The old man pushed his plate away, and looked at him with amazement. "Either," said he, "you are a great dolt, or the best actor I have ever seen."
"No; I am only a dolt, but I wish to become clever," was the reply.
"A singular fellow," said the other, adjusting his spectacles so as to see him better. After a long examination, he went on: "What you, my lad, call an art, is only a knowledge of law, and the wisdom to turn it to one's own profit. He who is up to this can not fail to be a great man, for he will never be hanged." At which he laughed in a way that made a painful impression even upon Itzig.
"This art," he went on, "is not easily acquired, my boy. It takes much practice, a good head, prompt decision, and, above all, what the knowing call 'character.'" At which he laughed again.
Veitel felt that a crisis in his life had come. He fumbled for his worn-out pocket-book, and held it for a moment in his trembling hand. During that moment, all manner of conflicting thoughts flashed like lightning through his mind. He thought of his worthy mother's tearful farewell, and how she had said, "Veitel, this is a wicked world; gain thy bread honestly." He saw his old father on his death-bed, with his white head drooping over his emaciated frame. He thought, too, of his fifty dollars gathered together so laboriously—of the insults he had had to bear for their sake—the threatened blows. At that thought he threw his pocket-book on the table, and cried, "Here is the money!" but he knew, at the same time, that he was committing sin, and an invisible weight settled on his heart.
A few hours later, the lamp had burned low, but still Veitel sat with mouth open, eyes fixed, and face flushed, listening to the old man, who was speaking about what most people would vote a tiresome subject—promissory notes.
Later still, the light was gone out; and the stranger, having emptied his bottle of brandy, was asleep on his straw bed, but still Veitel sat and wrote in fancy on the dark walls fraudulent bonds and receipts, while the sweat ran down from his brow; then he opened the balcony door, and, leaning on the railing, saw the water rush by like a mighty stream of ink. Again he traced bonds on the shadows of the opposite walls, and wrote receipts on the surface of the stream. The shadows fled, the water ran away; but his soul had contracted, in that dark night, a debt to be one day required with compound interest.
From that night Veitel hurried home every evening, and the lessons went on regularly.
We may here briefly relate what he gradually discovered as to the history of his teacher.
Herr Hippus had seen better days. He had once been a leading attorney, and had then taken to the Bar, where he soon gained a high reputation for his skill in making a doubtful cause appear a good one. At first he had no intention of gaining a fortune by confounding right and wrong. On the contrary, he had a painful sense of insecurity when retained for a client whose cause seemed to him unjust. He differed but little, indeed, from the best of his colleagues; perhaps he had somewhat fewer scruples; and, certainly, he was too fond of good red wine. He had a caustic wit, made an admirable boon companion, and, having a subtle intellect, was fond of paradoxes and skillful hair-splitting. Thanks to the red wine, he fell into the habit of spending much, and so into the necessity of making much also. Vanity and the love of excitement led him to devote the whole energy of his brilliant intellect to winning bad cases, and thus that frequent curse of barristers overtook him; all who had bad cases applied to him. For a long time this annoyed him; but gradually, very gradually, he became demoralized by the constant contact with falsehood and wrong. His wants went on increasing, temptations multiplied, and conscience weakened. But, though long hollow within, he continued outwardly prosperous, and many prophesied that he, with his immense practice, would die one of the richest men in the city, when, cunning lawyer as he was, he had the misfortune to provoke inquiry by appearing in a desperate case. The result was, that he was at once disgraced, and vanished like a falling star from the circle of his professional brethren. He soon lost the last remains of respectability. In reality, he had amassed very little, and his love of drink went on increasing. He sunk to a mere frequenter of brandy-shops, a promoter of unfair litigation, and an adviser of rogues and swindlers. Owing to some of these practices it was that he now found it convenient, under the pretense of a long journey, to become for a time invisible. Pinkus was an old ally, and hence the opportunity for Veitel's lessons.