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(The Library of Congress)
_No. 27_ _25 Cts._
HARPER'S HANDY SERIES
Issued Weekly
Copyright, 1855, Subscription Price by HARPER & BROTHERS OCTOBER 9,
1885 per Year, 52 Numbers, $15
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Entered at the Post-Office at New York, as Second-class Mail Matter
SELF-DOOMED
A Novel
BY B. L. FARJEON AUTHOR OF "BLADE-O'-GRASS" "LONDON'S HEART" "LOVE'S
HARVEST" "GREAT PORTER SQUARE" ETC., ETC.
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_Books you may hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after
all_ Dr. JOHNSON
NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 1885
CONTENTS
I. MASTER FINK RELATES CERTAIN INTERESTING PARTICULARS CONCERNING
HIS APPRENTICE, GIDEON WOLF.
II. A LOVE-CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF MASTER FINK.
III. MASTER FINK HAS A SINGULAR DREAM.
IV. MASTER FINK HAS A SINGULAR DREAM.
V. RELATES HOW GIDEON WOLF WAS SEEN BY OLD ANNA PLAYING CARDS
WITH THE DEVIL.
VI. PRETZEL THE MISER, WITH THE EVIL EYE.
VII. GIDEON WOLF PROPOSES TO ADOPT MASTER FINK AS HIS FATHER.
VIII. MASTER FINK RESOLVES TO UNDERTAKE A JOURNEY.
IX. RELATES WHAT KIND OF HARVEST MASTER FINK GATHERED IN THE COURSE
OF HIS JOURNEY.
X. MASTER FINK HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH THE WOMAN HE LOVED.
XI. RELATES HOW GIDEON WOLF LEFT MASTER FINK'S EMPLOYMENT.
XII. MASTER FINK ENDEAVORS TO RESCUE KATRINE LOEBEG FROM THE EVIL
INFLUENCE OF PRETZEL THE MISER.
XIII. GIDEON WOLF AND HIS MOTHER BEGIN THE NEW YEAR TOGETHER.
SELF-DOOMED.
CHAPTER I.
MASTER FINK RELATES CERTAIN INTERESTING PARTICULARS CONCERNING HIS
APPRENTICE, GIDEON WOLF.
I am truly glad to see you; this meeting has warmed my heart. It is
one of life's pleasantest experiences to shake the hand of an old
friend, and to learn from his own lips that he has not forgotten you
in his wanderings. I am sorely grieved to hear that you have lost
your faithful mate, the dear woman who was your companion for so many
years. Be comforted; we shall meet them again, these beloved ones.
Resignation, friend, resignation. There are griefs which all mortals
have to bear. Happy the man in whose heart shines the bright star of
Hope, and who derives consolation from it. It is a solace born of Faith
the comforter, and it is beyond price.
You are anxious to know what has become of my people? Name them,
friend. Gideon Wolf, my apprentice? And pretty Katrine Loebeg, too--you
are curious about her? Strange that you should bring their names into
association, for when you last visited me, twelve years ago, there was
nothing between those two; I may say that with confidence. Indeed,
it is scarcely possible there could have been, for Katrine was but
thirteen. A beautiful maiden, truly, but her heart was not then ripe
enough for love; she was a mere child. Twelve years ago! Ah me, ah
me! How time flies! The three best seasons have passed over my head,
and I am in the winter of my life. But I feel young sometimes even
now--yes, indeed, I am good for many a year, I hope. I am fond of life,
and I have much to be grateful for, though I stand alone in the world,
without wife or child.
Gideon Wolf and Katrine Loebeg! Gracious heavens, the contrast! Truly a
wolf and a lamb; a hawk and a dove; a poisonous weed and a pure white
lily. But you were as much a stranger to those two when you were here
last as you are at the present moment. Old Anna was my house-keeper
then. You remember Anna; you had good jokes with her, and she liked
you; she said you were a proper man. Where is she now, you ask? In her
grave. She served me faithfully, and lived till she was nearly eighty.
Ah, she was a treasure--you don't often meet with such. Everything went
on in the house from hour to hour, from day to day, from week to week,
like a well regulated clock. And what beautiful stews she made! Never,
never shall I taste the like again. I have another house-keeper now.
Hush! She is here.
* * * * * *
She has gone, and will not trouble us again to-night. You are
thoughtful--you observed something strange in her. Her dead-white face,
her long silvery hair, her great fixed eyes have impressed you. Why,
yes--she never seems to see anything that is before her, but to be
forever gazing into a world invisible to all other human beings. What
she beholds there, Heaven only knows, though I sometimes fancy I can
see with my mind's eye the terrible scene which shall abide with her
to the last hour of her life, and the figures who played their parts
therein. On rare occasions I have heard her addressing them, but in a
tone so low that her words have not reached my ears. To me she never
speaks except upon the duties of the house, or in reply to a question I
ask her. You will scarcely believe that she was beautiful once--very,
very beautiful--and that she might have picked and chosen. No, she was
never married. What a pitiful look in her eyes? Yes, yes; it is enough
to move one to sadness. What is it you desire to know? Is she in her
right mind? No, she is mad!
Yes, she is mad, but she is perfectly harmless, and goes about her
duties well enough in her dull, monotonous way, and is a good cook,
too, but not so good as Anna. That is not to be wondered at. There
never was another cook like Anna. My mouth waters when I think of
her. This one is not old. You will scarcely credit it--she is not
yet six-and-twenty. Ah, you may well open your eyes. But if you will
consider a little, you will not be able to recall the memory of any
old woman whose white hair was so thick and abundant, and who wore it
loose, as this young one does, almost to her knees. Not many years ago
her hair was golden brown, and we used to gaze upon it and upon her
with delight and admiration--for her eyes were the brightest of any,
and her face had a beautiful color in it.
Fill your pipe again, and draw closer to the fire. How the wind
shrieks without! There are angry spirits abroad; it is a mercy we
are comfortably housed. So! Settle yourself in your arm-chair, and I
will tell you the story of Gideon Wolf, who worked for me till he was
twenty-four years of age, and who was not satisfied with the fruits of
honest labor, because it did not enable him to grow rich in a month.
That was his sole idea of happiness--riches, nothing but riches. The
flowers of the fields, the fragrance of the hedges, the singing of
the birds, the beauty of the heavens, all the wonders of nature--they
were naught to him. He set up an idol for himself, and he worshipped
it with all his might. Did a carriage roll past the door, he would
look up from his work with discontent in his eyes, and an expression
on his face which said, as plainly as if he had uttered the words
aloud, "Why haven't _I_ a carriage? Why should _I_ walk, while others
ride?" Did a gentleman in a fine coat enter my shop to leave his watch
to be cleaned, there on Gideon's face was always the same miserable
expression.
"Master Fink," he said, "the poor are much to be pitied."
"So are the rich, Gideon," I answered. "I doubt whether of the two, the
poor have not the most reason to be grateful."
"Grateful!" he cried. "For what? For having so little, while the rich
have so much?"
"Every back to its burden," I said. "Go on with your work, my lad, and
make the best of things. You will be the happier for it."
But it was not in his nature to follow such good advice. Did he drink
beer he turned it sour by grumbling that it wasn't wine. He envied
everybody who had finer things than he could afford to buy, and the
jingling of silver in other people's pockets sent the blood rushing
angrily through his veins. I knew that he hungered for money, but I was
not afraid that he would rob me. I was a sharp blade at my business,
and my property was safe from his itching fingers. Let a spring, a
pair of hands, the smallest of wheels be missing, and I was sure to
find it out. He was aware of this; I had taken some pains to make him
understand it. Besides, if he had robbed me of all I possessed it would
not have contented him. That is one of the curses of such natures as
his--never to be satisfied, never to be even grateful.
When his apprenticeship was out I still employed him, paying him piece
by piece for the work he did. Had I paid him a regular wage he would
have got the advantage of me. He did not earn a great deal; after
deducting what was due for his board and lodging there was seldom at
the end of the week more than a florin for him to receive. He spent
upon his clothes more than he was warranted in doing, for he aped the
fashions of his betters. It was money thrown away; the finest clothes
in the world could not make Gideon Wolf look like a gentleman. Then he
indulged in a terrible vice which eats into the soul of a man--he was a
gambler. He had a poor mother, fifty miles away, who, he would declare
with a hypocritical look at the rafters, depended upon him for support.
With what a long face would he come to me and say,
"Master Fink, my dear mother is sick--very, very sick! I beg of you to
lend me five florins to send her. It will be an act of true charity.
You can put it down to my account. Do not fear that you will lose
anything by me. One day I shall be rich, and I will repay you every
florin."
But he gave his mother nothing; it was within my knowledge that during
all the years he was in my service he had not sent her the smallest
coin. Sometimes it was not for his mother that he begged money of me.
"Ah, what an adventure, Master Fink--what a sad, melancholy adventure!"
he would say, bursting in upon me suddenly.
"What is the matter, now, Gideon?" I would ask, preparing for the shock.
"Oh, the world--the cruel, cruel world!" he would moan. "You know,
Master Fink, that I went from here with three florins in my pocket,
which I intended to pay Muller the tailor off the just debt I owe him."
"Proceed, Gideon."
"On the outskirts of the town I met a poor unfortunate woman--"
"On the outskirts of the town, Gideon? That is not the way to Muller's
shop."
"Muller was not in when I called, so, the day being fine, I took a walk
through the woods. Was it good or bad fortune, Master Fink, that the
idea came into my head of walking through the woods?"
"Until you further enlighten me I cannot say."
"You shall hear all. In the woods I met this poor unfortunate woman.
She had no shoes to her feet, and only a thin torn dress upon her body;
and oh, Master Fink, she had a baby in her arms who was sobbing for
want of food. The wretched creature told me her sad story, and begged
me, if I had a mother of my own, to save her child from starvation.
What could I do? I am poor--yes, I am poor, and the money in my pocket
really belonged to Muller, but could I resist so heart-rending an
appeal? Could _you_ have resisted it? No, you are too humane, and
because I am not rich, am I to be deprived of the pleasure of doing a
good action? I did as you would have done. Without considering how I
should replace the three florins I gave them to the poor woman, who
crawled away, calling down blessings on my head."
"You want me to lend you three florins to pay Muller."
"Yes, Master Fink, to lend it, not to give it. You must not rob me of
the pleasure of doing an act of charity."
To these and numberless other stories I would listen, without troubling
myself to contradict him. What would have been the use? As long as I
kept Gideon with me it was best not to come to words with him, and I
bore with many things of which I did not approve. Occasionally I lent
him a portion of what he asked for, taking care that he did not get
too deeply in my debt, and I used to think with wonder of the amazing
amount of deceit that could be hidden in the breast of one human being.
I see in your eyes the question, Why, if I did not like Gideon Wolf,
did I continue to employ him? Why did I keep him, an indifferent
workman, in my shop, when there were so many better men looking for
work who would have been grateful to me all the days of their lives
if I had taken them on? For it is not workmen that are difficult to
find; it is masters. Well, there was a strong human reason, and I may
speak of it now because it will hurt no one. It was not for the sake of
Gideon Wolf, but for the sake of his mother, that I kept him with me.
Friend, I am going to open for you a chapter of my life which few have
read.