II.
John Durer belonged to the family of a poor shepherd. He worked hard as a scholar, but even when he was at play he showed a violent disposition to domineer over the rest. He seemed to be devoured with ambition: at all events he carried off every prize at school. By the time he was fifteen he was the admiration, he was the pride, of all his masters. But John was not loved by his schoolmates; he displayed a vanity which repelled them, which sometimes provoked them. He made few friendships, spoke freely with few, and looked haughtily down on such of his little companions as were less happily gifted than he was. His words were short, his look was cold, and the pride in which he shut himself up on purpose, made him unapproachable. He lived by himself.
One evening this young Durer, feeling, even more than usually, the necessity of solitude and meditation, went out into the country, dreaming, no doubt, of the grandeur to which his pride aspired, and which he was hopeless of ever reaching; for his face was sad, and he walked with a slow step, as does some discouraged traveler on a road without end, toward something in the distance that perpetually escapes him. At last he stopped in a hollow, called the Valley of Bushes, on account of the gigantic white-thorn trees that grew there. He sat down in their shadow: a small bird was fluttering about, and singing blithely overhead; but he did not hear her.
When the storm is loud, all natural sounds are silenced. Thus it was with Durer; the throbbing of ambition in every vein with him absorbed all the sweeter melodies which should charm the heart and fancy of youth.
He was dreaming of fame and fortune. How to rise was his sole thought; and it was not probable, except by some very rare circumstance and chance, that his dream should be realized; for in those days of the world, at least, it was thought that a shepherd's son should have a shepherd's tastes. The young man did not see a single path open in which he could plant his foot—one was barred by wealth, another by position, another by birth. All that he could dream of was some blest chance that should break down for him one of these barriers. He was sullen, afflicted, ashamed, indignant, and alarmed,—above all, when he thought of one thing—that thing was his poverty.
For this had the shepherd of the village near Haerlem labored twenty years; for this had he spent the savings of those twenty years, in giving an education to this young nobleman.
John was buried deep in these reveries—too deep for his age—when some one came up smiling to him. This was a little, fat, chubby-faced man, as round as a barrel, with a low brown hat on his head. He had on a large brown cloak, a handsome yellow doublet, black breeches in the old fashion, and square-toed glossy shoes, with large roses of purple ribbon. The glance of this man, whose hair was already becoming gray, was keen and penetrating. Though his lips were thick, there was an open, honest expression about his mouth; while his clear eyes and sharply-cut eyebrows seemed to belong to a man of strict uprightness.
"I do not like to see youth melancholy," said the little man, coming close to John Durer, and examining him—"it is a sign of the disease too common among young people—which is a desire to be something and somebody before they are well born into the world. I would bet my fortune against this boy's dreams that he is already an old scholar. Plague take those parents who fill their children's heads with learning ere they have made men of them! who neglect all care to form a character, and think only how to bring forward the understanding!—Vanity kills right feeling!"
Mumbling thus to himself, the little man went up to John, and began to question him. The dreamer started as if a thunderbolt had fallen close to his elbow.
"Young man, how far is it from the earth to the sun?"
"Thirty-three millions of leagues," replied John, without the least hesitation.
"As if I did not know that he would know," said the little man to himself, with a smile.
"And how long would it take a humming-bird who could fly a league in a minute to get there!"
"Twenty-eight years, sir," was Durer's answer.
"When one calculates so well, and so rapidly, no wonder one is melancholy," said the little man to himself. Then going on—"Who was the greatest man of antiquity?" asked he.
"Alexander."
"Who was the wisest?"
"Socrates."
"Who was the proudest?"
"Diogenes."
"Which of these do you like the best?"
"Alexander."
"What do you think of the neighbor who obliges his neighbor?"
"I think that the first has the advantage of the second."
The little gentleman considered a moment, and began again—
"What is your father's trade, young man?"
This simple question made Durer blush. He did not say a word in answer. The little man, who was very clear-sighted, said—"This young fellow is ashamed to own that he belongs to a poor shepherd in the village hard by. Bad heart—strong head—detestable nature! This boy will never make anything but a diplomatist." Then, after a moment's reflection, he said to himself—"But it's of no consequence."
The end was, that young Durer went back to the cottage wild with joy. He took leave of his father and his mother, who shed torrents of tears at his leaving them. John was turning his back on the shepherd's cabin for ever: he was to go to Vienna, to finish his studies there. For the little man had put into his hand three purses full of gold, and had said, "I am Counsellor Werter, favorite of his Majesty the Emperor. Your assiduity in study has become known to me. Work on—for aught you know, you may be on the high road."
Three years afterward, Durer entered the office of the Emperor's secretary. Later, he became, himself, private secretary. Later still, he received a barony and a handsome estate.—So much for the prophecies, so much for the secret influence of the Counsellor Werter!
Durer was on the highway paved with gold;—but he forgot his father, and he forgot his mother, too.
One day, when Counsellor Werter was going to court, he met Durer on the staircase of the palace. He said to him,—
"Baron Durer, I sent yesterday, in your name, twelve thousand crowns to a certain old shepherd in a village not far from Haerlem."
The Counsellor said this in rather a scornful voice; and he saw that
Baron Durer turned as red as the boy had done in the Valley of the
Bushes, on the evening when he was asked what his father's trade was.
The two men looked steadily at each other: the Baron with that hatred
which is never to be appeased—the Counsellor with bitter indignation.
On the evening of that very day, the Emperor received his faithful old friend, the incorruptible Counsellor, coldly. On the morrow, Werter was not summoned to the palace—nor the day after. Disgrace had fallen on him. He had nourished a serpent in his bosom. He left court, and retired far away, to a small estate which he, too, chanced to possess in the neighborhood of Haerlem.