The Children's Portion Part 15

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 a.s.siduity 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.

III.

As to John Durer, he rose to higher and higher dignities. The Emperor, after having made him minister, married him to a n.o.ble heiress. About that self-same time, the old shepherd and his wife died. Their village neighbors accompanied them in silence to the humble churchyard. A little man, whose hair was now white as snow, followed the dead with his head uncovered. When the priest had cast on their coffins that handful of dust which sounds so drearily, the old man murmured--

"There are bad sons, who, when they become fortunate, forget the aged parents who cherished them when they were children. May they be requited! for of such is not the kingdom of heaven."--Then he knelt down by the side of the grave and prayed.

This old man was Counsellor Werter. Wearied of the world, he had retired into obscurity, after having divided the larger part of his splendid fortune among the poor. He was gay, nimble--in the enjoyment of robust health; and many a time would he thank heaven that no children had been born to him, when he thought of the hard-heartedness of John Durer.

Not long after this, on the spot where the shepherd's cabin had stood was seen a magnificent chateau. It had been built so quickly, that it seemed like an enchanted palace. Toward the middle of summer, a fine young lord, a fair n.o.ble lady of the castle, and two lovely children, entered the village near to Haerlem in pride and triumph, escorted by the peasants, who had a.s.sembled in their honor. That fine young lord was John Durer, first Minister to his Majesty the Emperor of Germany.

It had chanced that heavy losses had befallen Counsellor Werter, which brought him within an inch of ruin. Had it not been for a sister left him who took care of him, the poor old gentleman would have been, indeed, in a miserable plight. A single word spoken by John Durer would have restored his ancient benefactor to court, and replaced him in the Emperor's favor. But vanity is without a heart; and wounded pride never forgives him who has wounded it.

IV.

One day the fine young lord took a fancy to go and visit all the spots in which, once on a time, he had dreamed away so many anxious hours. But he would go alone, not choosing that any should witness his meeting with those old friends, the haunts which might reveal to a companion the poverty of his early life. He set forth without attendants, mounted on a magnificent courser. He rode here, he rode there, not feeling even surprised to see everything so much as it was when he had quitted the country. The day began to go down--it was evening--when at last he came to the Valley of Bushes. There was a small bird singing there, just as it sang on that evening long ago. The sight of the white-thorn trees awakened painful recollections in his mind,--no doubt, perhaps, even a pang of remorse; and he spurred his courser in order to get clear of the place. But the animal trembled, snorted, and refused to move a step. He spurred his courser: the animal began to neigh violently.

"Is it some serpent that he sees?" said the fine young lord.

It was a little old man, who stepped out from among the bushes. He was dressed in a black mantle. Out he came, right into the middle of the road, closed his arms on his breast, and said in a dull voice, "Baron Durer, can you tell me what is the distance from a shepherd's hovel to a king's palace?"

"That which there is betwixt the earth and the sun," was the reply of the haughty upstart.

At this, the old man threw his cloak open, and showed himself to the Minister, as he had shown himself twenty years before, on that very spot, to the scholar John Durer. The Counsellor was little changed in appearance, except in his hair, which had been black, and was now white as the snow of winter.

John Durer's visage was mostly pale; but when he recognized that old man, it became as red as blood. It was the third time that he had blushed face to face with his former patron. Then the old man cried in a louder voice,--

"Does the scholar of the village remember one Counsellor Werter?"

"The Minister remembers nothing of the scholar," was the cold and arrogant answer.

"What, then, does he remember?" said the old man, pressing a little nearer.

"NOTHING!" cried the fine young lord, and he buried his spurs in the sides of his courser. They went off at a fierce gallop.

V.

But the fine young lord had only answered the truth. Whether it was from that sudden struggle of pride, and his hard-hearted resolution not to remember the Counsellor who had befriended him formerly or whether the labor of many years had caused it, from that evening, from that moment, the memory of the Emperor's great Minister began to decay. The ambitious designs of the shepherd boy of twenty years ago came back to him; but of all that had befallen him since, John Durer remembered nothing. The hour of requital was begun!

VI.