BOANERGES AND THE YOUNG MATHEMATICIAN.
Famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes,
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery.
SHAKSPEARE.
There’s no more
Mercy in him than there’s milk in the male tiger.
_Idem._
The bowels of Boanerges Phospher, the Spiritual Professor, were
possessed of such extraordinary capacity for yearning over the fallen
and lost condition of his brothers of mankind, that, not content
with saving them by wholesale, and nightly, in those marvellously
spiritualized lectures, his indomitable energies took up the trade of
“_saving_” men individually and by detail.
This, let it be understood, was done between times, by way of
recreation, just to keep his hand in. Let us follow him on one of these
errands of mercy.
In a poor garret of Ann Street, New York, might have been seen, about
these days, a young man, seated in a rickety chair, beside a dirty pine
table, which was plentifully strewn with manuscripts covered with many
a tedious column of figures and mysterious-looking diagrams.
You saw at once, from the disproportionate size of the broad, white,
bulging brow, which brooded heavily over large mournful eyes, and
thin, emaciated features, that he was a mathematician; possessing
one of those precocious and enormous developments of the organs of
calculation, which are so apt, when not diverted by other occupations
and excitements, to consume rapidly the feeble fuel of life in their
consecrated fires.
A wretched cot-bed occupied one corner of the room, which was likewise
strewn with papers and books on mathematical subjects, while on the
mantel lay scattered little heaps of dried cheese and crusts, which
seemed so hardened, that no tooth of predatory mouse had left its mark
thereon.
The young man was dressed in entire conformity with the miserable
appearance of the room. His thin and silky hair hung in lank, clammy
locks about his shockingly pallid features, as he leaned forward on his
elbow, his forehead resting heavily on his thin hand, as he pored over
the papers before him.
“Ah me,” muttered he, “this horrid poverty!” and he threw down his pen
and sank back with a faint, despairing movement.
“My brain is giddy with this dizzy round of figures, figures. My weary
calculation is nearly done, but my over-tasked brain sickens. Ah, but
for just one good meal, to strengthen me for a few hours, and I could
finish it—finish my glorious work!”
At this moment a rapid step was heard ascending the creaking stairs;
the door flew open rudely, and, without any announcement, the Spiritual
Professor, with his hair all nice behind his ears, came bustling
forward toward the table, beside the fainting young student. Rubbing
his hands at the same time in prodigious glee of anticipation, he
exclaimed—
“Ha! my son! my spiritual child! how is it with you? Have you finished?
Is it done?”
The poor student shook his head slightly, and muttered feebly—
“No, no; I cannot finish it.”
The eager face of the Professor turned suddenly very blank and very
white at the same time, as, straightening himself, he stammered out—
“Wh-what! c-cannot finish it! You _must_ finish it! you _shall_ finish
it!” and then continuing with greater vehemence, without apparently
noticing that the weary head of the poor being before him was slowly
drooping yet lower—
“Here’s a pretty business, to be sure! This is the reward I am to get
for all I have done for you—for all my efforts to advance you in the
world—for all the heavy expenses I have incurred in bringing you on
from Cincinnati, and supporting you here! The evil spirits must have
re-entered the boy! Have I not striven for these six months faithfully,
with all my spiritual strength, to drive them forth, that I might
_save_ him? The boy must be born again—he must be regenerated once
more. _Cannot_ finish it! He must be chastened, to rebuke this evil
spirit in him; he must be reduced to bread and water. I must recall
my liberal allowance for his food; he has been living too high. The
evil demon has probably entered him through a meal of fat pork!” and
the spiritually outraged Professor sniffed with an indignant and eager
sniffle, that he might detect the presence of the forbidden food.
The poor youth, in the mean time, had been slowly sliding from his
chair, and, as the Professor turned aside with the air of an injured
cherub, the body lost its balance, and the fainting youth fell to the
floor.
“Ha! what now?” shouted our cherub with the hair behind his ears,
springing into the air with a nervous agility, as if he in reality
wore wings. He placed himself on the opposite side of the room in a
twinkling, and then turning his face, ghastly with fright, exclaimed,
“I thought the house was coming down!” and seeing the prostrate body,
he walked around it as cautiously as a cat crouches, and, with a
stealthy inspection, peered into the half-open eyelids, at the upturned
eyes, but without touching the body.
“Wh-why, the fellow’s gone and died! There goes my great speculation!”
and springing back suddenly, he rushed towards the table, and seizing
convulsively the papers, ran his eye eagerly over them, while his
hands trembled violently; and his lips turned as ashy blue as those
of the poor victim at his feet, while, with an expression of despair,
too unutterable for words to paint, he groaned out in frantic
exclamations—“No, no, no, it is not finished; nobody else can do it
but him! I’m ruined! I’m ruined! Oh, my money’s gone—my money’s gone!
To think that he should die, after all I’ve done for him—after all my
liberality! O! O! O! booh! booh! hoo!”
At this melting crisis, a slight noise caused him to turn his head; the
apparent corpse was drawing up one foot, and making some other feeble
movements, which showed that life was not entirely extinct.
At this sight the eyes of Boanerges flew open as wide, in a stare of
ecstacy, as they had before been stretched in horror, until their
suffusion “with the briny,” as Mr. Richard Swiveller would say, had
caused them to momentarily wink.
“Why, he ain’t dead yet! my speculation is safe. Some water! Where’s
some water? Get some water!” and he ran peering and dodging around the
room with an uncertain air, as if the new influx of joy had bewildered
his seraphic mind. After some little delay he found the pitcher, which
had been standing all the time in full view, within three feet of him;
he wildly dashed more than half the contents into the face of the
victim, who instantly drew a long sobbing breath, and in a moment or
two opened his eyes.
This so increased the ecstacy of the Professor, that he now ventured to
kneel beside him, and, in his eagerness, forgetting to use the tumbler
that was standing near, he nearly crushed the poor student’s teeth down
his throat, in his awkward endeavors to administer drink to him from
the heavy pitcher—exclaiming, during the process, “Drink! drink! my
son. Don’t die, for Heaven’s sake! Remember my liberality—my generous
sacrifices to advance you in the world. Remember our almanac—your great
work, that is to make your fortune. Remember how you have been saved!”
“Starved, you mean,” feebly whispered the young man, whom a few
draughts of the precious fluid had rapidly revived.
“St-a-a-r-r-ved! does he say?” yelled Boanerges, shrinking back as if
horrified, and nearly dropping the body he was supporting from his
arms. Then, suddenly releasing one arm, he smoothed back his hair
gently; that radiant, angelic expression of sweet humility, for which
it was so famous among the female part of his select and nightly
audiences, overcame his face as with a halo, and leaning down, so as to
look into the eyes of his victim, he asked, in a liquid voice, “My son,
have I—have I—thy spiritual father, starved thee?” and then tenderly
he gazed into his eyes. With a look of assured self-satisfaction that
those siren tones had done the business, he silently awaited the
answer to the gentle and rebukeful question. But no answer came to the
sweet, lingering look; the young man only closed his eyes heavily, and
shuddered.
“My son, my son!” continued the Professor, in yet more grieved and
meek, and dulcet tones. “My spiritual son, have I starved thee? have I
not been generous to a fault, and even to wronging the beloved child
of my own loins? This room, these writing materials, this tumbler,
this pitcher, that delightful bed, are they not all my free-will gifts
to thee for thy own advancement, to enable thee to glorify God in thy
works? Have I not rather saved thee from starving? You had nothing
when I took you up, to patronise your genius, and bring you before the
world; and now you have plenty! See, see, your mantel is even now
crowded with bread and cheese, that you are wasting here in the midst
of such superlative abundance.”
The young man, at the mention of the bread and cheese, turned his head
aside with an expression of bitter loathing and disgust.
“Pah!” he muttered; “the very name of it makes me sick; I have tasted
nothing else for the last six months. That is what is killing me; my
stomach can retain it no longer! Who can keep body and soul together on
thirty cents a week?”
“Horror!” exclaimed the Professor, rolling up his eyes meekly. “To
think of such frantic extravagance! And besides, my son, your spiritual
strength should have sustained you—the success of your great work, the
prospect of future glory! A _man_ starve on bread and cheese! Why, who
ever heard of such a thing? Why, when I was a boy of ten years of age,
I started alone, on foot, to cross the Alleghanies, to make my way to
the North to school. My father had moved West when I was very young. I
started with only one loaf of white bread in my bundle, when the whole
country was wild and full of bears and wolves. The wolves chased me,
and I climbed a tree; they surrounded it, barking and gnashing their
teeth, to get at me; there were five hundred wolves at least, but I in
my faith kept my strength, and remained cool as Daniel in the lion’s
den, until at last they kept me there so long, I fell asleep, when the
limb broke, and I fell down into the midst of them; the wolves were so
frightened, that they all took to their heels and ran away, leaving me
safe. _There_ is a specimen of the spiritual strength that faith gives,
and should encourage you never to give up and faint by the way. Had
you possessed more of such faith, my son, you would never have been
stretched here, upon this floor, in such a condition, and talking about
starving on bread and cheese. It is the soul, my son, the regenerate
soul, that sustains the heroic man on earth, as I have so often
endeavored to teach you.”
“Yes,” groaned the poor youth, with a gesture of impatience. “The body
must live too, and life cannot be sustained so long upon unvaried food.”
“Listen, my son!” said the patient saint at his head—“listen, and
you shall hear what I accomplished on that single loaf of bread. I
travelled on with my little bundle on my shoulder, containing the
home-spun suit I was to wear when I arrived at school, and my loaf
of bread. I travelled on till my clothes were all worn out, and my
shoes full of holes, and my feet were so sore and swollen that I was
afraid to pull off my shoes, for fear I should not be able to get them
on again. So I waded across all the brooks and mountain streams with
my clothes on, until, at last, one afternoon, when high up in the
mountains, my strength gave out, and I laid me down in the howling
wilderness, thinking I must die. The weather was very cold, and my
clothes, all wet from crossing the streams, were freezing, and the
dreaded sleepiness was coming over me, when a good widow woman, who
lived with her children on the mountains, and was out gathering wood,
accidentally found me. She took me up in her arms, and carried me
to her hut, and laid me on her bed, where I slept all night. In the
morning, when I opened my eyes, I saw her breaking the hot Indian-corn
bread, and giving it to her children. I told her if she would give me
some of her corn bread, I would divide my loaf of white bread with her
and her children. She eagerly accepted the offer, for such a luxury
as white bread had been long unknown to them, and that was my first
speculation! While they ravenously devoured my loaf, I feasted upon her
rich hot bread. My soul overflowed with delight as I witnessed their
intense enjoyment of the meal I had been thus instrumental in bringing
them, and I felt as if the Lord had thus enabled me to fully repay them
for their kindness. I rose to depart, and the good woman, filling my
bundle with a large piece of her hot bread, sent me, with her blessing,
on my way rejoicing. Thus, you see, my dear son, how, through the
spiritual strength which faith imparts, and which you so much need,
I was enabled to cross the Alleghany mountains alone, at ten years of
age, with nothing but my loaf of white bread, and without so much as a
bit of cheese, or a cent in my pocket, and attained to the great goal
of my ambition, the school; and from whence, by the aid of selling
an occasional button from my jacket, I have been able to rise to my
present position as professor and patron of struggling genius.”[2]
“Ah!” said the young man, “words, words! Give me to eat—I am starving!”
and his head sank back once more.
The Professor again deluged him with water, and, profoundly surprised
and alarmed that the honeyed eloquence of his sagacious narrative had
proved unavailing in convincing his victim that he could and ought to
live upon faith, came to the desperate resolution of being guilty of
the extravagance, for once, of a _small_ bowl of soup to resuscitate
his victim, and depositing his head upon some books, though the pillow
was equally convenient, he hurried off to the nearest eating-house,
with his hands upon his pockets, which were overflowing with gold, as
he was then in the meridian height of his prosperity.
* * * * *
The sequel to this particular story is a short one. The young man
revived with the change of a single nutritious meal, and with it
returned the courage of even the trodden worm; for he now stoutly told
the Spiritual Professor that, unless he furnished him with ample means
to support life, he would not touch an another figure of the immense
and complicated calculations on which he had been so long engaged.
[2] Incredible as it may seem, we pledge our personal veracity that
this bald and silly narration, which appears to be merely a foolish
burlesque, is a _bona fide_, _et literatim_, _et punctuatim_,
transcript, as close as it is possible for memory to furnish, of
stories that were, at least as often as five days out of the seven,
related at the dinner-table at which Boanerges presided, to long
double lines of gaping women, who, obedient to the irresistible
spell he bore, had followed up this maudlin Proteus of Professors,
as disciples of water-cure, through his latest metamorphoses, into
physician of such an establishment in Boston. It was _thus_ he
exhorted them to faith, and encouraged his backsliders.
The Professor, of course, resisted to the last, and quoted the
correspondences upon him, with desperate fluency. But when the young
man coolly seized the manuscript on the table before him, and held it
over the flickering flame of the miserable dip candle, which had now
been of necessity lighted, the Professor sprang forward to arrest his
hand, shrieking—
“I will! I will! for God’s sake, stop!—how much do you want?”
“Five dollars a week!” was the cold response, as the flame caught the
edges of the paper.
“I’ll give it! I’ll give it! What fearful extravagance! My God! put it
out!”
“Pay me five dollars at once,” said the other.
“Here it is—here it is!” and he jerked, in his excitement, from his
pocket, a dozen gold-pieces of that value, and dashed them upon the
table.
“Take your five dollars! put it out!”
The young man quietly swept the pieces within his reach into a drawer,
which he at the same moment opened; and, extinguishing the margin of
the manuscript, which had burned slowly from its thickness, he replied
deliberately to the Professor, who had shrieked out—
“Do you mean to rob me?”
“No, sir! but I mean to keep this money, and if you approach me, I
shall destroy this manuscript if it cost me my life. You have starved
and outraged me long enough; you expect to make a fortune off my
labors, and kill me with famine just as my work is done. But with all
my humility, abstraction and patience, this is too much! I am roused at
last, in self-defence, and you shall find it so!”
The Professor sank into a chair as if fainting, and for some moments
continued to mutter, with more than the magnanimity of a sick kitten—
“To think! Robbed! All my generosity! The ruffian! Here, to my very
face! What have I gained by saving him?”
This last expression was gasped out, as if the vital breath of the
speaker was passing in the final spasm.
The scene need not be prolonged. The valorous Professor crept away,
cowed beneath the cold, firm, lustrous eye of the now aggressive
victim, whose enthusiasm for science and earnest self-dedication, had
heretofore kept him blinded to a full realisation of all the monstrous
iniquity which had so long been practised upon his abstracted, meek,
and uncomplaining nature. He now determined to take his life into his
own hands, and saw clearly through all the shallow and ridiculous
pretence of patronage and “saving,” by which his single-hearted fervor
had been beguiled.
In a few days it was announced to the Professor, whose faith and
spiritual strength—the same that had scared off the wolves when he fell
among them—had in the interval been restored to their equilibrium, that
the great work was now completed, and the announcement was accompanied
by a proposition on the part of the young mathematician to sell out
to him entire his copyright share in the whole enterprise, at a price
so comparatively insignificant, when the Professor’s own florid
anticipations of future results were considered, that he sprang at the
offer eagerly, and thus possessed himself at once of the “golden goose.”
The young mathematician disappeared, and the Professor was left
exulting in the sole possession of what seemed to him, in vision, the
nearest representative of the gold of Ophir, not to speak of California.
The idea of the young mathematician was, in itself, a practical one,
and seemed rationally conceived.
We have used the word almanac, by which it was designated, but in
reality it very poorly conveys the subtle and singular combinations
which were here brought to bear upon a circular, rotary surface, the
aim of which was, to so far simplify the calculations of interest,
wages, discounts, and a hundred other tedious and difficult problems
occurring in complicated business affairs, that the merchant or banker
had only to glance his eye down a line of figures, to ascertain in
a moment results which would take him, by all the ordinary aids and
processes, a long calculation to arrive at.
It was a brilliant conception, which must prove ultimately a most
successful discovery of the young mathematician, and one which had
cost him many years of careful analysis and profound observation. But
as he handed over the perfected copyright to our astute Professor,
who had just enough of button-trading cunning to perceive the immense
practical results of the enterprise, without the slightest knowledge
of the processes by which it had been perfected, there might have been
noticed upon the face of his former victim, as he pocketed his paltry
bonus, a slight sneer, which would have alarmed any one less gifted
with occasional short-sightedness than our Professor has shown himself
to be.
He made off with the documents in an ecstacy of triumph, and forthwith
began making round purchases of paper, pasteboard, and other mechanical
appliances necessary to his success, to the amount of thousands of his
easily-got gains; and then as heavy sums were as rapidly expended upon
the costly and difficult copper-plate engraving, which was to set forth
in full the triumph, the undivided honors of which he now claimed, to
the world.
There are few of the main printing-offices in the country that had
not, or have not, that famous circular almanac hanging upon their
walls. Unfortunately the Professor had been too eager to promulgate
his triumph, and powerfully illustrated in this experiment the truth
of the old aphorism, “The greater haste the less speed;” for it turned
out, upon a close examination of the long and intricate series of
calculations, by scientific men, that the fatal error of a single
numeral ran throughout its complex demonstration, and rendered
its whole results utterly futile, without the enormous expense of
cancelling the costly copper-plate, and the tremendous edition which
had been already issued. The incorrigible ignorance of the Spiritual
Professor had rendered him incapable of detecting the error himself,
and he had thereby swamped effectually not only his magnanimous
speculation in this particular case, but thoroughly dissipated the
abundant proceeds of his more successful speculation in the spiritual
correspondences.
This little accident threw him upon his shifts, but we shall surely
find him upon his feet again hereafter.
Had not his starving victim subtly worked out a sublime revenge, in
spite of the fact that he had been over and over again so thoroughly
_saved_? So much for Boanerges and the young mathematician.