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DOCTOR CLAUDIUS
A True Story
BY F. MARION CRAWFORD
Author OF "MR. ISAACS"
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1883
Dedicated
TO
MY DEAR FRIENDS
THE COUNTESS MARGARET AND
CLAUDIUS, PH.D.
DOCTOR CLAUDIUS.
CHAPTER I.
"I believe I am old," said the Doctor, pushing his straight-backedwooden chair from the table, and turning from his books to look out ofhis small window. "Yes, I am certainly very old," he said again, rappingabsently on the arm of the chair with the pen he held. But the fingersthat held the instrument were neither thin nor withered, and there wasno trembling in the careless motion of the hand. The flaxen hair, longand tangled, was thick on the massive head, and the broad shoulders wereflat and square across. Whatever Dr. Claudius might say of himself, hecertainly did not look old.
And yet he said to himself that he was, and he probably knew. He said tohimself, as he had said every day for many long months, that this wasthe secret of the difference he felt between his life and the life ofhis companions--such companions as he had, between his thoughts andtheir thoughts, between his ways and their ways. Of late the fancy hadgained a stronger hold on his imagination, excited by solitude and anundue consumption of the midnight oil, and as he turned his face to theevening light, an observer, had there been one, might have felt halfinclined to agree with him. His face was pale, and the high aquilinenose looked drawn. Moreover, the tangled hair and beard contrastedstrangely with his broad, spotless collar, and his dressing-gown ofsober black. The long habit of neatness in dress survived any smallvanity of personal looks.
He rose, and throwing the pen impatiently on the table, went to thelittle window and looked out. His shoulders overlapped the opening onboth sides as he thrust his yellow head out into the evening sunshine,and Master Simpelmayer, the shoemaker down in the street, glanced up,and seeing that the Herr Doctor was taking his evening sniff of theNeckar breeze, laid down his awl and went to "vespers,"--a "maas" ofcool beer and a "pretzel." For the Herr Doctor was a regular man, andalways appeared at his window at the same hour, rain or shine. And whenSimpelmayer mended the well-worn shoes that came to him periodicallyfrom across the way, he was sure that the flaxen-haired student wouldnot call over to know if they were finished until the sun was well downand the day far spent. On this particular evening, however, there was nomending in hand for the Herr Doctor, and so the crooked little shoemakerfilled himself a pipe, and twisted his apron round his waist, andstumped leisurely down the street to the beer-shop at the corner, wherehe and his fellows took their pots and their pipes, undisturbed by theplayful pranks of the students.
But the Doctor remained at his window, and neither vouchsafed look norgreeting to Master Simpelmayer. He was not thinking of shoes orshoemakers just then, though, to judge by his face, he was thinking veryintently of something. And well he might, for he had been readingserious stuff. The walls of his little chamber were lined with books,and there was a small sliding-rack on the table, presumably for thosevolumes he immediately required for his work. A rare copy of _SextusEmpiricus_, with the Greek and Latin side by side, lay open on aninclined desk at one end, and the table was strewn with papers, on whichwere roughly drawn a variety of mathematical figures, margined allaround with odd-looking equations and algebraically-expressed formulae.Well-thumbed volumes of mathematical works in English, German, andFrench, lay about, opened in various places, and there was a cracked oldplate, half full of tobacco ashes and the ends of cigarettes. Theremaining furniture of the room was simple and poor: a neat campbedstead, a boot-jack, and a round mirror, not more than four inches indiameter; a tin tub and an iron washing-stand; a much battered old"schlaeger," with the colours at the hilt all in rags, hung over the ironstove; and that was all the room contained besides books and theworking-table and chair. It would be impossible to live more simply, andyet everything was neat and clean, and stamped, too, with a certain_cachet_ of individuality. There were probably hundreds of student-roomsin the town of Heidelberg which boasted no more adornment or luxury thanthis, and yet there was not one that looked like it. A student's room,as he grows up, is a reflection of himself; it is a kind of dissolvingview, in which the one set of objects and books fades gradually away ashis opinions form themselves, and as he collects about him the worksthat are really of interest to him, as distinguished from those withwhich he has been obliged to occupy himself prior to taking hisacademic steps. Then, as in the human frame every particle of bone andsinew is said to change in seven years, the student one day looks abouthim and recognises that hardly a book or a paper is there of all thestore over which he was busied in those months before he took hisdegree, or sustained his disputation. When a man has entered on hiscareer, if he enters on it with a will, he soon finds that all books andobjects not essential as tools for his work creep stealthily into thedusty corner, or to the inaccessible top shelf of the bookcase,--or ifhe is very poor, to the second-hand bookshop. He cannot afford to behampered by any dead weight.
Now Dr. Claudius had gone through many changes of thought and habitsince he came to Heidelberg ten years ago. But he had never changed hisquarters; for he loved the garret window and the isolation from visitsand companions that he gained by his three flights of stairs. Thecamp-bed in the corner was the same whereon he had lain after his firstduel, with a bag of ice on his head and his bosom friend by his side,with a long pipe. At that very table he had drawn his first caricatureof Herr Professor Winkelnase, which had been framed and hung up in the"Kneipe"--the drinking-hall of his corps; at the same board he hadwritten his thesis for his doctorate, and here again he had penned thenotes for his first lecture. Professor Winkelnase was dead; not one ofhis old corps-brothers remained in Heidelberg, but still he clung to theold room. The learned doctors with whom he drank his wine or his beer ofan evening, when he sallied forth from his solitude, wondered at his wayof living; for Dr. Claudius was not poor, as incomes go in SouthGermany. He had a modest competence of his own to begin with, and hislectures brought him in something, so that he might have had a couple ofrooms "_parterre_"--as the Germans call the _rez-de-chaussee_--and couldhave been as comfortable as he pleased. But no one ever attempted toaccount for Dr. Claudius at all. He was a credit to the University,where first-rate men are scarce,--for Heidelberg is not a seat of verygreat learning; and no one troubled to inquire why he did not return tohis native country when he had obtained his "Phil.D." Only, if he meantto spend the rest of his life in Heidelberg, it was high time he marriedand settled down to genuine "Philisterleben"--at least so Dr. Wiener hadsaid to Dr. Wurst over the second "schoppen" every night for a yearpast.
But Claudius did not marry, nor did he even allow his blue eyes to restcontemplatively on black-eyed Fraeulein Wiener, or red-cheeked FraeuleinWurst. He would indeed occasionally accept an invitation to drink coffeeat his colleagues' houses, but his talk was little and his manner aplacid blank. He had been wild enough ten years before, when his yellowhair and tall straight presence were the admiration of every burgher'sdaughter in the Hirschgasse or the Langestrasse; but years and study hadbrought out the broad traits of his character, his uniformly quietmanner, his habits of regularity, and a certain deliberateness of gaitand gesture which well became his towering figure and massive strength.He was utterly independent in all his ways, without the least trace ofthe arrogance that hangs about people whose independence is put on, andconstantly asserted, in order to be beforehand with the expectedopposition of their fellow-men.
Dr. Clau
dius was a Swede by birth and early education, and findinghimself at twenty free to go where he would, he had wandered toHeidelberg in pursuit of the ideal student-life he had read so much ofin his Northern home. Full of talent, independent and young, he caredlittle for the national enmities of Scandinavians and Germans, and, likeall foreigners who behave sensibly, he was received with open arms bythe enthusiastic students, who looked upon him as a sort of typicalGoth, the prototype of the Teutonic races. And when they found howreadily he learned to handle schlaeger and sabre, and that, like a trueson of Odin, he could drain the great horn of brown ale at a draught,and laugh through the foam on his yellow beard, he became to them theembodiment of the student as he should be. But there was little of allthat left now, and though the stalwart frame was stronger and tougher inits manly proportions, and the yellow beard grown long and curly, andthe hair as thick as ever, the flush of youth was gone; and Dr. Claudiusleaned out of his high window and smelled the river breeze, and said tohimself it was not so sweet as it used to be, and that, for all he onlyhad thirty summers behind him, he was growing old--very old; and thatwas why he did not care to spend more than half-an-hour of an eveningwith Dr. Wiener and Dr. Wurst.
In truth it was an unnatural life for a man just reaching his prime, andfull of imagination and talent and love for the beautiful. But he hadfallen into the philosophical groove of study which sooner or laterseems to absorb so many gifted minds, only to lay them waste in ninecases out of ten. A brilliant mathematician, he had taken his doctoratewithout difficulty, and his thesis had even attracted some attention.From the higher speculations of modern mathematics to the study ofphilosophy is but a step, and Claudius had plunged into the vast sea ofKant, Spinoza, and Hegel, without, perhaps, having any very definiteidea of what he was doing, until he found himself forced to go forwardor to acknowledge himself baffled and beaten. This he was not willing todo, and so he had gone on and on, until one day, some six months ago, hehad asked himself what it all led to? why he had laboured so hard foryears over such things? whether the old free life and ready enjoymentwere not better than this midnight prowling among other people'sthoughts, which, whatever they might have been when spoken, never seemedquite clear on paper? Or would it not be better to leave the whole thingand go back to his Northern home? He might find plenty of adventurethere, and breathe in fresh youth and vitality in the cold bright lifeof the Norwegian fisheries or of some outlying Swedish farm. And yet hecould not make up his mind to move, or to acknowledge that he hadlaboured in vain. It was in vain, though, he said, as he looked out atthe flowing river. Had he gained a single advantage either for histhoughts or his deeds by all his study of philosophy? In his wearinesshe said to himself that he had not; that he had been far better able todeal with questions of life, so long as he had only handled the exactsciences, than he was now, through all this uncertain saturation offoggy visions and contradictory speculations. Questions of life--but didquestions of life ever arise for him? He had reduced it all to itssimplest expression. His little store of money was safely invested, andhe drew the income four times a year. He possessed no goods or chattelsnot stowed away in his garret chamber. He owed no man anything; he wasnot even a regular professor, tied to his University by a fixedengagement. In a word, he was perfectly free and untrammelled. To whatend? He worked on from force of habit; but work had long ceased to amusehim. When had he laughed last? Probably not since his trip on foot tothe Bavarian Highlands, where he had met a witty journalist from Berlin,with whom he had walked for a couple of days.
This evening he was more weary than usual. He almost thought he would goaway if he could think of any place to go to where life might be moreinteresting. He had no relations excepting an uncle, who had emigratedto America when Claudius was a baby, and who wrote twice a year, withthat regular determination to keep up his family ties whichcharacterises the true Northman. To this uncle he also wrote regularlyat stated intervals, telling of his quiet student-life. He knew thatthis solitary relation was in business in New York, and he inferred fromthe regular offers of assistance which came in every letter that he wasin good circumstances,--but that was all. This evening he fell tothinking about him. The firm was "Barker and Lindstrand," he remembered.He wondered what Mr. Barker was like. By the by it would soon bemidsummer, and he might expect the half-yearly letter at any time. Notthat it would interest him in the least when it came, but yet he likedto feel that he was not utterly alone in the world. There was thepostman coming down the street in his leisurely, old-fashioned way,chatting with the host at the corner and with the tinman two doors off,and then--yes, he was stopping at Dr. Claudius's door.
The messenger looked up, and, seeing the Doctor at his window, held outa large envelope.
"A letter for you, Herr Doctor," he cried, and his red nose gleamed inthe evening glow, strongly foreshortened to the Doctor's eye.
"Gleich," replied Claudius, and the yellow head disappeared from thewindow, its owner descending to open the door.
As he mounted the dingy staircase Claudius turned the great sealedenvelope over and over in his hand, wondering what could be thecontents. It was postmarked "New York," but the hand was large and roundand flourished, not in the least like his uncle's sexagenariancrabbedness of hieroglyphic. In the corner was the name of a firm he didnot know, and the top of the letter was covered with a long row ofstamps, for it was very thick and heavy. So he went into his room, andsat down on the window-sill to see what Messrs. Screw and Scratch ofPine Street, New York, could possibly want of Claudius, Phil.D. ofHeidelberg.
His curiosity soon gave way to very considerable surprise. The firstpart of the letter contained the formal announcement of the suddendecease of Gustavus Lindstrand, of the firm of Barker and Lindstrand ofNew York. Claudius laid down the letter and sighed. His one relation hadnot been much to him. He had no recollection even of the old gentleman'sappearance, but the regular correspondence had given him a feeling ofreliance, a sensation of not being absolutely alone. He was alone now.Not a relation of any description in the world. Well, he would read theremainder of the letter. He turned over the page.
"We enclose a copy of the will," the lawyer continued, "for yourinspection. You will see that Mr. Screw of our firm is appointed jointexecutor with Mr. Silas B. Barker, and we await your furtherinstructions. In view of the large fortune you inherit," . . .
Claudius looked up suddenly and gazed blankly out of the window; then hewent on--
. . . "by the aforesaid will of your uncle, the late Mr. GustavusLindstrand, it might be well if, at your convenience, you could pay avisit to this country."
Here Claudius thought it was time to look at the will itself. Unfoldingthe document, which was very short, he acquainted himself with thecontents. There were a few legacies to old servants, and one or two topersons who were probably friends. Everything else was devised andbequeathed "to my nephew, the son of my sister, Claudius,_privat-docent_ in the University of Heidelberg, Grand Duchy of Baden,Germany." And it appeared that the surplus, after deducting all legaciesand debts, amounted to about one million and a half of dollars.
Claudius carefully reread the papers without betraying the smallestemotion. He then put them back in the envelope, and opening a small ironcash-box, which stood on a shelf of the book-case, locked up will,letter, power of attorney, and all. Then he shook his long limbs, with asigh, and having rolled a thick cigarette, lighted it, and sat down inhis chair to think. The shadows were deepening, and the smoke of histobacco showed white against the gloom in the room. The news he had justreceived would have driven some men crazy, and certainly most peoplewould experience some kind of vivid sensation at finding themselvessuddenly endowed with immense wealth from a quarter where they did noteven suspect it existed. Moreover, old Lindstrand's will was perfectlyunequivocal, and contained none of those ill-natured restrictions aboutmarrying or not marrying, or assuming the testator's name, or anythingwhich could put the legatee to the slightest inconvenience. But Claudiusexperienced no sensation of pleasure
at finding himself sole master of amillion and a half.
It was not that he was foolish enough to despise money, or even topretend to, as some people do. He would have felt keenly the loss of hisown little store, and would have hated to work for money instead ofworking for work's sake. But he had enough, and had always had enough,for his small wants. He loved beautiful things intensely, but he had nodesire to possess them; it was enough that he might see them, and carryaway the remembrance. He loved books, but he cared not a jot for rareeditions, so long as there were cheap ones published in Leipzic. Thatold copy of _Sextus Empiricus_, on the desk there, he had bought becausehe could not get an ordinary edition; and now that he had read it he didnot care to keep it. Of course it contained a great deal that was good,but he had extracted the best of it, and meant to sell the volume to thefirst bidder--not that he wanted the money, but because it was in theway; if he allowed things to accumulate, there would be no turning roundin his little den. So he leaned back in his straight-backed chair andwondered what in the world he should do with "all that money." He mighttravel. Yes, but he preferred to travel with a view of seeing things,rather than of reaching places. He would rather walk most of the way.The only way in which he could possibly live up to such an income mustbe by changing his entire mode of life--a house, somewhere in a greatcity, horses, servants, and even a wife--Claudius laughed for the firsttime in many months, a deep Homeric laugh--they would all help him toget rid of his money. But then, a life like that--pshaw! impossible. Hewas sick of it before beginning, then what would he feel after a monthof it?
The problem faced him in the dark, like an unsolved equation, staringout black and white before his eyes, or like an unfinished game of chesswhen one goes to bed after five or six hours' play. Something he mustdecide, because it was his nature to decide always, before he left asubject, on some course of thought. Meanwhile he had been so littledisturbed by the whole business that, in spite of his uncle's death, anda million and a half of money, he was hungry and thirsty. So he struck amatch and lit his study-lamp, and found his coat and hat and stick. Thenhe paused. He did not want to meet Dr. Wiener and Dr. Wurst thatevening; he would fetch himself something to eat and drink, and bequiet. So he slung a heavy stone jug on his arm, and, turning his lampdown to save the oil, trudged down the stairs and out into the street.He made for the little inn at the corner, and while the fat old landlordfilled his jug with the best Markgraefler, he himself picked out a coupleof smoked sausages from the great pile on the counter, and wrapping themup with half a dozen pretzels, transferred the package to his capaciouspocket. Then he took the jug from the innkeeper, and having paid half agulden for the whole supply of eatables and wine, he departed to consumethem in solitude. It was his usual supper. He had done the same thingfor ten years, off and on, whenever he was not inclined for company.
"But I suppose it is incongruous," he soliloquised, "that, being amillionaire, I should fetch my own supper." Once more he laughed aloudin the crowded street, for it was warm and the people were sitting infront of their houses, Simpelmayer the shoemaker, and Blech the tinman,and all the rest, each with his children and his pot of beer. As theDoctor laughed, the little boys laughed too, and Blech remarked toSimpelmayer that the Herr Doctor must have won the great prize in theHamburg lottery, for he had not heard him laugh like that in threeyears.
"Freilich," returned the crooked shoemaker, "but he was used to laughloud enough ten years ago. I can remember when he first moved in there,and his corps-fellows locked him in his room for a jest, and stoodmocking in the street. And he climbed right down the woodwork andstepped on the signboard of the baker and jumped into the street,laughing all the while, though they were holding in their breath forfear he should break his neck. Ja, he was a right student; but he ischanged now--the much reading, lieber Blech, the much reading." And theold fellow looked after Claudius as he disappeared into the darkdoorway.
The Doctor mounted his three flights with even tread, and, turning uphis light, proceeded leisurely to eat his twisted rolls and sausages.When he had done that, he took the great stone jug in his hand, as if ithad been a wine-glass, and set it to his lips and drank a long draught.
The result of his cogitations, assisted by the soothing influence ofsupper, was to be foreseen. In the first place, he reflected that theproblem was itself a myth. No one could require of him that he shoulduse his money unless he liked. He might let it accumulate without anytrouble to himself; and then, why should he tell any one of hisinheritance? Surely he might go on living as he was living now for anindefinite period, and nobody would be the wiser. Besides, it would be anovel sensation to feel that while living like a simple student hepossessed a great power, put away, as it were, on the shelf, whereby hecould, if he liked, at any moment astonish the whole country. Verynovel, indeed, and considering the importance of the question of thedisposal of his income, he could well afford to give it six months'consideration. And he might move undisturbed about the University andeat his supper with Dr. Wiener and Dr. Wurst without being the object ofgeneral interest, which he would at once become if it were known thathe, a simple _privat-docent_, with his decent black coat and histwice-mended shoes, was the richest man in the Grand Duchy of Baden.
These reflections of Dr. Claudius, strange as they must seem in the eyesof men of the world, were only what were to be expected from a man ofhis education and character. He had travelled after a fashion, it istrue, and had frequented society when he was younger; for the Heidelbergstudent is a lover of the dance, and many of the wild young _burschen_become the brilliant officers of the crack regiments of the first armyin the world. He had been in Paris and Vienna and Rome for a few weeks,and, being of a good family in the North, had received introductionsthrough the diplomatic representatives of his country. His strikingpersonality had always attracted attention, and he might have goneeverywhere had he chosen. But he had only cared enough for society andits life to wish to see it now and then, and he fancied that heunderstood it at a glance--that it was all a sham and a glamour andvanity of vanities. There was, of course, a potent reason for all this.In his short peregrinations into the world of decorations and blueribbons and cosmopolitan uniforms he had never come across a woman thatinterested him. He had a holy reverence for woman in the abstract, buthe had not met one to whom he could do homage as the type of the idealwomanhood he worshipped. Perhaps he expected too much, or perhaps hejudged too much by small and really insignificant signs. As no manliving or dead has ever understood any woman for five minutes at a time,he was not to be blamed. Women are very like religion--we must take themon faith, or go without.
Moreover, Dr. Claudius had but an indifferent appreciation of the valueof money; partly because he had never cared for what it would buy, andhad therefore never examined its purchasing power, and partly because hehad never lived intimately with people who spent a great deal. He knewnothing of business, and had never gambled, and he did not conceive thatthe combination of the two could be of any interest. Compared with thequestions that had occupied his mind of late, it seemed to make no moredifference whether a man were rich or poor than whether he had lighthair or dark. And if he had seriously asked himself whether even thosegreat problems which had occupied the minds of the mightiest thinkersled to any result of importance, it was not likely that he would bestowa thought on such a trivial matter as the question of pounds, shillings,and pence.
So, before he went to bed, he took out a sheet of paper and anenvelope--he never bought but one package of envelopes a year, when hesent his New Year's card to the other doctors of the University--andwrote a short letter to Messrs. Screw and Scratch of Pine Street, NewYork. He acknowledged the receipt of their communication, deplored thedeath of his only relation, and requested that they would look after hismoney for him, as he had no use whatever for it at present. He objected,he said, to signing a power of attorney as yet, for as there was nohurry they might consult him by letter or telegraph as often as theyliked. When Messrs. Screw and Scratch read this epistle t
hey openedtheir eyes wide, wondering what manner of man Claudius, Phil.D., mightbe. And it took them some time to find out. But Claudius put out hislight when he had signed and sealed the missive, and slept the sleep ofthe strong and the just, undisturbed by the possession of a fortune orby any more doubts as to the future.
Before receiving this letter he had thought seriously of going away. Nowthat a move was almost thrust upon him, he found that he did not want tomake it. A professor he would live and die. What could be morecontemptible, he reflected, than to give up the march of thought and thestruggle for knowledge, in order to sit at ease, devising means ofgetting rid of so much cash? And he straightened his great limbs alongthe narrow camp-bed and was asleep in five minutes.