"Or of this sauce," said Bemperlein, handing her the sauce-dish from the other side.
Sophie shrugged her shoulders.
"Nothing is eaten quite as warm as it is cooked, gentlemen. I must know that best, as future housewife!"
"For we are to be married in four weeks from to-day, Bemperlein," said Franz; "that is to say, if your dress-coat, which you have intended to order ever since you first came to Grunwald, can be ready by that time, Bemperlein, otherwise it cannot be."
"The coat shall be ready! The coat shall be ready!" cried Mr.
Bemperlein; "even if I have myself to cut it out, to sew it, and to press it."
"That would make a nice coat, Bemperlein."
"Not so bad, perhaps, as you think. At all events it would not be the first dress-coat I have made with my own hands."
"Impossible, Bemperlein!" cried Franz, with amazement.
"As I tell you. It is a long time since, to be sure--perhaps fifteen years; and I was, during that Robinson Crusoe period of my life, much more inventive and industrious than I am now; but still I do not think I should find it impossible even now."
"But how did you come to make such a funny experiment?"
"Through the author of all inventions--necessity. You know, Miss Sophie, that I belong to those of God's children, or rather did belong, for now I have been promoted to another class, to whom the heavenly kingdom is promised, because they call nothing their own upon earth.
This compelled me, when I left the Elysian fields of my native village and came to this town, to lead a life like a cicade, and to avoid all unnecessary expenses. Thus it occurred to me also, after long and painful meditation, that it might be feasible, even in this century of ink-consumption, to manufacture my own clothes, like Eumaeus of old, the god-like keeper of swine. No sooner thought than done. I had formed a great intimacy with a boy--his name was Christian Sweetmilk, the son of the old tailor Sweetmilk in Long street--who was to be a tailor and wished to be a doctor. We made a covenant that I should teach him every evening, when papa Sweetmilk's stentorian voice announced the closing of the shop, his Latin and Greek grammar; while he in return should instruct me in the use of the needle and the goose. Our studies were carried on with equal secrecy and industry, for I had good reason to fear the jibes of my school-mates, and he the never-missing yard-stick of his father and master. Oh! those were precious hours which we thus spent together, hours never to be forgotten again! I can see us still sitting by the light of a miserable train-oil lamp in our diminutive garret, on an autumn evening like this to-day, when the rain was pattering down upon the tiles right over our heads, and the gutter was overflowing, and the owls and rooks in the steeple of St. Nicholas were crowing and croaking. We were not cold however, although there was no fire burning in the little cast-iron stove, for the sacred flame of friendship warmed the blood in our veins with a gentle glow, and I was sewing till the thread smoked, and he was learning his grammar till his head smoked; and when I had finished a seam in masterly style, and he could tell his _typto_, _typteis_ without a mistake, we fell into each other's arms and envied no king on his throne in all his splendor."
Mr. Bemperlein paused and looked deeply moved into his glass.
"Hurrah for old times!" said Franz.
"Hurrah for the new ones, too!" replied Bemperlein, touching glasses with the betrothed.
"But how about the dress-coat, Bemperlein?" asked Sophie. "I hope it was not the coat in which you were confirmed?"
"You have guessed it, fair lady; it was my confirmation coat. The time for the ceremony was drawing near. A merchant, to whose children I had given lessons in reading and writing, and at whose table I dined every Friday gratis, had presented me with the cloth for a dress-coat. The good man even told me to have it made at the tailor's at his expense.
But I thought it would be abusing his goodness if I should avail myself of that offer too, and I asked his permission to have the coat made by my own tailor. Well, you may imagine who 'my own tailor' was. But alas!
Papa Sweet milk had found out our 'abominable tricks,' as he called the sacred hours devoted to friendship and hard work, in his vulgar language. He had discovered the Greek grammar, which Christian used to throw quickly into 'hell,' the place of remnants and rags, when the Boeotian father suddenly entered, and the effect of this fatal discovery was, that he first used up his yard-stick on the shoulders of the attic youth, and then ordered him peremptorily to give up all intercourse with me hereafter, under penalty of being immediately and permanently banished from the paternal house, and of being disinherited besides. My faithful friend told me of the fearful sentence, weeping bitterly, as I met him the next day at the corner of the street. 'But I will not submit any longer to such tyranny,' he cried, flourishing a pair of trousers, which he was ordered to carry to one of his father's customers, with more energy than grace. 'This one more slavish service I will render (and he struck the dishevelled inexpressibles with his closed fist in wild fury) and then I will go into the wide, wide world.
Will you go with me? 'It took me some time to quiet the boy. I knew that nothing pained him more than the thought that he would now be unable to help me with my dress-coat. I reminded him of the commandment, that we must honor father and mother, if we wish to live long in the land which the Lord our God has given us. I told him his father would probably give way after a while; and as for the dress-coat, I promised him that the pupil should do credit to his master. Christian shook his head sadly. 'You can't do it, Anastasius,'
he said; 'you will not get it done, even if you had any idea how to cut it out.' 'What will you bet, Christian?' I cried. 'You shall see me to-day week at the confirmation in church, wearing the coat I have made without your assistance, and you shall have to confess that it fits me well. If I win, you shall give me your bird; if you win, I'll give you the Odyssey, Heyne's edition. What do you say?' 'Done!' said Christian, laughing, in spite of his troubles. 'I ought not to bet, because you are sure to lose, but since you will have it so, let it be so.'"
"Well, and who won the wager?" asked Sophie, full of interest.
"On the following Sunday, at St. Nicholas," said Mr. Bemperlein, and his voice trembled, and the glasses in his spectacles were dim, "on the following Sunday I was kneeling amid a number of youths before the altar, and the music of the organ was floating through the vast edifice, and the minister proclaimed God's blessing over us; but I heard nothing of all that. I only looked up to the gallery, to a boy with long, brown hair and brown eyes, who kissed his hand to me, and whose dear face was beaming with pride and joy that his friend should look so well, contrary to all his expectations. When my turn came that 'the Lord might bless me and preserve me and let His countenance shine upon me,' he folded his hands piously and prayed for me earnestly with bent head."
Bemperlein paused again. He had taken off his glasses, which had become dimmer and dimmer, and was now rubbing them bright again with his silk handkerchief.
"And what has become of Christian?" asked Franz.
"He is now professor of ancient languages in one of the best lyceums in Belgium; his grammar of the Doric poets is considered a most valuable work for philologists. I had a letter from him day before yesterday, sixteen pages long."
"And what has become of the dress-coat?" asked Sophie.
"It hangs still, as a valued memento of former days, in my wardrobe,"
replied Bemperlein, replacing his spectacles, and looking with a smile at Sophie; "and what is more than that, it still fits me so well that I can present myself in it at any time, if my gracious lady should entertain any doubts as to the truthfulness of this veracious story."
"Will you do me a favor, Bemperlein?" said Sophie, with unusual seriousness, offering him her hand.
"Anything!" said Bemperlein, enthusiastically, and seizing the girl's hand.
"Then don't order a new dress-coat for my wedding, but come in the old one, which has become very dear to me through your touching story."
"Are you in earnest?"
"Can you doubt it?"
"Well, then," said Mr. Bemperlein, kissing Sophie's hand reverently, "I will be at your wedding in the coat which I have made myself for my confirmation."
The little company finished their cold supper and then went back to the cosy sitting-room, where Sophie made tea, while Franz went to inquire after the privy councillor. He returned with the welcome news that papa was, for the first time since the beginning of his sickness, lying in quiet, refreshing sleep, and that the servant who was watching by his bedside said "he had fallen asleep almost immediately after having murmured a few unintelligible words, with folded hands."
Franz assured them that the recovery would now progress with rapid strides, and that he felt very little doubt any more of a perfect restoration. Sophie embraced and kissed him as a reward for this good news, and Bemperlein vowed he would hereafter acknowledge a fifth most profane evangelist, besides the four in the Bible--namely, a St.
Franciscus.
They were sitting around the fire-place. The steam of the tea-kettle and the smoke of the cigars which the gentlemen had lighted, rose in clouds up to the Olympic Zeus, who now became a comfortable Zeus Xenius. Franz was in a peculiarly elated humor, which Sophie placed on the ground of the favorable turn in her father's disease, but which had a very different reason. It was the nervous excitement which overcomes even the bravest before the beginning of a battle; for Franz felt and knew that to-day the battle of life had commenced for him in good earnest. He had assumed most serious obligations, which might have incalculable consequences for his own future and for Sophie's future.
The very heaviest responsibility was henceforth resting on his shoulders. He saw of a sudden the ocean, on which the vessel which contained their joint fortunes was sailing, filled with most dangerous reefs, which it would require an always clear head, an always bold heart, and an always steady hand to clear successfully. Sophie did not suspect what her betrothed was then experiencing; she began, with Bemperlein's aid, to draw a picture of the future--a little paradise, full of peace and comfort, quiet and sunshine.
"You must get married too, Bemperlein," she cried.
"With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Bemperlein "if you will find the main thing."
"What is that?"
"A girl who is willing to love me, and whom I can love."
"I'll pick you out one, Bemperlein. I know your taste, and I know exactly what the future Mrs. Bemperlein must be like."
"I am rather curious to hear," aid Mr. Bemperlein, comfortably ensconcing himself in his chair.
"In the first place," said Sophie, "as regards the exterior--for you do attach some importance to appearances, Bemperlein, do you not?"
"Certainly," said Bemperlein, eagerly.
"Well, then, your future wife must not be tall."
"Why not?"
"Because you are not a giant yourself Bemperlein; and, you know, like and like ... I therefore submit that she ought to be delicate and well made, a nice little figure, with dark hair and dark eyes, clever, active, gay, and mobile. Are you content?"
"Hem!" said Mr. Bemperlein. "Not so bad! not so bad! Go on!"
"Then, as regards fortune; she must not be rich. You know why."