Debit and Credit Part 43

Anton started in amazement, while Bernhard watched him in painful suspense. "I understand little about these matters," continued he; "alas! too little, perhaps. I do not want to know whether he pa.s.ses for poor or rich; but I ask you, as my friend, what do strangers think of the way in which he makes his money? It is dreadful, and perhaps sinful, that I, his son, should put such a question as this, but an irresistible impulse urges me on. Be honest with me, Wohlfart." He rose in his bed, and, putting his arm round Anton's neck, said in his ear, "Does my father rank with men of your cla.s.s as an upright man?"

Anton was silent. He could not say what he really thought, and he could not tell a lie. Meanwhile the invalid sank back upon his pillows, and a low groan quivered through the room.

"My dear Bernhard," replied Anton, at length, "before I answer to a son such a question as this, I must know his motive for asking it."

"I ask," said Bernhard, solemnly, "because I am exceedingly uneasy about the good of others, and your answers may spare much misery to many."

"Then," said Anton, "I will answer you. I know of no particular dealing of your father's which is dishonorable in the mercantile sense of the word. I only know that he is numbered among that large cla.s.s of business men who are not particular in inquiring whether their own profit is purchased at the price of another's loss. Mr. Ehrenthal pa.s.ses for a clear, keen-sighted man, to whom the good opinion of solid merchants is more indifferent than to a hundred others. He would probably do much that men of higher principle would avoid, but I do not doubt that he would also shrink from what certain other speculators around venture upon."

Again there came a trembling sigh from the invalid, and a painful silence ensued. At last he lifted himself up again, and, placing his lips so near Anton's ear that his burning breath played upon his friend's cheek, he said, "I know that you are acquainted with the Baron Rothsattel. The young lady herself told me so."

"It is as she has said," replied Anton, with difficulty concealing his excitement.

"Do you know any thing of the connection between my father and the baron?"

"But little; only what you have yourself occasionally told me, that your father had money on the baron's estate. But when I was abroad, I heard that a great danger threatened the baron, and I was even authorized to warn him against an intriguer." Bernhard watched Anton's lips in agony.

Anton shook his head. "And yet," said he, "it was one who is no stranger in your house. It was your book-keeper Itzig."

"He is a villain," cried Bernhard, eagerly, clenching his thin hand. "He is a man of low nature. From the first day that he entered our house, I felt a loathing of him as of an unclean beast."

"It appears to me," continued Anton, "that Itzig, of whom I knew something in earlier years, is plotting against the baron behind your father's back. The warning I received was so obscure, I hardly knew what to make of it; however, I could but inform the baron of what had been told me."

"That Itzig rules my father," whispered Bernhard. "He is a demon in our family. If my father acts selfishly toward the baron, that man is answerable for it."

Anton soothingly a.s.sented. "I must know how matters stand between the baron and my father," continued the invalid. "I must know what is to be done to help that family out of their difficulties. I can help," he went on to say, and again a ray of joy lit up his pale face. "My father loves me. He loves me much. In my present weak state, I have found out how his heart clings to me--when he comes in the evening to my bed, and strokes my forehead; when he sits where you do, Wohlfart, and mournfully looks at me for hours together! Wohlfart, after all, he is my father!" He clasped his hands, and hid his face in the pillows. "You must help me, my friend; you must tell me how to save the baron. I charge you to do this. I myself will speak to my father. I dreaded the hour before, but, after what you have told me, I fear now either that he does not know all, or," added he, in a low murmur, "that he will not tell me all. You yourself must go to the baron."

"You must not forget, Bernhard," replied Anton, "that, even with the best will in the world, it is not permitted us to force ourselves thus into the affairs of others. However good our intentions may be, still I am a stranger to the baron. My interference may seem, both to him and to your father, sheer presumption. I do not say that the step is a useless, but it is a most uncertain one. It would be better that you should first find out the nature of your father's proceedings."

"Go, though, to the baron," implored Bernhard, "and if he remain silent, ask the young lady. I have seen her," continued he; "I have kept it back from you as men will keep their dearest secret; now you shall hear it. I have been more than once on the Rothsattel estate. I know how fair she is, how proud her bearing, how n.o.ble her every gesture. When she walks over the gra.s.s, she seems the queen of nature; an azure glory shines around her head; wherever she looks, all things bow down before her; her teeth like pearls, her bosom a bed of lilies," whispered he, and sank down on his pillows with folded hands and flashing eyes.

"He too!" cried Anton to himself. "My poor Bernhard, you are delirious!"

Bernhard shook his head. "Since that day," said he, "I know that life is not commonplace, but it is terrible! Will you now consent to speak to the baron and his daughter?"

"I will," said Anton, rising to go. "But I repeat to you that, in doing this, I am taking an important step, which may easily lead to fresh involvements for us both."

"One in my state fears no involvements," said Bernhard; "and as for you," and he cast a searching glance at Anton, "you will be what you have spoken of to me this day, a man who can cut his way through difficulties, and whose business it is, even though wounded, to fight with fate. Me, Anton Wohlfart, me the whirlwind will sweep away."

"Faint-heart," cried Anton, tenderly, "it is your disease that speaks thus. Courage will return with health."

"You hope so?" inquired the invalid, doubtingly. "I do so too, at times; but often I grow faint-hearted, as you say. Yes, I will live, and I will live no longer as of yore. I will try hard to grow stronger. I will not dream so much as I do now, will not fret and excite myself in solitude.

I will make trial of the life of a brave and wise man, who gives back every blow that he receives," cried he, with flushed cheeks, and holding out his hand to his friend. Anton bent over him, and left the room.

That evening Ehrenthal went to his son's bedside, as he always did, after having closed the office door and hidden the key in his own room.

"What did the doctor say to you to-day, my Bernhard?"

Bernhard had turned his face to the wall, but he now suddenly flung himself round, and said impetuously, "Father, I have something to speak to you about. Lock the door, that no one may disturb us."

Ehrenthal, in amazement, ran to both doors, locked and bolted them obediently, and then hurried back to his son's bedside.

"What is it that vexes you, my Bernhard?" inquired he, stretching out his hand to feel his son's brow.

Bernhard drew back his head, and his father's hand sank on the bedclothes.

"Sit down there," said the invalid, darkly, "and answer my questions as sincerely as if you were speaking to yourself."

The old man sat down. "Ask, my son, and I will answer you."

"You have told me that you have lent much money to Baron Rothsattel; that you will lend him no more, and that the n.o.bleman will not be able to retain his estate."

"It is as I have said," replied his father, as cautiously as if undergoing a legal examination.

"And what is to become of the baron and of his family?"

Ehrenthal shrugged his shoulders. "He will forfeit his property; and when the day comes that the estate has to be sold, I shall, on account of my money invested therein, bid for it, and I hope I shall be the purchaser. I have a large mortgage on it, which is safe, and a small mortgage besides, which is not worth much."

"Father," cried Bernhard, with a piercing voice, which made Ehrenthal start, "you wish to turn this man's misfortunes to your own profit; you wish to seat yourself in his place. Yes, you drove to the baron's estate, and took me with you, and perhaps you were then planning how to turn his embarra.s.sment to advantage. It is horrible! horrible!" He threw himself back on the pillows and wrung his hands.

Ehrenthal moved restlessly on his seat: "Speak not of matters that you do not understand. Business is for the day; when I come to you in the evenings, then you are not to trouble yourself about my occupations. I will not have you lift up your hands, and cry 'Horrible!'"

"Father!" exclaimed Bernhard, "if you would not see me die with shame and sorrow, you will give up your plan."

"Give up!" cried Ehrenthal, indignantly. "How can I give up my gold? How can I give up the estate about which I have taken thought night and day?

How can I give up the greatest stroke of business I have yet carried on?

You are a disobedient child, and do grieve me for nothing. What fault of mine was it that I gave the baron my money? He would have it so. What fault is it of mine that I buy the property? I but redeem my money."

"Cursed be every dollar that you have laid out thus! Cursed be the day that this unblessed purpose entered your mind!" continued Bernhard, and he raised his hand threateningly against his father.

"What is this!" cried Ehrenthal, springing up; "what evil thoughts have taken hold of my son's heart, that he should thus speak to his father?

What I have done, have I not done it for thee, not for myself--not for my old days? I always thought of thee, and of how thou shouldst be a different man to thy father. I should have the labor and the anxiety, and thou shouldst go from the castle to the garden, book in hand, and back to the castle again, and move to and fro as thou wouldst. The bailiff should take off his cap, and the servants their hats, and they should all say, 'That is our young master, he who walks yonder.'"

"Yes," cried Bernhard, "this is your love: you want to make me partaker in an unrighteous deed. You are mistaken, father. Never will I go out of the castle into the garden, book in hand; rather will I, a poor beggar, beg my bread on the public road, than set my foot on an estate that has been gained by sin."

"Bernhard," cried the old man, wringing his hands in his turn, "thou castest a stone on thy father's heart, and its weight sinks him to the earth."

"And you ruin your son," cried Bernhard, in uncontrolled pa.s.sion. "See to it for whom you are lying and cheating; for, as sure as there is a heaven above us, it shall never be said that you have done it for your unhappy son."

"My son," wailed the father, "do not smite my heart with your curses.

Ever since you were a little lad, carrying your satchel to school, you have been all my pride. I have always allowed you to do your own pleasure. I have bought you books. I have given you more money than you required. I have watched your eyes to read your wishes there. While I was toiling hard all day below, I used to think, 'Because of my pains, my son will rejoice.'" He took the corner of his dressing-gown to wipe his eyes, and tried to recover his composure. And so he sat, a broken-down man, face to face with his son.

Bernhard looked silently at his father's bent head. At last he reached out his hand. "My father!" he gently said.

Ehrenthal instantly seized the proffered hand between his, and holding it fast for fear it should be again withdrawn, he came nearer, kissed and stroked it. "Now thou art my own kind son once more," said he, with emotion; "now thou wilt not speak such wicked words again, or quarrel with me about this baron."

Bernhard s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away.

"I will not press him; I will have patience about the interest," said Ehrenthal, beseechingly, trying to recover his son's hand.