IV.
Two days later his uncle returned from his summer home. Aaron Hirsch led him to the banker’s private office. Bowing and curtseying the unctuous Hirsch explained to his master how punctiliously he had carried out his orders and what wonderful lodgings he had procured for his nephew.
Leopold Zorn smiled benignly and was very solicitous in his inquiries about Albert’s father, his mother, and every one of the children.
The banker was of medium height but, seated, looked tall. He held his head erect, his high collar (cut low in front for the freedom of his longish smooth shaven chin) pressing against his closely cropped side-whiskers, which were once brown but now somewhat faded, with streaks of gray. There was a pleasant twinkle in his eyes, but it was the twinkle of the quick-tempered which can change to flashing fury upon the least provocation.
The uncle studied his nephew as he tried to draw him out in conversation, and felt disappointed. David had given him to understand that Albert was bright but he could detect no brightness in the young man. The boy was more like his father, a ne’er-do-well, passed through the banker’s mind; nothing of his mother. Furthermore, he was annoyed at the young man’s constant twirling of his walking stick. He felt that this conceited youth was not sufficiently impressed with his uncle’s importance. Callers at his private office did not sit with their legs crossed, twirling their canes. The banker’s annoyance was growing. He thought best to make the young man understand his place at the outset.
“I shall be glad to find employment for you here,” he said with a show of impressiveness and a knot appearing in his left eyebrow, “and if you show the proper spirit and industry you will have a chance to rise. But you must dismiss all nonsense from your mind (David had told him that Albert was fooling his time away on verses). You must give your undivided attention to business if you hope to make anything of yourself; and”—he cleared his throat and turned his eyes aside—“you must show the proper respect for your elders.”
Albert listened but was unable to concentrate on what his uncle was saying. Instead, his mind dwelt upon his uncle’s physiognomy. He liked the straight nose—rather broad at the bottom—and the well shaped mouth. He also liked his grayish hair parted on the side. The tone of his voice displeased him. There was a ring of haughtiness in it.
The next moment, however, his feeling warmed toward his uncle. Leopold mistook his nephew’s preoccupied silence for submission and instantly regretted his harshness. Leopold was quick-tempered but keenly conscious of his failing. Kind hearted to a fault it hurt him to think he was unduly severe with his brother’s son. He softened instantly and endeavored to make amends.
“I know you’ll like Hamburg. It is a city of great opportunities,” he said tenderly.
Albert’s face saddened. He realized the opportunities his uncle had in mind had a different meaning from those in his own.
“Don’t be so downhearted, Albert.” Uncle Leopold’s voice was now jovial, kindly, a pleasing smile in his eyes. He touched Albert’s knee as if to buoy him up. “Your work here won’t be hard. Are you short of money?”
He opened his wallet and handed him several bills.
Leopold touched the silver bell on his secretary and Hirsch appeared.
“Tell Herr Elfenbein to come in,” he ordered.
A stout red-faced man, with fleshy eyelids, a long gold watch chain resting on his spherical abdomen, like a sleeping snake on a sunny rock, presently appeared at the door. It was the pompous man Albert saw on the day of his arrival.
“Martin, this is my nephew—David’s son—this is Herr Elfenbein, Albert—”
Martin extended a lax hand.
“Albert has had a good education and writes a fine hand,” Uncle Leopold added, “and I’ll place him in your care. But don’t spare the rod.” The banker’s face was writhing in smiles as he said this and then laughed jovially. “I think Albert needs a little discipline—hey? What do you say, Albert?”
“Don’t worry, we won’t spare him,” returned Elfenbein, smiling.
And indeed Martin Elfenbein did not spare him. Martin was a hard taskmaster and gave orders in a surly voice, devoid of human warmth. Albert began where he had left off at Rindskopf’s—copying letters, filling in exchange blanks, and other uncongenial labors.
He grew morose and kept to himself. Even poetry had lost all interest for him. He picked up a volume by Goethe, by Lessing, by Schiller, but their song received no response from his soul. Was his imagination becoming barren? He tried to express his despair but even in this he failed. His mind was a blank. No new thoughts, no fresh sentiments, nothing but stagnation.
One morning his uncle invited him to his country home and at once his slumbering sentiments reawakened. The hope of meeting his cousin Hilda, whose memory he had cherished since she visited Gunsdorf two years ago, changed his depressing gloom to buoyant cheer. His muse had suddenly returned. He was full of song and merriment.