Bab Bab 13 · NAT'S NEW YEAR

Chapter 13. NAT'S NEW YEAR

'I don't expect to hear from Emil yet, and Nat writes regularly, but

where is Dan? Only two or three postals since he went. Such an energetic

fellow as he is could buy up all the farms in Kansas by this time,' said

Mrs Jo one morning when the mail came in and no card or envelope bore

Dan's dashing hand.

'He never writes often, you know, but does his work and then comes

home. Months and years seem to mean little to him, and he is probably

prospecting in the wilderness, forgetful of time,' answered Mr Bhaer,

deep in one of Nat's long letters from Leipzig.

'But he promised he would let me know how he got on, and Dan keeps his

word if he can. I'm afraid something has happened to him'; and Mrs Jo

comforted herself by patting Don's head, as he came at the sound of his

master's name to look at her with eyes almost human in their wistful

intelligence.

'Don't worry, Mum dear, nothing ever happens to the old fellow. He'll

turn up all right, and come stalking in some day with a gold-mine in one

pocket and a prairie in the other, as jolly as a grig,' said Ted, who

was in no haste to deliver Octoo to her rightful owner.

'Perhaps he has gone to Montana and given up the farm plan. He seemed to

like Indians best, I thought'; and Rob went to help his mother with her

pile of letters and his cheerful suggestions.

'I hope so, it would suit him best. But I am sure he would have told us

his change of plan and sent for some money to work with. No, I feel in

my prophetic bones that something is wrong,' said Mrs Jo, looking as

solemn as Fate in a breakfast-cap.

'Then we shall hear; ill news always travels fast. Don't borrow trouble,

Jo, but hear how well Nat is getting on. I'd no idea the boy would care

for anything but music. My good friend Baumgarten has launched him well,

and it will do him good if he lose not his head. A good lad, but new to

the world, and Leipzig is full of snares for the unwary. Gott be with

him!'

The Professor read Nat's enthusiastic account of certain literary

and musical parties he had been to, the splendours of the opera, the

kindness of his new friends, the delight of studying under such a master

as Bergmann, his hopes of rapid gain, and his great gratitude to those

who had opened this enchanted world to him.

'That, now, is satisfactory and comfortable. I felt that Nat had

unsuspected power in him before he went away; he was so manly and full

of excellent plans,' said Mrs Jo, in a satisfied tone.

'We shall see. He will doubtless get his lesson and be the better for

it. That comes to us all in our young days. I hope it will not be too

hard for our good Jungling,' answered the Professor, with a wise smile,

remembering his own student life in Germany.

He was right; and Nat was already getting his lesson in life with a

rapidity which would have astonished his friends at home. The manliness

over which Mrs Jo rejoiced was developing in unexpected ways, and quiet

Nat had plunged into the more harmless dissipations of the gay city

with all the ardour of an inexperienced youth taking his first sip of

pleasure. The entire freedom and sense of independence was delicious,

for many benefits began to burden him, and he longed to stand on his

own legs and make his own way. No one knew his past here; and with a

well-stocked wardrobe, a handsome sum at his banker's, and the best

teacher in Leipzig, he made his debut as a musical young gentleman,

presented by the much-respected Professor Bhaer and the wealthy Mr

Laurence, who had many friends glad to throw open their houses to

his protege. Thanks to these introductions, his fluent German, modest

manners, and undeniable talent, the stranger was cordially welcomed, and

launched at once into a circle which many an ambitious young man strove

in vain to enter.

All this rather turned Nat's head; and as he sat in the brilliant

opera-house, chatted among the ladies at some select coffee-party, or

whisked an eminent professor's amiable daughter down the room, trying to

imagine she was Daisy, he often asked himself if this gay fellow could

be the poor homeless little Street musician who once stood waiting in

the rain at the gates of Plumfield. His heart was true, his impulses

good, and his ambitions high; but the weak side of his nature came

uppermost here; vanity led him astray, pleasure intoxicated him, and for

a time he forgot everything but the delights of this new and charming

life. Without meaning to deceive, he allowed people to imagine him a

youth of good family and prospects; he boasted a little of Mr Laurie's

wealth and influence, of Professor Bhaer's eminence, and the flourishing

college at which he himself had been educated. Mrs Jo was introduced to

the sentimental Frauleins who read her books, and the charms and virtues

of his own dear Madchen confided to sympathetic mammas. All these boyish

boastings and innocent vanities were duly circulated among the

gossips, and his importance much increased thereby, to his surprise and

gratification, as well as some shame.

But they bore fruit that was bitter in the end; for, finding that he was

considered one of the upper class, it very soon became impossible

for him to live in the humble quarters he had chosen, or to lead the

studious, quiet life planned for him. He met other students, young

officers, and gay fellows of all sorts, and was flattered at being

welcomed among them; though it was a costly pleasure, and often left

a thorn of regret to vex his honest conscience. He was tempted to take

better rooms in a more fashionable street, leaving good Frau Tetzel to

lament his loss, and his artist neighbour, Fraulein Vogelstein, to shake

her grey ringlets and predict his return, a sadder and a wiser man.

The sum placed at his disposal for expenses and such simple pleasures

as his busy life could command seemed a fortune to Nat, though it was

smaller than generous Mr Laurie first proposed. Professor Bhaer wisely

counselled prudence, as Nat was unused to the care of money, and the

good man knew the temptations that a well-filled purse makes possible at

this pleasure-loving age. So Nat enjoyed his handsome little apartment

immensely, and insensibly let many unaccustomed luxuries creep in. He

loved his music and never missed a lesson; but the hours he should

have spent in patient practice were too often wasted at theatre, ball,

beer-garden, or club--doing no harm beyond that waste of precious time,

and money not his own; for he had no vices, and took his recreation like

a gentleman, so far. But slowly a change for the worse was beginning to

show itself, and he felt it. These first steps along the flowery road

were downward, not upward; and the constant sense of disloyalty which

soon began to haunt him made Nat feel, in the few quiet hours he gave

himself, that all was not well with him, spite of the happy whirl in

which he lived.

'Another month, and then I will be steady,' he said more than once,

trying to excuse the delay by the fact that all was new to him, that his

friends at home wished him to be happy, and that society was giving him

the polish he needed. But as each month slipped away it grew harder to

escape; he was inevitably drawn on, and it was so easy to drift with

the tide that he deferred the evil day as long as possible. Winter

festivities followed the more wholesome summer pleasures, and Nat found

them more costly; for the hospitable ladies expected some return from

the stranger; and carriages, bouquets, theatre tickets, and all the

little expenses a young man cannot escape at such times, told heavily

on the purse which seemed bottomless at first. Taking Mr Laurie for

his model, Nat became quite a gallant, and was universally liked; for

through all the newly acquired airs and graces the genuine honesty

and simplicity of his character plainly shone, winning confidence and

affection from all who knew him.

Among these was a certain amiable old lady with a musical

daughter--well-born but poor, and very anxious to marry the aforesaid

daughter to some wealthy man. Nat's little fictions concerning his

prospects and friends charmed the gnadige Frau as much as his music and

devoted manners did the sentimental Minna. Their quiet parlour seemed

homelike and restful to Nat, when tired of gayer scenes; and the

motherly interest of the elder lady was sweet and comfortable to him;

while the tender blue eyes of the pretty girl were always so full of

welcome when he came, of regret when he left, and of admiration when

he played to her, that he found it impossible to keep away from this

attractive spot. He meant no harm, and feared no danger, having confided

to the Frau Mamma that he was betrothed; so he continued to call, little

dreaming what ambitious hopes the old lady cherished, nor the peril

there was in receiving the adoration of a romantic German girl, till it

was too late to spare her pain and himself great regret.

Of course some inkling of these new and agreeable experiences got into

the voluminous letters he never was too gay, too busy, or too tired

to write each week; and while Daisy rejoiced over his happiness and

success, and the boys laughed at the idea of 'old Chirper coming out as

a society man', the elders looked sober, and said among themselves:

'He is going too fast; he must have a word of warning, or trouble may

come.'

But Mr Laurie said: 'Oh, let him have his fling; he's been dependent and

repressed long enough. He can't go far with the money he has, and I've

no fear of his getting into debt. He's too timid and too honest to be

reckless. It is his first taste of freedom; let him enjoy it, and he'll

work the better by and by; I know--and I'm sure I'm right.'

So the warnings were very gentle, and the good people waited anxiously

to hear more of hard study, and less of 'splendid times'. Daisy

sometimes wondered, with a pang of her faithful heart, if one of the

charming Minnas, Hildegardes, and Lottchens mentioned were not stealing

her Nat away from her; but she never asked, always wrote calmly and

cheerfully, and looked in vain for any hint of change in the letters

that were worn out with much reading.

Month after month slipped away, till the holidays came with gifts, good

wishes, and brilliant festivities. Nat expected to enjoy himself very

much, and did at first; for a German Christmas is a spectacle worth

seeing. But he paid dearly for the abandon with which he threw himself

into the gaieties of that memorable week; and on New Year's Day the

reckoning came. It seemed as if some malicious fairy had prepared the

surprises that arrived, so unwelcome were they, so magical the change

they wrought, turning his happy world into a scene of desolation and

despair as suddenly as a transformation at the pantomime.

The first came in the morning when, duly armed with costly bouquets

and bon-bons, he went to thank Minna and her mother for the braces

embroidered with forget-me-nots and the silk socks knit by the old

lady's nimble fingers, which he had found upon his table that day. The

Frau Mamma received him graciously; but when he asked for the daughter

the good lady frankly demanded what his intentions were, adding that

certain gossip which had reached her ear made it necessary for him

to declare himself or come no more, as Minna's peace must not be

compromised.

A more panic-stricken youth was seldom seen than Nat as he received this

unexpected demand. He saw too late that his American style of gallantry

had deceived the artless girl, and might be used with terrible effect

by the artful mother, if she chose to do it. Nothing but the truth could

save him, and he had the honour and honesty to tell it faithfully. A

sad scene followed; for Nat was obliged to strip off his fictitious

splendour, confess himself only a poor student, and humbly ask pardon

for the thoughtless freedom with which he had enjoyed their too

confiding hospitality. If he had any doubts of Frau Schomburg's motives

and desires, they were speedily set at rest by the frankness with which

she showed her disappointment, the vigour with which she scolded him,

and the scorn with which she cast him off when her splendid castles in

the air collapsed.

The sincerity of Nat's penitence softened her a little and she consented

to a farewell word with Minna, who had listened at the keyhole, and was

produced drenched in tears, to fall on Nat's bosom, crying: 'Ah, thou

dear one, never can I forget thee, though my heart is broken!'

This was worse than the scolding; for the stout lady also wept, and it

was only after much German gush and twaddle that he escaped, feeling

like another Werther; while the deserted Lotte consoled herself with the

bonbons, her mother with the more valuable gifts.

The second surprise arrived as he dined with Professor Baumgarten. His

appetite had been effectually taken away by the scene of the morning,

and his spirits received another damper when a fellow student cheerfully

informed him that he was about to go to America, and should make it his

agreeable duty to call on the 'lieber Herr Professor Bhaer', to tell

him how gaily his protege was disporting himself at Leipzig. Nat's heart

died within him as he imagined the effect these glowing tales would have

at Plumfield--not that he had wilfully deceived them, but in his letters

many things were left untold; and when Carlsen added, with a friendly

wink, that he would merely hint at the coming betrothal of the fair

Minna and his 'heart's friend', Nat found himself devoutly hoping that

this other inconvenient heart's friend might go to the bottom of the sea

before he reached Plumfield to blast all his hopes by these tales of a

mis-spent winter. Collecting his wits, he cautioned Carlsen with what

he flattered himself was Mephistophelian art, and gave him such confused

directions that it would be a miracle if he ever found Professor Bhaer.

But the dinner was spoilt for Nat, and he got away as soon as possible,

to wander disconsolately about the streets, with no heart for the

theatre or the supper he was to share with some gay comrades afterwards.

He comforted himself a little by giving alms to sundry beggars, making

two children happy with gilded gingerbread, and drinking a lonely glass

of beer, in which he toasted his Daisy and wished himself a better year

than the last had been.

Going home at length, he found a third surprise awaiting him in the

shower of bills which had descended upon him like a snowstorm, burying

him in an avalanche of remorse, despair, and self-disgust. These bills

were so many and so large that he was startled and dismayed; for, as

Mr Bhaer wisely predicted, he knew little about the value of money.

It would take every dollar at the bankers to pay them all at once, and

leave him penniless for the next six months, unless he wrote home for

more. He would rather starve than do that; and his first impulse was to

seek help at the gaming-table, whither his new friends had often tempted

him. But he had promised Mr Bhaer to resist what then had seemed an

impossible temptation; and now he would not add another fault to the

list already so long. Borrow he would not, nor beg. What could he do?

For these appalling bills must be paid, and the lessons go on; or his

journey was an ignominious failure. But he must live meantime. And how?

Bowed down with remorse for the folly of these months, he saw too late

whither he was drifting, and for hours paced up and down his pretty

rooms, floundering in a Slough of Despond, with no helping hand to pull

him out--at least he thought so till letters were brought in, and among

fresh bills lay one well-worn envelope with an American stamp in the

corner.

Ah, how welcome it was! how eagerly he read the long pages full of

affectionate wishes from all at home! For everyone had sent a line, and

as each familiar name appeared, his eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till, as

he read the last--'God bless my boy! Mother Bhaer'--he broke down; and

laying his head on his arms, blistered the paper with a rain of tears

that eased his heart and washed away the boyish sins that now lay so

heavy on his conscience.

'Dear people, how they love and trust me! And how bitterly they would

be disappointed if they knew what a fool I've been! I'll fiddle in the

streets again before I'll ask for help from them!' cried Nat, brushing

away the tears of which he was ashamed, although he felt the good they

had done.

Now he seemed to see more clearly what to do; for the helping hand had

been stretched across the sea, and Love, the dear Evangelist, had

lifted him out of the slough and shown him the narrow gate, beyond which

deliverance lay. When the letter had been reread, and one corner where

a daisy was painted, passionately kissed, Nat felt strong enough to face

the worst and conquer it. Every bill should be paid, every salable thing

of his own sold, these costly rooms given up; and once back with

thrifty Frau Tetzel, he would find work of some sort by which to support

himself, as many another student did. He must give up the new friends,

turn his back on the gay life, cease to be a butterfly, and take his

place among the grubs. It was the only honest thing to do, but very hard

for the poor fellow to crush his little vanities, renounce the delights

so dear to the young, own his folly, and step down from his pedestal to

be pitied, laughed at, and forgotten.

It took all Nat's pride and courage to do this, for his was a sensitive

nature; esteem was very precious to him, failure very bitter, and

nothing but the inborn contempt for meanness and deceit kept him from

asking help or trying to hide his need by some dishonest device. As he

sat alone that night, Mr Bhaer's words came back to him with curious

clearness, and he saw himself a boy again at Plumfield, punishing his

teacher as a lesson to himself, when timidity had made him lie.

'He shall not suffer for me again, and I won't be a sneak if I am a

fool. I'll go and tell Professor Baumgarten all about it and ask his

advice. I'd rather face a loaded cannon; but it must be done. Then I'll

sell out, pay my debts, and go back where I belong. Better be an honest

pauper than a jackdaw among peacocks'; and Nat smiled in the midst of

his trouble, as he looked about him at the little elegancies of his

room, remembering what he came from.

He kept his word manfully, and was much comforted to find that his

experience was an old story to the professor, who approved his plan,

thinking wisely that the discipline would be good for him, and was very

kind in offering help and promising to keep the secret of his folly from

his friend Bhaer till Nat had redeemed himself.

The first week of the new year was spent by our prodigal in carrying out

his plan with penitent dispatch, and his birthday found him alone in

the little room high up at Frau Tetzel's, with nothing of his former

splendour, but sundry unsalable keepsakes from the buxom maidens, who

mourned his absence deeply. His male friends had ridiculed, pitied,

and soon left him alone, with one or two exceptions, who offered their

purses generously and promised to stand by him. He was lonely and

heavy-hearted, and sat brooding over his small fire as he remembered the

last New Year's Day at Plumfield, when at this hour he was dancing with

his Daisy.

A tap at the door roused him, and with a careless 'Herein', he waited

to see who had climbed so far for his sake. It was the good Frau proudly

bearing a tray, on which stood a bottle of wine and an astonishing

cake bedecked with sugar-plums of every hue, and crowned with candles.

Fraulein Vogelstein followed, embracing a blooming rose-tree, above

which her grey curls waved and her friendly face beamed joyfully as she

cried:

'Dear Herr Blak, we bring you greetings and a little gift or two in

honour of this ever-to-be-remembered day. Best wishes! and may the new

year bloom for you as beautifully as we your heart-warm friends desire.'

'Yes, yes, in truth we do, dear Herr,' added Frau Tetzel. 'Eat of this

with-joy-made Kuchen, and drink to the health of the far-away beloved

ones in the good wine.'

Amused, yet touched by the kindness of the good souls, Nat thanked them

both, and made them stay to enjoy the humble feast with him. This they

gladly did, being motherly women full of pity for the dear youth, whose

straits they knew, and having substantial help to offer, as well as kind

words and creature comforts.

Frau Tetzel, with some hesitation, mentioned a friend of hers who,

forced by illness to leave his place in the orchestra of a second-rate

theatre, would gladly offer it to Nat, if he could accept so humble a

position. Blushing and toying with the roses like a shy girl, good old

Vogelstein asked if in his leisure moments he could give English lessons

in the young ladies' school where she taught painting, adding that a

small but certain salary would be paid him.

Gratefully Nat accepted both offers, finding it less humiliating to be

helped by women than by friends of his own sex. This work would support

him in a frugal way, and certain musical drudgery promised by his master

assured his own teaching. Delighted with the success of their little

plot, these friendly neighbours left him with cheery words, warm

hand-grasps, and faces beaming with feminine satisfaction at the hearty

kiss Nat put on each faded cheek, as the only return he could make for

all their helpful kindness.

It was strange how much brighter the world looked after that; for hope

was a better cordial than the wine, and good resolutions bloomed as

freshly as the little rose-tree that filled the room with fragrance, as

Nat woke the echoes with the dear old airs, finding now as always his

best comforter in music, to whom henceforth he swore to be a more loyal

subject.