An Elegant Solution(104)

“Thank you, sir . . . but I can’t. It would be unearned. An imposition.”

He shook his head. “It is my decision.”

“Yes, sir. Master Johann?”

“Yes?”

“May I still be allowed to do chores here nonetheless?”

I saw no reaction. He just said, “You may request that of Mistress Dorothea.”



“Yes, yes, Leonhard,” was Mistress Dorothea’s answer to that request. “I’ll keep you for my kitchen, for the present. But there’s a time coming when it won’t be fitting.”

“At least a little longer,” I said.

And when she was out of the room, Little Johann came in to ask, “You’ll keep coming?”

“As long as I can.”

“Why?”

“It’s right to do. I shouldn’t take lessons without paying.”

“That’s all?”

“It would be an exile to not come.” Of all the family, I was least sure of Little Johann’s thoughts, and all the family was an opaque set. I didn’t know if he was glad or thought me a fool. He took a covered basket from beside the hearth, opened it, and took out a plump, risen ball of dough. “I’m not gentleman enough yet to be above work.” I sighed a wistful sigh. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever wear my old hat again, even if I did have it. It might be only tricornes for me now.”

As he began working his dough, Little Johann seemed grieved as I was. He squeezed the dough. He had such strong hands.

Then I said, “What became of my hat, Johann? Did you lose it?”

He stared at the dough, kneading and pressing it so hard. Then he nodded.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I have it back.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I just wonder how it came to be where I found it.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Where did you lose it?” I asked.

“I had it from Cousin Gottlieb. I took it to the Barefoot Square to find you in the inn or the church.”

“What happened?”

“A gust blew it out of my hand. It was away too quick. I didn’t see where.”

“I found it in the Square,” I said. “So it’s all right. And Johann, on your father’s desk. There’s only one letter for Daniel. The letter from Paris. The other, from Russia, is gone.”



I stayed home that afternoon and evening. Sometimes I was driven so strongly to write that everything else fled aside, as if an angry bull were let loose in the market square. That evening my thoughts had piled so high from Saturday morning that they were riotous as the bull and the scrambling market-goers together. The quill in my hand flew tempest and my pages drifted into deep snowbanks against my books. It was a blizzard! Once I noticed a plate of supper had alit at my side, and another time I noticed it was empty, and some other moment I saw that I’d lit a candle. Or it might have spontaneously lit itself.

And finally I dimly perceived that I was in bed and the candle was out. Saint Leonhard’s bell sounded three times. But all of that was only the visible world. In the invisible, I was still writing and every word was exact and clear.



As I was in Mistress Dorothea’s kitchen Tueday morning, scrubbing an iron skillet, I was called upon. It was a student, Heidelmann, who clerked for the Provost, and he watched me work my elbow.

“Your grandmother said you’d be here. That’s nothing for a student or even any man to be doing,” he said, but in friendship.

“It’s rusted. It needs a hard hand.”

“I have man’s work for you. I have a task from my Master, and you know who he is.”

“I know.”

“He wants you for an errand.”

“Me? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know that. So make yourself look like a young gentleman, if you can, and get over to Master Provost, and he’ll tell you what to do.”



I could make myself look like a young gentleman, though looks were deceiving, and I could do it fast. Grandmother was curious over my summons but there was little I could tell her.

“What would the Master Provost want with a student?” she asked.

“To learn his lessons, pay his tuitions, and comport himself decently.”

“Oh, Leonhard! What does he want of you?”

“I pay my tuitions,” I said, “so it must be I’m lacking the others.”



But I did know a few reasons the Provost might have to call a single student, and one was to be a messenger. When just the Senior members of the University met for a routine matter, they were simply sent a message the day before. It was much less picturesque a gathering than the Convention, and a single student was given the task. He was given a day for it: some score of Chairs and Deans and Officials took a few hours at least.