by William Howitt.
Originally published in Fraser's Magazine (James Fraser) vol.2 #8 (Sep 1830).
There are a multitude of places on this wide globe that were never heard of since the day of creation; and that never would become known to a soul beyond their own ten miles of circumference, except to those universal discoverers, the tax-gatherers,—were it not for some spark of genius which suddenly kindles there, and carries their fame through all countries and all generations. This has been the case many times, and will be the case again. We are destined to hear the sound of names that our fathers never dreamt of; and there are other spots now basking in God's blessed sunshine, of which the world knows and cares nothing, that shall, to our children, become places of worship and pilgrimage.
Something of this sort of glory was cast upon the little town of Rapps, in Bohemia, by the hero whose name stands conspicuously at the head of this story; and whose pleasant adventures I flatter myself I am destined still further to diffuse. Jan Nadeltreiber was the son of old Strauss Nadeltreiber, who had, as well as his ancestors before him, for six generations, practised, in the same little place, the most gentlemanly of all professions—that of a tailor, seeing that it was, before all others, used and sanctioned by our father Adam.
Now Jan was, from his boyhood, a remarkable person. His father had known his share of trouble; and, having two sons, both older than Jan, naturally looked, in his old age, to reap some comfort and assistance from their united labours; but they had successively fled from the shop-board. One had gone for a soldier, and was shot; the other had learned the craft of a weaver, but, being too fond of his pot, had broken his neck by falling into a quarry as he returned home one night from a carousal. Jan was left the sole staff for the old man to lean upon, and truly a worthy son he proved himself. He was as gentle as a dove, and as tender as a lamb. A cross word from his father when he made a cross stitch would almost break his heart; but half a word of kindness revived him again, and he seldom went long without it; for the old man, though rendered rather testy and crabbed in his temper by his many troubles and disappointments, was naturally of a loving, compassionate disposition; and, moreover, regarded Jan as the apple of his eye. Jan was of a remarkably light, slender, active make, full of life and mettle. This moment he was on the board, stitching away with as much velocity as if he was working for a funeral or a wedding at an hour's notice; the next he was dispatching his dinner at the same rate; and the third beheld him running, leaping, and playing among his companions as blithe as a young kid. If he had a fault it was being too fond of his fiddle—it was his everlasting delight. One would have thought that his elbow had labour enough with jirking his needle some thirty thousand times in a day; but it was in him a sort of universal joint—it never seemed to know what weariness was. His fiddle stood always on the board in a corner by him; and no sooner had he ceased to brandish the needle than he began to brandish the fiddlestick. If he could ever be said to be lazy, it was when his father was gone out to measure, or try on, and his fiddle being too strong a temptation for him, he would seize upon it, and labour at it with all his might till he spied his father turning the next corner homewards. However, he was a pattern of filial duty with this trifling exception; and now the time was come that his father must die;—his mother was dead long before, and he was left alone in the world with his fiddle;—the whole house, board, trade—what there was of it—all was his. When he came to take stock, and make an inventory in his head of what he was worth, it was precious little. His father had seldom had much before hand when he had the whole place to himself; and now, behold! another had come from nobody knew where; had taken a great house opposite, hoisted a tremendous sign, and threatened to carry away every shred of Jan's business. In the depth of his trouble he took to his fiddle; from his fiddle to his bed; and in his bed he had a dream, by which he was assured that could he once save the sum of fifty dollars it would be the seed of a fortune—that he should flourish far beyond the scale of old Strauss;—should drive his antagonist in despair from the ground;—should, in short, arrive at no less dignity than mayor of Rapps.
Jan was, as I have said, soon set up with the smallest spice of encouragement;—he was, moreover, as light and nimble as a grasshopper, and that little animal would exactly represent him, could it be made to stand on end; his dream, therefore, was enough; he vowed a vow of unconquerable might, and to it he went. Day and night he wrought—work came—it was done; he wanted little—a crust of bread and a merry tune were all he needed. The money grew, the sum was nearly accomplished, when, returning one evening from carrying out some work—behold!—his door was open!—behold! the lid of his pot where he deposited his treasure, was off! the money was gone! This was a terrible blow. Jan raised a vast commotion; he did not even fail to insinuate that it might be the interloper opposite; who so likely as he who had his eye continually on Jan's door? But no matter, the thief was clear off, and the only comfort he got from his neighbours was being rated for his stinginess. "Ay!" said they, "this comes of living like a curmudgeon in a great house by yourself, working your eyes out to hoard up money. What must a young man like you do with scraping up pots full of money like a miser? It is a shame, it is a sin, it is a judgment, nothing better could come of it! At all events you might afford to have a light in the house. People are ever likely to rob you. They see a house as dark as an oven, they are sure nobody is in it; they go and steal, mobody can see them come out; but, was there a light burning, they would always think there was somebody in too. At all events you might have a light!"
"There is something in that," said Jan. He was not unreasonable, so he determined to have a light in future, and he fell to work again. Bad as his luck had been, he resolved not to be cast down, he was as diligent and as thrifty as ever; and he resolved, when he became Mayor of Rapps, to be specially severe on sneaking thieves, who crept into houses that were left to the care of Providence and the municipal authorities. A light was everlastingly burning in his window now, and people, as they passed in the morning, said, "this man must have a good business which requires him to be up so early;" and they who passed in the evening said, "this man must be making a fortune, for he is busy at all hours." He leapt down from his board, at length, with the work that was to complete his sum—went—returned, with the future Mayor growing rapidly upon him; when, as he turned the corner of the street—men and mercies!—his house was in a full burst of flame, illuminating with a ruddy glow half the town, and all the faces of the inhabitants, who were collected to witness the catastrophe. Money, fiddle, shop-board, all were consumed; and when poor Jan danced and capered in the very extasy of his distraction, "Ay," said his neighbours, "this comes of leaving a light in an empty house. It was just the thing to happen; why don't you get somebody to take care of things in your absence?"
Jan stood corrected; for, as I have said, he was soon touched to the quick; and when his anger was a little abated, he thought there was reason in what they said, So, bating not a jot of his determination to save, he took the very next house, which luckily happened to be at liberty, and he got a journeyman. For a long time it appeared hard and hopeless; there were two mouths to feed, instead of one; wages to pay; and not much more work done than he could manage himself; but still the money grew, slowly—very slowly—but still it grew; and Jan pitched upon a secure place, to his thinking, to conceal it in. Alas, poor Jan! he had often, in his heart, grumbled at the slowness of his journeyman's hands, but his eyes had been quick enough; and one morning before Jan was up, the fellow had cleared out his hiding-place, and was gone. This was more than he could bear. He was perfectly cast down—disheartened—and inconsolable. "Ah!" said his officious neighbours, coming in to condole with him, "cheer up, man! there is nothing amiss yet. What signifies a few dollars? You will soon get plenty more with those nimble fingers of yours; you want only somebody to help you to keep them. You must get a wife! Journeymen were thieves from the first generation; you must get married!" "Get married!" thought Jan—he was struck all in a heap at the very mention of it. "Get married! what! fine clothes to go a wooing in; and fine presents to go a wooing with; and parson's fees, and clerk's fees, and wedding-dinner, and dancing, and drinking; and then doctor's fees, and nurse's fees, and children without end—it is ruin upon ruin! The fifty dollars, and the mayoralty—they might wait till doomsday. Well, that is good," thought Jan, as he took a little more breath,—"they first counselled me to get a light—then went house and all in a bonfire;—next, I must get a journeyman—then went the money; and now they would have me bring upon me more plagues than Moses brought upon Egypt. Nay, nay," thought Jan, "you'll not catch me there neither."
Jan all this time was seated on his shop-board, stitching away at an amazing rate at a garment that the rascally Wagner should have finished to order at six o'clock that morning, instead of absconding with his money; and, ever and anon, so far forgetting his loss, in what appeared to him the ludicrousness of this advice, as freely to laugh out. All that day the idea continued to run in his head; the next, it had lost much of its freshness; the third, it appeared not so odd as awful; the fourth, he began to ask himself whether it might be quite so momentous as his imagination had painted it; the fifth, he really thought it was not so bad neither; the sixth, it had so worked round in his head, that it had fairly got on the other side; it appeared clearly to have its advantages, children did not come scampering into the house all at once like a flock of lambs; a wife might help to gather as well as to spend, might possibly bring something of her own; would be a perpetual watch and housekeeper in his absence; might speak a word of comfort in trouble, where even his fiddle was dumb;—on the seventh, he was off! whither?
Why it so happened, that once he had accompanied his father to see an old relation in the mountains of the Boehmer-Wald, and there, amongst the damsels who danced to the sound of his fiddle, was a certain bergman's comely daughter, who, having got into his head in some odd association with his fiddle, could not be got out of it again; especially as he fancied, from some cause or other, that the simple creature had a lurking fondness for both his music and himself. Away he went, and he was right, the damsel made no objection to his overtures. Tall, stout, fresh, pleasant, growth of the open air and the hills, as she was, she never dreamt of despising the little skipping tailor of Rapps, though he was a head shorter than herself, and not a third of her weight. She had heard his music, and she had never heard of such a thing as family pride; but the old people! they were in perfect hysterics of wrath and contempt. Their daughter! with the exception of one brother, now on a visit to his uncle in Hungary, the sole remnant of an old substantial house, who had fed their flocks and their herds on the hills for three generations, it was death! poison! pestilence! Nevertheless, as Jan and the damsel were agreed, every thing else was nothing—they were married. Jan, it must be confessed, was exceedingly exasperated that the future mayor of Rapps should be thus estimated and treated, and determined to show a little spirit. As his fiddle entered into all his schemes, he resolved to have music at his wedding; and, no sooner did he and his bride issue from the church-door, then out broke the harmony which he had provided. The fiddle played merrily, "you'll repent, repent, repent—you'll repent, you'll repent—you'll repent, repent, repent;" and the bassoon replied, in surly tones, "and soon, and soon." Thus they played till they reached the inn, where they dined, and then set off for Rapps.
It is true, that there was little happiness in this affair to any one. The old people were full of anger, curses, and threats of total disownment; Jan's pride was pricked and perforated till he was as sore as if he had been tattooed with his own needle and bodkin; and his wife was completely drowned in sorrow at such a parting from her parents, and with no little sense of remorse for her disobedience. Nevertheless, they reached home—things began to assume, gradually, a more composed aspect; Jan loved his wife, she loved him—he was industrious, she was careful; and they trusted, in time, to bring her parents round, when they saw that they were doing well in the world.
Again the saving scheme began to haunt Jan; but he had one luckless notion, which was destined to cost him no little vexation. He had inherited from his father, together with his stock in trade, a stock of old maxims, amongst which one of the chief was, that a woman cannot keep a secret. Acting on this creed, he not only never told his wife of his project of becoming mayor of Rapps, but he did not even give her reason to suppose that he had laid up a shilling; and that she might not happen to stumble upon his money, he took care to carry it always about him. It was his delight when he got into a quiet corner, or as he came along a retired lane from his errands, to take it out, and count it, and calculate when it would amount to this sum and to that, and when the proposed sum would really be his own. Now it happened one day that having been a good deal absorbed in these speculations, he had loitered a precious piece of time away; and, suddenly coming to himself, he set off, as was his wont, on a kind of easy trot; in which his small, light form thrown forward, his pale, grey-eyed, earnest-looking visage thrown towards the sky, and his long sky-blue coat flying in a stream behind him, he cut one of the most extraordinary figures in the world; and, checking his pace as he entered the town, he involuntarily clapped his hand on his pocket, and, behold! his money was gone; it had slipped away through a hole it had worn. In the wildness and bitterness of his loss he turned back, heartily cursing the spinner and weaver of that most detestable piece of buckram that composed his breeches-pocket; that they had put it together so villanously as to break down with the carriage of a few dollars, halfpence, thimbles; balls of wax and thread, and a few other sundries, after the trifling wear of seven yeers, nine months, and nineteen days. He was pacing, step by step, after his lost treasure, when up came his wife, running like one wild, and telling him, as well as she could for want of breath, that he must come that instant, for the Ritter of Flachenflaps had brought new liveries for all his servants, and threatened, if he did not see Jan in five minutes, to carry the work over to the other side of the street.
Here was a perplexity! The money was not to be found, and if it were found in the presence of his wife, he regarded it as no better than lost; but found it was not, and he was forced to tell a lie into the bargain, being caught in the act of searching for something, and say he had lost his thimble; and to make bad worse, he was in danger of losing a good job, and all the Ritter's work for ever as a consequence. Away he ran then, groaning inwardly, at full speed; and arriving, out of breath, saw the Ritter's carriage drawn up at his opponent's door. Wormwood upon wormwood! His money was lost! his best customer was lost, and thrown into the hands of his detested enemy. There he beheld him and his man in a prime bustle, from day to day, while his own house was deserted. All people went where the Ritter went, of course; his adversary was flourishing out of all bounds; he had got a horse, to ride out and take orders, and was likely to become mayor ten years before Jan had ten dollars of his own. It was too much for even his sanguine temperament; he sank down to the very depths of despair; his fiddle had lost its music; he could not abide to hear it; he sate moody and disconsolate, with a beard an inch long. His wife, for some time, hoped it would go off; but, seeing it come to this, she began to console and advise, to rouse his courage and his spirits. She told him it was that horse which gave the advantage to his neighbour. While he went trudging on foot, wearying himself, and wasting his time, people came, grew impatient, and would not wait. She offered therefore, to borrow her neighbour's ass for him; and advised him to ride out daily a little way; it would look as though he had business in the country; it would look as if his time was precious; it would look well, and do his health good into the bargain. Jan liked her counsel; it sounded exceedingly discreet; he always thought her a gem of a woman; but he never imagined her half so able; what a pity a woman could not be trusted with a secret! else had she been a helpmate past all reckoning.
The ass, however, was got—out rode Jan—looked amazingly hurried, and being half crazed with care, people fancied he was half crazed with stress of business: work came in—things went flowingly on again; Jan blessed his stars; and as he grasped his cash, he every day stitched it into the crown of his cap. No more pots—no more hiding holes—no more breeches' pockets for him; he put it under the guardianship of his own strong thread and dexterous needle; it went on exceedingly well. Accidents, however, will occur if men will not trust their wives; and especially if they will not avoid awkward habits. Now Jan had a strange habit of sticking his needles on his breeches' knees, as he sat at work; and sometimes he would have half a dozen on each knee for half a dozen days. His wife told him to take them out when he came down from his board, and often took them out herself, but it was of no use. He was just in this case one day as he rode out to take measure of a gentleman about five miles off. The ass, to his thinking, was in a remarkably brisk mood. Off it went, without whip or spur, at a good active trot, and not satisfied with trotting, soon fairly proceeded to a gallop. Jan was full of wonder at the beast; commonly it tired his arm worse with thrashing it, during his hour's ride, than the exercise of his goose and sleeve-board did for a whole day; but now he was fain to pull it in. It was to no purpose—faster than ever it dashed on—prancing, running sideways, wincing, and beginning to show a must ugly temper. What, in the name of all Balaam's, could possess the animal, he could not for his life conceive; the only chance of safety appeared to be in clinging with both arms and legs to it, like a boa-constrictor to its victim; when, shy! away it flew, as if it were driven by a legion of devils. In a moment it stopped;—down went its head—up went its infernal heels—and Jan found himself some ten yards off in the middle of a pond. He escaped drowning—you might as easily have drowned a rush: but his cap was gone—the dollars in the crown had sunk it past recovery. He came home dripping like a drowned mouse, with a most deplorable tale, but with no more knowledge of the cause of his disaster than the man in the moon, till he tore his fingers on the needles in abstracting his wet clothes.
Fortune now seemed to have said, as plainly as she could speak—"Jan, confide in your wife. You see all your schemes without her fail. Open your heart to her;—deal fairly—generously, and you will reap the sweets of it." It was all in vain;—he had not yet come to his senses. Obstinate as a mule, he determined to try once more. But, good bye to the ass! The only thing he resolved to mount was his shop-board; that bore him well, and brought him continual good, could he only contrive to keep it.
His wife, I said, was from the mountains; she therefore liked the sight of trees. Now in Jan's backyard there was neither tree nor turf; so she got some tubs, and in them she planted a variety of fir-trees, which made a pleasant appearance; and gave a help to her imagination of the noble pines of her native scenes. In one of these tubs Jan conceived the singular idea of depositing his treasure. "Nobody will meddle with the tubs," he thought; so, accordingly, from week to week, he concealed in one of them his acquisitions. This had gone on a long time. He had been out collecting some of his debts; he had succeeded beyond his hopes; he came back exulting; the sum was saved; and, in the gladness of his heart he had bought his wife a new gown. He bounded into the house with the lightness of seventeen; his wife was not there; he looked into the yard—saints and angels!—what is that? He beheld his wife busy with the trees; they were uprooted, and laid on the ground, and every particle of soil was thrown out of the tubs. In the delirium of consternation he flew to ask what she had been doing—"Oh, the trees did not flourish, poor things; they looked sickly and pining; she determined to give them some soil more suitable to their natures; she had thrown the other earth into the river at the bottom of the yard." "And you have thrown into the river the hoarding of three years—the money which had cost me many a weary day, and many an anxious night; the money which would have made our fortunes; in short, that would have made me mayor of Rapps," exclaimed Jan, perfectly thrown off his guard to the exposure of his secret! "Why did you not tell me of it?" said his wife, kindly, gently, and self-reproachingly. "Ay, that is a question!" said he. And it was a question; for, spite of his apparent testiness, it had occurred to his mind some dozens of times; and now it came back with such an unction, that even when he thought he treated it with contempt, it had fixed itself upon his better reason, and never left him till it had worked a most fortunate revolution. He said to himself, "had I told my wife from the first, it could not possibly have happened worse; and it is very likely it would have happened better; for the future, then, be it so!" Wherefore he unfolded to her the whole history and mystery of his troubles and his hopes. Now Mrs. Jan Nadeltreiber had great cause to feel herself offended, most grievously offended; but she was not at all of a touchy temper. She was a sweet, tender, patient creature, who desired her husband's honour and prosperity beyond everything. So she sat down, and in the most mild, yet acute and able manner, laid down to him a plan of operations, and promised him such aids and succours, that, struck at once with shame, contrition, and admiration, he sprung up, clasped her to his heart, called her the very gem of womanhood, and skipped three or four times across the floor like a man gone out of his senses. The truth, is, however, he was but just come into them.
From this day a new life was begun in Jan's house. There he sat at his work—there sat his wife by his side, aiding and contriving with a woman's wit, a woman's love, and a woman's adroitness. She was worth ten journeymen. Work never came in faster, never gave such satisfaction, never brought in so much money; and, besides, such harmony and affection was there in the house, such delectable discourse did they hold together! There was nothing to conceal; Jan's thoughts flowed like a great stream, and when they grew a little wild and visionary, as they were apt to do, his wife smoothed and reduced them to sobriety, with such a delicate tact, that, so far from feeling offended, he was delighted beyond expression with her prudence. The fifty dollars were raised in almost no time; and, as if the prognostic of their being the seed of a fortune were to be fulfilled immediately, they came in opportunely to purchase a lot of cloth, which more than trebled its cost, and gave infinite satisfaction to his customers. Jan saw that the tide was rapidly rising with him, and his wife urged him to push on with it; to take a larger house; to get more hands, and to cut such a figure as should at once eclipse his rival. The thing was done; but, as their capital was still found scanty for such an establishment, his wife resolved to try what she could do to increase it.
I should have said, had not the current of Jan's disasters run too strong upon me, that his wife's parents were dead, and died without giving her any token of reconciliation; a circumstance which, although it cut her to the heart, did not quite cast her down, feeling that she had done nothing but what a parent might forgive; being, all of us, creatures alike liable to err, and demanding, alike, some little indulgence for our weaknesses and our fancies. The brother was now sole representative of the family, and, knowing the generosity of his nature, she determined to pay him a visit, although in a condition very unfit for travelling. She went; her brother received her with all his early affection; in his house her first child was born; and so much did she and her bantling win upon his heart, that, when the time came that she must return, nothing would serve but he must take her himself. She had been so loud in the praises of Jan, that he determined to go and shake him by the hand. It would have done any one good to see this worthy mountaineer setting forth; himself firmly seated on his great horse, his sister behind him, and the brat slung safely on one side, cradled in his cornhopper. It would have been equally pleasant to see him set down his charge at the door of Jan's new house, and behold with wonder that merry minikin of a man, all smiles and gesticulations, come forth to receive them. The contrast between Jan and his brother-in-law was truly amusing. He a shadow-like homunculus, so light and dry that every wind threatened to blow him before it, the bergman with a countenance like the rising sun, the stature of a giant, and limbs like an elephant. Jan watched with considerable anxiety the experiment of his kinsman's seating himself in a chair: the chair however stood firm, and the good man surveyed Jan in return, with a curious and critical air, as if doubtful whether he must hold him in contempt for the want of that solid matter of which he himself had too much. Jan's good qualities, however, got the better of him. "The man is a man," said he to himself, very philosophically, "and as he is good to my sister, he shall know of it." So, as he took his departure, he seized one of Jan's hands with a cordial gripe, that was felt through every limb, and into the other he put a bag of one thousand dollars! "My sister shall not be a beggar in her husband's house; this is properly her own, and much good may it do you!"
I need not prolong my story; the new tailor soon fled before the star of Jan's ascendancy. Jan was speedily installed in the office of Mayor of Rapps, in his eyes the highest of all earthly dignities; and, if he had one trouble left, it was only in the reflection that he might have obtained his wishes years before, had he better understood the heart of a good woman.