CHAPTER IX.
[A LETTER AND ITS REPLY].
The heavy clouds which had veiled the horizon in the afternoon had slowly covered all the skies, the night was very dark, the gloom only broken from time to time by dazzling flashes of lightning.
Egon stood at his open window. He felt easier and freer now that he was once more alone, and the spectacle of the beginning of the storm was a relief to him. The old trees waved and creaked in the blast, the rustling of the leaves, the crashing of boughs, and the moaning of the wind were as music in his ears. If only some ray of light could illumine the darkness within him, as the lightning's play lit up the world without!
He had suddenly become aware of the serious importance of existence. Hitherto he had never reflected upon the future, and but seldom upon the past. He had lived in the present, obeying the impulse of the moment, with no thought of the consequences of his actions. He had known no feeling of responsibility, he had lived for himself alone; who in all the world had any claim upon his consideration?
When the insane idea occurred to him of playing the part of Gottlieb Pigglewitch for a little while, it had indeed entered his mind that it might result in some annoyance, but he had thoughtlessly followed the impulse of the moment; he could put a stop to it all whenever he pleased, he still possessed his revolver. He had not been bored, it is true, for a moment since he had changed clothes with Gottlieb Pigglewitch and borrowed his name, but what had he gained? Was he happy? Was life any more attractive to him? No, not in the least. Formerly, when he had thought it worth while to recur to the past, he had done so without regret, without the slightest remorse, he had recalled his past with a kind of weary indifference; today this retrospect begot within him a sensation of shame. His whole past life seemed to him frivolous and insignificant. Bertha von Massenburg had characterized him correctly. It was only by chance that he had not fled from life like a coward. Involuntarily, as the feeling of shame grew stronger, he felt for his revolver in his breast-pocket to toss it from him, and as he drew it forth, a letter likewise was pulled from his pocket and fell upon the floor.
It was the note addressed to the Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch, which he had received a few hours before. Egon had forgotten it; he picked it up now and carried it to the table, where a light was burning.
His thoughts had taken another turn; the momentary disgust at the thought of his revolver vanished, he contemplated it with a half-smile, and his thoughts ran thus: "I had very nearly thrown you away forever, old friend. It was only an accident, the appearance of this wretched letter, which prevented me from yielding to the impulse of the moment. Shall I never, then, be master of myself? 'He is a man of no force of character, he has no self-control.' Those were old Sastrow's words, and, by Jove! he is right. Always the sport of the moment! Why should I toss away my revolver? There is no danger in it for me, except by my own will, by my being too great a coward to fight the battle of life. No, old friend, you shall stay by me, not as an aid in my extreme need, but as a warning to me to control myself."
He thrust the weapon again into his breast-pocket, and then turned to the letter in his left hand. It was addressed in a very fine, round hand to the "Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch, at Castle Osternau, near Mirbach;" but just after the name Pigglewitch two words, enclosed in brackets, were written, in a handwriting so excessively small as to escape notice at the first glance. Egon held the note near the lamp, and by its light deciphered the words "Fritz Fortune."
Fritz Fortune! It was the name that Egon had invented and given instead of his own to the real Pigglewitch. No one else knew this name, and hence it was clear that the note was for Egon, and from the redoubtable Candidate himself. The young fellow broke the seal, and read:
"Respected Herr Fortune,--Forgive me for once more turning to you in my extreme need; indeed I cannot help it. Wonderful indeed are the ways of the Lord! He sent me aid when with a wanton hand I attempted my own life; you, dear sir, rescued not only my body, but my immortal soul, saving it from mortal sin. And in your inexhaustible generosity you provided me with means not only to repay my uncle, but to emigrate to America and live happy there. Four thousand marks you bestowed upon me. Permit me, however, to remark that you counted out to me one hundred marks too little. I went carefully over the notes as soon as you had left, and they amounted to only three thousand nine hundred marks. I called after you, but you did not hear me; therefore you still owe me one hundred marks.
"But not for this do I now address you. A hundred marks is, to be sure, a large sum for me, but I would not mind it, I should now be in Hamburg or Bremen, ready to start for America by the next steamer, if fate had not subjected me to fresh trials.
"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. I have been assailed by temptation and have been unable to resist. Wretched man that I am, I have again lost everything,--everything! There is nothing left for me, Herr Fortune, but to appeal once more to your benevolence; and my heart is filled with hope that you will not let me plead in vain.
"You can probably surmise how I have been stripped of everything that you bestowed upon me. My miserable passion for play has again wrought my ruin. I could not withstand temptation. Upon arriving in Berlin, full of the brightest hopes, I encountered near the station the same men who had shortly before won all that I possessed. But why dwell upon these wretched details? In little more than an hour I was again a beggar, with hardly money enough for food for a couple of days. I sought out my former lodgings, where my landlady received me,--I had paid her up to the 15th,--and here, sitting despairing in my lonely room, it has occurred to me to write to you, honoured Herr Fortune.
"You are rich. You have with you now thousands of marks. You cannot refuse to help a miserable man who knows no help save in you. I entreat, I implore you to send me four thousand marks more, and I will say nothing about the hundred marks that you still owe me.
"What shall I do if you refuse to aid me? It is true that I promised you to reveal to no one the fact that you had under my name installed yourself in my situation at Castle Osternau, and that I had handed over to you all my credentials, but with the best will in the world it is impossible for me to keep my promise. I cannot now emigrate to America, I must stay here, and in order to live I must find a situation here; to do this I need my papers. Yes, I must lay claim to the situation promised me at Castle Osternau; only by procuring it can I ever lay by money enough to pay my uncle. This is my only hope, for if I do not pay it he will send me to jail, whereas if I make him remittances he will perhaps wait in order not to lose his money.
"You will see yourself, Herr Fortune, that I shall be forced to break my promise to you, much as it will pain me to cause you any annoyance. I am so grateful to you that the thought of your being arrested and brought to punishment for assuming a false name and presenting false credentials drives me to despair.
"This must not happen. You will give heed to my entreaty, and once more send me the four thousand marks which I, miserable sinner that I am, have lost at play. I swear to you, by all that is sacred, that by the next mail after the receipt of the money I will transmit my uncle's money to him, and will go straight to Hamburg without spending a day more in Berlin. I swear to you that I will not touch a card, that I will not yield to temptation.
"Help me this once, only this once, honoured Herr Fortune, I implore you on my knees, lying in the dust before you!
"Your wretched, desperate, bat eternally grateful and devoted
"Gottlieb Pigglewitch.
"P.S.--My address is 'Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch, Berlin, 52 Ensel Street, care of Frau Wiebe.'"
With a face darkening as he read, Egon perused this precious epistle, tossing it disdainfully aside when he had finished reading it. "Miserable scoundrel!" he muttered. "What a worthless mass of hypocritical gratitude, servility, stupidity, and dishonesty the creature must be, thus to threaten me indirectly in hopes of getting more money from me! He talks to me of arrest, and thinks that for fear of it I shall send him another four thousand marks that he may be plucked for the third time by sharpers. No, my worthy Pigglewitch, you have reckoned without your host this time; not a mark will you get!"
He paced his room to and fro, deciding that any further thought of the miserable letter and the rogue who had penned it was foolish, and yet he could not banish it from his mind.
Was the threat so very ridiculous? If the true Pigglewitch had the courage to attempt it he might bring the false one into a deal of trouble, as Egon's sober second thought could not but admit.
The bearing of a feigned name was legally a crime, but that was of no consequence in Egon's mind. If he chose early the next morning to go to Berlin instead of to Breslau, who could succeed in finding the Pigglewitch who had vanished from Osternau? Nobody would suppose that Egon von Ernau, suddenly appearing in the capital again after a short pleasure-trip, had for a day or two taken it into his head to play the part of a Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch. The real Pigglewitch could not betray him, for he knew him only as Fritz Fortune. The false Pigglewitch simply vanished, leaving not a trace behind.
What would the world say if the Egon von Ernau whom it believed dead should suddenly appear safe and sound in Berlin? Egon laughed as he pictured to himself his reception in the paternal mansion, the faces of the servants, and the amazement of his father thus interrupted in his successful performance of the part of a broken-hearted parent. His poor father! But there would be some consolation for him in the sensation caused by his son's return. He could drive about town in his carriage, and, with a beaming countenance, inform all his friends, 'My son lives, I am the happiest of fathers!' Whether in joy or in woe, he could still be the model parent.
Would it not be best perhaps to cut the Gordian knot of his foolish adventure after this fashion? Yes, it would be his wisest course to leave Castle Osternau on the morrow, never to return. And what of the future? He had never formerly thought of the future, he did so now for the first time.
He would doubtless be received with enthusiasm, would be the topic of the gossip of the capital for weeks, all the silly rumours which had been flying about with regard to him would die away of themselves, Bertha von Massenburg need not leave Berlin, for--here Egon shuddered--the betrothal could take place as agreed upon, the betrothal to which Egon had thoughtlessly consented because it was of no consequence to him what woman was the sharer of his tedious existence. All women seemed alike calculating, frivolous, insignificant. He had given his consent, it could not be withdrawn.
Why did his pulses suddenly quicken? Why did he feel a positive aversion to the girl who was described as so beautiful and amiable? "Never, never," he muttered. He could not act wisely, he could not return to fulfil his father's promise, no, he could not.
He would remain in Castle Osternau and carry out to the end the adventure in which he was embarked, if only to test his force of character, his ability to carve out a new life for himself. Was it for this alone? Did not a lovely vision hover before his mental vision, casting its spells upon him, robbing him of freedom of will and forcing him to remain, when to go would be so prudent, so sensible?
He determined to remain. But he must not expose himself to the danger of being driven forth from Castle Osternau by the real Pigglewitch. For should the latter make good his claim, as he could, to the name now borne by Egon, he would doubtless be expelled from the castle pursued by the Lieutenant's scornful laughter.
And he could not possibly explain the matter to Herr von Osternau. No, the real Pigglewitch must be disarmed. But how? There was but one course,--to grant his request. Egon bit his lip; it irritated him to be influenced by the rogue's threats, but he had no choice. He could secure himself from discovery only by sending the fellow four thousand marks. Should he then be secure? Could he trust the man in the slightest degree? No, never. But it was of little consequence, he could at all events be made harmless for a short time. It was, after all, only a matter of a petty four thousand marks.
He sat down at the writing-table and wrote: "I will help you this time, but it is the last. If you allow yourself to be led astray again by your insane love of play you have nothing further to expect from me. I ought now to leave you to your fate, for your folly in allowing yourself to be made a second time the prey of ordinary sharpers deserves punishment, the more as by your threat of breaking your promise you have forfeited all right to my clemency. You owe the money which I herewith send you to my pity for your inconceivable stupidity, not in the least to your threat as to arrest, etc., which, I would remark by the way, is absolutely futile, since your papers were given me voluntarily by yourself, and the only inconvenience to which you could subject me would be the payment of a fine which would be of no importance to me, and the abridgment of a foolish jest which I was silly ever to attempt. Your broken promise would avail you nothing here, since your letter to me would prevent Herr von Osternau from ever receiving into his house, as tutor, a low, dishonest gambler, who, according to his own confession, should be at present within the walls of a jail.
"You know now what you have to expect, and I would advise you in your own interest to keep your word and to sail by the first vessel for America. If in your new home you should ever need money to purchase a farm you may again apply to me. I may perhaps be induced to remember that I saved your life against your will. How far this remembrance will serve you in the fulfilment of a reasonable request from you your own conduct must decide.
"I wish no thanks from you for the enclosed four thousand marks. Any communication made from you to me before your arrival in America will destroy all hope of future assistance from
"Fritz Fortune."