Debit and Credit. Gustav Freytag
Читать онлайн книгу.
Pluto tenderly, executed all his various odd jobs with intense zeal, and kept as close as he could to his father, who often left his barrels to place his hand in silence on his son's head.
"Nothing heavy in farming!" said the paternal Sturm to Anton, looking anxiously into his face.
"Heavy!" replied Anton; "it will be no light matter to learn all connected with it."
"Learn!" cried the other; "the more he has to learn the better, so it be not very heavy."
"No," said Pix, who understood his meaning, "nothing heavy. The heaviest are sacks of corn—hundred and eighty; beans—two hundred pounds. And those he need not lift; the servants do it."
"If that's the case with farming," cried Sturm, contemptuously rearing himself to his full height, "it's all one to me whether he lifts them or not. Even my mannikin can carry two hundred pounds."
CHAPTER XIV.
Anton was now the most assiduous of all the clerks in the office. Fink was seldom able to persuade him to accompany him out riding or to the shooting gallery, but, on the other hand, he made diligent use of his friend's book-shelves, and having, after arduous study, gained some insight into the mysteries of the English language, he was anxious to exercise his conversational powers upon Fink. But the latter proving a most irregular and careless master, Anton thought it best to put himself in the hands of a well-educated Englishman.
One day, looking up from his desk as the door opened, he saw, to his amazement, Veitel Itzig, his old Ostrau schoolfellow. Hitherto they had but seldom met, and whenever they did so, Anton had taken pains to look another way.
"How are you getting on?" asked he, coldly enough.
"Poorly," was the reply; "there is nothing to be made in our business. I was to give you this letter, and to inquire when Mr. Bernhard Ehrenthal may call upon you."
"Upon me!" said Anton, taking the letter and a card with it.
The letter was from his English master, asking whether he would join young Ehrenthal in a systematic course of some of the older English writers.
"Where does Mr. Bernhard Ehrenthal live?" asked Anton.
"At his father's," said Itzig, making a face. "He sits in his own room all the day long."
"I will call upon him," rejoined Anton; and Itzig took his departure.
Anton was not much inclined to agree to the proposal. The name of Ehrenthal did not stand high, and Itzig's appearance had not conferred any pleasant associations upon it. But the ironical way in which he had mentioned his master's son, and something Anton had heard of him besides, determined him to take the matter at least into consideration.
Accordingly, one of the next days he mounted the dingy staircase, and was at once ushered into Bernhard's room, which was long and narrow, and filled with books great and small.
A young man came toward him with the uncertainty of manner that short-sight gives. He had fine features, a fragile frame, brown curling hair, and deep, expressive gray eyes. Anton mentioned the reason of his visit, and inquired the terms for the course. To his astonishment, young Ehrenthal did not know them, but said that, if Anton insisted upon sharing the expense, he would inquire. Our hero next asked whether Bernhard was in business with his father.
"Oh no," was the reply; "I have been at the University, and as it is not easy for a young man of my creed to get a government appointment, and I can live with my family, I occupy myself with my books." And, casting a loving glance at his book-shelves, he rose as if to introduce his guest to them.
Anton looked at their titles, and said, "They are too learned for me."
Bernhard smiled. "Through the Hebrew I have gone on to the other Asiatic languages. There is much beauty in them, and in their Old-World legends. I am now engaged upon a translation from the Persian, and some day or other, when you have a few idle minutes, I should like to inflict a short specimen upon you."
Anton had the politeness to beg to hear it at once. It was one of those countless poems in which a votary of the grape compares his beloved to all fair things in heaven and earth. Its complicated structure impressed Anton a good deal, but he was somewhat amazed at Bernhard exclaiming, "Beautiful! is it not? I mean the thought, for I am unable to give the beauty of language;" and he looked inspired, like a man who drinks Schiraz wine, and kisses his Zuleika all day long.
"But must one drink in order to love?" said Anton; "with us the one is very possible without the other."
"With us, life is very commonplace."
"I do not think so," Anton replied, with fervor. "We have the sunshine and the roses, the joy in existence, the great passions and strange destinies of which poets sing."
"Our present time is too cold and uniform," rejoined Bernhard.
"So I read in books, but I do not believe it. I think that whoever is discontented with our life would be so still more with life in Teheran or Calcutta, if he remained there long enough. It is only novelty that charms the traveler."
"But how poor in vivid sensations our civilized existence is," rejoined Bernhard. "I am sure you must often feel business very prosaic."
"That I deny," was the eager reply; "I know nothing so interesting as business. We live amid a many-colored web of countless threads, stretching across land and sea, and connecting man with man. When I place a sack of coffee in the scales, I am weaving an invisible link between the colonist's daughter in Brazil, who has plucked the beans, and the young mechanic who drinks it for his breakfast; and if I take up a stick of cinnamon, I seem to see, on the one side, the Malay who has rolled it up, and, on the other, the old woman of our suburb who grates it over her pudding."
"You have a lively imagination, and are happy in the utility of your calling. But if we seek for poetry, we must, like Byron, quit civilized countries to find it on the sea or in the desert."
"Not so," replied Anton, pertinaciously; "the merchant has just as poetical experiences as any pirate or Arab. There was a bankruptcy lately. Could you have witnessed the gloomy lull before the storm broke, the fearful despair of the husband, the high spirit of his wife, who insisted upon throwing in her own fortune to the last dollar to save his honor, you would not say that our calling is poor in passion or emotion."
Bernhard listened with downcast eyes, and Anton remarked that he seemed embarrassed and distressed.
Changing the conversation, he proposed that they should both walk together to the English master, and make the final arrangements. They left the house like two old acquaintances; Anton surprised that Ehrenthal's son should be so little of a trader, Bernhard delighted to find a man with whom he could discuss his favorite subjects.
That evening he joined the family circle in a cheerful mood, and placing himself behind his sister, who was practicing a difficult piece on a costly piano, he kissed her ear. "Do not disturb me, Bernhard," said she; "I must get this piece perfect for the large party on Sunday, when I shall be asked to play."
"Of course you will be asked," said her mother. "There is no company that does not wish to hear Rosalie play. If you could only be persuaded to come with us, Bernhard—you are so clever and so learned. It was but the other day that Professor Starke, of the University, spoke of you to me in the highest terms. It is so pleasant for a mother to feel proud of her children! Why will you not join us? The society will be as good as any in the town."
"You know, mother, that I am not fond of strangers."
"And I desire that my son Bernhard should have his own way," cried Ehrenthal from a neighboring room, having chanced, during a pause in Rosalie's practice, to hear the last sentence, and now joining his family: "our Bernhard is not like other people, and his way is sure to be a good one. You look pale, my son," stroking his brown curls; "you study too much. Think of your health. The doctor recommended exercise. Will you have a horse, my son Bernhard? I will get the most expensive horse in the town for you, if you like."
"Thank