Part 3 (1/2)
hoofs rang upon a stone pavement, and a few moments after the carriage stopped before the ”Furstenhof,” whose host welcomed the late arrival with northern cordiality.
CHAPTER III.
Gotthold had expected to reach P. at an early hour; it was now nearly ten o'clock, too late to pay the visit he had promised Herr Wollnow by letter, yet in spite of the time the gentleman might perhaps be waiting, and what he had to settle with him could be despatched in a few minutes. Then the minor object of his journey would be accomplished and he could set out again early the next morning; he would have preferred to go on that night.
The ground seemed to be burning under his feet. The events of the last few hours, the meeting with the playmate of his youth, and his communications, had roused the greatest agitation in his mind. As he pa.s.sed down the quiet street towards the house of his business acquaintance, he paused several times under the dark trees, gasping for breath, and made a defiant gesture, as if he could thus repel the ghostly throng of memories that hovered around him.
”Thank G.o.d that now at least you are sure not to meet an old acquaintance again,” he said to himself, as he rang the bell at the door of one of the handsomest houses upon the market-place.
”Herr Wollnow is at home,” said the pretty young servant-maid, ”and--”
”Bids you a most hearty welcome,” interrupted Herr Wollnow, who at that moment came out of his counting-room, and extended a broad, powerful hand to his guest. ”I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last, though I deeply regret that the occasion should be so sorrowful. Have you supped this evening? No? Why, that is capital; neither have I. To be sure, you must be contented with my company, at least for the present; my wife has a meeting of her great society to-day. She did not want to go, for she is very anxious to renew her acquaintance with you, or rather make it, as I say; for you will hardly remember her. She promised to be back again at ten o'clock; but I know what that means,--we shall have an hour to ourselves.”
Gotthold apologized for his late arrival, but said that he had thought it better to come late than not at all, especially as he intended to set out again early the next morning, if possible.
”I think you will allow us to keep you with us a few days,” replied Herr Wollnow; ”yet time is money, as Englishmen say, so we will devote the time Stine needs to prepare supper to money matters. I have set everything right.” Herr Wollnow invited Gotthold to take a seat upon the sofa in the little private office, and sat down beside him in a leather-covered arm-chair at the round table, on which various papers lay arranged in the most methodical order.
”Here are the doc.u.ments that concern your late father's legacies,” he continued. ”I have had wonderfully little trouble in executing the orders you sent me from Milan. The ready money amounted only to a few thalers, and as to furniture and other household appurtenances, the hermits of the Theban wilderness could not have possessed much less than satisfied your father during the latter years of his life. The only really valuable portion of his property was the library, and here I took the liberty of deviating a little from your commands. You had intended that the whole profit derived from the sale should be given to the poor of the parish, and also that your father's successor should be permitted to set his own price upon the books that pleased him, undoubtedly in the supposition that the gentleman would make a proper use of this favor. But that was not the case with Pastor Semmel. He believed in making hay while the sun shone; he not only wanted all the best, but wished to take advantage of the opportunity, and if possible get them for nothing. In a word, your two intentions could not be reconciled, and as I doubtless rightly supposed that the poor people would be nearer your heart than the Pastor, although he made a great ado about the intimacy that had existed between you at the university, and I believe even at school, I offered everything, with the exception of a few insignificant trifles I was obliged to leave with him, to a respectable firm which dealt in secondhand books, and after considerable bargaining came to an understanding with them. We obtained a large sum, as I wrote you, and if you are as well satisfied as the poor people in Rammin, I need not be ashamed of the way in which I carried out your command.”
An amused smile flashed from Herr Wollnow's dark eyes as Gotthold warmly pressed his hand.
”I repeat, it was very little trouble,” said he, ”and I would have taken a hundred times as much with pleasure for a man to whom I am so greatly indebted.”
”You so greatly indebted? To me?”
”To you, certainly. If, when you entered into the possession of your property five years ago, you had withdrawn the ten thousand thalers invested in my business, as I earnestly advised you to do, I might not now be in the pleasant situation of being able to return the money to you with my warmest thanks.”
”For Heaven's sake,” cried Gotthold, pus.h.i.+ng back Herr Wollnow's hand, which was extended towards a larger package fastened with an India-rubber band.
”I have put aside the money at any rate,” replied Herr Wollnow, ”in cash and in good bonds.”
”But I don't want it now, any more than I did then.”
”Well,” said Herr Wollnow, ”I cannot persuade you to take it as earnestly as I did five years ago. To-day--I may venture to say it confidently--the money is perfectly safe, and I can give you the highest rate of interest. Then, when I was establis.h.i.+ng a new business here under very peculiar circ.u.mstances, and in consequence of the impossibility of relying upon my business a.s.sociates,--I mean the capitalists of this place--a crisis might occur at any moment, I only did my duty when I advised you to intrust your money, if not to more honest, to safer hands. Well, you would not hear of it; would have me keep the money; nay, I even believe I might have had it without interest.”
”You will admit, Herr Wollnow, that in so doing I carried out my uncle's views.”
”I don't know,” replied the merchant. ”Your uncle had a personal interest in leaving the money in my hands. The great profits which accrued to the business in Stettin through the new connections I formed, and I may say created here, were so important that they far outweighed the risk of a possible loss. But when your uncle gave you the free disposal of the property by will, he acknowledged that an artist's interests are and must be different from those of a business man.”
”Why yes, the interests of his art,” replied Gotthold earnestly; ”I never had and never shall have any others. In this feeling, and this alone, after I had recovered from my first astonishment, I joyfully welcomed the rich inheritance that fell to my lot so unexpectedly.”
”I know it,” replied Herr Wollnow; ”the a.s.sistance I have given from your property to that poor deserving Bruggberg during the last three years proves it, and he will not be your only pensioner.”
”It has proved as fortunate for him as for me that help came in time,”
replied Gotthold.
He supported his head on his left hand, and mechanically drew arabesques on a sheet of paper that lay before him, while he continued in a lower tone:
”And it was also quite time for me. For two years in Munich I had already devoted every hour and moment I could spare from the labor of earning a livelihood, to art, beloved art, which is so infinitely coy to a tyro, especially one who is compelled to begin after his one-and-twentieth year. My strength was almost exhausted; I had seen the last star of hope disappear; nothing bound me to life except a sort of defiance of a fate which I thought I had not deserved, and the shame of appearing to rush out of this world like a simpleton, in the eyes of those who had aided me to live. How distinctly I remember the hour! I had returned to my little attic room towards nightfall, from the studio of a famous artist to which an acquaintance had procured me admittance, with a soul filled to overflowing with the mighty impressions produced by works of the greatest genius, and yet utterly exhausted, for I had resolved a few days before to give up no more lessons, even if I starved, and I was almost starving. I placed myself before my easel, but the colors blended into one confused ma.s.s. The palette fell from my hand; I staggered to the table to pour out a gla.s.s of water, and--there lay the letter which informed me that I had been made the heir of a relative whom I had never seen, and was the possessor of a fortune which, at a casual estimation, amounted to more than a hundred thousand thalers. What was more natural than that in this wonderful moment I should make the vow: this shall belong to Art, and to you only so far as you are an artist.”