PETROVITSCH THAWS AND FREEZES AGAIN.
"I know what you have come for," said Petrovitsch to the doctor as he
entered. "Take a seat." He drew a chair up to the well-heated stove, in
front of which a bright open fire was burning.
"Well, what have I come for, Sir Prophet?" asked the doctor, summoning
all his good-humor to his aid.
"Money; money for my nephew."
"You are but half a prophet; I want a kind heart too."
"But money, money is the main point. Let me tell you at the start that
I am not one of those who spend their tenderness over a drunkard by the
roadside. On the contrary, if the fellow has a broken leg, he has no
one but himself to thank for it. I speak thus freely to you because you
are one of the few men whom I respect."
"Thank you for the compliment. An honest physician, however, must heal
the diseases that are of a man's own making as well as those he could
not prevent."
"You are a physician, and you are sick too, like our whole
district,--like our whole race in these days."
The doctor expressed surprise at the new light Petrovitsch thus threw
upon his character, revealing principle and not a love of ease as the
groundwork of his misanthropy.
"Can you sit an hour with me? To-day is my seventieth birthday."
"I congratulate you."
"Thanks."
Petrovitsch sent the maid to Ibrahim to say that he should be an hour
later than usual at his game that evening, and then, resuming his seat
by the doctor, continued: "I am inclined to be communicative to-day and
talk about myself. Let me tell you that, as for the opinion of the
world at large, I care as little about it as this stick of wood which I
am laying on the fire cares who burns it."
"I should be greatly interested in hearing by what process you have
thus reduced yourself to the hardness of a log of wood."
The doctor was anxious to avail himself of the unusual mood in
which he found the crabbed old fellow, to gain a better insight into
his character, even at the expense of prolonging Lenz's painful
uncertainty. He was not without hope of inducing Petrovitsch to advance
a sum of money which would enable Lenz at once to become a shareholder
in the new factory.
"You were eight years old when I went abroad," began Petrovitsch, "and
therefore know nothing about me."
"Begging your pardon, we heard a deal about the wild pranks of the--"
"Of the goatherd, I suppose. Thereby hangs a tale. For the forty-two
years that I was travelling by land and by sea, in all degrees of heat
and cold that man or beast can endure, that name pursued me like a dog,
without my having the sense to give it a kick that should silence it
forever.
"Our family consisted of only three brothers. Our father was proud, in
his way, of having us all boys; but children then were not thought so
much of as they are in these days. They had to learn to take care of
themselves. Fewer words, good or bad, were thrown them, and every one,
therefore, was made to go farther than a hundred do now. My brother
Lorenz, generally called by the family name, Lenz, the father of the
present Lenz, was the oldest; I was the youngest, and between us came
Mathes, a handsome fellow, who was carried away by that great butcher
Napoleon, and lost his life in Spain. I once visited the battlefield
where he fell, and saw a great hill under which all the dead bodies had
been huddled together. There was no telling any man's brother. But why
dwell upon that? Not long after our Mathes turned soldier, my brother
Lorenz went to Switzerland for three months, and took me with him. Who
so happy as I? My brother was a quiet, thoughtful man, regular and
exact as clock-work, and fearfully strict. I was a wild, ungovernable
child, inclined to no good, and with a special distaste to sitting
behind a work-bench. What does my brother do but take me, soon after
Candlemas, to a boy-sale at St. Gall? There were boy-sales held there
then every year, where the Swiss farmers came to buy farm-hands from
Suabia.
"As we were standing together on the market-place, a square-built
Appenzeller came along, and planting himself in front of us asked my
brother, 'What is the price of the boy?'
"'A cord of Swiss impudence,' I answered, pertly; 'six feet wide and
six feet high.'
"The stout Appenzeller laughed, and said to my brother, 'The boy is
smart, I like him.' He asked me various questions, all of which I
answered as well as I knew how.
"My brother and the Appenzeller agreed upon the terms. The only
farewell I received was, 'You will get thrashed if you come home before
winter.'
"The whole summer I served us goatherd, and a merry life I had; but
those words, 'What is the price of the boy?' often rang in my ears. I
felt like another Joseph, sold into Egypt by my own brother, but with
no likelihood of becoming king. In the winter I was at home again,
where I was not well treated, nor, I confess, very well-behaved. In the
spring I said to my brother, 'Give me a hundred florins' worth of
clocks, and let me join you in the clock trade.' 'A hundred cuffs, more
likely,' was all the answer my brother Lorenz gave me. At that time he
had the whole charge of the business and the household, my father being
sick and my mother not daring to interfere. Women were not of as much
account in those days as they are now,--fortunately for them and their
husbands, too, in my opinion. I induced a travelling merchant to let me
go with him and carry his clocks. He almost broke my back with the
burdens he imposed upon me, and nearly starved me into the bargain; yet
I could not get away from him. I was worse off than the poor horse in
harness, for he is at least of value enough to be cared for. Many times
I was tempted to run away with the wares intrusted to me; but always
atoned for my evil thoughts by compelling myself to remain awhile
longer with my tormentor. No harm came to me from this experience,
however, hard as it was. I kept healthy and honest.
"One occurrence, which exerted a great influence on my future
movements, I must relate here, because I shall have occasion to refer
to it later. Anton Striegler and I were sitting chatting together one
beautiful summer morning, before the posada--as they call the inns in
Spain--of a large town about six leagues from Valencia, when a handsome
boy, who happened to be passing, stopped, listened to our talk for a
while, and then began wringing his hands like one possessed. Just as I
was about to call my companion's attention to the boy, he suddenly
sprang towards us, and seizing Striegler, cried out in Spanish, 'What
is that you were saying?'
"'None of your business,' returned Striegler, also in Spanish.
"'What language was it?' asked the Spaniard again.
"'German,' answered Striegler. The boy seized the image of the saint
that hung from his neck, and fell to kissing it as if he would eat it
up. Finally he begged us to go with him to his house, where his father
was talking in that language and no one could understand him. On the
way he explained that his father was a blacksmith from Germany, who had
lived in the town for forty years, and had married here; that for weeks
he had been lying dangerously ill, and during the last few days had
talked in an unknown language, so that he could neither make himself
understood nor understand those about him. The whole family were in
the greatest distress. On entering the house we found an old man with
snow-white hair and long white beard, sitting upright in bed, and
calling out, 'Give me a bunch of rosemary!' then he would begin to
sing,--'And plant it on my grave.' The sight and the sounds chilled
every drop of blood in my veins; but Striegler is not easily daunted,
and, approaching the bed, said in German, 'How are you, countryman!' If
I live to be a hundred, I shall never forget the old man's face when he
heard those words. He stretched out his arms and then folded them on
his breast, as if to gather the sounds to his heart. Striegler talked
further with him. The old man was able to give sensible answers; a
little confused at times, but in the main intelligible. He was a
Hessian by birth, named Reuter, but had changed his name to Caballero.
For fifty years he had spoken nothing but Spanish, and now at the point
of death every Spanish word had forsaken him. I believe that, for the
rest of his life, he never understood another word of that language.
The whole family was made happy by having us as interpreters of the old
man's wants. Striegler took advantage of this incident to gain for
himself something of a position in the town and turn it to profitable
account, while I sat by the sick-bed. The best part of my life abroad
was that I spent with Striegler. I had plenty to eat and drink, and for
the sake of the old man was abundantly well treated. At the end of
three days we left him; but hardly had we gone a couple of leagues
before the son came riding after us to say we must go back, for his
father was crying for us. We went to him again. He was talking German;
but too incoherently for us to make out his meaning. At last, with the
cry, 'Now I will go; now I will go home!' he fell back and died."
Here Petrovitsch paused in his story. "The whole thing made a deeper
impression on me than I knew at the time. Striegler, after a while,
returned to Spain and, I hear, married a daughter of Caballero. I
continued my travels through France. At Marseilles I met your father,
who saw I was not such a good-for-nothing fellow as the world supposed,
and gave me the means of starting business on my own account. The
saving and starving I had long practised for others I now tried for
myself. I met with considerable success, paid back your father's money,
and received from him more wares. My business led me over half the
world. I could speak five languages; but a word of German, especially
of Black Forest German, always made my heart leap in my bosom. One
great weakness of mine was that I could never conquer my homesickness.
It haunted my steps like a ghost, and spoiled the relish of many a
jolly drinking-bout."
Petrovitsch paused again, poked the fire till it crackled merrily, and
then, rubbing his hand over his old, wrinkled face, resumed: "I pass
over ten years. I am in Odessa, and a made man. A fine city Odessa is,
where all nations are at home. One friend I have there whom I never
shall forget. There are villages in the neighborhood, Lustdorf,
Kleinliebenthal, and others, occupied wholly by Germans; not from our
part of the country, however, but chiefly from Wurtemberg. Many
commissions were intrusted to me by persons at home; but I kept
faithfully by your father until his death. Although my property was
handsome, quite sufficient to enable me to drive, I travelled over all
Russia on foot, not knowing what fatigue meant. Look at the muscles of
that arm; they are of steel. What must they have been thirty years ago?
They were something to be proud of then, I can tell you. I settled in
Moscow, and remained there four years. Yet I can hardly call it
settling, for I never rested an hour; never made myself at home, as the
phrase is. In that way I could better earn and save. I never, in all my
life, was called in the morning, nor turned over for another nap when I
once waked.
"Many of our country-people came to me, and always found me ready to
help. Not a few out in the world owe their fortune to me. I asked about
home, and was told my father was dead, my mother was dead, and my
brother was married. I asked if he never inquired about me. That was a
hard question to answer. All he had ever been heard to say of me was
that I should one day come home a beggar. But the cruelest thing of all
was my countrymen's calling me the goatherd. My brother was to blame
for my having to bear that nickname through life. I always meant to
send him a couple of thousand florins, with a letter saying: 'The
goatherd sends you this for the hundred cuffs you owe him, for all the
good you have done him, and for your faithful care of him.' I kept
thinking I would do it, but, the devil knows why, I never did, I got
tired living in Moscow, and wanted to go home; instead of which I went
to Tiflis, and stayed there eleven years.
"As I began to grow old my feelings changed, I resolved to go home with
a bag of gold, that all men should see but my brother; with him I would
have nothing to do. The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced
that he had dealt cruelly with me, and would be glad to know I was
dead. He should suffer for it. I hated him and often reviled him in my
thoughts; yet my thoughts kept returning to him. An indescribable
homesickness consumed me. No water tasted as good as that of the old
well at home by the church, and no air was as fragrant as ours of a
summer evening. Thousands and thousands of times I have thought how
gladly I would give a hundred florins for a roomful of the air of my
native valley. Then I imagined the delight of getting home and having
all the dwellers above the town and below it gathering together to see
Peter, or Petrovitsch, as they call me now. There should be long tables
spread on the meadow before our house, where all should come who would,
and eat and drink for three days,--all but my brother. Yet all the time
I felt in my heart, though I would not confess it, that he was the only
person I loved. Every year I said, next year I shall go; but I kept
staying on. It is hard to leave a business in which everything you
touch turns to gold. I wondered how I came to be so gray and old. At
last I fell sick,--for the first time in my life dangerously sick. For
weeks I was out of my head, and talked, as I afterwards learned, in a
language that no one about me understood. The doctor was able to make
out a few words, which he said were German. I frequently cried out,
'Cain!' and, 'What is the price of the boy?' Then I remembered
Caballero in the village near Valencia. Suppose you should one day be
lying so on your death-bed, and should cry out for water, and there
should be no one to understand you!-- Now the time was come. Home,
home, home! Thanks to a good constitution, I quickly recovered and
proceeded to carry out my fixed resolution. Perhaps my brother would
humble himself and acknowledge his injustice to me; then I would stay
by him till I died. How much time might still remain to us? What was
the whole world away from those of our own blood? On the way,--for I
actually set out at last,--I was like a child who has been lost in the
wood and runs crying home. I often had to remind myself how old I was.
Hatred of my brother revived in my heart and tormented me. It was like
a severed artery that will not heal: a touch, a thought, brings the
bad, black blood again.
"I reached home.
"The mountains seemed to be rising and running to meet me, as I entered
the valley.
"I drove through the different villages. There was where such and such
a one lived; I could not think of the names till I had passed. The road
was broader and more convenient than it used to be, and followed the
valley instead of going over the Woltending mountain. I was in a
strange land and yet at home. Mountains that used to be thickly wooded
were now as bare as a Turk's head. There had been a terrible sacrifice
of trees. I entered the village on a beautiful summer evening at
haying-time, just as the bells were ringing. They seemed voices not of
this world. I had heard many bells in the forty-two years I was abroad,
but none like these. Involuntarily I took off my hat; it was so good,
so heavenly to feel my native air blowing about my head! I know not
what echo it woke within me. The gray hairs on my head seemed growing
young again. Most of the persons I met on the way were strangers to me.
You, doctor, I recognized from your resemblance to your father. No one
knew me. I drew up at the 'Golden Lion' and inquired if Lorenz Lenz of
the Morgenhalde was at home. At home? He had been dead these seven
years. A thunderbolt falling at my feet could not have more confounded
me. Fortunately I recovered myself before my agitation was observed.
"I went up to my room, and late at night walked through the village,
meeting many familiar objects that convinced me I was once more at
home. All was still about my parents' house. The pine trees at the back
of it, that were hardly twice as tall as I when I left home, were now
giants, ready to be cut down. I half resolved to depart before day.
What should I do here? It would be easy to go, for no one had
recognized me.
"But I did not depart.
"Persons came to me from all quarters, and offered me their hands--to
be filled. But, doctor, I once to kill time fed the sparrows on my
window-sill, and from that day the importunate beggars are possessed to
come here every morning, and distract me with their noise; there is no
frightening them away. It is easy to acquire habits, but hard to break
them up. I stopped asking about anybody, for I heard of nothing but
death and disaster, and a hundred times a day got a stab at my heart.
Whoever came in my way was very well; who did not, was gone. All came
to see me except my sister-in-law and her prince. 'My brother-in-law
knows where his parents' house is,' she said. 'It is not for us to run
after him.' The very first time I saw young Lenz, I conceived a dislike
to him. He looked like none of us, but took after his mother's family.
When I look round upon the village now, and the whole district, in
fact, I am ready to tear my old hair out for having come home.
Everything is stunted and lazy and spoiled. Where is the old
light-heartedness, the old high spirit? Gone. The youths are good for
nothing. Don't I have to pick the cherries before they are ripe to
prevent the young trees from being broken? My musical nephew there
cossets himself up in his room, while I, at his age, was out making my
way in the world. I mind nothing; but he turns pale and sick at every
rough wind and every rough word. There was a time when I hoped
something from him, and thought he might still make my life happy. If
he had married your daughter Amanda, the young people should have come
to me, or I would have gone to them. My property would have come into
your family, as it is right it should; for I am indebted to your father
for the beginning of my good fortune, if good fortune it is. That
cursed Pilgrim guessed my thoughts, and tried to make me a go-between.
I would have nothing to do with it. I never give advice nor take it.
Every man must work out his life in his own way. And this is the point
I want to come at: that I won't give a red cent; rather would I throw
my money into the fire. Now I have talked enough. I have made myself
quite hot."
"How did the water of the spring by the church taste, that you had
longed for so much?" asked the doctor.
"Bad; very bad. It is too cold and too hard. I cannot bear it."
With this for a text, the doctor undertook to reason Petrovitsch into a
better way of thinking. He tried to convince him that the world had not
changed for the worse any more than the spring of water; only his eyes
and thoughts, as well as his palate, had lost their youth. He explained
to him, that while he was perfectly right in strengthening his mental
and bodily powers by contact with the outside world, yet domestic
industry and economy required that many should stay at home, and be
screwed, like their own vice, to the work-bench. He laid special stress
on the delicacy, amounting almost to morbid sensitiveness, that
accompanies a talent for music; at the same time pointing out to the
old man the same soft-heartedness in himself that he censured in his
nephew. He strongly urged upon him the necessity of extending a helping
hand. But Petrovitsch had relapsed into his old obstinacy, and silenced
the doctor by saying: "I keep to what I said before. I neither give
advice nor take it. I shall take no steps in the matter. If you say
another word, doctor, I will not answer for the consequences."
It was clear there was nothing further to be hoped for, and, as a
message arrived at this moment from Ibrahim, Petrovitsch and the doctor
left the house together. The doctor was obliged to draw his cloak close
about him as he went up the Morgenhalde. It was blowing fiercely,
though the wind was strangely warm.