor with breathless terror. "The
warner is scarcely gone when the enemy arrives," thought he. "He is come
to require the legal surrender of the mortgage."
But what was his relief when Ehrenthal of his own accord politely
requested that he might go to Rosmin on the baron's behalf, and take the
necessary steps. "I will employ as my coadjutor a safe man--the
Commissary Walter--so that you may see that all is done legally. You
will give me authority to bid for the property, and to raise it thus to
such a sum as shall insure your mortgage being covered by the
purchase-money that some other will pay."
"I know that this will be necessary," said the baron; "but, for God's
sake, Ehrenthal, what will be done if the property remains upon our
hands!"
Ehrenthal shrugged his shoulders. "You know that I did not persuade you
into the mortgage; indeed, I may say, if I remember aright, that I even
dissuaded you from it. If you had taken my advice then, you would
probably never have bought that mortgage."
"The thing is done, however," returned the baron, irascibly.
"First of all, baron, I must beg you to admit that I am innocent of this
matter."
"That is immaterial now."
"It is immaterial to you," said Ehrenthal, "but not to me, and to my
honor as a man of business."
"What do you mean by that?" cried the baron, in a tone that made
Ehrenthal start. "Do you dare to insinuate that any thing can be
immaterial to me about which even your honor is sensitive?"
"Why are you so irritable, baron? I say nothing against your honor God
forbid that I should."
"You spoke of it, though," said the unhappy man.
"How can you thus misunderstand an old acquaintance? I only wish for
your declaration that I am innocent of the purchase of this mortgage."
"Be it so," cried the baron, stamping.
"Then it is all right. And should a misfortune befall us, and you be
obliged to purchase the property, we will see what can be done. It is a
bad time to lend money; but still I will advance you a sum in return for
a mortgage on the property."
He then proceeded to make arrangements for his departure as the baron's
representative, and left him a prey to conflicting emotions.
Was he saved? was he lost? A fear came over him that this mortgage would
decide his fate. He resolved to go to Rosmin himself, and not leave
matters to Ehrenthal. But then came the painful thought that he must
needs repose unlimited trust in this man, lest the man learn to mistrust
him, and so he drifted here and there in a sea of dangers. The waves
rose and threatened his very life.
That evening Ehrenthal entered his son's sick-room, and placed the
newly-executed document on his bed. "Canst thou give me thy hand now?"
said he to his son, who looked gloomily before him. "I am to travel for
the baron. I am to buy him a new estate. We have settled it all
together. Here is his signature authorizing me to act for him. I am to
advance him capital; if he is wise, he may again become a man of
substance."
Bernhard looked sorrowfully at his father, and shook his head. "That is
not enough, my poor father," said he.
"But I am reconciled to the baron, and he has himself confessed that I
am not to blame for his misfortunes. Is not that enough, my son?"
"No," said the invalid; "so long as you keep that wicked man Itzig in
your office, no joy can shine in on my life."
"He shall go," said Ehrenthal, readily; "he shall go this next quarter,
if my son Bernhard wishes it."
"And will you give up the idea of buying the baron's estate for
yourself?"
"When it comes to be sold, I will think of what you have said," replied
his father. "And now speak no more about the estate; when you are my
strong, healthy son again, we will return to the subject."
So saying, he seized the hand which Bernhard delayed giving, held it
fast in both his, and sat silently beside him.
If ever in the course of his life Ehrenthal had known satisfaction, it
was now, in having brought about this reconciliation with his son.