THE THAW EXTENDS EVEN TO PETROWITSCH, BUT
HE FREEZES AGAIN.
"I know why you are come," said Petrowitsch, when the Doctor entered;
"but sit down." He drew in a chair for him near the stove, where in
front there was a bright fire blazing, and behind a well heated stove.
"Now, what do I want, prophet?" said the Doctor, summoning up all his
wits.
"Money! you want money for my nephew!"
"You are only half a prophet, for I want a kindly heart also."
"Money, money, is the chief object. I will, however, at once say, I am
not one of those who charitably lift up a drunken man lying on the
road, and if he has broken his leg tell him he has only himself to
blame. I say this to you, because you are one of the few people whom I
respect in the world."
"Thank you for your good opinion; but a skilful physician must try to
heal injuries, whether deserved or undeserved."
"You are a doctor, and yet you have the same malady as the whole
country, indeed every one of our race."
The Doctor expressed his surprise at seeing him under so novel an
aspect. He had always, hitherto, thought that his misanthropy proceeded
from mere love of ease and indolence, but now he saw it was grounded on
a system.
"Will you sit an hour with me? This is my seventieth birthday."
"I wish you joy!"
"Thank you."
Petrowitsch sent his maid to Ibrahim, to say that he could not join
him, to play their usual game, for an hour; then he sat down beside the
Doctor, and said: "I feel myself today in a humour to be communicative.
I care nothing at all for what the world thinks of me; this log of wood
that I am now laying on the fire, cannot care less who burns it."
"It would interest me very much, however, if you would relate to me how
you have hardened into such a block of petrified wood."
Petrowitsch laughed, and the Doctor, though he knew how anxiously Lenz
was expecting him, hoped, by seeing deeper into the rugged old man's
character, to be able to bend him to his wishes. His plan was, that
Petrowitsch should advance a certain sum, to enable Lenz to enter the
manufactory as a junior partner.
"You were eight years old when I left home to travel," began
Petrowitsch, "and so you know nothing of me."
"Oh, yes, I do! many wild pranks were related of the----"
"The little Goatherd? That name has been the plague of my life. I was
two and twenty years in foreign parts, at sea and on land, in every
possible degree of heat and cold that man or dog ever endured, and that
name followed me like a dog, and I was fool enough not to give it a
kick, and so get rid of it for ever.
"We were three brothers, and had no sisters. Our father was a proud man
when we three came, but in those days children were not so kindly
treated as now, and I think it was better; it made us independent, and
a single word, good or bad, made more impression than a hundred now. My
brother Lorenz, who was called by our family name Lenz at home, the
father of the present Lenz, was the eldest, and I the youngest. Our
second brother, Mathes, was a very handsome young man; he was carried
off by that great butcher of mankind, Napoleon, and was killed in
Spain. I have been on the battlefield where he fell. There is a high
hill, and a mass of soldiers lie buried there, so what chance of
finding out a brother among them! But what's the use of telling you
that? Not long after Mathes had become a soldier, my brother Lenz went
to Switzerland for a few months, and took me with him. Who so happy as
I? My brother was a quiet, thoughtful man; every one must admit that.
He was like a first-rate clock--exact and punctual,--but stern, very
stern. I was a wild, unruly lad, good for nothing, nor had I any notion
of sitting in a workshop. What did my brother do? He took me to a fair
for hiring servants at St. Gall, which took place every year. The great
Swiss farmers hire their shepherd lads from Swabia.
"As I was standing beside my brother in the marketplace, a stout, bluff
Appenzel farmer came up, and stood opposite us, his feet well apart,
leaning on a stick, and said to my brother, 'What is the price of the
lad?'
"I gave the saucy answer, 'A log of Swiss impudence, six feet broad,
and six feet high.'
"The stout farmer laughed, and said to my brother: 'The boy is no fool.
I like him, and we can arrange the terms together.'
"Lorenz and the farmer came to an agreement, and the only speech my
brother made me at parting was, 'If you come home before the winter you
shall be well flogged.'
"I was a goatherd for a whole summer. It was a pleasant enough life,
and I was constantly singing; but often the words rang in my ears 'What
is the price of the lad?' and I felt as if I had been sold like Joseph
in Egypt. Like him, my brother sold me, but I never became a great man.
"I returned home when winter came. I was not well used at home, but
then I did not deserve to be so. In the spring I said to my father,
'Give me a hundred gulden's worth of clocks, and I will take them about
the country to sell.' 'You are more likely to get a hundred boxes on
the ear,' said my brother Lorenz, on hearing this.
"At that time the whole business had devolved on him, and the household
also. Our father was in bad health, and our mother did not venture to
interfere. In those days women were not so much thought of as now, and
I think on that very account they were better off, and their husbands
too. I then contrived to persuade a pedlar to take me with him, to
carry his clocks. I was almost bent double with fatigue, and often
suffered miserably from hunger, and yet never could escape from my
tyrant. I was as much under the yoke as any carthorse, but the latter
is not allowed to starve, because its value would be gone. I sometimes
thought of robbing my master, and running away, but then again, as a
penance for my wicked thoughts, I would determine to stay with my
tormentor.
"In spite of all I remained both honest and healthy. I must relate one
circumstance here, because it is connected with my subsequent history,
and cost me dear. I went to Spain with Anton Striegler. We were in a
large village about twenty miles from Valencia; it was a fine summer
afternoon, and we were sitting outside a posada, as an inn is called in
Spain, chatting to each other. A handsome young man, with large black
eyes, was passing; but, on hearing us talking, he stood still all of a
sudden, and begun throwing up his arms as if he were mad. I gave
Striegler a push to look at him, when the lad rushed up to us, and
seized Striegler's hand. 'What were you speaking?' asked he, in
Spanish. 'That is no one's business,' said Striegler, also in Spanish.
'What language was it?' asked the Spaniard again. 'German,' said
Striegler. The young man grasped the holy effigy he wore round his
neck, and kissed it as if he would devour it, and at last he told us
that his father at home spoke that language, and begged us to come with
him. On our way he related to us, that his father came to this village
more than forty years ago, that he was a German, and had married here.
For some weeks past he had been lying dangerously ill, and for several
days he had been speaking in a language none of them understood, and
his father could no longer understand his wife, or children, or
grandchildren. It was quite heartbreaking. We went into the house,
where we found an old man, with snow white hair and long beard, calling
out, 'Get me a bunch of rosemary;' and then he sung, 'And plant it on
my grave!' I shuddered on seeing and hearing this, but Striegler went
up boldly to him, saying, 'How are you, fellow countryman?' Never, if I
live a hundred years, can I forget the expression of the old man's eyes
on hearing these words; they were wide open and fixed, and he first
stretched out his hands, and then crossed them over his breast, as if
he were pressing the precious words to his heart. Striegler spoke
again, and the old man gave very rational answers, sometimes rather
confused, but on the whole quite intelligible. He was originally from
Hesse, but had taken the name of Caballero, and was naturalised in
Spain. For fifty years he had spoken nothing but Spanish, and now at
the point of death, he could not speak a single word of Spanish--it all
seemed blown away into the air; and I believe, though I am not so sure
of this, that he no longer even understood a syllable of Spanish. The
whole family were most thankful that we could interpret what the old
man said.
"Striegler profited by being so much considered in the village, and did
a good turn of business there; and in the meanwhile I sat with the old
man, and the best time I ever had was when I travelled with Striegler.
I got plenty to eat and drink; the people fed me up as if it were to
benefit the old man. He did not die, after all, and we went away in
three days; but scarcely were we a couple of miles on our road, when
the son came riding after us, to say that his father was calling for us
in such distress that we must go back. We did so, and heard him talking
German, but we could not understand what he wanted, and exclaiming,
'Now I am going home!' he died."
Petrowitsch here made a pause, and then continued:--"The whole affair
made a considerable impression on my mind; I did not know how deep till
long after.
"Striegler subsequently returned to Spain, and, I heard, married one of
Caballero's daughters. When we were in France I met your father, Herr
Doctor, who soon saw that I was far from being the good for nothing
fellow I had been called. He furnished me with means to enable me to
trade on my own behalf. I had learned to save and to starve for the
benefit of others; now I did so to some purpose for my own benefit. I
repaid your father his money punctually, and he entrusted me with more
goods. I have been half round the world. I can speak five languages,
but whenever I heard a word of German, especially the Black Forest
dialect, it made my heart beat with joy. I had one great fault, I never
could overcome the love of home. It glided after me, and by my side, as
if it had been a spirit; and at many a jovial drinking-match in foreign
lands the wine tasted to me as if some one had spilt salt in it."
Petrowitsch again paused, and poked the fire till it crackled and
blazed up brightly; and, passing his hand over his wrinkled face, he
began again thus:--"I pass over ten years. By that time my fortune was
made, and I was living in Odessa. That is a splendid city; all nations
seem at home in it, and I have a friend still there whom I can never
forget. There are also villages in the vicinity, Lustdorf, and
Kleinliebenthal, and various others, where numbers of Germans live, not
from our country, but chiefly from Wurtemberg. I received proposals
from home on every side, but I remained with your father to the day of
his death. I had then realized a very pretty sum, and might have driven
in my carriage, but I preferred going on foot through all Russia. I
never knew what fatigue meant. Look at my arm even now! every muscle is
like steel; but thirty years ago!--it was very different then.
"I established myself in Moscow, where I stayed four years. I ought not
to say established myself, for I was never fairly settled or at rest in
one place, I never, even for an hour, made myself at home anywhere, and
that helped me to save and to make money. I met plenty of my
countrymen, and I helped many. More than one, who has since prospered
in the world, owes his fortune to me. I asked them what was going on at
home. My father was dead, my mother dead also, and my brother married.
I asked if any of them had ever enquired for me; the people, however,
could not give me much information on that point. My brother said I
would be sure to come home a beggar. And do you know what hurt my
feelings most of all?--to hear all my countrymen still call me the
Goatherd. My brother was to blame, for my being obliged to bear this
degrading nickname all my life. I had all sorts of ideas in my head,
and thought of sending him a couple of thousand gulden, and writing
along with the money--'The Goatherd sends you this for the hundred
boxes on the ear, for which he is still in your debt; and for all the
kindness you have shown him, and all the care you have taken of him.' I
often resolved to do this, but somehow I never did. I could no longer
remain in Moscow. I wished to go home; but instead of going home I went
to Tiflis, and stayed there eleven years; and as I began to grow older,
I thought--'You must now act quite differently: you must go home, and
take a whole sackful of gold with you; and all the people in the place
shall see it except your brother, and you will not say one word to
him.' And all this brooding over the matter, led me at last to be
firmly convinced that he had persecuted and neglected me, and that he
would have been glad if I had died. I was determined that he should be
punished for this. I almost hated him, and often thought many evil
things about him; and yet I could not get rid of his image, nor prevent
myself from dwelling on it. Besides, I had always a longing for home,
greater than I can describe. No water in the world was so good as that
of the well near the church at home; and on summer evenings, how sweet
the air was--quite like balsam! I would have given a thousand gulden to
any one who could have brought me a roomful of air from home. These
were ideas that passed through my brain thousands of times. And then I
rejoiced in the thought how all the men in the upper and lower villages
would flock together and say--'That is Peter,' or Petrowitsch, as they
used to call me; and they should all be feasted for three days, and eat
and drink as much as they liked. And in the large meadow before our
house I would place long tables, and all should come who chose to come;
all--all might have a place there except my brother. And yet, in the
midst of this rancour, I felt that he was the only man in the world I
really loved; but I was unwilling to own this to myself. Every
successive year I said--'At the very next settlement I will go.' But I
could never tear myself away; for in such a business as mine, where all
you touch turns to gold, you have not the heart to leave it. I became
old and grey by degrees--I scarcely know how. Then I was seized with
illness--very severe illness. I remember nothing of what occurred
during several weeks; but when I was recovering they told me that when
I was delirious, I spoke in a language that no one could understand,
except the doctor, who knew a word or two here and there, and said it
was German, but he scarcely comprehended me. I had often called out
'Cain!' and said, 'What is the price of the lad?' Then I thought of old
Caballero, whom I had seen in Valencia on his deathbed. Suppose you
were one day to lie and thirst for water, as he did, and no man to know
a word you were saying! Now my resolution was finally taken. Home,
home, home! I soon got well, for I have a good constitution: I had
settled my plans, and no obstacle should prevent my going home. If my
brother creeps to me humbly, and says, 'I have not behaved well to
you,' then I will stay with him till I die. How long may that be? What
is all the world to us, when we have not those near and dear to us? On
the journey--for at last I had actually started--I was just like a
child who runs gaily home after escaping into the wood. I was often
obliged to remember how old I was, and the hatred of my brother began
to plague me again, and such a feeling is like an ever open wound.
"I got home at last.
"When I entered the valley, I felt as if the hills rose to come to meet
me.
"I drove through several villages--so and so lived there. I no longer
knew the names of the places, but when I had passed them I remembered
the names. I came into our own village. It was a fine summer
evening--the people had been haymaking, and the bells were ringing:
it was as if I all of a sudden heard voices once more, that I no
longer believed to be in the world. I had heard many bells during the
forty-two years I had been in other lands, but no tones so sweet as
these. I took off my hat involuntarily; but when the air of my own home
blew round my head, it revived and refreshed me--there seemed a welcome
home in it. I can't tell you how I felt: I thought my grey hairs must
become young again. I recognised very few of the people I met on the
road; but I knew you, Doctor, at once, for you were so like your
father. Not a soul recognised me. I stopped at the 'Lion,' and
asked--'Is Lorenz of the Morgenhalde at home?' 'At home! What do you
mean? He has been dead for seven years.'"
"It was as if a flash of lightning had struck me to the earth. I
repressed my feelings, however; indeed no one ever did know at any time
what was really passing within me.
"I went to my room, and, late at night, out into the village, where
a hundred things renewed my home feelings. I went to my parents'
house--all was still there. I half resolved to leave the place again
before day dawned. What could I do here? and no one had known me. But I
did not go for all that.
"Soon people came from all quarters, holding out their hands in the
hope that I would enrich them. But here, Doctor, one day, when I had
nothing better to do, I fed the sparrows on my window sill; and after
that, the importunate beggars came, as if possessed of an evil spirit,
every morning to the same spot; and the noise they made drove me nearly
distracted, but I could no longer succeed in driving them away. It is
easy to encourage others, but not so easy to get rid of them. I gave up
asking after any one, for whenever I inquired I heard of nothing but
misfortunes and death. Those whom I met, I was happy to see--those whom
I did not meet, I made no mention of. All came crowding to see me,
except my sister-in-law and her young prince. My sister-in-law said:
'My brother-in-law knows where his parents' house stands--we shall not
run after him.' The first time I saw young Lenz I was not at all taken
with him, for he had no look of our family, but was the image of his
mother. Now when I looked round the village, and the whole country, I
could have torn out my grey hairs at ever having come home. Everything
seemed stunted, and dwarfed, and gone to ruin. And where are the old
jolly times--the old spirit and fan? All gone! The young people were a
worthless set. Was I not obliged to pull the unripe cherries from the
trees in my avenue that their young stems might not be destroyed? My
singing nephew was always sitting at home, while I had seen the world.
Nothing hurt me; but every rough breeze or rough word hurt him,
and made him ill. Once only I had a better opinion of him, and
thought--He will yet brighten your life.' If he had married your
daughter Amanda, I would either have gone to live with the young
people, or they might have lived with me. My property would have come
into your family; and that I should have liked, for to your father I
owe the foundation of my prosperity--if it be prosperity. That
confounded Pilgrim guessed my thoughts, and wished to make me the
medium to propose this scheme; but I refused at once. I never will do
anything for any one--never! I persuade no one to any course of action,
nor can any one persuade me. Each one must live for himself; and this
is the principal point I wish to impress upon you--that I never will
give away one single kreuzer. I would rather throw my money into the
sea. Now I have talked long enough. I am quite tired and overheated."
"How did the water taste from the well by the church, for which you had
longed so much?" asked the Doctor.
"Bad, very bad--so cold and hard that I could not drink it."
The Doctor laid hold of this admission to endeavour to show Petrowitsch
that the world, like the water in the well, had neither changed nor
become worse; but that his stomach was no longer young, and his eyes
and thoughts also had grown older. He said to Petrowitsch that it was
but natural, that so much in contact with the world and with strangers,
he should have become inured to all weathers, and indifferent to harsh
words; but that it was also indispensable for the establishment of
domestic industry and frugality, that some men should stay at home and
work assiduously; and especially those who made musical works, ought to
have a degree of acuteness of perception amounting to sensitiveness: at
the same time he showed him that he was, in reality, himself as
soft-hearted as his nephew.
He placed before him, in most emphatic language, that it was his duty
to help Lenz; but Petrowitsch was once more the hard, inflexible, old
man: and concluded by these words:--"I stick to what I said. I meddle
with no man, and wish no man to meddle with me. I will do nothing. Not
another word, Doctor, for I cannot stand it."
And so it ended. As a messenger now came from Ibrahim, Petrowitsch left
the house with the Doctor. When they parted the Doctor went on to the
Morgenhalde. He was obliged to draw his cloak round him, for there was
a strong, but singularly soft wind blowing.