Stories by Foreign Authors: German Volume I Part 8

"If you have burned my book you must give me an equivalent."

"With pleasure," replied the bookbinder, and taking down a picture from the wall, he begged her acceptance of it. It represented a scene from Schiller's "Song of the Bell," a fair young woman, surrounded by her children, seated on the balcony of her house. As t.i.tle to the picture were printed these lines:

"The house spreadeth out, And in it presides The chaste gentle housewife, The mother of children; And ruleth metely The household discreetly."

Our bookbinder had a reverential admiration for all scholars, poets, or artists, irrespective of race or creed. Awaiting the widow in her library one day, his attention was attracted by an engraving representing Schiller at Carlsbad seated upon an a.s.s. His eyes filled with tears at the sight. "A man like that," he exclaimed, "riding upon an a.s.s! While ordinary people like Baron Fay or Mr. de Maria.s.sy ride about proudly on horses."

Later on it occurred to him that Balaam too was mounted on an a.s.s, and he derived a measure of consolation from the thought that Schiller was a prophet as well. Would it be venturesome to say that in Kalimann there was the stuff for poet or prophet?

In addition to his trade, our bookbinder carried on another pursuit which was quite lucrative in its way, and one universally well established among all Jewish communities of Eastern Europe. Kalimann was Cupid's secretary: in other words, he wrote love-letters for those who could neither read nor write. The opportunity thus vouchsafed his native tendency toward sentiment helped not only to swell the hearts of his clients with grat.i.tude, but also to swell his own slender income.

Thus it was that the fire of his poetic genius was enkindled, and thus it was he became the Petrarch of Hort.

One day Gutel Wolfner, Mrs. Barkany's cook, came to him with the request that he would write a letter for her to a friend at Gyongos.

"Well, well, little one," said the scribe, "so Love's arrow has reached you at last!"

"Heaven preserve me!" cried the girl, "he is not named Love, but Mendel Sucher, and he has never drawn a bow in his life."

Gutel now gave the bookbinder a general idea of the letter she wished written, and inquired the price.

"That will not depend upon the length of the epistle," he replied, "but upon its quality." Thereupon he read aloud to her his tariff.

1st. A friendly letter ................... 10 kreutzers 2d. A kind and well-intentioned letter ... 15 "

3d. A tender letter ...................... 20 "

4th. A touching letter ................... 30 "

5th. A letter that goes straight to the heart ................................ 1/2 florin

"Very good; a friendly letter will do well enough this time," said the girl, as she deposited her ten kreutzers on the table.

"I will write a kind and well-intentioned letter for you for the same price as a friendly one," said Kalimann, gallantly.

Mendel Sucher received the missive the following day, and as his scholarship was as limited as Gutel's, he forthwith sought out Saul Wahl, a lawyer's clerk at Gyongos, likewise a member of the same erotic profession as the bookbinder of Hort. Wahl read Kalimann's letter to the smiling recipient with such pathos that Mendel was completely overcome. Placing twenty kreutzers on the table, the happy swain begged the clerk to write as finely turned a letter to Gutel as the one she had sent him.

Saul, who had at a glance recognized Kalimann's calligraphy, said to himself: "It will go hard with me but I will show the bookbinder that they know how to write letters at Gyongos, and can also quote from the cla.s.sic authors."

He at once wrote Gutel a missive so thickly interlarded with quotations from the Song of Solomon, from Goethe, Petofi, Heine, and Chateaubriand, that when Kalimann read the billet-doux to the blushing girl her head was quite turned.

The bookbinder himself scratched his head and muttered: "This Saul is a man of letters; his style is vigorous! Who would have thought it?"

The correspondence between Gutel and Mendel, or rather between Kalimann and Saul, flourished for some time. If Kalimann addressed Mendel as "my cherished friend," "my turtle dove," Saul on his side would intersperse throughout his letters such expressions as "your gazelle-like eyes,"

"your fairy form," "your crimson lips," "your voice rivalling the music of the celestial spheres."

Kalimann's "friendly" letter was followed by those of the tender and touching variety, and finally Gutel decided upon sacrificing her half florin and sending one that "would go straight to the heart." To make a.s.surance doubly sure she supplemented her silver piece by a bottle of wine. Her amanuensis poured out a gla.s.s, emptied it at a draught, smacked his lips, and began to write. Suddenly, however, he stopped, and turning to the girl, said: "Do you know, Gutel, that wine of yours was a happy inspiration, but the great poet Hafiz was not alone inspired by the spirit of wine, he placed a great virtue upon the crimson lips of pretty girls."

Gutel was not slow to understand.

"As I have given you a half florin and a bottle of wine," she said, in a shamefaced way, wiping her mouth with the corner of her ap.r.o.n the while, "I see no reason why I should not add a touch of my lips as well." So saying she gave the happy bookbinder a hearty kiss. The consequence of all this was that the pen flew over the paper, and when Kalimann read the letter for Gutel's approval the tender-hearted girl burst into tears of emotion.

As for Mendel, when Saul read him this letter going "straight to the heart," he could contain himself no longer; rushing from the house he flew to the factory where he worked, and asked his employer, Mr.

Schonberg, to permit him to quit his service.

"What is the matter with you?" cried Schonberg. "Why do you wish to leave? Do you want more wages?"

"No, no, Mr. Schonberg, that is not the reason. But--but I can stay no longer here at Gyongos, I must go to Hort."

"To Hort? What is the reason of that?"

For reply the dazed fellow held out the letter for him to read.

Schonberg glanced over it, and smiled. "This Kalimann," he murmured, "is a deuce of a fellow. The world has lost a novelist in him. But let me see how I can arrange matters. Mendel," he continued, turning to the open-mouthed lover, "you shall stay here, and you shall marry your Gutel. I will give you two or three rooms in the factory for your housekeeping, and Mrs. Barkany will give the girl her trousseau. How does that strike you?"

Mendel beamed. He would have thrown himself on his employer's neck, but resisted the impulse, and, instead, brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. Schonberg gave him a day's holiday, and the happy fellow lost no time in making his way to Hort, and subsequently into the arms of his inamorata. Mrs. Barkany gave Gutel the trousseau, and the marriage took place at harvest-time.

At one end of the table, in the seat of honor next to the rabbi, sat the bookbinder of Hort. All had been his work, and, truth to tell, this was not the first happy couple he had been the means of bringing together.

When it was his turn to deliver a toast in honor of the bride and groom, he rose, filled his gla.s.s, and holding it in his hand, declaimed from his favorite poet Schiller, and with an enthusiasm worthy the occasion:

"Honor to women! round Life they are wreathing Roses, the fragrance of Heaven sweet-breathing!"

THE EGYPTIAN FIRE-EATER

BY

RUDOLPH BAUMBACH

From "Summer Legends," translated by Helen B. Dole. Published by T. Y.

Crowell & Co.

Copyright, 1888, by T.Y. Crowell & Co

Next Easter he must go to N--to school.--Fact.--It is high time; he is eleven years old, and here he is running wild with the street-boys.--That's what I say."

He, that is, I, hung my head, and I felt more like crying than laughing. I had pa.s.sed eleven sunny boyhood years in the little country town, I stood in high esteem among my playmates, and would rather be the first in the ranks of my birthplace than second in the metropolis.

Through the gray mist, which surrounded my near future like a thick fog, gleamed only one light, but a bright, attractive light; that was the theatre, the splendor of which I had already learned to know. The white priests in the "Magic Flute," Sarastro's lions, the fire-spitting serpents, and the gay, merry Papageno,--such things could not be seen at home; and when my parents promised me occasional visits to the theatre, as a reward for diligence in study and exemplary conduct, I left the Eden of my childhood, half consoled.

Young trees, transplanted at the proper time, soon take root. After a tearful farewell to my friends and a slight attack of home-sickness, I was quite content. I was received into the second cla.s.s at the gymnasium, and drank eagerly of the fountain of knowledge; a certain Frau Eberlein, with whom I found board and lodging, cared for my bodily welfare.

She was a widow, and kept a little store, in which, with the a.s.sistance of a shop-girl, she served customers, who called from morning to night.

She dealt princ.i.p.ally in groceries and vegetables, but besides these, every conceivable thing was found piled up in her shop: knitting-yarn, sheets of pictures, slate-pencils, cheese, pen-knives, b.a.l.l.s of twine, herring, soap, b.u.t.tons, writing-paper, glue, hairpins, cigar-holders, oranges, fly-poison, brushes, varnish, gingerbread, tin soldiers, corks, tallow candles, tobacco-pouches, thimbles, gum-b.a.l.l.s, and torpedoes. Besides, she prepared, by means of essences, peach brandy, maraschino, ros solis, and other liqueurs, as well as an excellent ink, in the manufacture of which I used to help her. She rejoiced in considerable prosperity, lived well, and did not let me want for anything.