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diff --git a/old/54794-0.txt b/old/54794-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e805348..0000000 --- a/old/54794-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14582 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Illusion, Volume 1 (of 2), by -Jakob Wassermann - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The World's Illusion, Volume 1 (of 2) - Eva - -Author: Jakob Wassermann - -Translator: Ludwig Lewisohn - -Release Date: May 27, 2017 [EBook #54794] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S ILLUSION, VOLUME 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - -THE EUROPEAN LIBRARY EDITED BY J. E. SPINGARN - - -[Illustration: THE EUROPEAN LIBRARY] - - - - -THE WORLD’S ILLUSION - -BY JACOB WASSERMANN - -AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION BY LUDWIG LEWISOHN - -THE FIRST VOLUME: EVA - -[Illustration] - -NEW YORK HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 1920 - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC. - -THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME - - - PAGE - Crammon, the Stainless Knight 1 - Christian’s Rest 15 - The Globe on the Fingertips of an Elf 46 - An Owl on Every Post 87 - Or Ever the Silver Cord Be Loosed 143 - The Naked Feet 209 - Karen Engelschall 296 - - - - -THE WORLD’S ILLUSION - - - - -CRAMMON, THE STAINLESS KNIGHT - -I - - -From the days of his earliest manhood, Crammon, a pilgrim upon the -paths of pleasantness and delight, had been a constant wayfarer from -capital to capital and from country-seat to country-seat. He came of an -Austrian family whose landed estates lay in Moravia, and his full name -was Bernard Gervasius Crammon von Weissenfels. - -In Vienna he owned a small but beautifully furnished house. Two old, -unmarried ladies were its guardians--the Misses Aglaia and Constantine. -They were his distant kinswomen, but he was devoted to them as to -sisters of his blood, and they returned his affection with an equal -tenderness. - -On an afternoon in May the two sat by an open window and gazed -longingly down into the street. He had announced the date of his -arrival by letter, but four days had passed and they were still waiting -in vain. Whenever a carriage turned the corner, both ladies started and -looked in the same direction. - -When twilight came they closed the window and sighed. Constantine took -Aglaia’s arm, and together they went through the charming rooms, made -gleamingly ready for their master. All the beautiful things in the -house reminded them of him, just as every one of them was endeared to -him because it united him to some experience or memory. - -Here was the chiselled fifteenth century goblet which the Marquis -d’Autichamps had given him, yonder the agate bowl bequeathed him by -the Countess Ortenburg. There were the coloured etchings, part of the -legacy of a Duchess of Gainsborough, the precious desk-set which he -had received from the old Baron Regamey, the Tanagra figurines which -Felix Imhof had brought him from Greece. There, above all, was his own -portrait, which the English artist Lavery had painted on an order from -Sir Charles MacNamara. - -They knew these things and esteemed them at their true worth. They -stopped before his picture, as they so often delighted to do. The -well rounded face wore a stern, an almost sombre expression. But that -expression seemed deceptive, for a tell-tale gleam of worldly delight, -of irony and roguishness, played about the clean-shaven lips. - -When night fell the two ladies received a telegram informing them that -Crammon had been forced to put off his return home for a month. They -lit no lights after that, and went sadly to bed. - - -II - -Once it had happened that Crammon was dining with a few friends at -Baden-Baden. He had just returned from Scotland where he had visited -the famous trout streams of MacPherson, and had left the train at the -end of a long journey. He felt very tired, and after the meal lay down -on a sofa and fell asleep. - -His friends chatted for a while, until his deep breathing drew their -attention to him, and they decided to perpetrate a jest at his expense. -One of them shook him by the shoulder, and when he opened his eyes -asked: “Listen, Bernard, can’t you tell us what is the matter with Lord -Darlington? Where is he? Why is he never heard of any more?” - -Crammon without a moment’s hesitation answered in a clear voice and -with an almost solemn seriousness: “Darlington is on his yacht in -the Bay of Liguria between Leghorn and Nice. What time is it? Three -o’clock? Then he is just about to take the sedative which his Italian -physician, Magliano, prepares and gives him.” - -He turned on his other side and slept on. - -One of the men, who knew Crammon only slightly, said: “That’s a pure -invention!” The others assured the doubter that Crammon’s word was -above suspicion, and they spoke softly so as not to disturb his sleep. - - -III - -On another occasion Crammon was a guest on an estate in Hungary, and -planned with a group of young men, who were visiting a neighbouring -country-house, to attend a festivity in the next town. The dawn was -breaking when the friends separated. Crammon, with senses slightly -dulled, went on alone and longed for the bed from which half an hour’s -walk still separated him. By chance he came upon a cattle market -crowded with peasants, who had brought in their cows and calves from -the villages around. - -The crowd brought him to a halt, and he stopped to listen while a bull -was being offered for sale. The auctioneer cried: “I am offered fifty -crowns!” There was no answer; the peasants were slowly turning the -matter over in their minds. - -Fifty crowns for a bull? To Crammon’s mind, from which the wine fumes -had not quite faded, it seemed remarkable, and without hesitation he -offered five crowns more. The peasants drew aside respectfully. One of -them offered fifty-six; Crammon bid fifty-eight. The auctioneer raised -his three-fold cry; the hammer fell. Crammon owned the bull. - -A magnificent beast, he said to himself, and felt quite satisfied with -his bargain. But when the time came for him to pay, he discovered that -the bidding had been so much per hundred weight, and since the bull -weighed twelve hundred and fifty pounds, he was required to pay seven -hundred and twenty-five crowns. - -He refused angrily. A loud squabble followed; but his arguments were -useless. The bull was his property. But he had no such sum of money on -his person, and had to hire a man to accompany him with the animal to -his friend’s house. - -He strode on wretchedly vexed. The man followed, dragging the unwilling -bull by a rope. - -His host helped Crammon out of his embarrassment by purchasing the -bull, but the incident furnished endless amusement to the whole -countryside. - - -IV - -Crammon loved the theatre and everything connected with it. When the -great Marian Wolter died, he locked himself in his house for a week, -and mourned as if for a personal bereavement. - -During a stay in Berlin he heard of the early fame of Edgar Lorm. He -saw him as Hamlet, and when he left the theatre he embraced an utter -stranger and cried out: “I am happy!” A little crowd gathered. - -He had meant to stay in Berlin three days but remained three months. -His connections made it easy for him to meet Lorm. He overwhelmed the -actor with gifts--costly bric-à-brac, rare books, exquisite delicacies. - -Every morning, when Edgar Lorm arose, Crammon was there, and with -a deep absorption watched the actor at his morning tasks and his -gymnastic exercises. He admired his slender stature, his noble -gestures, his eloquent mimicry, and the perfection of his voice. - -He took care of Lorm’s correspondence for him, interviewed agents, -got rid of unwelcome admirers of either sex. He called the dramatic -reviewers to account, and in the theatre looked his rage whenever he -thought the applause too tepid. “The beasts should roar,” he said. -During the scene in Richard II in which the king addresses the lords -from the castle wall, his enthusiasm was so great that his friend, the -Princess Uchnina, who shared his box, covered her face with her fan to -escape the glances of the public. - -To him Lorm was in very truth the royal Richard, the melancholy Hamlet, -Romeo the lover, and Fiesko the rebel. His faith in the actor’s art -was boundless; his imagination was wholly convinced. He attributed to -him the wit of Beaumarchais, the eloquence of Antony, the sarcasm of -Mephistopheles, the dæmonic energy of Franz Moor. When it was necessary -for him to part, he did not conceal his grief, and from afar wrote him -at intervals a letter of adoration. - -The actor accepted this worship as a tribute that differed -fundamentally from the average praise and love with which he was -beginning to be satiated. - - -V - -Lola Hesekiel, the celebrated beauty, owed her good fortune wholly to -Crammon. Crammon had educated her and given her her place in the world -and its appreciation. - -When she was but an undistinguished young girl Crammon took a trip -with her to Sylt. There they met Crammon’s friend, Franz Lothar von -Westernach. Lola fell in love with the handsome young aristocrat, and -one evening, after a tender hour, she confessed her love for the other -to Crammon. Then Crammon arose from his couch, dressed himself, went -to Franz Lothar’s room and brought the shy lad in. “My children,” he -said in the kindliest way, “I give you to each other. Be happy and -enjoy your youth.” With these words he left the two alone. And for long -neither of them quite knew how to take so unwonted a situation. - - -VI - -A curious occurrence was that connected with the Countess Ortenburg and -the agate bowl. - -The countess was an old lady of seventy, who lived in retirement at -her château near Bregenz. Crammon, who had a great liking for ancient -ladies of dignity and worldly wisdom, visited her almost annually to -cheer her and to chat with her about the past. - -The countess was grateful to him for his devotion, and determined to -reward it. One day she showed him an agate bowl mounted on gold, an -heirloom of her house, and told him that this bowl would be his after -her death, as she had provided in her will. - -Crammon flushed with pleasure, and tenderly kissed her hand. At every -visit he took occasion to see the precious bowl, revelled in the sight -of it, and enjoyed the foretaste of complete possession. - -The countess died, and Crammon was soon notified concerning her legacy. -The bowl was sent him carefully packed in a box. When it was freed -of its wrappings he saw with amazement and disgust that he had been -cheated. What he held was an imitation--skilfully and exactly made. But -the material was base; only the setting had been copied in real gold. - -Bitterly he considered what to do. Whom dared he accuse? How could he -prove the very existence of the genuine bowl? - -The heirs of the countess were three nephews of her name. The eldest, -Count Leopold, was in ill repute as a miser who grudged himself and -others their very bread. If he had played the trick, the bowl had been -sold long ago. - -It was easy to find a pretext for visiting Count Leopold at Salzburg. -He sought distinction in piety and stood in favour at the bishop’s -court. Crammon thought that there was a gleam of embarrassment in the -man’s eyes. He himself peered about like a lynx. In vain. - -He happened, however, to know all the prominent dealers in antiquities -on the Continent, and so he set out on a quest. For two months and a -half he travelled from city to city, from one dealer to another, and -asked questions, investigated, and kept a sharp look-out. He carried -the imitation bowl with him and showed it to all. The dealers were -quite familiar with the sight of a connoisseur with his heart set on -some object of art; they answered his questions willingly and sent him -hither and thither. - -He was on the point of despairing, when in Aix he was told of a dealer -in Brussels who was said to have acquired the bowl. It was true. He -found the object of his search in Brussels. Crammon inquired after -the name of the seller and discovered it to be that of one who had -business relations with Count Leopold. The Belgian dealer demanded -twenty thousand francs for the bowl. Crammon at once deposited one -thousand, with the assurance that he would pay the rest within a week -and then take the bowl. He made no attempt at bargaining, much to the -astonishment of the dealer. But in his rage he thought: I have snared -the thief. Why should his rascality come cheaply? - -Two days later he entered the count’s room. He was accompanied by a -hotel porter, who placed a box containing the imitation bowl on a table -and disappeared. The count was breakfasting alone. He arose and frowned. - -Crammon silently opened the little box, lifted the bowl out, polished -it carefully with a handkerchief, kept it in his hand, and assumed a -care-worn look. - -“What is it?” asked the count, turning pale. - -Crammon told him how, by the merest chance, he had discovered in a -Brussels shop this bowl which, as he knew, had been for centuries in -the possession of the Ortenburgs. It had, therefore, scarcely required -the mournful memory of his dear and honoured old friend to persuade him -to restore the precious object to the family treasury whence it came. -He esteemed it a great good fortune that it was he who had discovered -this impious trade in precious things. Had it been any one else the -danger of loose tongues causing an actual scandal was obvious enough. -He had, he continued, paid twenty thousand francs for the bowl, which -he had brought in order to restore it to the house of Ortenburg. The -receipt was at the count’s disposal. All he requested of the count was -a cheque for the amount involved. - -He breathed no word concerning a will or a legacy, and betrayed no -suspicion of how he had been tricked. The count understood. He looked -at the imitation bowl on the table and recognized it for what it was. -But he lacked courage to object. He swallowed his rage, sat down and -made out the cheque. His chin quivered with fury. Crammon was radiant. -He left the imitation bowl where it stood, and at once set out for -Brussels to fetch the other. - - -VII - -There were three things that Crammon hated from the bottom of his -heart: newspapers, universal education, and taxes. It was especially -impossible for him to realize that he, like others, was subject to -taxation. - -He had been summoned on a certain occasion to give an accounting of his -income. He declared that during the greater part of the year he lived -as a guest in the châteaux and on the estates of his friends. - -The examining official replied that since he was known to live a rather -luxurious life, it was clear that he must have a fixed income from some -source. - -“Undoubtedly,” Crammon lied with the utmost cynicism. “This income -consists wholly of meagre winnings at the various international -gambling resorts. Earnings of that sort are not subject to taxation.” - -The official was astonished and shook his head. He left the room in -order to consult his superiors in regard to the case. Crammon was left -alone. Trembling with rage he gazed about him, took a stack of legal -documents from a shelf, and shoved them far behind a bookcase against -the wall. There, so far as one could tell, they would moulder in the -course of the years, and in their illegal hiding place save the owners -of the names they recorded from taxation. - -For years he would chuckle whenever he thought of this deviltry. - - -VIII - -The Princess Uchnina had made Crammon’s acquaintance in one of the -castles of the Esterhazys in Hungary. Even at that time the free manner -of her life had set tongues wagging; later on her family disowned her. - -He met her again in a hotel at Cairo. Since she was wealthy there -was no danger of his being exploited. He had little liking for the -professional vampire, nor had he ever lost the mastery over his senses. -There was no passion that could prevent him from going to bed at ten -and sleeping soundly through a long night. The princess was fond of -laughing and Crammon helped her to laugh, since it pleased him to see -her amused. He did not care to be loved beyond measure; he valued -considerate treatment and a comradely freedom of contact. He had no -desire for love with its usual spices of romance and disquietude, -jealousy and enslavement. He wanted the delight of love in as tangible -and sensible a form as possible; he cared less for the flame than for -the dainty on the spit. - -On the ship that took him and the princess to Brindisi there appeared a -Danish lady with hair the hue of wheat and eyes like cornflowers. She -was lonely, and he sought her out and succeeded in charming her. The -three travelled together to Naples, where the Danish lady and Crammon -seemed to have become friendlier than ever; but the princess only -laughed. - -They arrived in Florence. In front of the Baptistery Crammon met a -melancholy young woman, whom he recognized as an acquaintance made -at Ostende. She was the daughter of a manufacturer of Mainz. She had -married recently, but her husband had lost her dowry at Monte Carlo and -had fled to America. Crammon introduced her to the other ladies, but, -for the sake of the Dane, who was suspicious and exacting, passed her -off as his cousin. It was not long, however, before a quarrel broke -out between the two, and Crammon was very busy preaching the spirit of -reconciliation and peace. - -The princess laughed. - -Crammon said: “I should like to see how many women one can gather -together like this without their thirsting for one another’s blood.” -He made a wager with the princess for a hundred marks that he could -increase the number to five, herself of course excepted. - -In the station at Milan a charming creature ran into him, and gave -signs of unalloyed delight. She was an actress who had been intimate -with a friend of his years before. She had just been engaged by a -theatre in Petrograd and was now on her way there. Crammon found her -so amusing that he neglected the others for her sake; and although he -was not lacking in subtlety, the signs of a coming revolution in his -palace increased. The revolution broke out in Munich. There were hard -words and tears; trunks were packed; and the ladies scattered to all -the points of the compass,--North to Denmark, West to Mainz, East to -Petrograd. - -Crammon was mournful; he had lost his bet. The little princess laughed. -She remained with him until another lure grew stronger. Then they -celebrated a cheerful farewell. - - -IX - -When Crammon was but a youth of twenty-three he had once been a member -of a large hunting party at Count Sinsheim’s. Among the guests there -was a gentleman named von Febronius who attracted his attention, first -by his silence, and next by frequently seeking his society while -carefully avoiding the others. - -One day Febronius, with unusual urgency, begged Crammon to visit him. - -Febronius possessed an extensive entailed estate on the boundary -between Silesia and Poland. He was the last of his race and name, and, -as every one knew, deeply unhappy on this account. Nine years earlier -he had married the daughter of a middle-class family of Breslau, and in -spite of the difference in age the two were genuinely devoted to each -other. The wife was thirty, the husband near fifty. The marriage had -proved childless, and there seemed now no further hope. - -Crammon promised to come, and some weeks later, on an evening in May, -he arrived at the estate. Febronius was delighted to see him, but -the lady, who was pretty and cultivated, was noticeably chill in her -demeanour. Whenever she was forced to look at Crammon a perceptible -change of colour overspread her face. - -Next morning Febronius showed him the whole estate--the park, the -fields and forests, the stables and dairies. It was a little kingdom, -and Crammon expressed his admiration; but his host sighed. He said that -his blessings had all been embittered, every beast of the field seemed -to regard him with reproachful eyes, and the land and its fertility -meant nothing to him who had brought death to his race, and whom the -fertility of nature but put in mind of the sterile curse which had come -upon his blood. - -Then he became silent, and silently accompanied Crammon, whose head -whirled with very bold and equivocal thoughts. - -After dinner they were sitting on the terrace with Frau von Febronius. -Suddenly the lord of the manor was called away and returned shortly -with a telegram in his hand. He said that an urgent matter of business -required him to set out on a journey at once. Crammon arose with a -gesture, to show his consciousness of the propriety of his leaving too. -But his host, almost frightened, begged him to stay and keep his wife -company. It was, he said, only a matter of two days, and she would be -grateful. - -He stammered these words and grew pale. His wife kept her face bent -closely over her embroidery frame, and Crammon saw her fingers tremble. -He knew enough. He shook hands with Febronius, and knew that they -would not and dared not meet again in life. - -He found the lady, when they were alone together, shier than he had -anticipated. Her gestures expressed reluctance, her glances fear. When -his speech grew bolder, shame and indignation flamed in her eyes. She -fled from him, sought him again, and when in the evening they strolled -through the park she implored him to leave next day, and went to the -stables to order the carriage for the morning. When he consented, her -behaviour altered, her torment and her harshness seemed to melt. After -midnight she suddenly appeared in his room, struggling with herself -and on the defensive, defiant and deeply humiliated, bitter in her -yielding, and in her very tenderness estranged. - -Early next morning the carriage was ready and drove him to the station. - -That marvellous night faded from his memory as a thousand others, less -marvellous, had done. The spectral experience blended with a host of -others that were without its aroma of spiritual pain. - - -X - -Sixteen years later chance brought him into the same part of the -country. - -He inquired after Febronius, and learned that that gentleman had been -dead for ten years. He was told, furthermore, that during his last -years the character of Febronius had changed radically. He had become a -spendthrift; frightful mismanagement had ruined his estate and shaken -his fortune; swindlers and false friends had ruled him exclusively, -so that his widow, who was still living on the estate with her only -daughter, could scarcely maintain herself there. She was beset by -usurious creditors and a growing burden of debt; she did not know an -easy hour, and complete ruin was but a matter of time. - -Crammon drove over to the estate, and had himself announced under an -assumed name. When Frau von Febronius entered he saw that she was still -charming. Her hair was still brown, her features curiously young. But -there was something frightened and suspicious about her. - -She asked where she had had the pleasure of his acquaintance. Crammon -simply regarded her for a while, and she too looked at him attentively. -Suddenly she uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands. When she had -mastered her emotion, she gave him her hand. Then she left the room, -and returned in a few minutes leading a young girl of great sweetness. - -“Here she is.” - -The girl smiled. Her lips curved as though she were about to pout, and -her teeth showed the glittering moisture of shells to which the water -of the sea still clings. - -She spoke of the beautiful day and of her having lain in the sun. The -broken alto voice surprised one in so young a creature. In her wide, -brown eyes there was a radiance of unbounded desires. Crammon was -flattered, and thought: If God had made me a woman, perhaps I should -have been such an one. He asked after her name. It was Letitia. - -Frau von Febronius clung to the girl with every glance. - -Letitia brought in a basket full of golden pears. She looked at the -fruit with greed and with an ironic consciousness of her greed. She -cut a pear in half and found a worm in it. That disgusted her and she -complained bitterly. - -Crammon asked her what she cared for most, and she answered: “Jewels.” - -Her mother reproached her with being careless of what she had. “Only -the other day,” said Frau von Febronius, “she lost a costly ring.” - -“Just give me something to love,” Letitia replied and stroked a white -kitten that purred and jumped on her lap, “and I’ll hold on to it -fast.” - -When he said farewell Crammon promised to write, and Letitia promised -to send him her picture. - -A few weeks later Frau von Febronius informed him that she had taken -Letitia to Weimar, and placed her in the care of her sister, the -Countess Brainitz. - - -XI - -On Crammon’s fortieth birthday he received from seven of his friends, -whose names were signed to it, a document written in the elaborate -script and manner of an official diploma. And the content of the -document was this: - -“O Crammon, friend of friends, admirer of women and contemner of their -sex, enemy of marriage, glass of fashion, defender of descent, shield -of high rank, guest of all noble spirits, finder of the genuine, tester -of the exquisite, friend of the people and hater of mankind, long -sleeper and rebel, Bernard Gervasius, hail to thee!” - -Gleaming with pride and satisfaction Crammon hung up the beautifully -framed parchment on the wall beside his bed. Then with the two ladies -of his household he took a turn in the park. - -Miss Aglaia walked at his right, Miss Constantine at his left. Both -were festively arrayed, though in a somewhat antique fashion, and their -faces were the happiest to be seen. - - - - -CHRISTIAN’S REST - - -I - -Crammon found the forties to be a critical period in a man’s life. It -is then that in his mind he sits in judgment upon himself; he seeks the -sum of his existence, and finds blunder after blunder in the reckoning. - -But these moral difficulties did not very much influence either his -attitude or the character of his activities. He found his appetite for -life growing, but he found loneliness a heavier burden than before. -When he was alone he was overcome by a feeling which he called the -melancholy of the half-way house. - -In Paris he was overtaken by this distemper of the soul. Felix Imhof -and Franz Lothar von Westernach had agreed to meet him, and both had -left him in the lurch. Imhof had been kept in Frankfort by his business -on the exchange and his real estate interests, and had telegraphed a -later date of arrival. Franz Lothar had remained in Switzerland with -his brother and Count Prosper Madruzzi. - -In his vexation Crammon spent his days largely in bed. He either read -foolish novels or murmured his annoyances over to himself. Out of -sheer boredom he ordered fourteen pairs of boots of those three or -four masters of the craft who work only for the elect and accept a new -customer only when recommended by a distinguished client. - -He was to have spent the month of September with the Wahnschaffe family -on their estate in the Odenwald. He had made the acquaintance of young -Wolfgang Wahnschaffe the summer before at a tennis tournament in -Hamburg, and had accepted his invitation. In his exasperation over his -truant friends he now wrote and excused himself. - -One evening in Montmartre he met the painter Weikhardt, whom he had -known in Munich. They walked together for a while, and Weikhardt -encouraged Crammon to visit a neighbouring music hall. A very young -dancer had been appearing there for the past week, the painter told -him, and many French colleagues had advised seeing her. - -Crammon agreed. - -Weikhardt led him through a maze of suspicious looking alleys to a no -less suspicious looking house. This was the Théâtre Sapajou. A boy -in fantastic costume opened the door that led to a moderately large, -half-darkened hall with scarlet walls and a wooden gallery. About fifty -people, mostly painters and writers with their wives, sat facing a tiny -stage. The performance had begun. - -Two fiddles and a clarionet furnished the music. - -And Crammon saw Eva Sorel dance. - - -II - -His anger against his friends was extinguished. He was glad that they -were not here. - -He was afraid of meeting any of his many Parisian acquaintances and -passed through the streets with lowered eyes. The thought was repulsive -to him that he would be forced to speak to them of Eva Sorel, and then -to see their indifferent or curious faces, beneath which there could be -no feeling akin to his own. - -He avoided the painter Weikhardt, for the latter would rob him of the -illusion that he, Crammon, had discovered Eva Sorel, and that for the -present she lived only in his consciousness as the miracle that he felt -her to be. - -He went about like an unrecognized rich man, or else as troubled as -a miser who knows that thieves lie in wait for his treasure. All who -carried their chatter of delight from the Théâtre Sapajou out into the -world he regarded as thieves. They threatened to attract to the little -playhouse the crowd of the stupid and the banal who drag great things -into the dust by making them fashionable. - -He nursed the dream of kidnapping the dancer and of fleeing with her to -a deserted island of the sea. He would have been satisfied to adore her -there and would have asked nothing of her. - -For Lorm he had demanded applause. But he hated the favour which the -dancer gained. Not because she was a woman. It was not the jealousy -of the male. He did not think of her under the aspect of sex. Her -being was to him the fulfilment of dark presentiments and visions; she -represented the spirit of lightness as opposed to the heaviness of -life which weighed him and others down; she was flight that mocked the -creeping of the earth-bound, the mystery that is beyond knowledge, form -that is the denial of chaos. - -He said: “This boasted twentieth century, young as it is, wearies my -nerves. Humanity drags itself across the earth like an ugly clumsy -worm. She desires freedom from this condition, and in her yearning to -escape the chrysalis she finds the dance. It is a barbaric spirit of -comedy at its highest point.” - -He knew well that the life he led was a challenge and a disturbance to -his fellow men who earned their bread by the sweat of their toil. He -was an enthusiastic admirer of those ages in which the ruling classes -had really ruled, when a prince of the Church had had a capon stuffer -amid the officials of his court, and an insignificant count of the -Holy Roman Empire had paid an army that consisted of one general, six -colonels, four drummers, and two privates. And he was grateful to the -dancer because she lifted him out of his own age even more thoroughly -than the actor had done. - -He made an idol of her, for the years were coming in which he needed -one--he who, satiated, still knew hunger with senses avid for the -flight of birds. - - -III - -Eva Sorel had a companion and guardian, Susan Rappard, a thorough -scarecrow, clad in black, and absent-minded. She had emerged with Eva -out of the unknown past, and she was still rubbing its darkness out of -her eyes when Eva, at eighteen, saw the paths of light open to her. But -she played the piano admirably, and thus accompanied Eva’s practice. - -Crammon had paid her some attentions, and the tone in which he spoke -of her mistress gained her sympathy. She persuaded Eva to receive him. -“Take her flowers,” she whispered. “She’s fond of them.” - -Eva and Susan Rappard lived in two rooms in a small hotel. Crammon -brought such masses of roses that the close corridors held the -fragrance for many hours. - -As he entered he saw Eva in an armchair in front of a mirror. Susan was -combing her hair, which was of the colour of honey. - -On the carpet was kneeling a lad of seventeen who was very pale and -whose face bore traces of tears. He had declared his love to Eva. Even -when the stranger entered he had no impulse to get up; his luckless -passion made him blind. - -Crammon remained standing by the door. - -“Susan, you’re hurting me!” Eva cried. Susan was startled and dropped -the comb. - -Eva held out her hand to Crammon. He approached and bent over to kiss -it. - -“Poor chap,” she said, smiling, and indicating the lad, “he torments -himself cruelly. It’s so foolish.” - -The boy pressed his forehead against the back of her chair. “I’ll kill -myself,” he whimpered. Eva clapped her hands and brought her face with -its arch mockery of sadness near to the boy’s. - -“What a gesture!” Crammon thought. “How perfect in its light -completeness, how delicate, how new! And how she raised her lids -and showed the strong light of her starry eyes, and dropped her chin -a little in that inclination of the head, and wore a smile that was -unexpected in its blending of desire and sweetness and cunning and -childlikeness!” - -“Where is my golden snood?” Eva asked and arose. - -Susan said that she had left it on the table. She looked there in vain. -She fluttered hither and thither like a huge black butterfly: she -opened and closed drawers, shook her head, thoughtfully pressed her -hand against her forehead, and finally found the snood under the piano -lid next to a roll of bank notes. - -“It’s always that way with us,” Eva sighed. “We always find things. But -we have to hunt a long time.” She fastened the snood about her hair. - -“I can’t place your French accent,” Crammon remarked. His own -pronunciation was Parisian. - -“I don’t know,” she answered. “Perhaps it’s Spanish. I was in Spain a -long time. Perhaps it’s German. I was born in Germany and lived there -till I was twelve.” Her eyes grew a little sombre. - - -IV - -The lovelorn boy had left. Eva seemed to have forgotten him, and there -was no shadow upon the brunette pallor of her face. She sat down again, -and after a brief exchange of questions she told him of an experience -that she had had. - -The reason for her telling the story seemed to inhere in thoughts which -she did not express. Her glance rested calmly in the illimitable. Her -eyes knew no walls in their vision; no one could assert that she looked -at him. She merely gazed. - -Susan Rappard sat by the tile-oven, resting her chin upon her arm, -while her fingers, gliding past the furrowed cheeks, clung amid her -greyish hair. - -At Arles in Provence a young monk named Brother Leotade had often -visited Eva. He was not over twenty-five, vigorous, a typical Frenchman -of the South, though rather taciturn. - -He loved the land and knew the old castles. Once he spoke to her of a -tower that stood on a cliff, a mile from the city; he described the -view from the top of the tower in words that made Eva long to enjoy it. -He offered to be her guide, and they agreed on the hour and the day. - -The tower had an iron gate which was kept locked, and the key was in -the keeping of a certain vintner. It was late afternoon when they set -out, but on the unshaded road it was still hot. They meant to be back -before night fall, and so they walked quickly; but when they reached -the tower the sun had already disappeared behind the hills. - -Brother Leotade opened the iron gate and they saw a narrow spiral -staircase of stone. They climbed a few stairs. Then the monk turned -suddenly, locked the door from within, and slipped the key into the -pocket of his cowl. Eva asked his reason. He replied that it was safer -so. - -It was dim in the vaulted tower, and Eva saw a menacing gleam in the -monk’s eyes. She let him precede her, but on a landing he turned and -grasped her. She was silent, although she felt the pressure of his -fingers. Still silent, she glided from his grasp, and ran up as swiftly -as she could. She heard no steps behind her in the darkness, and the -stairs seemed endless. Still she climbed until her breath gave out, and -she panted for the light. Suddenly the greenish bell of the sky gleamed -into the shaft; and as she mounted, the circle of her vision widened to -the scarlet of the West, and when she stood on the last step and on the -platform, having emerged from the mustiness of the old walls into the -balsamic coolness and the multiform and tinted beauty of earth and air, -the danger seemed wholly past. - -She waited and watched the dark hole from which she had come. The monk -did not appear. His treacherous concealment strained her nerves to the -uttermost. The brief twilight faded; evening turned into night; there -was no sound, no tread. Not until late did it occur to her that she -could call for help. She cried out into the land, but she saw that it -was a desolate region in which no one dwelled. And when her feeble cry -had died away, the shape of Brother Leotade appeared at the head of the -stairs. - -The expression on his face filled her now with an even greater horror. -He murmured something and stretched out his arms after her. She bounded -backward, groping behind her with her hands. He followed her, and she -leaped upon the parapet, crouched near the pinnacle, hard by the outer -rim of the wall, her head and shoulders over the abyss. The wind caught -the veil that had been wound about her head and it streamed forth like -a flag. The monk stood still, bound to the spot by her eyes. His own -were fixed relentlessly upon her, but he dared not move, for he saw the -determination in her face: if he moved toward her, she would leap to -her death. - -And yet a rage of desire kept flaring in his eyes. - -The hours passed. The monk stood there as though cast of bronze, while -she crouched on the parapet, motionless but for her fluttering veil, -and held him with her eye as one holds a wolf. Stars gathered in the -sky; from time to time she glanced for a second at the firmament. Never -had she been so near to the eternal flame. She seemed to hear the -melody of a million worlds singing in their orbits; her unmoving limbs -seemed to vibrate; the hands with which she clung to the harsh wall -seemed to upbear the adamantine roof of the cosmos, while below her was -the created thing, blind and wracked by passion and sworn to a God whom -it belied. - -Gradually the rim of heaven grew bright and the birds began to flutter -upward. Then Brother Leotade threw himself upon his face and began to -pray aloud. And as the East grew brighter he lifted up more resonantly -the voice of his prayer. He crept toward the stairs. Then he arose and -disappeared. - -She saw him issue from the gate below and disappear in the dawn among -the vineyards. Eva lay long in the grass below, worn and dull, before -she could walk back to the city. - -“It may be,” she said at the end of her story, “that some one looked on -from Sirius, some one who will come soon and perhaps be my friend.” She -smiled. - -“From Sirius?” The voice of Susan was heard. “Where will he get pearls -and diadems? What crowns will he offer you, and what provinces? Let us -have no dealings with beggars, even though they come from the sky.” - -“Keep quiet, you Sancho Panza!” Eva said. “All that I ask is that -he can laugh, laugh marvellously--laugh like that young muleteer at -Cordova! Do you remember him? I want him to laugh so that I can forget -my ambitions.” - -Hers is a virtue that hardly begs for pennies, thought Crammon, and -determined to be on his guard and seek security while there was time. -For in his breast he felt a new, unknown, and melancholy burning, and -he knew well that he could not laugh like that young Cordovan muleteer -and make an ambitious woman forget her striving. - - -V - -Felix Imhof arrived, and with him Wolfgang Wahnschaffe, a very tall -young man of twenty-two. There was an elegance about the latter that -suggested unlimited means. His father was one of the German steel kings. - -Crammon’s refusal of his invitation had annoyed Wahnschaffe, and he was -anxious to secure the older man’s friendship. It was characteristic of -the Wahnschaffes to desire most strongly whatever seemed to withhold -itself from their grasp. - -They went to the Théâtre Sapajou, and Felix Imhof agreed that the -dancer was incomparable. Plans at once flew from his mind like sparks -from beaten iron in a smithy. He talked of founding an Academy of the -Dance, of hiring an impresario for a tour through Europe, of inventing -a pantomime. All this was to be done, so to speak, over night. - -They sat together and drank a good deal--first wine, then champagne, -then ale, then whiskey, then coffee, then wine once more. The excess -had no effect on Imhof at all; in his soberest moments he was like -others in the ecstasy of drunkenness. - -He celebrated the praises of Gauguin, of Schiller, and of Balzac, and -developed the plan for a great experiment in human eugenics. Faultless -men and women were to be chosen and united and to beget an Arcadian -race. - -In the midst of it all he quoted passages of Keats and Rabelais, mixed -drinks of ten kinds, and related a dozen succulent anecdotes from his -wide experience with women. His mouth with its sensual lips poured -forth superlatives, his protruding negroid eyes sparkled with whim and -wit, and his spare, sinewy body seemed to suffer if it was forced to -but a minute’s immobility. - -The other two nearly fell asleep through sheer weariness. He grew -steadily more awake and noisy, waved his hands, beat on the table, -inhaled the smoky air luxuriously, and laughed with his gigantic bass -voice. - -Five successive nights were spent in this way. That was enough for -Crammon and he determined to leave. Wolfgang Wahnschaffe had invited -him to a hunting party at Waldleiningen. - -It was at eleven in the forenoon when Felix Imhof burst in on Crammon. -In the middle of the room stood a huge open trunk. Linen, clothes, -books, shoes, cravattes were scattered about like things hastily saved -in a fire. Outside of the window swayed in flaming yellow the tree-tops -of the Park Monceau. - -Crammon sat in an armchair. He was naked but for a pair of long hose. -He had breakfasted thus, and his expression was sombre. His square -Gothic head and his broad, muscular torso seemed made of bronze. - -The day before Felix Imhof had made the acquaintance of Cardillac, -ruler of the Paris Bourse, and was on his way to him now. He was -going to embark on some enterprise of Cardillac to the extent of two -millions, and asked Crammon in passing whether the latter did not wish -to risk something too. A trifle, say fifty thousand francs, would -suffice. Cardillac was a magician who trebled one’s money in three -days. Then you had had the pleasure of the game and the suspense. - -“This Cardillac,” he said, “is a wonder. He began life as an errand boy -in an hotel. Now he is chief shareholder in thirty-seven corporations, -founder of the Franco-Hispanic Bank, owner of the zinc mines of Le -Nère, ruler of a horde of newspapers, and master of a fortune running -into the hundreds of millions.” - -Crammon arose, and from the heaps on the floor drew forth a violet -dressing gown which he put over his shivering body. He looked in it -like a cardinal. - -“Do you happen to know,” he asked, thoughtfully and sleepily, “or did -you by chance ever observe how the young muleteers in Cordova laugh?” - -Imhof’s helpless astonishment made him look stupid. He was silent. - -Crammon took a large peach from a plate and began to eat it. You could -see drops of the amber juice. - -“There’s no way out,” he said, and sighed sadly, “I shall have to go to -Cordova myself.” - - -VI - -On their journey Wahnschaffe told Crammon about his family: his sister -Judith, his older brother Christian, his mother, who had the most -beautiful pearls in Europe. “When she wears them,” he said, “she looks -like an Indian goddess.” His father he described as an amiable man -with unseen backgrounds of the soul. - -Crammon was anxious to get as much light as possible on the life and -history of one of those great and rich bourgeois families which had won -in the race against the old aristocracy. Here, it seemed to him, was a -new world, an undiscovered country which was still in the blossoming -stage and which was to be feared. - -His cleverly put questions got him no farther. What he did learn was a -story of silent, bitter rivalry between this brother and Christian, who -seemed to Wolfgang to be preferred to himself to an incomprehensible -degree. He heard a story of doubt and complaint and scorn, and of words -that the mother of the two had uttered to a stranger: “You don’t know -my son Christian? He is the most precious thing God ever made.” - -It was cheap enough, Wolfgang asserted, to praise a horse in the -stable, one that had never been sent to the Derby because it was -thought to be too noble and precious. Crammon was amused by the -sporting simile. Why was that cheap, he asked, and what was its exact -meaning? - -Wolfgang said that it applied to Christian, who had as yet proved -himself in no way, nor accomplished anything despite his twenty-three -years. He had passed his final examinations at college with difficulty; -he was no luminary in any respect. No one could deny that he had an -admirable figure, an elegant air, a complexion like milk and blood. He -had also, it was not to be denied, a charm so exquisite that no man or -woman could withstand him. But he was cold as a hound’s nose and smooth -as an eel, and as immeasurably spoiled and arrogant as though the whole -world had been made for his sole benefit. - -“You will succumb to him as every one does,” Wolfgang said finally, and -there was something almost like hatred in his voice. - -They arrived in Waldleiningen on a rainy evening of October. The house -was full of guests. - - -VII - -Wolfgang’s prediction came true sooner than he himself would perhaps -have thought. As early as the third day Crammon and Christian -Wahnschaffe were inseparable and utterly united. They conversed with -an air of intimacy as though they had known each other for years. -The difference of almost two decades in their ages seemed simply -non-existent. - -With a laugh Crammon reminded Wolfgang of his prophecy, and added, -“I hope that nothing worse will ever be predicted to me, and that -delightful things will always become realities so promptly.” And he -knocked wood, for he was as superstitious as an old wife. - -Wolfgang’s expression seemed to say: I was quite prepared for it. What -else is one to expect? - -Crammon had expected to find Christian spoiled and effeminate. Instead -he saw a thoroughly healthy blond young athlete, a head and more taller -than himself, conscious of his vigour and beauty, without a trace of -vanity, and radiant in every mood. It was true, as he had heard, that -all were at his beck and call, from his mother to the youngest of the -grooms, and that he accepted everything as he did fair weather--simply, -lightly, and graciously, but without binding himself to any reciprocal -obligation. - -Crammon loved young men who were as elastic as panthers and whose -serenity transformed the moods of others as a precious aroma does the -air of a sick room. Such youths seemed to him to be gifted with an -especial grace. One should, he held, clear their path of anything that -might hinder their beneficent mission. He did not strive to impress -them but rather to learn of them. - -It was in England and among the English that he had found this respect -for youth and ripening manhood, which had long become a principle -with him and a rule of life. The climate of a perfectly nurtured -understanding he thought the fittest atmosphere for such a being, and -made his plans in secret. He thought of the grand tour in the sense of -the eighteenth century, with himself in the rôle of mentor and guide. - -In the meantime he and Christian talked about hunting, trout-fishing, -the various ways of preparing venison, the advantages of each season -over the others, the numerous charms of the female sex, the amusing -characteristics of common acquaintances. And of all these light things -he spoke in a thoughtful manner and with exhausting thoroughness. - -He could not see Christian without reflecting: What eyes and teeth and -head and limbs! Nature has here used her choicest substance, meant for -permanence as well as delight, and a master has fitted the parts into -harmony. If one were a mean-spirited fellow one could burst with envy. - -One incident charmed him so much that he felt impelled to communicate -his delight to the others who had also witnessed it. It took place in -the yard where early in the morning the hunting parties assembled. -The dogs were to be leashed. Christian stood alone among twenty-three -mastiffs who leaped around and at him with deafening barks and yells. -He swung a short-handled whip which whirred above their heads. The -beasts grew wilder; he had to ward off the fiercer ones with his elbow. -The forester wanted to come to his help and called to the raging pack. -Christian beckoned him to stay back. The man’s assumed anger and all -his gestures irritated the dogs. One of them, whose mouth was flecked -with foam, snapped at Christian, and the sharp teeth clung to his -shoulder. Then all cried out, especially Judith. But Christian gave -a short sharp whistle from between his teeth, his arms dropped, his -glance held the dogs nearest to him, and suddenly the noise stopped, -and only those in front gave a humble whine. - -Frau Wahnschaffe had grown pale. She approached her son and asked him -whether he was hurt. He was not, although his jacket showed a long rent. - -“He leads a charmed life,” she said that night after dinner to Crammon, -with whom she had withdrawn to a quiet corner. “And that is my one -consolation. His utter recklessness often frightens me. I have noticed -with pleasure that you take an interest in him. Do try to guide him a -little along reasonable ways.” - -Her voice was hollow and her face immobile. Her eyes stared past one. -She knew no cares and had never known any, nor had she, apparently, -ever reflected concerning those of others. Yet no one had ever seen -this woman smile. The utter absence of friction in her life seemed to -have reduced the motions of her soul to a point of deadness. Only the -thought of Christian gave her whole being a shade of warmth; only when -she could speak of him did she grow eloquent. - -Crammon answered: “My dear lady, it is better to leave a fellow like -Christian to his own fate. That is his best protection.” - -She nodded, although she disliked the colloquial carelessness of his -speech. She told him how in his boyhood Christian had once gone to -visit the lumbermen in the forest. The trunk of a mighty pine had been -almost cut through, and the men ran to the end of the rope attached -to the tree’s top. The great tree wavered when they first noticed the -boy. They cried out in horror, and tried to let the tree crash down in -another direction. It was too late. And while some tugged desperately -at the rope and were beside themselves with fright, a few headed by -the foreman ran with lifted and warning arms into the very sphere of -danger. The boy stood there quietly, and gazed unsuspectingly upward. -The tree fell and crushed the foreman to death. But the branches -slipped gently over Christian as if to caress him; and when the pine -lay upon the earth, he stood in the midst of its topmost twigs as -though he had been placed there, untouched and unastonished. And those -who were there said he had been saved literally but by the breadth of -a hair. - -Crammon could not get rid of the vision which he himself had seen: the -proud young wielder of the whip amid the unleashed pack. He reflected -deeply. “It is clear,” he said to himself, “that I need no longer go to -Cordova to find out how the young muleteers laugh.” - - -VIII - -At the castle of Waldleiningen there was a wine room in which one -could drink comfortably. In it Crammon and Christian drank one evening -to their deeper friendship. And when the bottle was emptied of its -precious vintage Crammon proposed that, since it was a beautiful night, -they should take a turn in the park. Christian agreed. - -In the moonlight they walked over the pebbles of the paths. Trees and -bushes swam in a silvery haze. - -“Gossamers and the mist of autumn,” said Crammon. “Quite as the poets -describe it.” - -“What poet?” Christian asked innocently. - -“Almost any,” Crammon answered. - -“Do you read poetry?” Christian was curious. - -“Now and then,” Crammon answered, “when prose gets stale. Thus I pay my -debts to the world-spirit.” - -They sat down on a bench under a great plantain. Christian watched the -scene silently for a while. Then he asked suddenly, “Tell me, Bernard, -what is this seriousness of life that most people make such a fuss -about?” - -Crammon laughed softly to himself. “Patience, my dear boy, patience! -You’ll find out for yourself.” - -He laughed again and folded his hands comfortably over his abdomen. But -over the lovely landscape and the lovely night there fell a veil of -melancholy. - - -IX - -Christian wanted Crammon to accompany him and Alfred Meerholz, the -general’s son, to St. Moritz for the winter sports; but Crammon had to -attend Konrad von Westernach’s wedding in Vienna. So they agreed to -meet in Wiesbaden, where Frau Wahnschaffe and Judith would join them in -the spring. - -Frau Wahnschaffe usually spent January and February in the family’s -ancestral home at Würzburg. She had many guests there and so did -not feel the boredom of the provincial city. Wolfgang had been -studying political science at the university there; but at the end -of the semester he was to go to Berlin, pass his examination for the -doctorate, and enter the ministry of foreign affairs. Judith said to -him sarcastically: “You are a born diplomatist of the new school. The -moment you enter a room no one dares to jest any more. It’s high time -that you enlarge your sphere of activity.” He answered: “You are right. -I know that I shall yield my place to a worthier one who knows better -how to amuse you.” “You are bitter,” Judith replied, “but what you say -is true.” - -When Christian arrived in Wiesbaden in April his mother introduced him -to the Countess Brainitz and to her niece, Letitia von Febronius. The -countess was ostensibly here to drink the waters; but her purpose was -commonly thought to be the finding of a suitable match for her niece -among the young men of the country. She had succeeded, at all events, -in gaining the confidence of Frau Wahnschaffe, who was distrustful and -inaccessible. Judith was charmed by Letitia’s loveliness. - -Christian accompanied the young ladies on their walks and rides, and -the countess said to Letitia: “If I were you I’d fall in love with that -young man.” Letitia answered with her most soulful expression: “If I -were you, aunt, I’d be afraid of doing so myself.” - -Crammon arrived in an evil mood. Whenever one of his friends so far -forgot himself as to marry, there came over him an insidious hatred of -mankind which darkened his soul for weeks. - -He was surprised when Christian told him of these new friends, and -wondered at the trick by which fate brought him into the circle of -Letitia’s life. He had a feeling that was uncanny. - -He was anything but delighted over the Countess Brainitz. He was -familiar with the genealogy and history of the dead and living members -of all the noble families of Europe, and so was thoroughly informed -concerning her. “In her youth,” he reported, “she was an actress, -one of those favourite ingénues who attune souls of a certain sort -poetically by a strident blondness and by pulling at their aprons with -touching bashfulness. With these tricks she seduced in his time Count -Brainitz, a gentleman who had weak brains and a vigorous case of gout. -She thought he was rich. Later it turned out that he was hopelessly in -debt and lived on a pension allowed him by the head of the house. On -his death this pension passed to her.” - -She was blond no longer. Her hair was white and had a metallic shimmer -like spun glass. Its hue was premature, no doubt, for she was scarcely -over fifty. She was corpulent; her body had a curious sort of carved -rotundity; her face was like an apple in its smooth roundness; it -gleamed with a healthy reddish tinge; and each feature--nose, mouth, -chin, forehead--was characterized by a certain harmless daintiness. - -From the first moment she and Crammon found themselves hopelessly at -odds. She clasped her hands in despair over everything he said, and all -his doings enraged her. With her feminine instinct she scented in him -the adversary of all her cunning plans; he saw in her another of those -arch enemies that, from time to time, spun for one of his friends the -net of marriage. - -She asked him to dine merely because of Letitia’s insistence. The -girl explained: “Even if you don’t like him in other ways, aunt, -you’ll approve of him as a guest. He’s very like you in one way.” But -Crammon’s dislike of the countess robbed him of his usual appetite, so -that the reconciliation even on that plane did not occur. She herself -ate three eggs with mayonnaise, half of a duck, a large portion of -roast beef, four pieces of pastry, a plate full of cherries, and -additional trifles to pass the time. Crammon was overwhelmed. - -After each course she washed her hands with meticulous care, and when -the meal was over drew her snow-white gloves over her little, round -fingers. - -“All people are pigs,” she declared. “Nothing they come in contact with -remains clean. I guard myself as well as I can.” - -Letitia sat through it all smiling in her own arch and tender way, -and her mere presence lent to the common things about her a breath of -romance. - - -X - -Her estate having finally been sold at auction, and she herself being -quite without means, Frau von Febronius had gone to live with her -younger sister at Stargard in Pomerania. In order to spare her daughter -the spectacle of that final débâcle she had sent the girl to the -countess in Weimar. - -The three sisters were all widowed. The one in Stargard had been -married to a circuit judge named Stojenthin. She lived on her -government pension and the income of a small fortune that had been her -dowry. She had two sons who strolled through the world like gipsies, -wrapped their sloth in a loud philosophy, and turned to their aunt the -countess whenever they were quite at the end of all their resources. - -The countess yielded every time. Both young men knew the style of -letter-writing that really appealed to her. “They will get over sowing -their wild oats,” said the countess. She had been awaiting that happy -consummation for years, and in the meantime sent them food and money. - -It was not so simple to help Letitia. When the girl arrived she -possessed just three frocks which she had outgrown and a little linen. -The countess ordered robes from Vienna, and fitted out her niece like -an heiress. - -Letitia permitted herself calmly to be adorned. The eyes of men told -her that she was charming. The countess said: “You are destined for -great things, my darling.” She took the girl’s head between her two -gloved hands and kissed her audibly on the porcelain clearness of her -forehead. - -Nor was she satisfied with what she had done. She desired to create a -solid foundation and help her niece in a permanent way. That desire -brought to her mind the forest of Heiligenkreuz. - -On the northern slope of the Röhn mountains there was a piece of forest -land having an area of from ten to twelve square kilometres. For more -than two decades it had been the subject of litigation between her late -husband and the head of his house. The litigation was still going on. -It had swallowed huge sums and the countess’ prospects of winning were -slight. Nevertheless she felt herself to be the future owner of the -forest, and was so certain of her title that she determined to present -the forest to Letitia as a dowry and to record this gift in proper -legal form. - -One evening she entered Letitia’s bedroom with a written document in -her hand. Over her filmy night dress she wore a heavy coat of Russian -sable and on her head she had a rubber cap which was to protect her -from the bacilli which, in her opinion, whirred about in the darkness -like bats. - -“Take this and read it, my child,” she said with emotion, and handed -Letitia the document according to which, at the end of the pending -lawsuit, the forest of Heiligenkreuz was to become the sole property of -Letitia von Febronius. - -Letitia knew the circumstances and the probable value of the piece of -paper. But she also knew that the countess had no desire to deceive -any one, but was honestly convinced of the importance of the gift. So -she exerted her mind and her tact to exhibit a genuine delight. She -leaned her cheek against the mighty bosom of the countess and whispered -entrancingly: “You are inexpressibly kind, auntie. You really force a -confession from me.” - -“What is it, darling?” - -“I find life so wonderful and so lovely.” - -“Ah, my dear, that’s what I want you to do,” said the countess. “When -one is young each day should be like a bunch of freshly picked violets. -It was so in my case.” - -“I believe,” Letitia answered, “that my life will always be like that.” - - -XI - -In the vicinity of Königstein in the Taunus mountains the Wahnschaffes -owned a little château which Frau Wahnschaffe called Christian’s Rest -and which was really the property of her son. At first--he was still a -boy--Christian had protested against the name. “I don’t need any rest,” -he had said. And the mother had answered: “Some day the need of it will -come to you.” - -Frau Wahnschaffe invited the countess to pass the month of May at -Christian’s Rest. It was a charming bit of country, and the delight of -the countess was uttered noisily. - -Crammon, of course, came too. He observed the countess with Argus -eyes, and it annoyed him to watch the frequent conversations between -Christian and Letitia. - -He sat by the fishpond holding his short, English pipe between his -lips. “We must get to Paris. That was our agreement. You know that I -promised you Eva Sorel. If you don’t hurry more than fame is doing, -you’ll be left out in the cold.” - -“Time enough,” Christian answered laughing and pulling a reed from the -water. - -“Only sluggards say that,” Crammon grunted, “and it’s the act of a -sluggard to turn the head of a little goose of eighteen and finally -to be taken in by her. These young girls of good family are fit for -nothing in the world except for some poor devil whose debts they can -pay after the obligatory walk to church. Their manipulations aren’t -nearly as harmless as they seem, especially when the girls have -chaperones who are so damnably like procuresses that the difference is -less than between my waistcoat buttons and my breeches buttons.” - -“Don’t worry,” Christian soothed his angry friend. “There’s nothing to -fear.” - -He threw himself in the grass and thought of Adda Castillo, the -beautiful lion-tamer whom he had met in Frankfort. She had told him she -would be in Paris in June, and he meant to stay here until then. He -liked her. She was so wild and so cold. - -But he liked Letitia too. She was so dewy and so tender. Dewy is what -he called the liquidness of her eyes, the evasiveness of her being. -Daily in the morning he heard her in her tower-room trilling like a -lark. - -He said: “To-morrow, Bernard, we’ll take the car and drive over to see -Adda Castillo and her lions.” - -“Splendid!” Crammon answered. “Lions, that’s something for me!” And he -gave Christian a comradely thwack on the shoulder. - - -XII - -Judith took Letitia with her to Homburg, and they visited the -fashionable shops. The rich girl bought whatever stirred her fancy, -and from time to time she turned to her friend and said: “Would you -like that? Do try it on! It suits you charmingly.” Suddenly Letitia saw -herself overwhelmed with presents; and if she made even a gesture of -hesitation, Judith was hurt. - -They crossed the market-place. Letitia loved cherries. But when they -came to the booth of the huckstress, Judith pushed forward and began -to chaffer with the woman because she thought the cherries too dear. -The woman insisted on her price, and Judith drew Letitia commandingly -away. - -She asked her: “What do you think of my brother Christian? Is he very -nice to you?” She encouraged Letitia, who was frank, gave her advice -and told her stories of the adventures that Christian had had with -women. His friends had often entertained her with these romances. - -But when Letitia, rocked into security by such sincere sympathy, -blushed, and first in silence and with lowered eyes, later in sweet, -low words, confessed something of her feeling for Christian, Judith’s -mouth showed an edge of scorn; she threw back her head and showed the -arrogance of a family that deemed itself a race of kings. - -Letitia felt that she had permitted herself to slip into a net. She -guarded herself more closely, and Crammon’s warnings would have been -needed no longer. - -He offered her many. He sought to inspire in her a wholesome fear of -the bravery of youth, to attune her mood to the older vintages among -men who alone could offer a woman protection and reliance. He was -neither so clever nor so subtle as he thought. - -With all his jesuitical cultivation, in the end he felt that something -about this girl knocked at his heart. No posing to himself helped. His -thought spun an annoying web. Was he to prove the truth of the foolish -old legend concerning the voice of the blood? Then he must escape from -this haunted place! - -Letitia laughed at him. She said: “I’m only laughing because I feel -that way, Crammon, and because the sky to-day is so blue. Do you -understand?” - -“O nymph,” sighed Crammon. “I am a poor sinner.” And he slunk away. - - -XIII - -Frau Wahnschaffe had decided to arrange a spring festival. It was to -illustrate all the splendour which was, on such occasions, traditional -in the house of Wahnschaffe. Councils were held in which the -major-domo, the housekeeper, the mistress’ companion and the countess -took part. Frau Wahnschaffe presided at the sessions with the severity -of a judge. The countess was interested principally in the question of -food and drink. - -“My own darling,” she said to Letitia, “seventy-five lobsters have -been ordered, and two hundred bottles of champagne brought up from the -cellar. I am completely overwhelmed. I haven’t been so overwhelmed -since my wedding.” - -Letitia stood there in her slenderness and smiled. The words of the -countess were music to her. She wanted to lend wings to the days that -still separated her from the festival. She trembled whenever a cloud -floated across the sky. - -Often she scarcely knew how to muffle the jubilation in her own heart. -How wonderful, she thought, that one feels what one feels and that -things really are as they are. No poet’s verse, no painter’s vision -could vie with the power of her imagination, which made all happenings -pure gold and was impenetrable to the shadow of disappointment. Her -life was rich--a pure gift of fate. - -She merged into one the boundaries of dream and reality. She made up -her mind to dream as other people determine to take a walk, and the dim -and lawless character of her dream world seemed utterly natural. - -One day she spoke of a book that she had read. “It is beautiful beyond -belief.” She described the people, the scene, and the moving fortunes -of the book with such intensity and enthusiasm that all who heard her -were anxious to find the book. But she knew neither its title nor the -name of the author. They asked her: “Where is the book? Where did you -get it? When did you read it?” “Yesterday,” she replied. “It must be -somewhere about.” She hesitated. She was begged to find it. And while -she seemed to be reflecting helplessly, Judith said to her: “Perhaps -you only dreamed it all.” She cast down her eyes and crossed her arms -over her bosom with an inimitable gesture and answered with a sense of -guilt: “Yes, it seems to me that I did merely dream it all.” - -Christian asked Crammon: “Do you think that’s mere affectation?” - -“Not that,” answered Crammon, “and yet a bit of feminine trickery. God -has provided this sex with many dazzling weapons wherewith to overthrow -us.” - -On the day of the festival Letitia wore a gown of white silk. It was a -little dancing frock with many delicate pleats in the skirt and a dark -blue sash about her hips. It looked like the foam of fresh milk. When -she looked into the mirror she smiled excitedly as though she could not -believe her eyes. The countess ran about behind her and said: “Darling, -be careful of yourself!” But Letitia did not know what she meant. - -There was a sense of intoxication in her when she spoke to the men and -women and girls. She had always been fond of people; to-day they seemed -irresistible to her. When she met Judith in front of the pavillion, -which was bathed in light, she pressed her hands and whispered: “Could -life be more beautiful? I am frightened to think this night must end.” - - -XIV - -On the meadow in front of the artificial water-fall Christian and some -young girls were playing hide and seek after the manner of children. -They all laughed as they played; young men formed a circle about them, -and watched them half mockingly and half amused. - -In the dark trees hung electric bulbs of green glass which were so well -concealed that the sward seemed to glow with a light of its own. - -Christian played the game with a carelessness that annoyed his -partners. The girls wanted it to be taken more seriously, and it vexed -them that, in spite of his inattention, he caught them with such ease. -The young sister of Meerholz was among them, and Sidonie von Gröben, -and the beautiful Fräulein von Einsiedel. - -Letitia joined them. She went to the middle of the open space. She let -Christian come quite near her. Then she eluded him more swiftly than -he had thought possible. He turned to the others, but always Letitia -fluttered in front of him. He sought to grasp her, but she was just -beyond him. Once he drove her against the box-tree hedge, but she -slipped into the foliage and was gone. Her movements, her running and -turning, her merry passion had something fascinating; she called from -the greenery with the little, laughing cries of a bird. Now he lay in -wait for her, and the onlookers became curious. - -When she reappeared he feigned not to see her, but suddenly he sped -with incredible swiftness to the edge of the fountain’s basin where she -stood. But she was a shade swifter still and leapt upon the rock, since -all the other ways were blocked, and jumped across the water lightly -from stone to stone. Her frock with its delicate pleats and loose -sleeves fluttered behind her, and when Christian started in pursuit -those below applauded. - -Above it was dark. Letitia’s shoes became wet and her foot slipped. But -before Christian could grasp her she swung herself upon a huge boulder -between two tall pines as though to defend herself there or else climb -still farther. But her footing failed her on the damp moss and she -uttered a little cry, for she knew that he had caught her now. - -He had caught her, caught her as she fell, and now held her in his -arms. She was very quiet and tried to calm her fluttering breath. -Christian was breathing heavily too, and he wondered why the girl was -so still and silent. He felt her lovely form and drew her a little -closer with that suppressed laughter of his that sounded so cold and -arrogant. The moonlight poured through the branches and made his face -seem of an extraordinary beauty. Letitia saw his strong, white teeth -gleam. She slipped from his arms, and put her own right arm about the -trunk of one of the trees. - -Here was all that she had dreamed of. Here was the breath of danger -and the breath of desire, a wilderness and a moonlit night, distant -music and a secret meeting. But her blood was quiet, for she was still -a child. - -Christian looked at the girl pliant against the tree; he saw her -dishevelled hair, her dewy eyes and lips; his eyes followed the lines -of her body and it seemed to him that he could taste the coolness of -her skin and the sweetness of her innocent breath. He did not hesitate -to take possession of his booty. - -Swiftly he sought her hand, when suddenly he became aware of a toad -that with loathsome sloth crept along Letitia’s white frock, first -across its hem, then upward toward her hip. He grew pale and turned -away. “The others are waiting. We had better turn back,” he said and -began to climb downward. - -Letitia followed his movements with staring eyes. The fiery emotion -which had transformed her to her own vision into a fairy being, a -Diana or Melusina, turned to pain and she began to weep. She did not -know how to interpret what had happened, and her sorrow lasted until, -by a fanciful but charming explanation, she had made it not more -intelligible but more consoling in its character. Then she dried her -tears and smiled again. - -When Letitia arose the toad jumped into the moss. There was no sound. - - -XV - -On the afternoon before the departure of Crammon and Christian there -was a violent thunder storm. The two men paced up and down in the upper -corridor of the château and discussed their plans. In a pause between -two peals of thunder Crammon listened and said: “What a queer noise. -Did you hear it?” - -“Yes,” Christian answered and they followed the direction of the sound. - -At the end of the gallery was a mirrored hall, the doors of which were -ajar. Crammon opened the door a little wider, peered in and laughed -softly in his throat. Christian peered in too, above Crammon’s head, -and joined in the laughter. - -On the brilliantly polished floor of the room, which contained no -furniture except a few couches and armchairs ranged along the walls, -Letitia stood in little blue slippers and a pale blue gown and -played at ball. Her face had an expression of ecstasy. The all but -uninterrupted lightning that turned the mirrors into yellow flame gave -her play a ghostliness of aspect. - -Now she would toss the ball straight up, now she would throw it against -the wall between the mirrors and catch it as it rebounded. At times -she let it fall on the floor and clapped her hands or spread out her -arms until it leaped up to be caught again. She turned and bent over -and threw back her head, or advanced a step or whispered, always -smiling and utterly absorbed. After the two had watched her for a -while, Crammon drew Christian away, for the lightning made him nervous. -He hated an electrical storm and had chosen to walk in the gallery -to escape it. He now lit his short pipe and asked peevishly: “Do you -understand the girl?” - -Christian made no answer. Something lured him back to the threshold -of the hall in which Letitia was playing her solitary game. But he -remembered the toad on her white dress, and a strange aversion arose in -his heart. - - -XVI - -He did not love the memory of unpleasant events. - -He did not like to speak of the past, whether it was pleasant or not. -Nor did it please him to turn back upon a path. If ever it became -necessary he soon grew weary. - -He did not care for people whose faces showed the strain of -intellectual labour, nor such as discoursed of books or of the -sciences. Nor did he love the pale or the hectic or the over-eager or -those who argued or insisted on the rightness of their opinions. If any -one defended an opinion opposed to his own he smiled as courteously as -though no difference existed. And it was painful to him to be asked -concerning his opinion directly, and rather than bear the burden of a -speech of explanation he did not hesitate to feign ignorance. - -If in large cities he was forced to walk or ride through the quarters -inhabited by the proletarian poor, he hastened as much as possible, -compressed his lips, breathed sparingly, and his vexation would give -his eyes a greenish glitter. - -Once on the street a crippled beggar had caught hold of his great coat. -He returned home and presented the coat to his valet. Even in his -childhood he had refused to pass places where ragged people were to be -seen, and if any one told of misery or need among men he had left the -room, full of aversion for the speaker. - -He hated to speak or to hear others speak of the functions or needs -of the body--of sleep or hunger or thirst. The sight of a human being -asleep was repulsive to him. He did not like emphatic leavetakings -or the ceremonious greetings of those who had been absent long. He -disliked church bells and people who prayed and all things that have to -do with the exercise of piety. He was quite without understanding for -even the very moderate Protestantism of his father. - -He made no demand in words, but instinctively he chose to bear no -company but that of well-clad, care-free, and clear-seeing people. -Wherever he suspected secrets, hidden sorrows, a darkened soul, a -brooding tendency, inner or outer conflicts, he became frosty and -unapproachable and elusive. Therefore his mother said: “Christian is a -child of the sun and can thrive only in the sunlight.” She had made an -early cult of keeping far from him all that is turbid, distorted, or -touched with pain. - -On her desk lay the marble copy of a plaster-cast of Christian’s -hand--a hand that was not small, but sinewy and delicately formed, -capable of a strong grasp, but unused and quiet. - - -XVII - -On the trip from Hanau to Frankfort the automobile accident occurred in -which young Alfred Meerholz lost his life. Christian was driving, but, -as in the old days when the great tree fell, he remained unharmed. - -Crammon had accompanied Christian and Alfred as far as Hanau. There -he wanted to visit Clementine von Westernach and then proceed to -Frankfort by an evening train. Christian had sent the chauffeur ahead -to Frankfort the day before in order to make certain purchases. - -Christian at once drove at high speed, and toward evening, as the road -stretched out before him empty and free of obstacles, he made the car -fly. Alfred Meerholz urged him on, glowing in the intoxication of -speed. Christian smiled and let the machine do its utmost. - -The trees on both sides looked like leaping animals in a photograph; -the white riband of the road rolled shimmering toward them and was -devoured by the roaring car; the reddening sky and the hills on the -horizon seemed to swing in circles; the air seethed in their ears; -their bodies vibrated and yearned to be whirled still more swiftly -over an earth that revealed all the allurement of its smoothness and -rotundity. - -Suddenly a black dot arose in the white glare of the road. Christian -gave a signal with his horn. The dot quickly assumed human form. Again -the signal shrieked. The figure did not yield. Christian grasped -the steering wheel more firmly. Alfred Meerholz rose in his seat -and shouted. It was too late for the brake. Christian reversed the -wheel energetically; it went a trifle too far. There was a jolt, a -concussion, a crash, the groan of a splintering tree, a hissing and -crackling of flame, a clash and rattle of steel. It was over in a -moment. - -Christian lay stunned. Then he got up and felt his limbs and body. He -could think and he could walk. “All’s right,” he said to himself. - -Then he caught sight of the body of his friend. The young man lay -under the twisted and misshapen chassis with a crushed skull. A little -trickle of scarlet blood ran across the white dust of the road. A few -paces to one side stood in surprised stupor the drunken man who had not -made way. - -People at once began gathering hurriedly from all directions. There -was a hotel near by. Christian answered many questions briefly. The -drunken man was taken in custody. A physician came and examined young -Meerholz’s body. It was placed on a stretcher and carried into the -hotel. Christian telegraphed first to General Meerholz, then to Crammon. - -His travelling bag had not been injured. While he was changing his -clothes, police officers arrived, and took down his depositions -concerning the accident. Then he went to the dining-room and ordered a -meal and a bottle of wine. - -He barely touched the food. The wine he gradually drank. - -He saw himself standing in the dim hot-house awaiting Letitia. She -had come animated by her excitement. Languishing and jesting she had -whispered: “Well, my lord and master?” And he had said to her: “Have -the image of a small toad made of gold, and wear the charm about your -throat in order to avert the evil magic.” - -Her kiss seemed still to be burning on his lips. - -At eleven o’clock that night came Crammon, the faithful. “I beg of you, -my dear fellow, attend to all necessary arrangements for me,” Christian -said. “I don’t want to pass the night here. Adda Castillo will be -getting impatient.” He handed Crammon his wallet. - -Christian was thinking again of the romantic girl who, like all of her -temper, gave without knowing what she gave or to whom, nor knew how -long life is. But her kiss burned on his lips. He could not forget it. - -Crammon returned. “Everything is settled,” he said in a business like -way. “The car will be ready in fifteen minutes. Now let us go and say -farewell to our poor friend.” - -Christian followed him. A porter led them to a dim storeroom in which -the body had been placed until the morrow. A white cloth had been -wrapped about the head. At the feet crouched a cat with spotted fur. - -Silently Crammon folded his hands. Christian felt a cold breath on his -cheeks, but there was no stirring in his breast. When they came out -into the open he said: “We must buy a new car in Frankfort. We need not -be back here before noon to-morrow. The general cannot possibly arrive -until then.” - -Crammon nodded. But a surprised look sought the younger man, a look -that seemed to ask: Of what stuff are you made? - -About him, delicate, noble, proud, there was an icy air--the infinitely -glassy clarity that rests on mountains before the dawn. - - - - -THE GLOBE ON THE FINGERTIPS OF AN ELF - - -I - -Crammon had been a true prophet. Ten months had sufficed to fix the -eyes of the world upon the dancer, Eva Sorel. The great newspapers -coupled her name with the celebrated ones of the earth; her art was -regarded everywhere as the fine flower of its age. - -All those to whose restless spiritual desires she had given form and -body were at her feet. The leaders of sorely driven humanity drew a -breath and looked up to her. The adorers of form and the proclaimers of -new rhythms vied for a smile from her lips. - -She remained calm and austere with herself. Sometimes the noise of -plaudits wearied her. Hard beset by the vast promises of greedy -managers, she felt not rarely a breath of horror. Her inner vision, -fixed upon a far and ideal goal, grew dim at the stammered thanks of -the easily contented. These, it seemed to her, would cheat her. Then -she fled to Susan Rappard and was scolded for her pains. - -“We wandered out to conquer the world,” said Susan, “and the world has -submitted almost without a struggle. Why don’t you enjoy your triumph?” - -“What my hands hold and my eyes grasp gives me no cause to feel very -triumphant yet,” Eva answered. - -Susan lamented loudly. “You little fool, you’ve literally gone hungry. -Take your fill now!” - -“Be quiet,” Eva replied, “what do you know of my hunger?” - -People besieged her threshold, but she received only a few and chose -them carefully. She lived in a world of flowers. Jean Cardillac had -furnished her an exquisite house, the garden terrace of which was like -a tropical paradise. When she reclined or sat there in the evening -under the softened light of the lamps, surrounded by her gently -chatting friends, whose most casual glance was an act of homage, she -seemed removed from the world of will and of the senses and to be -present in this realm of space only as a beautiful form. - -Yet even those who thought her capable of any metamorphosis were -astonished when a sudden one came upon her and when its cause seemed -to be an unknown and inconsiderable person. Prince Alexis Wiguniewski -had introduced the man, and his name was Ivan Michailovitch Becker. He -was short and homely, with deep-set Sarmatian eyes, lips that looked -swollen, and a straggling beard about his chin and cheeks. Susan was -afraid of him. - -It was on a December night when the snow was banked up at the windows -that Ivan Michailovitch Becker had talked with Eva Sorel for eight -hours in the little room spread with Italian rugs. In the adjoining -room Susan walked shivering up and down, wondering when her mistress -would call for help. She had an old shawl about her shoulders. From -time to time she took an almond from her pocket, cracked it with her -teeth, and threw the shells into the fireplace. - -But on this night Eva did not go to bed, not even when the Russian had -left her. She entered her sleeping chamber and let her hair roll down -unrestrained so that it hid her head and body, and she sat on a low -stool holding her fevered cheeks in her hollow hands. Susan, who had -come to help her undress, crouched near her on the floor and waited for -a word. - -At last her young mistress spoke. “Read me the thirty-third canto of -the _Inferno_,” she begged. - -Susan brought two candles and the book. She placed the candles on the -floor and the volume on Eva’s lap. Then she read with a monotonous -sound of lamentation. But toward the end, especially where the poet -speaks of petrified and frozen tears, her clear voice grew firmer and -more eloquent. - - “Lo pianto stesso lì pianger non lascia; - E il duol, che trova in sugli occhi rintoppo, - Si volve in entro a far crescer l’ambascia: - Chè le lagrime prime fanno groppo, - E, sì come visiere di cristallo, - Riempion sotto il ciglio tutto il coppo.”[1] - -[1] “The very weeping there allows them not to weep; and the grief, -which finds impediment upon their eyes, turns inward to increase the -agony: for their first tears form a knot, and, like crystal vizors, -fill up all the cavity beneath their eye-brows.” - -When she had finished she was frightened by the gleaming moisture in -Eva’s eyes. - -Eva arose and bent her head far backward and closed her eyes and said: -“I shall dance all that--damnation in hell and then redemption!” - -Then Susan embraced Eva’s knees and pressed her cheek against the -bronze coloured silk of the girl’s garment and murmured: “You can do -anything you wish.” - -From that night on Eva was filled with a more urgent passion, and her -dancing had lines in which beauty hovered on the edge of pain. Ecstatic -prophets asserted that she was dancing the new century, the sunset of -old ideas, the revolution that is to come. - - -II - -When Crammon saw her again she showed the exquisitely cultivated -firmness of a great lady and forced his silent admiration. And again -there began that restless burning in his heart. - -He talked to her about Christian Wahnschaffe and one evening he brought -him to her. In Christian’s face there was something radiant. Adda -Castillo had drenched it with her passion. Eva felt about him the -breath of another woman and her face showed a mocking curiosity. For -several seconds the young man and the dancer faced each other like two -statues on their pedestals. - -Crammon wondered whether Christian would ever thank him for this -service. He gave his arm to Susan, and the two walked to and fro in the -picture gallery. - -“I hope your blond German friend is a prince,” said Susan with her air -of worry. - -“He’s a prince travelling incognito in this vale of tears,” Crammon -answered. “You’ve made some stunning changes here,” he added, gazing -about him. “I’m satisfied with you both. You are wise and know the ways -of the world.” - -Susan stopped and told him of what weighed upon her mind. Ivan -Michailovitch Becker came from time to time, and he and Eva would talk -together for many hours. Always after that Eva would pass a sleepless -night and answer no questions and have a fevered gleaming in her eyes. -And how was one to forbid the marvellous child her indulgence in this -mood? Yet it might hold a danger for her. No stray pessimist with -awkward hands should be permitted to drag down as with weights the -delicate vibrations of her soul. “What do you advise us to do?” she -asked. - -Crammon rubbed his smooth chin. “I must think it over,” he said, “I -must think it over.” He sat down in a corner and rested his head on his -hands and pondered. - -Eva chatted with Christian. Sometimes she laughed at his remarks, -sometimes they seemed strange and astonishing to her. Yet even where -she thought her own judgment the better, she was willing to hear and -learn. She regarded his figure with pleasure and asked him to get her, -from a table in the room, an onyx box filled with semi-precious stones. -She wanted to see how he would walk and move, how he would stretch -out his arm and hand after the box and give it to her. She poured the -stones into her lap and played with them. She let them glide through -her fingers, and said to Christian with a smile that he should have -become a dancer. - -He answered naïvely that he was not fond of dancing in general, but -that he would think it charming to dance with her. His speech amused -her, but she promised to dance with him. The stones glittered in her -hands; a quiver of her mouth betrayed vexation and pride but also -compassion. - -When she laughed it embarrassed Christian, and when she was silent he -was afraid of her thoughts. He had promised to meet Adda Castillo at -almost this hour. Yet he stayed although he knew that she would be -jealous and make a scene. Eva seemed like an undiscovered country to -him that lured him on. Her tone, her gestures, her expression, her -words, all seemed utterly new. He could not tear himself away, and his -dark blue eyes clung to her with a kind of balked penetration. Even -when her friends came--Cardillac, Wiguniewski, d’Autichamps--he stayed -on. - -But Eva had found a name for him. She called him Eidolon. She uttered -that name and played with its sound even as she played with the -mani-coloured jewels in her lap. - - -III - -One night Crammon entered a tavern in the outer boulevards. It was -called “Le pauvre Job.” He looked about him for a while and then sat -down near a table at which several young men of foreign appearance were -conversing softly in a strange tongue. - -It was a group of Russian political refugees whose meeting place he -had discovered. Their chief was Ivan Michailovitch Becker. Crammon -pretended to be reading a paper while he observed his man, whom he -recognized from a photograph which Prince Wiguniewski had shown him. He -had never seen so fanatical a face. He compared it with a smouldering -fire that filled the air with heat and fumes. - -He had been told that Ivan Becker had suffered seven years of -imprisonment and five of Siberian exile and that many thousands of the -young men of his people were wholly devoted to him and would risk any -danger or sacrifice at his bidding. - -“Here they live in the most brilliant spot of the habitable earth,” -Crammon thought angrily, “and plan horrors.” - -Crammon was an enemy of violent overthrow. If it did not interfere -with his own comfort, he was rather glad to see the poor get the -better of the over-fed bourgeois. He was a friend of the poor. He took -a condescending and friendly interest in the common people. But he -respected high descent, opposed any breach of venerable law, and held -his monarch in honour. Every innovation in the life of the state filled -him with presentiments of evil, and he deprecated the weakness of the -governments that had permitted the wretched parliaments to usurp their -powers. - -He knew that there was something threatening at the periphery of his -world. A stormwind from beyond blew out lamps. What if they should all -be blown out? Was not their light and radiance the condition of a calm -life? - -He sat there in his seriousness and dignity, conscious of his -superiority and of his good deeds. As a representative of order he had -determined to appeal to the conscience of these rebels if a suitable -opportunity were to come. Yet what tormented him was less an anxiety -over the throne of the Tsar than one over Eva Sorel. It was necessary -to free the dancer from the snares of this man. - -An accident favoured his enterprise. One man after another left the -neighbouring table and at last Ivan Becker was left alone. Crammon took -his glass of absinthe and went over. He introduced himself, referring -to his friendship with Prince Wiguniewski. - -Silently Becker pointed to a chair. - -True to his kind and condescending impulses Crammon assumed the part of -an amiable man who can comprehend every form of human aberration. He -approached his aim with innocent turns of speech. He scarcely touched -the poisonous undergrowth of political contentions. He merely pointed -out with the utmost delicacy that, in the West of Europe, the private -liberty of certain lofty personages would have to remain untouched -unless force were to be used to oppose force. Gentle as his speech was, -it was an admonition. Ivan smiled indulgently. - -“Though the whole sky were to flare with the conflagrations that -devastate your Holy Russia,” Crammon said with conscious eloquence, -and the corners of his mouth seemed to bend in right angles toward his -square chin, “we will know how to defend what is sacred to us. Caliban -is an impressive beast. But if he were to lay his hands on Ariel he -might regret it.” - -Again Ivan Michailovitch smiled. His expression was strangely mild and -gentle, and gave his homely, large face an almost feminine aspect. He -listened as though desiring to be instructed. - -Crammon was encouraged. “What has Ariel to do with your misery? He -looks behind him to see if men kiss the print of his feet. He demands -joy and glory, not blood and force.” - -“Ariel’s feet are dancing over open graves,” Ivan Michailovitch said -softly. - -“Your dead are safe at peace,” Crammon answered. “With the living we -shall know how to deal.” - -“We are coming,” said Ivan Michailovitch still more softly. “We are -coming.” It sounded mysterious. - -Half fearfully, half contemptuously Crammon looked at the man. After a -long pause he said as though casually, “At twelve paces I can hit the -ace of hearts four times out of five.” - -Ivan Michailovitch nodded. “I can’t,” he said almost humbly, and showed -his right hand, which he usually concealed skilfully. It was mutilated. - -“What happened to your hand?” Crammon asked in pained surprise. - -“When I lay in the subterranean prison at Kazan a keeper forged the -chain about me too hard,” Ivan Michailovitch murmured. - -Crammon was silent, but the other went on: “Perhaps you’ve noticed too -that it’s difficult for me to speak. I lived alone too long in the -desert of snow, in a wooden hut, in the icy cold. I became unused to -words. I suffered. But that is only a single word: suffering. How can -one make its content clear? My body was but a naked scaffolding, a -ruin. But my heart grew and expanded. How can I tell it? It grew to be -so great, so blood red, so heavy that it became a burden to me in the -fearful attempt at flight which I finally risked. But God protected -me.” And he repeated softly, “God protected me.” - -In Crammon’s mind all ideas became confused. Was this man with his -gentle voice and the timid eyes of a girl the murderous revolutionary -and hero of possible barricades whom he had expected to meet? In his -surprise and embarrassment he became silent. - -“Let us go,” said Ivan Michailovitch. “It is late.” He arose and threw -a coin on the table and stepped out into the street at Crammon’s -side. There he began again, hesitatingly and shyly: “I don’t want to -presume to judge, but I don’t understand these people here. They are -so certain of themselves and so reasonable. Yet that reasonableness is -the completest madness. A beast of the field that feels the tremor of -an earthquake and flees is wiser. And another thing: Ariel, the being -whom you strive so eloquently to protect, has no moral responsibility. -No one thinks of blaming it. What is it but form, gesture, beauty? But -don’t you think that the darker hue and deeper power that are born -of the knowledge of superhuman suffering might raise art above the -interests of idle sybarites? We need heralds who stand above the idioms -of the peoples; but those are possibilities that one can only dream of -with despair in one’s heart.” He nodded a brief good-night and went. - -Crammon felt like a man who had merrily gone out in a light spring -suit but had been overtaken by a rainstorm and returns drenched and -angry. The clocks were striking two. A lady of the Opéra Comique had -been waiting for him since midnight; the key to her apartment was in -his pocket. But when he came to the bridge across the Seine he seized -the key and, overcome by a violent fit of depression, flung it into the -water. - -“Sweet Ariel!” He spoke softly to himself. “I kiss the prints of your -feet.” - - -IV - -Adda Castillo noticed that Christian was turning from her. She had not -expected that, at least not so soon; and as she saw him grow cold, her -love increased. But his indifference kept pace with her ardour, and so -her passionate heart lost all repose. - -She was accustomed to change and, in spite of her youth, had been -greatly loved. She had never demanded fidelity before nor practised it. -But this man was more to her than any other had been. - -She knew who was robbing her of him; she had seen the dancer. When she -called Christian to account he frankly admitted as a fact what she had -mentioned only as a suspicion in the hope of having it denied. She -instituted comparisons. She found that she was more beautiful than -Eva Sorel, more harmoniously formed, racier and more impassioned. -Her friends confirmed her in this opinion; and yet she felt that the -other had some advantage to which she must yield. Neither she nor her -flatterers could give it a name. But she felt herself the more deeply -affronted. - -She adorned her person, she practised all her arts, she unfolded all -sides of her wild and entrancing temperament. It was in vain. Then she -vowed vengeance and clenched her fists and stamped. Or else she begged -and lay on her knees before him and sobbed. One method was as foolish -as the other. He was surprised and asked calmly: “Why do you throw -aside all dignity?” - -One day he told her that they must separate. She turned very white and -trembled. Suddenly she took a revolver from her pocket, aimed at him -and fired twice. He heard the bullets whiz past his head, one on either -side. They hit the mirror and smashed it, and the fragments clattered -to the floor. - -People rushed to the door. Christian went out and explained that the -noise meant no harm and was due to mere carelessness. When he returned -he found Adda Castillo lying on the sofa with her face buried in the -pillows. He showed no fright and no sense of the danger that he had -escaped. He thought merely how annoying such things were and how banal. -He took his hat and stick and left the room. - -It was long before Adda Castillo arose. She went to the mirror and -shivered. There was but one fragment of it left in the frame. But by -the help of this fragment she smoothed her coal-black hair. - -A few days later she came to see Christian. On the card that she had -sent in she begged for an interview of but five minutes. Her farewell -performance in Paris was to take place that evening and she begged -him to be present at the circus. He hesitated. The glowing eyes in -the wax-white face were fixed on him in a mortal terror. It made him -uncomfortable, but something like pity stirred within him and he agreed -to come. - -Crammon accompanied him. They entered just as Adda Castillo’s act was -about to begin. The cage with the lions was being drawn into the arena. -Their seats were near the front. “They’re getting to be a bit of a -bore, these lions,” Crammon grumbled and watched the audience through -his glasses. - -Adda Castillo in scarlet fleshings, her dark hair loose, her lips and -cheeks heavily rouged, entered the cage of the lionness and her four -cubs. Perhaps something in the woman’s bearing irritated Teddy, the -youngest lion. At all events he backed before her, roared and lifted -his paw. Adda Castillo whistled and commanded him with a gesture to -leave the mother animal. Teddy crouched and hissed. - -At that moment Adda, instead of mastering the beast with her glance, -turned to the public and searched the front rows with her sparkling -eyes. Teddy leaped on her shoulder. She was down. One cry arose from -many throats. The people jumped up. Many fled. Others grew pale but -stared in evil fascination at the cage. - -At that moment Trilby, the mother animal, came forward with a mighty -leap, not to attack her mistress but to save her from the cubs. With -powerful blows of her paw she thrust Teddy aside and stood protectingly -over the girl who was bleeding from many wounds. But the cubs, greedy -for blood, threw themselves on their mother and beat and bit her back -and flanks, so that she retreated howling to a corner and left the girl -to her fate. - -The keepers had rushed up with long spears and hooks, but it was too -late. The cubs had bitten their teeth deep into the body of Adda -Castillo and torn her flesh to shreds. They did not let go until -formaldehyde was sprinkled on her scattered remains. - -The cries of pity and terror, the weeping and wringing of hands, the -thronging at the gates and the noise of the circus men, the image of -a clown who stood as though frozen on a drum, a horse that trotted in -from the stables, the sight of the bloody, unspeakably mutilated body -in its dripping shreds--none of all this penetrated in any connected -or logical form the consciousness of Christian. It seemed to him mere -confusion and ghostly whirl. He uttered no sound. Only his face was -pale. His face was very pale. - -In the motor car on their way to Jean Cardillac, with whom they were to -dine, Crammon said: “By God, I wouldn’t like to die between the jaws -of a lion. It is a cruel death and an ignominious one.” He sighed and -surreptitiously looked at Christian. - -Christian had the car stop and asked Crammon to present his excuses -to Cardillac. “What are you going to do?” Crammon asked in his -astonishment. - -And Christian replied that he wanted to be alone, that he must be alone -for a little. - -Crammon could scarcely control himself. “Alone? You? What for?” But -already Christian had disappeared in the crowd. - -“He wants to be alone! What an insane notion!” Crammon growled. He -shook his head and bade the chauffeur drive on. He drew up the collar -of his greatcoat and dedicated a last thought to the unhappy Adda -Castillo without assigning any guilt or blame to his friend. - - -V - -“Eidolon is not as cheerful as usual,” Eva said to Christian. “What has -happened? Eidolon mustn’t be sad.” - -He smiled and shook his head. But she had heard of the happening at -the circus and also knew in what relation Adda Castillo had stood to -Christian. - -“I had a bad dream,” he said and told her of it. - -“I dreamed that I was in a railroad station and wanted to take a train. -Many trains came in but roared and passed with indescribable swiftness. -I wanted to ask after the meaning of this. But when I turned around I -saw behind me in a semi-circle an innumerable throng. And all these -people looked at me; but when I approached them, they all drew away -slowly and silently with outstretched arms. All about in that monstrous -circle they drew silently away from me. It was horrible.” - -She passed her hand over his forehead to chase the horror away. But she -recognized the power of her touch and was frightened by her image in -his eye. - -When from the stage where she was bowing amid the flowers and the -applause she perceived the touch of his glances she felt in them a -threat of enslavement. When on his arm she approached a table and heard -the delighted whisper of people at them both, she seemed to herself -the victim of a conspiracy, and a hesitation crept into her bearing. -When Crammon, practising a strange self-abnegation, spoke of Christian -in extravagant terms, and Susan, even in their nocturnal talks, grew -mythical concerning his high descent, when Cardillac grew restless -and Cornelius Ermelang, the young German poet who adored her, asked -questions with his timid eyes--when these things came to pass she -feigned coldness and became unapproachable. - -She scolded Susan, she made fun of Crammon, she laughed at Jean -Cardillac, jestingly she bent her knee to the poet. She confused her -entire court of painters, politicians, journalists, and dandies with -her incomprehensible mimicry and flexibility, and said that Eidolon was -only an illusion and a symbol. - -Christian did not understand this--neither this nor her swift -withdrawals from him, and then her turning back and luring him anew. A -passionate gesture would arise and suddenly turn to reproof, and one of -delight would turn into estrangement. It was useless to try to bind her -by her own words. She would join the tips of her fingers and turn her -head aside and look out of the corners of her eyes at the floor with a -cool astuteness. - -Once he had driven her into a corner, but she called Susan, leaned her -head against the woman’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. - -Another time, in order to test her feeling, he spoke of his trip to -England. With charmingly curved hands she gathered up her skirt and -surveyed her feet. - -Another time, in the light and cheerful tone they used to each other, -he reproached her with making a fool of him. She crossed her arms and -smiled mysteriously, wild and subdued at once. She looked as though -she had stepped out of a Byzantine mosaic. - -He knew the freedom of her life. But when he sought for the motives -that guided her, he had no means of finding them. - -He knew nothing of the intellectual fire of the dancer, but took her to -be a woman like any other. He did not see that that which is, in other -women, the highest stake and the highest form of life, needed to be -in her life but a moment’s inclination and a moment’s gliding by. He -did not grasp the form in her, but saw the contour melt in glimmering -change. Coming from the sensual regions of one possessed like Adda -Castillo, he breathed here an air purified of all sultriness, which -intoxicated but also frightened him, which quickened the beat of the -heart but sharpened the vision. - -Everything was fraught with presages of fate: when she walked beside -him; when they rode side by side in the Bois de Boulogne; when they sat -in the twilight and he heard her clear and childlike voice; when in the -palm garden she teased her little monkeys; when she listened to Susan -at the piano and let the bright stones glide through her fingers. - -One evening when he was leaving he met Jean Cardillac at the gate. They -greeted each other. Then involuntarily Christian stopped and looked -after the man, whose huge form threw a gigantic shadow on the steps. -Invisible little slaves seemed to follow this shadow, all bearing -treasures to be laid at Eva’s feet. - -An involuntary determination crystallized in him. It seemed important -to measure his strength against this shadow’s. He turned back and the -servants let him pass. Cardillac and Eva were in the picture gallery. -She was curled up on a sofa, rolled up almost like a snake. Not far -from those two, on a low stool, sat Susan impassive but with burning -eyes. - -“You’ve promised to drive with me to the races at Longchamp, Eva,” said -Christian. He stood by the door to show that he desired nothing else. - -“Yes, Eidolon. Why the reminder?” answered Eva without moving, but with -a flush on her cheeks. - -“Quite alone with me----?” - -“Yes, Eidolon, quite alone.” - -“My dream suddenly came back to me, and I thought of that train that -wouldn’t stop.” - -She laughed at the naïve and amiable tone of his words. Her eyes grew -gentle and she laid her head back on the pillows. Then she looked at -Cardillac, who arose silently. - -“Good-night,” said Christian and went. - -It was during these days that Denis Lay had arrived in Paris. Crammon -had expected him and now welcomed him with ardour. “He is the one -man living who is your equal and who competes with you in my heart,” -Crammon had said to Christian. - -Denis was the second son of Lord Stainwood. He had had a brilliant -career at Oxford, where his exploits had been the talk of the country. -He had formed a new party amid the undergraduates, whose discussions -and agitations had spared no time-honoured institutions. At twenty-two -he was not only a marksman, hunter, fisherman, sailor, and boxer, but a -learned philologist. He was handsome, wealthy, radiant with life, and -surrounded by a legend of mad pranks and by a halo of distinction and -elegance--the last and finest flower of his class and nation. - -Christian recognized his qualities without envy and the two became -friends at once. One evening he was entertaining Cardillac, Crammon, -Wiguniewski, Denis Lay, the Duchess of Marivaux, and Eva Sorel. And it -was on this occasion that Eva, in the presence of the whole company, -lightly broke the promise that she had given him. - -Denis had expressed the desire to take her to Longchamp in his car. Eva -became aware of Christian’s look. It was watchful, but still assured. -She held a cluster of grapes in her hand. When she had placed the fruit -back on the plate before her, she had betrayed him. Christian turned -pale. He felt that she needed no reminder. She had chosen. It was for -him to be quiet and withdraw. - -Eva took up the cluster of grapes again. Lifting it on the palm of -her hand she said with that smile of dreamy enthusiasm which seemed -heartless to Christian now: “Beautiful fruit, I shall leave you until -I am hungry for you.” - -Crammon raised his glass and cried: “Whoever wishes to do homage to the -lady of our allegiance--drink!” - -They all drank to Eva, but Christian did not lift his eyes. - - -VI - -On the next night after her performance, Eva had invited several -friends to her house. She had danced the chief rôle in the new -pantomime called “The Dryads,” and her triumph had been very great. She -came home in a cloud of flowers. Later a footman brought in a basket -heaped with cards and letters. - -She sank into Susan’s arms, happy and exhausted. Every pore of her -glowed with life. - -Crammon said: “There may be insensitive scoundrels in the world. But I -think it’s magnificent to watch a human being on the very heights of -life.” - -For this saying Eva, with graceful reverence, gave him a red rose. And -the burning in his breast became worse and worse. - -It had been agreed that Christian and Denis were to have a fencing -bout. Eva had begged for it. She hoped not only to enjoy the sight, but -to learn something for her own art from the movements of the two young -athletes. - -The preparations had been completed. In the round hall hung with -tapestries, Christian and Denis faced each other. Eva clapped her -hands and they assumed their positions. For a while nothing was heard -except their swift, muffled, and rhythmical steps and the clash of -their foils. Eva stood erect, all eye, drinking in their gestures. -Christian’s body was slenderer and more elastic than the Englishman’s. -The latter had more strength and freedom. They were like brothers of -whom one had grown up in a harsh, the other in a mild climate; the -one self-disciplined and upheld by a long tradition of breeding, the -other cradled in tenderness and somewhat uncertain within. The one was -all marrow, the other all radiance. In virility and passion they were -equals. - -Crammon was in the seventh heaven of enthusiasm. - -When the combat was nearly at an end, Cornelius Ermelang appeared, and -with him Ivan Michailovitch Becker. Eva had asked Ermelang to read a -poem. He and Becker had known each other long, and when he had found -the Russian walking to and fro near the gate he had simply brought -him up. It was the first time that Ivan showed himself to Eva’s other -friends. - -Both were silent and sat down. - -Christian and Denis had changed back to their usual garments, and now -Ermelang was to read. Susan sat down near Becker and observed him -attentively. - -Cornelius Ermelang was a delicate creature and of a repulsive ugliness. -He had a steep forehead, watery blue eyes with veiled glances, a -pendulous nether lip, and a yellowish wisp of beard at the extreme end -of his chin. His voice was extraordinarily gentle and soft, and had -something of the sing-song rhythm of a preacher’s. - -The name of the poem was “Saint Francis and Why Men Followed Him,” and -its content was in harmony with the traditions and the writings. - -Once upon a time Saint Francis was tarrying in the convent of -Portiuncula with Brother Masseo of Marignano, who was himself a very -holy man and could speak beautifully and wisely concerning God. And -for this reason Saint Francis loved him greatly. Now one day Saint -Francis returned from the forest where he had been praying, and just -as he emerged from the trees Brother Masseo came to meet him and said: -“Why thee rather than another? Why thee?” Saint Francis asked: “What -is the meaning of thy words?” Brother Masseo replied: “I ask why all -the world follows thee, and why every man would see thee and listen -to thee and obey thee. Thou art not goodly to look upon, nor learned, -nor of noble blood. Why is it that all the world follows thee?” When -Saint Francis heard this he was glad in his heart, and he raised his -face to Heaven and stood without moving for a long space, because his -spirit was lifted up to God. But when he came to himself again, he -threw himself upon his knees and praised and thanked God, and full of -a devout passion turned to Brother Masseo and spoke: “Wouldst thou -know why they follow me, and me always, and me rather than another? -This grace has been lent to me by the glance of Almighty God Himself -which rests on the good and the evil everywhere. For His holy eyes saw -among the sinners on earth none who was more wretched than I, none -who was less wise and able, nor any who was a greater sinner. For the -miraculous work that He had it in His heart to bring about He found no -creature on earth so mean as I. And therefore did He choose me to put -to shame the world with its nobility and its pride and its strength and -its beauty and its wisdom, in order that it might be known that all -power and goodness proceed from Him alone and from no created thing, -and that no one may boast before His face. But whoever boast, let him -boast in the Lord.” And Brother Masseo was frightened at this answer, -which was so full of humility and spoken with such fervour. - -And the poem related how Brother Masseo went into the forest out of -which Saint Francis had come, and how tones as of organ music came from -the tops of the trees and formed more and more clearly the question: -Wouldst thou know why? Wouldst thou know? And he cast himself upon the -earth, upon the roots and stones, and kissed the roots and stones and -cried out: “I know why! I know why!” - - -VII - -The stanzas had a sweetness and an inner ecstasy; their music was -muffled and infinitely fluid, with many but shy and half-hidden rimes. - -“It is beautiful,” said Denis Lay, who understood German perfectly. - -And Crammon said: “It is like an old painting on glass.” - -“What I admire most,” said Denis, “is that it brings the figure of -Saint Francis very close to one with that magical quality of _cortesia_ -which he possessed above all other saints.” - -“_Cortesia?_ What does it mean exactly?” Wiguniewski asked. “Does it -mean a humble and devout courtesy?” - -Eva arose. “That is it,” she said, “just that.” And she made an -exquisite gesture with both hands. All looked at her, and she added: -“To give what is mine, and only to appear to take what is another’s, -that is _cortesia_.” - -During all this conversation Christian had withdrawn himself from the -others. Aversion was written on his face. Even during the reading he -had hardly been able to keep his seat. He did not know what it was -that rebelled in him and irritated him supremely. A spirit of mockery -and scorn was in him and fought for some expression. With assumed -indifference he called out to Denis Lay, and began to talk to him about -the stallion that Lay desired to sell and Christian to possess. He -had offered forty thousand francs for it. Now he offered forty-five -thousand, and his voice was so loud that all could hear him. Crammon -stepped to his side as though to guard him. - -“Eidolon!” Eva cried suddenly. - -Christian looked at her with a consciousness of guilt. Their eyes met. -The others became silent in surprise. - -“The beast is worth that anywhere,” Christian murmured, without taking -his eyes from Eva. - -“Come, Susan,” Eva turned to the woman, and about her mouth curled an -expression of bitterness and scorn. “He knows how to fence and how to -trade horses. Of _cortesia_ he knows nothing. Good-night, gentlemen.” -She bowed and slipped through the green hangings. - -In consternation the company scattered. - -When she had reached her room Eva threw herself into a chair, and in -bitterness of spirit hid her face in her hands. Susan crouched near -her on the floor, waiting and wondering. When a quarter of an hour had -passed she arose and took the clasps out of Eva’s hair and began to -comb it. - -Eva was passive. She was thinking of her own master and of what he had -taught her. - - -VIII - -This is what her master had taught her: Train your body to fear and -obey the spirit. What you grant the body beyond its necessity makes you -its slave. Never be the one seduced. Seduce others, and your way will -always be your own to see. Be a secret to others or you grow vulgar to -yourself. Give yourself wholly only to your work. Passions of sense -lay waste the heart. What one man truly receives of another is never -the fullness of the hour or the soul, but lees and dregs that are -fructified late and unconsciously. - -She had been only twelve, when, persuaded by jugglers and answering -the call of her fate, she had left her home in a remote little -Franconian town. She was very far from her master then. But the way was -pre-determined. - -She never lost herself. She glided over difficulties and degradations -as the chamois does over boulders and abysses. Whoever saw her amid the -strolling jugglers held her to be the kidnapped child of distinguished -parents. She was, as a matter of fact, the daughter of an obscure -musician named Daniel Nothafft and of a servant girl. A dreamy feeling -of pity and admiration united her to her father; her mother she had -never known, and so discarded her ill-sounding name. - -She was accustomed to pass the night in tents and barns. In towns by -the sea she had often slept in the shelter of cliffs wrapped in a -blanket. She knew the nocturnal sky with its clouds and stars. She had -slept on straw amid the animals too, near asses and dogs, and on the -rickety, over-burdened cart had ridden on the roadways through rain and -snow. It was a romantic life that recalled another age. - -She had had to sew her own costumes and to go through her daily and -difficult exercises under the whip of the chief of the jugglers. But -she learned the language of the country, and secretly bought at fairs -in cities the books of the poets who had used it. Secretly she read, -sometimes from pages torn out of the volumes and thus more easily -concealed, Béranger, Musset, Victor Hugo, and Verlaine. - -She walked the tight rope which, without any protective net below, was -slung from gable to gable across the market-places of villages, and she -walked as securely as on the ground. Or she acted as the partner of a -dancing she-bear or with five poodles who turned somersaults. She was a -trapeze artist too, and her greatest trick was to leap from one horse -in full gallop to another. When she did that the hurdy-gurdy stopped -its music so that the spectators might realize what a remarkable thing -they were seeing. She carried the collection plate along the rope, and -her glance persuaded many a one to dip into his pocket who had meant to -slink away. - -It was in villages and little towns lying along the Rhône that she -first became aware among the spectators of a man who dragged himself -about with difficulty on two crutches. He followed the troupe from -place to place, and since his whole attention was fixed on Eva, it was -evident that he did so for her sake. - -It was after two years of this wandering life that in Lyons she was -seized with typhoid fever. Her companions sent her to a hospital. They -could not wait, but the chief juggler was to return after a period and -fetch her. When he did return she was just beginning to convalesce. -Suddenly by her bed-side she also saw the man with the crutches. He -took the juggler aside and one could see that they were talking about -money. From the pressure of her old master’s hand Eva knew that she saw -him for the last time. - - -IX - -The man with the crutches was named Lucas Anselmo Rappard. He saved Eva -and awakened her. He taught her her art. He took her under his care, -and this care was tyrannical enough. He did not set her free again -until she had become all that he had desired to make of her. - -He had long lived in retirement at Toledo, because there were three or -four paintings in the Spanish city that rewarded him for his isolation -from the busy world. Also he found that the sun of Spain warmed him -through and through, and that he liked the folk. - -In spite of his crippled state he journeyed northward once a year to -be near the ocean. And like the men of old he went slowly from place -to place. His sister Susan was his unfailing companion. It was on -one of his return journeys that he had seen Eva quite by chance. The -village fairs of this region had long attracted him. And there he found -unexpectedly something that stimulated his creative impulse. It was a -sculptor’s inspiration. He saw the form in his mind’s eye. Here was the -material ready to his hand. The sight of Eva relit an idea in him to -which he had long despaired of giving a creative embodiment. - -First he called the whole matter a whim. Later, absorbed in his task, -he knew the passion of a Pygmalion. - -He was forty at that time or a little more. His beardless face was -thick-boned, peasant-like, brutal. But on closer observation the -intellect shone through the flesh. The greenish-grey eyes, very -deep-set in their hollows, had so compelling a glance that they -surprised and even frightened others. - -This remarkable man had an origin and a fate no less remarkable. His -father had been a Dutch singer, his mother a Dalmatian. They had -drifted to Courland, where an epidemic killed both at almost the same -time. The two children had been taken into the ballet school of the -theatre at Riga. Lucas Anselmo justified the most brilliant hopes. His -incomparable elasticity and lightness surpassed anything that had yet -been seen in a young dancer. At seventeen he danced at the Scala in -Milan, and roused the public to a rare exhibition of enthusiasm. But -his success was out of its due time--too late or too early. His whole -personality had something strange and curiously transplanted; and soon -he became estranged from himself and from the inner forces of his life. -At twenty a morbid melancholy seized him. - -He happened at that time to be dancing in Petrograd. A young but lately -married lady of the court fell in love with him. She persuaded him -to visit her on a certain night in a villa beyond the city. But her -husband had been warned. He pleaded the necessity of going on a journey -to make his wife the more secure. Then with his servants he broke into -the lovers’ chamber, had the lad beaten cruelly, then tied, and thrown -naked into the snow. Here in the bitter cold the unhappy dancer lay for -six hours. - -A dangerous illness and a permanent crippling of his legs were the -result of this violent adventure. Susan nursed him and never left him -for an hour. She had always admired and loved him. Now she worshipped -him. He had already earned a little fortune, and an inheritance from -his mother’s side increased it, so he was enabled to live independently. - -A new man developed in him. His deformity gave to his mind the -resilience and power that had been his body’s. In a curious way -he penetrated all the regions of modern life; and above pain, -disappointment, and renunciation, he built a road from the senses to -the mind. In his transformation from a dancer to a cripple he divined -a deep significance. He now sought an idea and a law; and the harsh -contrast between external calm and inner motion, of inner calm and -outward restlessness, seemed to him important in any interpretation of -mankind and of his age. - -At twenty-two he set himself to study Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit. He -became a thorough student, and took courses at the German universities. -And this strange student, who dragged himself along on crutches, was -often an object of curiosity. At the age of thirty he travelled with -Susan to India, and lived for four years at Delhi and Benares. He -associated with learned Brahmins and received their mystic teachings. -Once he had sight of an almost legendary Thibetan priest, who had lived -in a cave of the mountains for eighty years, and whom the eternal -darkness had blinded, but whom the eternal loneliness had made a saint. -The sight of the centenarian moved him, for the first time in his life, -to tears. He now understood saintliness and believed in it. And this -saint danced: he danced at dawn, turning his blinded eyes to the sun. - -He saw the religious festivals in the temple cities on the Ganges, and -felt the nothingness of life and the indifference of death when he saw -those who had died of pestilence float by hundreds down the stream. -He had himself carried into primeval forests and jungles, and saw -everywhere in the inextricable coil of life and death each taking the -other’s form and impulse--decay becoming birth and putrefaction giving -life. He was told of the marble-built city of a certain king, in which -dwelled only dancing girls taught by priests. When their flesh faded -and their limbs lost their agility, they were slain. They had vowed -chastity, and none was permitted to survive the breaking of that vow. -He approached the fabled city but could not gain admission. At night -he saw the fires on its roofs, and heard the songs of its virginal -dancers. Now and then it seemed to him that he heard a cry of death. - -This night, with its fires and songs, its unseen dancers and uncertain -cries, stored up new energies within his soul. - - -X - -He took Eva with him to Toledo. He had rented a house there in which, -men said, the painter El Greco had once dwelled. - -The building was a grey cube, rather desolate within. Cats shared the -dwelling, and owls, bats, and mice. - -Several rooms were filled with books, and these books became Eva’s -silent friends in the years that came now, and during which she saw -almost no one but Rappard and Susan. - -In this house she learned to know loneliness and work and utter -dedication to a task. - -She entered the house full of fear of him who had forced her into -it. His speech and behaviour intimidated her so that she had -terror-stricken visions when she thought of him. But Susan did all in -her power to soothe the girl. - -Susan would relate stories concerning her brother at morning or in -the evening hours, when Eva lay with her body desperately exhausted, -too exhausted often to sleep. She had not been spoiled. The life with -the troupe of jugglers had accustomed her to severe exertions. But -the ceaseless drill, the monotonous misery of the first few months, -in which everything seemed empty and painful, without allurement or -brightness or intelligible purpose, made her ill and made her hate her -own limbs. - -It was Susan’s hollow voice that besought her to be patient; it was -Susan who massaged her arms and legs, who carried her to bed and -read to her. And she described her brother, who in her eyes was a -magician and an uncrowned king, and on whose eyes and breath she hung, -described him through his past, which she retold in its scenes and -words, at times too fully and confusedly, at others so concretely and -glowingly that Eva began to suspect something of the good fortune of -the coincidence that had brought her to his attention. - -Finally came a day on which he spoke to her openly: “Do you believe -that you were born to be a dancer?” “I do believe it,” she answered. -Then he spoke to her concerning the dance, and her wavering feeling -grew firmer. Gradually she felt her body growing lighter and lighter. -When they parted on that day, ambition was beginning to flame in her -eyes. - -He had taught her to stand with outstretched arms and to let no muscle -quiver; to stand on the tips of her toes so that her crown touched a -sharp arrow; to dance definite figures outlined by needles on the floor -with her naked feet, and, when each movement had passed into her very -flesh, to brave the needles blindfolded. He taught her to whirl about a -taut rope adjusted vertically, and to walk on high stilts without using -her arms. - -She had had to forget how she had walked hitherto, how she had stridden -and run and stood, and she had to learn anew how to walk and stride and -run and stand. Everything, as he said, had to become new. Her limbs and -ankles and wrists had to adjust themselves to new functions, even as a -man who has lain in the mire of the street puts on new garments. “To -dance,” he would say, “means to be new, to be fresh at every moment, as -though one had just issued from the hand of God.” - -He inducted her into the meaning and law of every movement, into the -inner structure and outer rhythm of every gesture. - -He created gestures with her. And about every gesture he wove some -experience. He showed her the nature of flight, of pursuit, of parting, -of salutation, of expectancy and triumph and joy and terror; and there -was no motion of a finger in which the whole body did not have a part. -The play of the eyes and of facial expression entered this art so -little that the swathing of the face would not have diminished the -effect that was aimed at. - -He drew the kernel from each husk; he demanded the quintessential only. - -“Can you drink? Let me see you!” It was wrong. “Your gesture was a -shopworn phrase. The man who had never seen another drink did not drink -thus.” - -“Can you pray? Can you pluck flowers, swing a scythe, gather grain, -bind a veil? Give me an image of each action! Represent it!” She could -not. But he taught her. - -Whenever she fell into a flat imitation of reality he foamed with rage. -“Reality is a beast!” he roared, and hurled one of his crutches against -the wall. “Reality is a murderer.” - -In the statues and paintings of great artists he pointed out to her -the essential and noble lines, and illustrated how all that had been -thus created and built merged harmoniously again with nature and her -immediacy of truth. - -He spoke of the help of music to her art. “You need no melody and -scarcely tone. The only thing that matters is the division of time, -the audibly created measure which leads and restrains the violence, -wildness, and passion, or else the softness and sustained beauty of -motion. A tambourine and a fife suffice. Everything beyond that is -dishonesty and confusion. Beware of a poetry of effect that does not -issue from your naked achievement.” - -At night he took her to wine rooms and taverns, where the girls of the -people danced their artless and excited dances. He revealed to her the -artistic kernel of each, and let her dance a bolero, a fandango, or -a tarantella, which in this new embodiment had the effect of cut and -polished jewels. - -He reconstructed antique battle-dances for her, the Pyrrhic and the -Karpaian; the dance of the Muses about the altar of Zeus on Helicon; -the dance of Artemis and her companions; the dance of Delos, which -imitated the path of Theseus through the labyrinth; the dance of the -maidens in honour of Artemis, during which they wore a short chiton and -a structure of willow on their heads; the vintners’ dance preserved on -the cup of Hiero, which includes all the motions used by the gatherers -of the vine and the workers at the winepress. He showed her pictures -of the vase of François, of the geometrical vase of Dipylon, of many -reliefs and terracotta pieces, and made her study the figures that had -an entrancing charm and incomparable rhythm of motion. And he procured -her music for these dances, which Susan copied from old manuscripts, -and which he adapted. - -And from these creative exercises he led her on to a higher freedom. -He now stimulated her to invent for herself, to feel with originality -and give that feeling a creative form. He vivified her glance, that -was so often in thrall to the technical or merely beautiful, liberated -her senses, and gave her a clear vision of that deaf, blind swarm and -throng whom her art would have to affect. He inspired her with love -for the immortal works of man, armoured her heart against seduction by -the vulgar, against a game but for the loftiest stakes, against action -without restraint, being without poise. - -But it was not until she left him that she understood him wholly. - -When he thought her ripe for the glances of the world he gave her -recommendations to smooth the way, and also Susan. He was willing to be -a solitary. Susan had trained a young Castilian to give him the care he -needed. He did not say whether he intended to stay in Toledo or choose -some other place. Since they had left him, neither Eva nor Susan had -heard from him: he had forbidden both letters and messages. - - -XI - -Often in the night Susan would sit in some dark corner, and out of her -deep brooding name her brother’s name. Her thoughts turned about a -reunion with him. Her service to Eva was but a violent interruption of -the accustomed life at his side. - -She loved Eva, but she loved her as Lucas Anselmo’s work and -projection. If Eva gained fame it was for him, if she gathered treasure -it was for him, if she grew in power it was for him. Those who -approached Eva and felt her sway were his creatures, his serfs, and his -messengers. - -After the incident with Christian Wahnschaffe, as Susan crouched at -Eva’s feet and, as so often, embraced the girl’s knees, she thought: -Ah, he has breathed into her an irresistible soul, and made her -beautiful and radiant. - -But always she harboured a superstitious fear. She trembled in secret -lest the irresistible soul should some day flee from Eva’s body, and -the radiance of her beauty be dulled, and nothing remain but a dead and -empty husk. For that would be a sign to her that Lucas Anselmo was no -more. - -For this reason it delighted her when ecstasy and glee, glow and tumult -reigned in Eva’s life, and she was cast down and plagued by evil -presentiments when the girl withdrew into quietness and remained silent -and alone. So long as Eva danced and loved and was mobile and adorned -her body, Susan dismissed all care concerning her brother. Therefore -she would sit and fan the flame from which his spirit seemed to speak -to her. - -“Just because you’ve chosen the Englishman, you needn’t send the German -away,” she said. “You may take the one and let the other languish a -while longer. You can never tell how things will change. There are many -men: they rise and fall. Cardillac is going down-hill now. I hear all -kinds of rumours.” - -Eva, hiding her face in her hands, whispered: “Eidolon.” - -It vexed Susan. “First you mock him, then you sigh for him! What folly -is this?” - -Eva sprang up suddenly. “You shan’t speak of him to me or praise him, -wretched woman.” Her cheeks glowed, and the brightly mocking tone in -which she often spoke to Susan became menacing. - -“_Golpes para besos_,” Susan murmured in Spanish. “Blows for kisses.” -She arose in order to comb Eva’s hair and braid it for the night. - -The next day Crammon appeared. “I found you one whose laughter puts -to shame the laughter of the muleteer of Cordova,” he said with mock -solemnity. “Why is he rejected?” - -His heart bled. Yet he wooed her for his friend. Much as he loved and -admired Denis Lay, yet Christian was closer to him. Christian was his -discovery, of which he was vain, and his hero. - -Eva looked at him with eyes that glittered, and replied: “It is true -that he knows how to laugh like that muleteer of Cordova, but he has no -more culture of the heart than that same fellow. And that, my dear man, -is not enough.” - -“And what is to become of us?” sighed Crammon. - -“You may follow us to England,” Eva said cheerfully. “I’m going to -dance at His Majesty’s Theatre. Eidolon can be my page. He can learn to -practise reverence, and not to chaffer for horses when beautiful poems -are being read to me. Tell him that.” - -Crammon sighed again. Then he took her hand, and devoutly kissed the -tips of her fingers. “I shall deliver your message, sweet Ariel,” he -said. - - -XII - -Cardillac and Eva fell out, and that robbed the man of his last -support. The danger with which he was so rashly playing ensnared him; -the abysses lured him on. - -The external impetus to his downfall was furnished by a young engineer -who had invented a hydraulic device. Cardillac had persuaded him with -magnificent promises to let him engage in the practical exploitation of -the invention. It was not long before the engineer discovered that he -had been cheated of the profits of his labour. Quietly he accumulated -evidence against the speculator, unveiled his dishonest dealings, and -presented to the courts a series of annihilating charges. Although -Cardillac finally offered him five hundred thousand francs if he would -withdraw his charges, the outraged accuser remained firm. - -Other untoward circumstances occurred. The catastrophe became -inevitable. On a single forenoon the shares he had issued dropped -to almost nothing. In forty-eight hours three hundred millions of -francs had been lost. Innumerable well-established fortunes plunged -like avalanches into nothingness, eighteen hundred mechanics and -shop-keepers lost all they had in the world, twenty-seven great firms -went into bankruptcy, senators and deputies of the Republic were sucked -down in the whirlpool, and under the attacks of the opposition the very -administration shook. - -Felix Imhof hurried to Paris to save whatever was possible out of the -crash. Although he had suffered painful losses, he was ecstatic over -the grandiose spectacle which Cardillac’s downfall presented to the -world. - -Crammon laughed and rubbed his hands in satisfaction, and pointed to -Imhof. “He wanted to seduce me, but I was as chaste as Joseph.” - -On the following evening Imhof went with his friends to visit Eva -Sorel. She had left the palace which Cardillac had furnished for her, -and had rented a handsome house in the Chaussée d’Antin. - -Imhof spoke of the curious tragedy of these modern careers. As an -example he related how three days before his collapse Cardillac had -appeared at the headquarters of his bitterest enemies, the Bank of -Paris. The directors were having a meeting. None was absent. With -folded hands and tear-stained face the sorely beset man begged for a -loan of twelve millions. It was a drastic symptom of his naïveté that -he asked help of those whom he had fleeced on the exchange year in and -year out, whose losses had glutted his wealth, and whom he wanted to -fight with the very loan for which he begged. - -Christian scarcely listened. He stood with Crammon beside a Chinese -screen. Opposite them sat Eva in a curiously dreamy mood, and not far -from her was Denis Lay. Others were present too, but Christian gave -them no attention. - -Suddenly there was a commotion near the door. “Cardillac,” some one -whispered. All glances sought him. - -It was indeed Cardillac who had entered. His boots were muddy, his -collar and cravat in disorder. He seemed not to have changed his -garments for a week. His fists were clenched; his restless eyes -wandered from face to face. - -Eva and Denis remained calmly as they were. Eva pressed her foot -against the edge of a copper jar filled with white lilies. No one -moved. Only Christian, quite involuntarily, approached Cardillac by a -few paces. - -Cardillac became aware of him, and drew him by the sleeve toward the -door of the adjoining room. They had scarcely crossed the threshold -when Cardillac whispered in an intense but subdued tone: “I must have -two thousand francs or I’m done for! Advance me that much, monsieur, -and save me. I have a wife and a child.” - -Christian was astonished. No one dreamed that the man had a family. And -why turn precisely to him? Wiguniewski, d’Autichamps, many others knew -him far better. - -“I must be at the station in half an hour,” he heard the man say, and -his hand sought his purse. - -Wife and child! The words flitted through his head, and there arose in -him the violent aversion he always felt in the presence of beggars. -What had he to do with it all? He took out the bank notes. Two -thousand francs, he thought, and remembered the huge sums which one -was accustomed to name in connection with the man who stood before him -begging. - -“I thank you.” Cardillac’s voice came to him as through a wall. - -Then Cardillac passed him with bent head. But two men had in the -meantime appeared in the other room. At the open folding-door the -lackeys stood behind them with an embarrassed expression, for the men -were police officials who were seeking Cardillac and had followed him -here. - -Cardillac, seeing them and guessing their errand, recoiled with a -gurgling noise in his throat. His right hand disappeared in his -coat-pocket, but instantly the two men leaped on him and pinioned his -arms. There was a brief, silent struggle. Suddenly he was made fast. - -Eva had arisen. Her guests crowded about her. She leaned against -Susan’s shoulder and turned her head a little aside, as though a touch -of uncanny terror brushed her. But she still smiled, though now with -pallid cheeks. - -“He’s magnificent, magnificent, even at this moment,” Imhof whispered -to Crammon. - -Christian stared at Cardillac’s huge back. It was, he couldn’t help -thinking, like the back of an ox dragged to slaughter. The two men -between whom he stood hand-cuffed had greasy necks, and the hair on the -back of their heads was dirty and ill-trimmed. - -An unpleasant taste on his palate tormented Christian. He asked a -servant for a glass of champagne. - -Cardillac’s words, “I have a wife and a child,” would not leave his -mind. On the contrary, they sounded ever more stridently within him. -And suddenly a second, foolish, curious voice in him asked: How do you -suppose they look--this wife, this child? Where are they? What will -become of them? - -It was as annoying and as painful as a toothache. - - -XIII - -In Devon, south of Exeter, Denis Lay had his country seat. The manor -stood in a park of immemorial trees, velvety swards, small lakes that -mirrored the sky, and flowerbeds beautiful in the mildest climate of -such a latitude on earth. - -“We’re quite near the Gulf Stream here,” Crammon explained to Christian -and Eva, who, like himself, were Lay’s guests. And he had an expression -as though with his own hands he had brought the warm current to the -English coast from the Gulf of Mexico simply for the benefit of his -friends. - -With a gesture of sisterly tenderness Eva walked for hours among the -beds of blossoming violets. Large surfaces were mildly and radiantly -blue. It was March. - -A company of English friends was expected, but not until two days later. - -The four friends, going for a walk, had been overtaken by showers and -came home drenched. When they had changed their clothes, they met for -tea in the library. It was a great room with wainscoting of dark oak -and mighty cross-beams. Halfway up there ran along the walls a gallery -with carved balustrades, and at one end, between the pointed windows, -appeared the gilded pipes of an organ. - -The light was dim and the rain swished without. Eva held an album of -Holbein drawings, and turned the pages slowly. Christian and Crammon -were playing at chess. Denis watched them for a while. Then he sat down -at the organ and began to play. - -Eva looked up from the pictures and listened. - -“I’ve lost the game,” Christian said. He arose and mounted the steps -to the gallery. He leaned over the balustrade and looked down. In an -outward curve of the balustrade there lay, like an egg in its cup, a -globe on a metal stand. - -“What were you playing?” Eva asked, as Denis paused. - -He turned around. “I’ve been trying to compose a passage from the Song -of Songs,” he answered. He played again and sang in an agreeable voice: -“Arise, thou lovely one, for the winter is past.” - -The sound of the organ stirred a feeling of hatred in Christian. He -gazed upon Eva’s form. In a gown of sea-green, slim, far, estranged, -she sat there. And as he looked at her there blended with his hatred of -the music another feeling--one of oppression and of poignant pain, and -his heart began to throb violently. - -“Arise, thou lovely one, and come with me,” Denis sang again, and -Crammon softly hummed the air too. Eva looked up, and her glance met -Christian’s. In her face there was a mysterious expression of loftiness -and love. - -Christian took the globe from its stand and played with it. He let -it roll back and forth between his hands on the flat balustrade like -a rubber ball. The sphere suddenly slipped from him, fell and rolled -along the floor to Eva’s feet. - -Denis and Crammon gathered about it; Christian came down from the -gallery. - -Eva picked up the globe and went toward Christian. He took it from her, -but she at once held out her hands again. Then she held it daintily -poised upon the fingertips of her right hand. Her left hand, with -fingers spread out, she held close to it; her head was gently inclined, -her lips half open. - -“So this is the world,” she said, “your world! The blue bits are the -seas, and that soiled yellow the countries. How ugly the countries are, -and how jagged! They look like a cheese at which mice have nibbled. O -world, the things that creep about on you! The things that happen on -you! I hold you now, world, and carry you! I like that!” - -The three men smiled, but a psychical shudder passed through them. -For they could no longer stand in human erectness on this little -round earth. A breath of the dancer could blow them down into the -immeasurable depths of the cosmos. - -And Christian saw that Denis, fighting with an impulse, regarded -him. Suddenly the Englishman came up to him and held out his hand. -And Christian took the hand of his victorious rival, and knew in his -secretest mind that an ultimate advantage was his. For between Eva’s -face and the smudged globe he seemed to see a ghostly little figure -which charmed her with its glance and which was a tiny image of -himself--Eidolon. - -They planned that summer to return to the manor and hunt the deer, as -was the custom of the gentlemen of that region. But when summer came -all things had changed, and Denis had glided from the smooth sphere of -earth into the depth. - - -XIV - -One day in London Crammon came to Christian, sat down affectionately -beside him, and said: “I am leaving.” - -“Where are you going?” Christian asked in surprise. - -“North, to fish salmon,” Crammon replied. “I’ll join you later or you -can join me.” - -“But why go at all?” - -“Because I’ll go straight to the dogs if I have to see this woman any -longer without possessing her. That’s all.” - -Christian looked at Crammon with a flame in his eyes, and checked a -gesture of angry jealousy. Then his face assumed its expression of -friendly mockery again. - -So Crammon departed. - -Eva Sorel became the undisputed queen of the London season. Her name -was everywhere. The women wore hats à la Eva Sorel, the men cravats in -her favourite colours. She threw into the shade the most sought-after -celebrities of the day--including the Negro bruiser, Jackson. Fame came -to her in full draughts, and gold by the pailfuls. - - -XV - -May was very hot in London that year. Denis and Christian planned -a night’s pleasure on the Thames. They rented a steam yacht named -“Aldebaran,” ordered an exquisite meal on board, and Denis sent out -invitations to his friends. - -Fourteen members of his set joined the party. The yacht lay near the -houses of Parliament, and shortly before midnight the guests appeared -in evening dress. The son of the Russian ambassador was among them, the -Honourable James Wheely, whose brother was in the ministry, Lord and -Lady Westmoreland, Eva Sorel, Prince Wiguniewski, and others. - -On the stroke of twelve the “Aldebaran” started out, and the small -orchestra of well-chosen artists began to play. - -When the yacht on its way upstream had reached the railway bridge of -Battersea, there became visible on the left bank in the dim light of -the street lamps an innumerable throng of men and women, close-packed, -head by head, thousands upon thousands. - -They were strikers from the docks. Why they stood here, so silent and -so menacing in their silence, was known to no one on board. Perhaps it -was a demonstration of some sort. - -Denis, who had had a good deal of champagne, went to the railing, and -in his recklessness shouted three cheers across the river. No sound -answered him. The human mass stood like a wall, and in the sombre faces -that turned toward the gleam of the yacht’s light no muscle moved. - -Then Denis said to Christian, who had joined him: “Let’s swim across. -Whoever reaches shore first is victor of the race, and must ask those -people what they are waiting for and why they don’t go home at this -hour of the night.” - -“Swim over to _them_?” Christian shook his head. He was asked to touch -slimy worms with his hands and pretend they were trophies. - -“Then I’ll do it alone!” Denis exclaimed, and threw his coat and -waistcoat down on the deck. - -He was known to be an admirable swimmer. The company therefore took -his notion as one of the bizarre pranks for which he was known. Only -Eva tried to restrain him. She approached him and laid her hand on his -arm. In vain. He was quite ready to jump, when the captain grasped his -shoulder and begged him to desist, since the river, despite its calm -appearance, had a strong undercurrent. But Denis eluded him, ran to the -promenade deck, and in another moment his slender body flew into the -black water. - -No one had a presentiment of disaster. The swimmer advanced with -powerful strokes. The watchers on board were sure that he would easily -reach the Chelsea shore. But suddenly, in the bright radiance of a -searchlight from shore, they saw him throw up his arms above his head. -At the same moment he cried piercingly for help. Without hesitation -a member of the little orchestra, a cellist, sprang overboard in all -his garments to help the drowning man. But the current caused by the -ebbtide was very powerful, and both Denis and the musician were whirled -onward by it, and disappeared in the inky waves. - -Suddenly the confusion caused by these happenings lifted from -Christian’s mind, and before any could restrain him, he was in the -water. He heard a cry, and knew that it came from Eva’s lips. The -ladies and gentlemen on board scurried helplessly to and fro. - -Christian could no longer make out the forms of the other two. The -water seemed to bank itself against him and hinder his movements. A -sudden weakness took possession of him, but he felt no fear. Raising -his head he saw the silent masses of the workers, men and women with -such expressions as he had never seen. Although the glance which he -directed toward them was but a momentary one, he felt almost sure that -their sombre earnestness of gaze was fixed on him, and that these -thousands and thousands were waiting for him, and for him alone. His -weakness increased. It seemed to arise from his heart, which grew -heavier and heavier. At that moment a life-boat reached him. - -At three o’clock in the morning, in the earliest dawn, the bodies -of Denis and the musician were found jammed between two beams near -the arches of a bridge. Now they lay on deck and Christian could -contemplate them. The guests had left the ship. Eva, too, had gone. She -had been deeply shaken, and Prince Wiguniewski had accompanied her home. - -The sailors had gone to their bunks. The deck was empty, and Christian -sat alone with the two dead men. - -The sun arose. The waters of the river began to glow. The pavements of -the desolate streets, the walls and the windows of the houses flushed -with the red of dawn. Sea-gulls circled about the smokestack. - -Christian sat alone with the dead men. He was huddled in an old coat -which the captain had thrown around his shoulders. Steadily he gazed -upon the faces of the dead. They were swollen and ugly. - - -XVI - -North of Loch Lomond, Christian and Crammon wandered about shooting -snipes and wild ducks. The land was rough and wild; always within their -hearing thundered the sea; storm-harried masses of cloud raced across -the sky. - -“My father will be far from pleased,” said Christian. “I’ve spent two -hundred and eighty thousand marks in the last ten months.” - -“Your mother will persuade him to bear it,” Crammon answered. “Anyhow, -you’re of age. You can use several times that much without any one -hindering you.” - -Christian threw back his head, and drew the salty air deep into his -lungs. “I wonder what little Letitia is doing,” he said. - -“I think of the child myself at times. She shouldn’t be left entirely -to that old schemer,” Crammon replied. - -Her kiss no longer burned on Christian’s lips, for other flames had -touched them since. Like laughing _putti_ in a painting, the lovely -faces fluttered about him. Many of them, to be sure, were laughing now -no more. - -In a dark gown, emerging from between two white columns, Eva had taken -leave of him. He seemed to see her still--the brunette pallor of her -face, her inexpressibly slender hand, the most eloquent hand in the -world. - -Jestingly and familiarly she had spoken to him in the language of her -German homeland, which seemed more piercingly sweet and melodious in -her mouth than in any other’s. - -“Where are you going, Eidolon?” she had asked carelessly. - -He had answered with a gesture of uncertainty. He evidently thought -that his going or coming was indifferent to her. - -“It isn’t nice of you to go without asking leave,” she said, and put -her hands on his shoulders. “But perhaps it is just as well. You -confuse me. I am beginning to think of you, and I don’t want to do -that.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because I don’t. Why do you need reasons?” - -The dead and swollen face of Denis Lay rose up before them, and they -both saw it in the empty air. - -After a little he had dared to ask: “When shall we meet again?” - -“It depends on you,” she had answered. “Always let me know where you -are, so that I can send for you. Of course, it’s nonsense, and I won’t. -But it might just happen that in some whim I may want you and none -other. Only you must learn----” She stopped and smiled. - -“What, what must I learn?” - -“Ask your friend Crammon. He’ll teach you.” After these words she had -left him. - -The sea roared like a herd of steers. Christian stopped and turned to -Crammon. “Listen, Bernard, there’s a matter that comes back curiously -into my mind. When I last talked to Eva she said there was something I -was to learn before I could see her again. And when I asked after her -meaning, she said that you could give me a hint. What is it? What am I -to learn?” - -Crammon answered seriously: “You see, my boy, these things are rather -complicated. Some people like their steak overdone, others almost raw, -most people medium. Well, if you don’t know a certain person’s taste -and serve the steak the way you yourself prefer it, you risk making a -blunder and looking like a fool. People are far from simple.” - -“I don’t understand you, Bernard.” - -“Doesn’t matter a bit, old chap! Don’t bother your handsome head about -it. Let’s go on. This damned country makes me melancholy.” - -They went on. But there was an unknown sadness in Christian’s heart. - - - - -AN OWL ON EVERY POST - - -I - -Letitia felt vague longings. - -She accompanied her aunt, the countess, to the south of Switzerland, -and loitered in wonder at the foot of blue glaciers; she lay on the -shore of Lake Geneva, dreaming or reading poetry. When she appeared -smiling on the promenade, admiring glances were all about her. -Enthusiastically conscious of her youth and of her emotional wealth, -she enjoyed the day and the evening as each came, pictures and books, -fragrances and tones. But her longings did not cease. - -Many came and spoke to her of love--some frankly and some by -implication. And she too was full of love--not for him who spoke, but -for his words, expressions, presages. If a delighted glance met hers, -it delighted her. And she lent her ear with equal patience to wooers of -twenty or of sixty. - -But her yearnings were not assuaged. - -Her aunt, the countess, said: “Have nothing to do with aristocrats, -my dear. They are uncultivated and full of false pride. They don’t -know the difference between a woman and a horse. They would nail your -young heart to a family tree, and if you don’t appreciate that favour -sufficiently, they stamp you as déclassée for life. If they have no -money they are too stupid to earn any; if they have it they don’t know -how to spend it sensibly. Have no dealings with them. They’re not quite -human.” - -The countess’ experiences with the aristocracy had been very bitter. -“You can imagine, my dear,” she said, “that I was hard pressed in my -time to be forced to say these things now.” - -Letitia sat on the edge of her bed and regarded her silk stocking, -which had a little hole in it, and still felt the same longing. - -Judith wrote her: “We expect you and the countess so soon as we are -settled in our new house near Frankfort. It’s a kind of fairy palace -that papa has built us, and it’s to be the family seat hereafter. -It’s situated in the forest of Schwanheim, and is only ten minutes by -motor from the city. Everybody who has seen it is mad about it. Felix -Imhof says it reminds him of the palace of the Minotaur. There are -thirty-four guest-rooms, a gallery fifty metres long with niches and -columns, and a library that’s been modelled after the cupola of St. -Peter’s at Rome. There are twenty thousand perfectly new books in it. -Who’s to read them all?” - -“I love the thought of them,” said Letitia, and pressed her hand -against her heart. - -She had had a golden charm made in the likeness of a tiny toad. She did -not wear it about her neck, but kept it in a little leathern case, from -which she often took it, and brooded over it lovingly. - -In Schwetzingen she had met a young Argentinian of German descent. -He was studying law at Heidelberg, but he confessed to her frankly -that he had come to Europe to get him a German wife. He gave her this -information at noon. At night he gave her to understand that in her he -had met his goal. - -His name was Stephen Gunderam. His skin was olive, his eyes glowing, -his hair coal black and parted in the middle. Letitia was fascinated -by his person, the countess by the rumours of his wealth. She made -inquiries, and discovered that the rumours had not been exaggerated. -The lands of the Gunderams on the Rio Plata were more extensive than -the Duchy of Baden. - -“Now, sweetheart, there’s a husband for you!” said the countess. But -when she considered that she would have to part with Letitia, she -began to cry, and lost her appetite for a whole forenoon. - -Stephen Gunderam told them about his far, strange country, about his -parents, brothers, servants, herds, houses. He declared that the bride -he brought home would be a queen. He was so strong that he could bend a -horse-shoe. But he was afraid of spiders, believed in evil omens, and -suffered from frequent headaches. At such times he would lie in bed, -and drink warm beer mixed with milk and the yolk of eggs. This was a -remedy which an old mulatto woman had once given him. - -Letitia barely listened. She was reading: - - “And have you seen an inmost dream - Fled from you and denied? - Then gaze into the flowing stream, - Where all things change and glide.” - -“You really must hurry, darling,” the countess admonished her again. - -But Letitia was so full of longing. - - -II - -In a city on the Rhine, Christian and Crammon were delayed by an -accident. Something had happened to the motor of their car, and the -chauffeur needed a whole day for repairs. - -It was a beautiful evening of September, so they left the city streets -and wandered quietly along the bank of the river. When darkness fell, -they drifted by chance into a beer-garden near the water. The tables -and benches, rammed firmly into the earth, stood among trees full -of foliage, and were occupied by several hundred people--tradesmen, -workingmen, and students. - -“Let us rest a while and watch the people,” said Crammon. And near the -entrance they found a table with two vacant seats. A bar-maid placed -two pitchers of beer before them. - -Under the trees the air had something subterranean about it, for it -was filled with the odour of the exudations of so many people. The few -lamps had iridescent rings of smoke about them. At the adjoining table -sat students with their red caps and other fraternity insignia. They -had fat, puffed-out faces and insolent voices. One of them hit the -table three times with his stick. Then they began to sing. - -Crammon opened his eyes very wide, and his lips twitched mockingly. -He said: “That’s my notion of the way wild Indians act--Sioux or -Iroquois.” Christian did not answer. He kept his arms quite close to -his body, and his shoulders drawn up a little. There was a good deal of -noise at all the tables, and, after a while, Christian said: “Do let us -go. I’m not comfortable here.” - -“Ah, but my dear boy, this is the great common people!” Crammon -instructed him with a mixture of arrogance and mockery. “Thus do they -sing and drink and--smell. ‘And calmly flows the Rhine.’ Your health, -your Highness!” He always called Christian that among strangers, and -was delighted when those who overheard showed a respectful curiosity. -As a matter of fact, several of the men at their table looked at them -in some consternation, and then whispered among themselves. - -A young girl with blond braids of hair wreathed about her head -had entered the garden. She stopped near the entrance, and looked -searchingly from table to table. The students laughed, and one called -out to her. She hesitated shyly. Yet she went up to him. “Whom are you -looking for, pretty maiden?” a freshman asked. The girl did not answer. -“Hide in the pitcher for your forwardness,” a senior cried. “It is for -me to ask.” The freshman grinned, and took a long draught of beer. -“What do you desire, little maiden?” the senior asked in a beery voice. -“Have you come to fetch your father, who clings too lovingly to his -jug?” The girl blushed and nodded. She was asked to give her name, and -said it was Katherine Zöllner. Her father, she said, was a boatman. -She spoke softly, yet so that Christian and Crammon understood what she -said. Her father was due to join his ship for Cologne at three o’clock -in the morning. “For Cologne,” the senior growled. “Give me a kiss, and -I’ll find your father for you.” - -The girl trembled and recoiled. But the fraternity approved of the -demand, and roared applause. “Don’t pretend!” the senior said. He got -up, put his arms roughly about her waist, and, despite her resistance -and fright, he kissed her. - -“Me, too! Me, too!” The cries arose from the others. The girl had -already been passed on to a second, a third snatched her, then a -fourth, fifth, sixth. She could not cry out. She could scarcely -breathe. Her resistance grew feebler, the roaring and the laughter -louder. The fellows at the neighbouring table grew envious. A fat man -with warts on his face called out: “Now you come to us!” His comrades -brayed with laughter. When the last student let her go, it was this -man who grasped her, kissed her and threw her toward his neighbour. -More and more men arose, stretched out their arms, and demanded the -defenceless victim. Nothing happened except that they kissed her. Yet -there spread through the crowd a wildness of lust, so that even the -women screeched and cried out. The students, in the meantime, proud of -their little game, raised their rough voices and sang a foolish song. - -The body of the girl, now an unresisting and almost lifeless thing, -was whirled from arm to arm. Christian and Crammon had arisen. They -gazed into the quivering throng under the trees, heard the shrieks, -the cries, the laughter, saw the girl, now far away, and the hands -stretched out after her, and her face with eyes that were now closed, -now open again in horror. At last one was found who had compassion. -He was a young workingman, and he hit the man who was just kissing -the girl square between the eyes. Two others then attacked him, and -there ensued a rough fight, while the girl with her little remaining -strength reeled toward the fence where the ground was grassy. Her hair -fell loose, her blue bodice was torn and showed her naked bosom, her -face was covered with ugly bruises. She tried to keep erect, groped -about, but fell. A few thoughtful people now came up, helped her, and -asked each other what was to be done. - -Christian and Crammon followed the shore of the river back to the city. -The students had begun a new ditty, that sounded discordantly through -the night, until the distance gradually silenced it. - - -III - -In the middle of the night Christian left his couch, slipped into a -silk dressing gown and entered Crammon’s room. He lit a candle, sat -down by the side of Crammon’s bed, and shook his sleeping friend by the -shoulder. Crammon battled with sleep itself, and Christian turned his -head away in order not to see the struggling, primitive face. - -At last, after much grunting and groaning, Crammon opened his eyes. -“What do you want?” he asked angrily. “Are you practising to play a -ghost?” - -“I would like to ask you something, Bernard,” Christian said. - -This enraged Crammon all the more. “It is crazy to rob a man of his -well-deserved rest. Are you moonstruck, or have you a bellyache? Ask -what you want to ask, but hurry!” - -“Do you believe I do right to live as I do?” asked Christian. “Be quite -honest for once, and answer me.” - -“There is no doubt that he’s moonstruck!” Crammon was truly horrified. -“His mind is wandering. We must summon a physician.” He half-rose, and -fumbled for the electric button. - -“Don’t do that!” Christian restrained him mildly, and smiled a vexed -smile. “Try to consider what I’ve said. Rub your eyes if you aren’t -quite awake yet. There’s time enough for sleep. But I am asking you, -Bernard, for your quite sincere opinion: Do you think I am right in -living as I do?” - -“My dear Christian Wahnschaffe, if you can tell me by what process this -craze has----” - -“Don’t jest, Bernard,” Christian interrupted him, frowning. “This is no -time for a jest. Do you think that I should have remained with Eva?” - -“Nonsense,” said Crammon. “She would have betrayed you; she would have -betrayed me. She would betray the emperor, and yet stand guiltless -in the sight of God. You can’t reckon with her, you can’t really be -yourself with her. She was fashioned for the eye alone. Even that -little story of the muleteer of Cordova was a trick. Be content, and -let me sleep.” - -Christian replied thoughtfully. “I don’t understand what you say, and -you don’t understand what I mean. Since I left her I feel sometimes -as though I had grown hunchbacked. Jesting aside, Bernard, I get up -sometimes and a terror comes over me. I stretch myself out. I know that -I’m straight, and yet I feel as though I were hunchbacked.” - -“Completely out of his head,” Crammon murmured. - -“And now tell me another thing, Bernard,” Christian continued, -undeflected by his friend, and his clear, open face assumed an icy -expression. “Should we not have helped the boatman’s daughter, you -and I? Or should I not have done so, if you did not care to take the -trouble? Tell me that!” - -“The devil take it! What boatman’s daughter?” - -“Are you so forgetful? The girl in the beer-garden. She even gave her -name--Katherine Zöllner. Don’t you remember? And how those ruffians -treated her?” - -“Was I to risk my skin for a boatman’s daughter?” Crammon asked, -enraged. “People of that sort may take their pleasures in their own -fashion. What is it to you or to me? Did you try to hold back the paws -of the wild beasts that tore up Adda Castillo? And that was a good deal -worse than being kissed by a hundred greasy snouts. Don’t be an idiot, -my dear fellow, and let me sleep!” - -“I am curious,” said Christian. - -“Curious? What about?” - -“I’m going to the house where she lives and see how she is. I want you -to go along. Get up.” - -Crammon opened his mouth very wide in his astonishment. “Go now?” he -stammered, “at night? Are you quite crazy?” - -“I knew you’d scold,” Christian said softly and with a dreamy smile. -“But that curiosity torments me so that I’ve simply been turning from -side to side in bed.” And in truth his face had an expression of -expectation and of subtle desire that was new to Crammon. He went on: -“I want to see what she is doing, what her life is like, what her room -looks like. One should know about all that. We are hopelessly ignorant -about people of that kind. Do please come on, Bernard.” His tone was -almost cajoling. - -Crammon sighed. He waxed indignant. He protested the frailty of -his health and the necessity of sleep for his wearied mind. Since -Christian, however, opposed to all these objections an insensitive -silence, and since Crammon did not want to see him visit a dangerous -and disreputable quarter of the city alone by night, he finally -submitted, and, grumbling still, arose from his bed. - -Christian bathed and dressed with his accustomed care. Before leaving -the hotel they consulted a directory, and found the address of the -boatman. They hired a cab. It was half-past four in the morning when -their cab reached the hut beside the river bank. There was light in the -windows. - -Crammon was still at a loss to comprehend. With the rusty bell-pull -in his hand, his confused and questioning eyes sought Christian once -more. But the latter paid no attention to his friend. A care-worn, -under-nourished woman appeared at the door. Crammon was forced to -speak, and, with inner vexation, said that they had come to ask after -her daughter. The woman, who immediately imagined that her daughter had -had secret affairs with rich gentlemen, stepped aside and let the two -pass her. - - -IV - -What Crammon saw and what Christian saw was not the same thing. - -Crammon saw a dimly lit room, with old chests of drawers that were -smoke-stained, with a bed and the girl Katherine on it covered by the -coarse, red-checked linen, with a cradle in which lay a whining baby. -He saw clothes drying by the oven, the boatman sitting and eating -potato soup, a bench on which a lad was sleeping, and many other -unclean, ugly things. - -To Christian it was like a strange dream of falling. He, too, saw -the boatman and the poor woman and the girl, whose glassy eyes and -convulsed features brought home to him at once the reason for his -visit. But he saw these things as one sees pictures while gliding down -a shaft, pictures that recur at intervals, but are displaced by others -that slip in between them. - -Thus he saw Eva Sorel feeding a walnut to one of her little monkeys. - -The boatman got up and took off his cap. And suddenly Christian saw -Denis Lay and Lord Westmoreland giving each other their white-gloved -hands. It was an insignificant thing; but his vision of it was glaring -and incisive. - -Now the lad on the bench awakened, stretched himself, sat up with a -start, and gave a sombre stare of astonishment at the strangers. The -girl, ill from her horrible experience, turned her head away, and -pulled the coverlet up to her chin. And suddenly Christian saw the -charming vision of Letitia, playing at ball in the great room crossed -by the gleams of lightning; and each thing that he saw had a relation -to some other thing in that other world. - -The curiosity that had brought him hither still kept that unwonted -smile on his face. But he looked helplessly at Crammon now, and he was -sensitive to the indecency of his silent, stupid presence there, the -purposelessness and folly of the whole nocturnal excursion. It seemed -almost intolerable to him now to stay longer in this low-ceiled room, -amid the odour of ill-washed bodies, and clothing that had been worn -for years. - -Up to the last moment he had imagined that he would talk to the girl. -But it was precisely this that he found it impossible to do. He did -not even dare to turn his head to where she lay. Yet he was acutely -conscious of her as he had seen her out there, reeling from the tables -with loose hair and torn bodice. - -When he thought over the words that he might say to her, each seemed -strikingly superfluous and vulgar. - -The boatman looked at him, the woman looked at him. The lad stared -with malevolently squinting eyes, as though he planned a personal -attack. And now there emerged also an old man from behind a partition -where potatoes were stored, and regarded him with dim glances. In the -embarrassment caused him by all these eyes, he advanced a few steps -toward Katherine’s bed. She had turned her face to the wall, and did -not move. In his sudden angry despair he put his hands into pocket -after pocket, found nothing, hardly knew indeed what he sought, felt -the diamond ring on his finger which was a gift of his mother, hastily -drew it off, and threw it on the bed, into the very hands of the girl. -It was the act of one who desired to buy absolution. - -Katherine moved her head, saw the magnificent ring, and contempt and -astonishment, delight and fear, struggled in her face. She looked -up, and then down again, and grew pale. Her face was not beautiful, -and it was disfigured by the emotions she had experienced during the -past hours. An impulse that was utterly mysterious to himself caused -Christian suddenly to laugh cheerfully and heartily. At the same time -he turned with a commanding gesture to Crammon, demanding that they go. - -Crammon had meantime determined to ease the painfulness of the -situation in a practical way. He addressed a few words to the boatman, -who answered in the dialect of Cologne. Then he drew forth two bank -notes and laid them on the table. The boatman looked at the money; the -hands of the woman were stretched out after it. Crammon walked to the -door. - -Five minutes after they had entered the house, they left it again. And -they left it swiftly, like men fleeing. - -While the cab drove over the rough stones of the street, Crammon said -peevishly: “You owe your paymaster a hundred marks. I won’t charge you -for anything except the money. You can’t, I suppose, give me back my -lost sleep.” - -“I shall give you for it the Chinese apple of amber-coloured ivory -about which you were so enthusiastic at Amsterdam,” Christian replied. - -“Do that, my son,” Crammon said, “and do it quickly, or my rage over -this whole business will make me ill.” - -When he got up at noon thoroughly rested, Crammon reflected on the -incident with that philosophic mildness of which, under the right -circumstances, he was capable. After they had had a delightful -breakfast, he filled his short pipe, and discoursed: “Such -extravagances in the style of Haroun al Rashid get you nowhere, my dear -boy. You can’t fathom those sombre depths. Why hunt in unknown lands, -when the familiar ones still have so many charms? Even your humble -servant who sits opposite you is still a very treasure of riddles and -mysteries. That is what a wise poet has strikingly expressed: - - “What know we of the stars, of water or of wind? - What of the dead, to whom the earth is kind? - Of father and mother, or of child and wife? - Our hearts are hungry, but our eyes are blind.” - -Christian smiled coolly. Verses, he thought contemptuously, verses.... - - -V - -When they reached the magnificent structure in the forest of -Schwanheim, they found a great restlessness there and a crowd of -guests. Letitia had not yet arrived; Felix Imhof was expected hourly; -purveyors and postmen came and went uninterruptedly. The place hummed -like a hive. - -Frau Wahnschaffe greeted Christian with restraint and dignity, although -her joy gave her eyes a phosphorescent gleam. Judith looked exhausted, -and paid little attention to her brother. But one evening she suddenly -rushed into his arms, with a strange wild cry that betrayed the -impatience and the hidden desires that had so long preyed on the cold -and ambitious girl. - -Christian felt the cry like a discord, and disengaged himself. - -He and Crammon went hunting or took trips to the neighbouring cities. -Nothing held Christian anywhere. He wanted always to go farther or -elsewhere. His very eyes became restless. When they walked through the -streets, he glanced surreptitiously into the windows of apartments and -into the halls of houses. - -One night they sat in a wine cellar at Mainz, drinking a vintage -that was thirty years old and had a rare bouquet. Crammon, who was -a connoisseur through and through, kept filling his glass with an -enchanted air. “It’s sublime,” he said, and began eating his caviare -sandwich, “simply sublime. These are the realities of life. Here are -my altars, my books of devotion, my relics, the scenes of my silent -prayers. The immortal soul is at rest, and the lofty and unapproachable -lies in the dust behind me.” - -“Talk like a decent man,” said Christian. - -But Crammon, who felt the ecstasy of wine, was not to be deflected. “I -have drunk the draught of earthly delight. I have done it, O friend and -brother, in huts and palaces, North and South, on sea and land. Only -the final fulfilment was denied me. O Ariel, why did you cast me forth?” - -He sighed, and drew from his inner pocket a tiny album in a precious -binding. He always had it with him, for it contained twelve exquisite -photographs of the dancer, Eva Sorel. “She is like a boy,” he said, -wholly absorbed in the pictures, “a slender, swift, unapproachable -boy. She stands on the mystic boundary line of the sexes; she is that -equivocal and twofold thing that maddens men if they but think of flesh -and blood. Elusive she is as a lizard, and chill in love as an Amazon. -Do you not feel a touch of horror, Christian? Does not a cold ichor -trickle through your veins, when you imagine her in your arms, breast -to breast? I feel that horror! For there would be something of the -perverse in it--something of an unnatural violation. He who has touched -her lips is lost. We saw that for ourselves.” - -Christian suddenly felt a yearning to be alone in a forest, in a dark -and silent forest. He did feel a sense of horror, but in a way utterly -alien to Crammon’s thought. He looked at the older man, and it was -hard for him to comprehend that there, opposite him, sat his familiar -friend, whose face and form he had seen a thousand times unreflectively. - -Crammon, contemplating the photograph on which Eva appeared dancing -with a basket of grapes, began again: “Sweetest Ariel, they are all -harlots, all, all, all, whether shameless and wild or fearful and -secretive: you alone are pure--a vestal, a half-ghost, a weaver of -silk, like the spider, who conquers the air upon her half-spun web. Let -us drink, O friend! We are made of dirt, and must be medicined by fire!” - -He drained his glass, rested his head upon his hand, and sank into -melancholy contemplation. - -Suddenly Christian said: “Bernard, I believe that we must part.” - -Crammon stared at him, as though he had not heard right. - -“I believe that we must part,” Christian repeated softly and with an -indistinct smile. “I fear that we are no longer suited to each other. -You must go your ways, and I shall go mine.” - -Crammon’s face became dark red with astonishment and rage. He brought -his fist down on the table and gritted his teeth. “What do you mean? Do -you think you can send me packing as though I were a servant? Me?” He -arose, took his hat and coat, and went. - -Christian sat there for long with his thoughts. The indistinct smile -remained on his lips. - -When Christian, on awakening next day, rang for his valet, Crammon -entered the room in the man’s stead and made a deep bow. Over his -left arm he had Christian’s garments, in his right hand his boots. He -said good-morning quite in the valet’s tone, laid the clothes on a -chair, set the boots on the floor, asked whether the bath was to be -prepared at once, and what Herr Wahnschaffe desired for breakfast. And -he did all this with complete seriousness, with an almost melancholy -seriousness, and with a certain charm within the rôle he was assuming -that could not fail to be pleasing. - -Christian was forced to laugh. He held out his hand to Crammon. But -the latter, refusing to abandon his acting, drew back, and bowed in -embarrassment. He pulled the curtains aside, opened the windows, spread -the fresh shirt, the socks, the cravat, and went, only to return a -little later with the breakfast tray. After he had set the table and -put the plates and cups in order, he stood with heels touching and -head gently inclined forward. Finally, when Christian laughed again, -the expression of his features altered, and he asked half-mockingly, -half-defiantly: “Are you still prepared to assert that you can get -along without me?” - -“It’s impossible to close accounts with you, dear Bernard,” Christian -answered. - -“It is not one of my habits to leave the table when only the soup has -been served,” Crammon said. “When my time comes I trundle myself off -without urging. But I don’t permit myself to be sent away.” - -“Stay, Bernard,” Christian answered. He was shamed by his friend. “Only -stay!” And their hands clasped. - -But it almost seemed to Christian that his friend had really in a sense -become a servant, that he was one now, at all events, toward whom one -no longer had the duty of intimate openness, with whom no inner bond -united one--a companion merely. - -From that time on, jests and superficial persiflage were dominant -in their conversations, and Crammon either did not see or failed -very intentionally to observe that his relations with Christian had -undergone a fundamental change. - - -VI - -The arrival of the Argentinian caused a commotion among the guests of -the house of Wahnschaffe. He had exotic habits. He pressed the hands -of the ladies to whom he was presented with such vigour that they -suppressed a cry of pain. Whenever he came down the stairs he stopped -a few steps from the bottom, swung himself over the balustrade like an -acrobat, and went on as though this were the most natural thing in the -world. He had presented the countess with a Pekingese dog, and whenever -he met the animal he tweaked its ear so that it howled horribly. And -he did not do that merrily or with a smile, but in a dry, businesslike -manner. - -Among the numerous trunks that he brought with him, one was arranged -in the form of a travelling pharmacy. Screwed down tightly in -neat compartments there were all possible mixtures, powders, and -medicaments; there were little boxes, tubes, jars, and glasses. If any -one complained of indisposition, he at once pointed out the appropriate -remedy in his trunk, and recommended it urgently. - -Felix Imhof had taken an enthusiastic fancy to him. Whenever he could -get hold of him, he took him aside, and questioned him regarding his -country, his plans and undertakings, his outer and his inner life. - -Judith, who was jealous, resented this bitterly. She made scenes for -the benefit of Felix, and reproached Letitia for her failure to absorb -Stephen Gunderam’s attention. - -Letitia was astonished, and her eyes grew large. With innocent coquetry -she asked: “What can I do about it?” - -Judith’s answer was cynical. “One must study to please the men.” - -She hated the Argentinian. Yet when she was alone with him she sought -to ensnare him. Had it been possible to alienate him from Letitia, she -would have done so out of sheer insatiableness. - -Her eyes glittered with a constant and secret desire. She went to the -theatre with Imhof, Letitia, and Stephen to see Edgar Lorm in “The -Jewess of Toledo.” The applause which was so richly given to the actor -stirred the very depth of her soul and filled it with more piercing -desire. But whether she desired the man or the artist, his art or his -fame, she was herself unable to tell. - -She waited impatiently for Crammon, of whose friendship with Lorm she -had heard. He was to bring the actor to the house with him. She was -accustomed to have all men come after whom she cast her hook. They -usually bit, were served up, and then enjoyed in proportion to their -excellence of flavour. The household consumption of people was large. - -But Crammon and Christian did not return until Lorm’s visit to -Frankfort was over. So Judith fell into an evil mood, and tormented all -about her without reason. Had her wish been fulfilled, her flickering -soul, that needed ever new nourishment, might have been calmed. Now she -buried herself stubbornly in the thought of what had passed by her. - - -VII - -Crammon and Christian had been spending a week with Clementine and -Franz Lothar von Westernach in Styria. Clementine had summoned Crammon -for the sake of her brother, who had recently returned from a stay in -Hungary with a deeply shaken mind. - -Crammon and Franz Lothar were very old friends. The latter’s profession -of diplomacy had made the frank and flexible man reserved and -difficult. He took his profession seriously, although he did not love -it. A hypochondriacal state of the nerves had developed in him, even in -his youth. - -Christian’s sympathy went out to him in his present state. He felt -tempted to question the man who sat so still and with a dim stare in -his eyes. Clementine, in her empty chattering manner, gave Crammon -directions for his behaviour, at which he shrugged his shoulders. - -She said that she had written to her cousin, Baron Ebergeny, on whose -estate in Syrmia Franz had been a guest. But the baron, who was half a -peasant, had been able to give her no explanation of any real import. -He had merely pointed out that he and Franz Lothar, on one of the last -days of the latter’s presence, had witnessed the burning of a barn at -Orasje, a neighbouring village, during which many people had lost their -lives. - -No information was to be obtained from Franz Lothar himself. He -was steadily silent. His sister redoubled her care, but his sombre -reticence only increased. Perhaps Crammon was capable of some tone, -some glance, that pierced and melted his petrified soul. One evening, -at all events, the unexpected happened. Crammon learnt that the burning -of the barn was the real cause of his morbid melancholy. - -According to her custom, Clementine had gone to bed early. Christian, -Crammon, and Franz Lothar sat silently together. Suddenly--without any -external impetus--Franz covered his face with his hands, and deep sobs -came from his breast. Crammon sought to soothe him. He stroked his hair -and grasped his hands. In vain. The sobbing became a convulsion that -shook the man’s body violently. - -Christian sat without moving. A bitterness rose in his throat, for -there came to him with unexpected power a sense of the essential -reality of the spiritual pain that was being uttered here. - -The convulsion ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Franz Lothar arose, -walked up and down with dragging footsteps, and said: “You shall hear -how it was.” Thereupon he sat down and told them. - -In the village of Orasje a dance had been planned. No hall was -available, and so the large, well-boarded barn of a peasant was -prepared. Numerous lamps were hung up, and the wooden walls adorned -with flowers and foliage. According to a local custom, the magnates on -all the neighbouring estates and their families received invitations to -attend the festivity. A mounted messenger delivered these solemnly by -word of mouth. - -Franz Lothar begged his brother to take him to the peasants’ ball. -He had long heard stories in praise of the picturesqueness of these -feasts: the snow-white garments of the men, the strong and varied -colours of the women’s, the national dances, the primitive music. There -was a promise in all these, both of pleasure and of a knowledge of new -folk-ways. - -They intended to drive over at a late hour when the dancing had already -begun. Two young countesses and the latters’ brother, all members of -their circle, planned to join them. But in the end the others went -first, for the young ladies did not want to miss any of the dancing. -Franz Lothar had long and cordially admired the Countess Irene, who was -the older of the two. - -Several days before the ball, however, a quarrel had broken out -between the youths and maidens of Orasje. On the way to church, a -lad, whom a seventeen-year-old beauty had given too rude an evidence -of her dislike, had put a live mouse on her naked shoulder. The girl -ran crying to her companions, and they sent an envoy to the youths, -demanding that the guilty one apologize. - -The demand was refused. There was laughter and teasing. But they -insisted on this punishment, although they were repeated their demand -in a more drastic form. When it was refused a second time they -determined to invite to their ball the young men of Gradiste, between -whom and those of Orasje there was a feud of many years’ standing. -They knew the insult they were inflicting on the youths of their own -village. But they insisted on this punishment, although they were -warned even by their fathers and mothers, and by loud and silent -threats which should have inspired them with fear. - -The youths of Gradiste were, of course, loudly triumphant over their -cheap victory. On the evening of the dance they appeared without -exception, handsomely dressed, and accompanied by their own village -band. Of the youths of Orasje not one was to be seen. In the twilight -they passed in ghostly procession through the streets of the village, -and were then seen no more. - -The elders and the married folk of Orasje sat at tables in their yards -and gardens, and chatted. But they were not as care-free as on other -festive evenings, for they felt the vengeful mood of their sons, and -feared it. They drank their wine and listened to the music. In the barn -over three hundred young people were assembled. The air was sultry, and -the dancers were bathed in sweat. Suddenly, while they were dancing a -Czarda, the two great doors of the barn were simultaneously slammed to -from without. Those who saw it and heard it ceased dancing. And now -a powerful and disturbing noise broke in upon the loud and jubilant -sound of the instruments. It was the sound of hammers, and a sharp and -terror-shaken voice called out: “They are nailing up the doors.” - -The music stopped. In a moment the atmosphere had become suffocating. -As though turned to stone, they all stared at the doors. Their blood -seemed to congeal under the terrible blows of the hammers. Loud and -mingled voices came to them from without. The older people there raised -their protesting voices. The voices grew loud and wild, and then rose -to desperate shrieks and howls. Then it began to crackle and hiss. The -blows of the hammers had shaken down a lamp. The petroleum had caught -on fire, and the dry boarding of the floor flared like tinder that -could no longer be extinguished. - -All reason and all human restraints fled. In the twinkling of an eye -the three hundred became like wild beasts. With the violence of mania -the youths hurled themselves against the locked doors; but these -had been built of heavy oak, and resisted all exertions. The girls -shrieked madly; and since the smoke and the fumes did not all float -out through the cracks in the walls and through the small, star-shaped -window-holes, the girls drew up their skirts about their heads. Others -threw themselves moaning to the floor; and when they were trodden on by -the others, who surged so madly to and fro, they writhed convulsively, -and stretched out their arms. Soon the dry woodwork had become a mass -of flame. The heat was intolerable. Many tore off their garments, both -youths and maidens, and in the terror and the torment of death, united -in the wild embraces of a sombre ecstasy, and wrung from their doomed -lives an ultimate sting of delight. - -These embracing couples Franz Lothar saw later with his own eyes as -lumps of cinders amid the smoking ruins. He arrived with his cousin, -when the whole horror had already taken place. They had seen the -reflection of the flames in the sky from afar, and whipped up their -horses. From the neighbouring villages streamed masses of people. But -they came too late to help. The barn had been burned down within five -minutes, and all within, except five or six, had found their death. - -Among the victims was also the Countess Irene, her sister and brother. -Terrible as this was, it added but little to the unspeakable horror -of the whole catastrophe. The image of that place of ruins; the sight -of the smouldering corpses; their odour and the odour of blood and -burned hair and garments; the pied, short-haired village dogs, who -crept with greedy growls about this vast hearth of cooked flesh; the -distorted faces of the suffocated, whose bodies lay untouched amid the -other burned and blackened ones; the loud or silent grief of mothers, -fathers, brothers; the Syrmian night, fume-filled to the starry -sky,--these things rained blow on blow upon the spirit of Franz Lothar, -and caused a black despair to creep into the inmost convolutions of his -brain. - -It eased him that he had at last found the release of speech. He sat by -the window, and looked out into the dark. - -Crammon, a sinister cloud upon his lined forehead, said: “Only with a -whip can the mob be held in leash. What I regret is the abolition of -torture. The devil take all humanitarian twaddle!” Then he went out and -put his arms about Lothar and kissed him. - -But Christian felt a sense of icy chill and rigidness steal over him. - -Their departure was set for the next morning. Crammon entered the room -of Christian, who was so lost in thoughts that he did not reply to the -greeting of his friend. “Look here, what’s wrong with you?” Crammon -exclaimed, as he examined him. “Have you looked in the glass?” - -Christian had dispensed with his valet on this trip, or the slight -accident could not have happened. The colours of his suit and his -cravat presented an obvious discord. - -“I’m rather absent-minded to-day,” Christian said, half-smiling. He -took off the cravat, and replaced it by another. It took him three -times as long as usual. Crammon walked impatiently up and down. - - -VIII - -Confusion seized upon Christian whenever he sought to think about the -condition in which he found himself. - -In his breast there was an emptiness which nothing could fill from -without, and about him was a rigid armour that hindered all freedom of -movement. He yearned to fill the emptiness and to burst the armour. - -His mother became anxious, and said: “You look peaked, Christian. Is -anything wrong with you?” He assured her that there was nothing. But -she knew better, and inquired of Crammon: “What ails Christian? He is -so still and pale.” - -Crammon answered: “Dear lady, that is his style of personality. -Experiences carve his face. Has it not grown nobler and prouder? You -need fear nothing. He follows his road firmly and unwaveringly. And so -long as I am with him, nothing evil can happen to him.” - -Frau Wahnschaffe was moved in her faint way, though still in doubt, and -gave him her hand. - -Crammon said to Christian: “The countess has made a great catch--a -person from overseas. Quite fitting.” - -“Do you like the man?” Christian asked, uncertainly. - -“God forbid that I should think evil of him,” Crammon replied, -hypocritically. “He is from so far away, and will go so far away again, -that I cannot but find him congenial. If he takes that child Letitia -with him, he shall be accompanied by my blessings. Whether it will mean -her happiness, that is a matter I refuse to be anxious about. Such -remote distances have, at all events, something calming. The Argentine, -the Rio de la Plata! Dear me, it might just as well be the moon!” - -Christian laughed. Yet the figure of Crammon, as it stood there before -him, seemed to dissolve into a mist, and he suppressed what he still -had to say. - -Twenty-three of the guest rooms were occupied. People arrived and -left. Scarcely did one begin to recognize a face, when it disappeared -again. Men and women, who had met but yesterday, associated quite -intimately to-day, and said an eternal farewell to-morrow. A certain -Herr von Wedderkampf, a business associate of the elder Wahnschaffe, -had brought his four daughters. Fräulein von Einsiedel arranged to -settle down for the winter, for her parents were in process of being -divorced. Wolfgang, who was spending his vacation at home, had brought -with him three student friends. All these people were in a slightly -exalted mood, made elaborate plans for their amusement, wrote letters -and received them, dined, flirted, played music, were excited and -curious, witty and avid for pleasure, continued to carry on their -worldly affairs from here, and assumed an appearance of friendliness, -innocence, and freedom from care. - -Liveried servants ran up and down the stairs, electric bells trilled, -motor car horns tooted, tables were laid, lamps shone, jewels -glittered. Behind one door they flirted, behind another they brewed a -scandal. In the hall with the fair marble columns sat smiling couples. -It was a world thoroughly differentiated from those quite accidental -modern groupings at places where one pays. It was full of a common will -to oblige, of secret understandings, and of social charm. - -Letitia had gone with her aunt to spend a week in Munich. She did -not return until the third day after Christian’s arrival. Christian -was glad to see her. Yet he could not bring himself to enter into -conversation with her. - - -IX - -One morning he sat at breakfast with his father. He marvelled how -strange to him was this gentleman with the white, parted hair, with the -elegantly clipped and divided beard and the rosy complexion. - -Herr Wahnschaffe treated him with very great courtesy. He inquired -after the social relations that Christian had formed in England, -and commented upon his son’s frugal answers with instructive remarks -concerning men and things. “It is well for Germans to gain ground -there--useful and necessary.” - -He discussed the threatening clouds in the political sky, and expressed -his disapproval of Germany’s attitude during the Moroccan crisis. -But Christian remained silent, through want of interest and through -ignorance, and his father became visibly cooler, took up his paper, and -began to read. - -What a stranger he is to me, Christian thought, and searched for a -pretext that would let him rise and leave. At that moment Wolfgang came -to the table, and talked about the results of the races at Baden-Baden. -His voice annoyed Christian, and he escaped. - -It happened that Judith was sitting in the library and teased him about -Letitia. Then Letitia herself and Crammon entered chatting. Felix -Imhof soon joined them. Letitia took a book, and carefully avoided, -as was clear, looking in Christian’s direction. Then those three left -the room again, and Judith listened with pallor to their retreating -voices, for she had heard Felix pay Letitia a compliment. “Perhaps she -is committing a great folly,” she said. Then she turned to her brother. -“Why are you so silent?” She wrinkled her forehead, and rested her -folded hands on his shoulder. “We are all merry and light hearted here, -and you are so changed. Don’t you like to be among us? Isn’t it lovely -here at home? And if you don’t like it, can’t you go at any time? Why -are you so moody?” - -“I hardly know; I am not moody,” Christian replied. “One cannot always -be laughing.” - -“You’ll stay until my wedding, won’t you?” Judith continued, and raised -her brows. “I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.” Christian nodded, and -then she said with a friendly urgency, “Why don’t you ever talk to me, -you bear? Ask me something!” - -Christian smiled. “Very well, I’ll ask you something,” he said. “Are -you contented, Judith? Is your heart at peace?” - -Judith laughed. “That’s asking too much at once! You used not to be so -forthright.” Then she leaned forward, with her elbows on her knees, -and spread out her hands. “We Wahnschaffes can never be contented. All -that we have is too little, for there is always so much that one has -not. I’m afraid I shall be like the fisherman’s wife in the fairy tale. -Or, rather, I’m not afraid but glad at the thought that I’ll send my -fisherman back to the fish in the sea again and again. Then I shall -know, at least, what he is willing to risk.” - -Christian regarded his beautiful sister, and heard the temerity of -her words. There was an audacity about her gestures, her words, her -bright, clear voice, and the glow of her eyes. He remembered how he -had sat one evening with Eva Sorel; and she had been as near him as -Judith was now. In silent ecstasy he had looked at Eva’s hands, and she -had raised her left hand and held it against the lamp, and though the -radiance outlined only the more definitely the noble form of the rosy -translucence of her flesh, the dark shadow of the bony structure had -been plainly visible. And Eva had said: “Ah, Eidolon, the kernel knows -nothing of beauty.” - -Christian arose and asked almost sadly: “You will know what he risks. -But will that teach you to know what you gain?” - -Judith looked up at him in surprise, and her face darkened. - - -X - -One day he entered the sitting-room of his mother, but she was not -there. He approached the door that led to her bedroom, and knocked. -When he received no answer, he opened it. She was not in this room -either. Looking about, he became aware of a brown silk dress trimmed -with lace that belonged to his mother and that had been put on a form. -And for a second he seemed to see her before him, but without a head. -He fell to thinking, and the same thought came to him that he had had -in his father’s presence: What a stranger she is to me! And the dress, -that hid only the wicker form, became an image of his mother, more -recognizable to him than her living body. - -For there was about her something impenetrable and inexplicable--the -rigid attitude, the hopeless mien, the dull eye, the rough voice that -had no resonance, her whole joyless character. She, in whose house all -made merry, and whose whole activity and being seemed dedicated to give -others the opportunity of delight, was herself utterly barren of joy. - -But she had the most magnificent pearls in Europe. And all men knew -this and esteemed her for it and boasted of it. - -Christian’s self-deception went so far, that he was about to talk to -that hollow form more intimately than he would have done to his living -mother. A question leaped to his lips, a tender and cheerful word. Then -he heard her footsteps, and was startled. He turned around, and seemed -to see her double. - -She was not surprised at meeting him here. She was rarely surprised at -anything. She sat down on a chair and her eyes were empty. - -She discussed Imhof, who had introduced a Jewish friend of his to the -house. She deprecated association with Jews as a practice. She added -that Wahnschaffe--she always called her husband so--agreed with her. - -She expressed her disapproval of Judith’s engagement. “Wahnschaffe is -really opposed to this marriage too,” she said, “but it was difficult -to find a pretext to refuse. If Judith sets her heart on anything! -Well, you know her! I am afraid her chief ambition was to get ahead of -her friend Letitia.” - -Christian looked up in amazement. His mother did not observe it, and -continued: “With all his good qualities Imhof does not seem reliable. -He is a plunger, and restless and changeable as a weather vane. Of the -ten millions which his foster father left him, five or six are already -lost through speculation and extravagance. What is your judgment of -him?” - -“I haven’t really thought about it,” Christian answered. This -conversation was beginning to weary him. - -“Then, too, his origin is obscure. He was a foundling. Old Martin -Imhof, whom Wahnschaffe knew, by the way, and who belonged to one of -the first patrician families of Düsseldorf, is said to have adopted -him under peculiar circumstances. He was an old bachelor, and had a -reputation for misanthropy. At last he was quite alone in the world, -and absolutely adored this strange child. Hadn’t you heard about that?” - -“Some rumour, yes,” Christian said. - -“Well, now tell me something about yourself, my son,” Frau Wahnschaffe -asked, with a changed expression and with a smile of suffering. - -But Christian had no answer. His world and his mother’s world--he saw -no bridge between the two. And as the knowledge came to him, another -matter also became clear. And it was this, that there was likewise no -bridge between the world of his conscious life and another that lay -far behind it, misty and menacing, luring and terrible at once, which -he did not understand, nor know, of which he had not even a definite -presage, but which had come to him only as a vision through flashes of -lightning, or as a dream or in a swift touch of horror. - -He kissed his mother’s hand, and hastened out. - - -XI - -In spite of a gently persistent rain, he walked with Letitia through -the twilit park. Many times they wandered up and down the path from the -hot-houses to the pavillion, and heard the sound of a piano from the -house. Fräulein von Einsiedel was playing. - -At first their conversation was marked by long pauses. Something in -Letitia was beseeching: Take me, take me! Christian understood. He -wore his arrogant smile, but he did not dare to look at her. “I love -music heard from afar,” Letitia said. “Don’t you, Christian?” - -He drew his raincoat tighter about him, and replied: “I care little -about music.” - -“Then you have a bad heart, or at least a hard one.” - -“It may be that I have a bad heart; it is certainly hard.” - -Letitia flushed, and asked: “What do you love? I mean what things. -What?” The archness of her expression did not entirely conceal the -seriousness of her question. - -“What things I love?” he repeated lingeringly, “I don’t know. Does one -have to love things? One uses them. That is all.” - -“Oh, no!” Letitia cried, and her deep voice brought a peculiar -warmth to Christian. “Oh, no! Things exist to be loved. Flowers, for -instance, and stars. One loves them. If I hear a beautiful song or see -a beautiful picture, at once something cries within me: That is mine, -mine!” - -“And do you feel that too when a bird suddenly drops down and dies, as -you have seen it happen? Or when a wounded deer dies before you when -you are hunting?” Christian asked, hesitatingly. - -Letitia was silent, and looked at him with a touch of fear. The glance -of her eyes was inexpressibly grateful to him. Take me, take me, that -silent voice pleaded with him again. “But those are not things,” she -said softly, “they are living beings.” - -His voice was gentler than hitherto when he spoke again: “All things -that are fragrant and glowing, that serve adornment and delight are -yours indeed, Letitia. But what are mine?” He stood still, and asked -again with a look of inner distress which shook Letitia’s soul. Never -had she expected such words or such a tone of him. - -Her glance reminded him: you kissed me once! Think of it--you kissed me -once! - -“When is your wedding going to be?” he asked, and his lids twitched a -little. - -“I don’t know exactly. We’re not even formally engaged at present,” -Letitia answered, laughing. “He has declared that I must be his wife -and won’t be contradicted. Christmas my mother is coming to Heidelberg, -and then, I suppose, the wedding will take place. What I do look -forward to is the voyage overseas and the strange country.” And in her -radiant eyes flamed up the impassioned plea: Oh, take me, take me! -My yearning is so great! But with a coquettish turn of the head, she -asked: “How do you like Stephen?” - -He did not answer her question, but said softly: “Some one is watching -us from the house.” - -Letitia whispered: “He is jealous of the very earth and air.” It began -to rain harder, and so they turned their steps toward the house. And -Christian felt that he loved her. - -An hour later he entered the smoking room. Imhof, Crammon, Wolfgang, -and Stephen Gunderam sat about a round table, and played poker. The -demeanour of each accorded with his character: Imhof was superior and -talkative, Crammon absent-minded and sombre, Wolfgang distrustful and -excited. Stephen Gunderam’s face was stonily impassive. He was as -utterly dedicated to his occupation as a somnambulist. He has been -winning uninterruptedly, and a little mountain of bank notes and gold -was rising in front of him. Crammon and Imhof moved aside to make room -for Christian. At that moment Stephen jumped up. Holding his cards in -his hand, he stared at Christian with eyes full of hatred. - -Christian regarded him with amazement. But when the other three, rather -surprised, also moved to get up, Stephen Gunderam sank back into his -chair, and said with sombre harshness: “Let us play on. May I ask for -four cards?” - -Christian left the neighbourhood of the table. He felt that he loved -Letitia. His whole heart loved her, tenderly and with longing. - - -XII - -A discharged workman had lain in wait one evening for the automobile of -Herr Albrecht Wahnschaffe. When the car slowed up and approached the -gate of the park, the assassin, hidden by the bushes, had stealthily -shot at his former employer. - -The bullet only grazed its victim’s arms. The wound was slight, but -Albrecht Wahnschaffe had to remain in bed for several days. After his -deed the criminal had escaped under cover of darkness. It was not until -next morning that the police succeeded in catching him. - -This happening, inconsiderable as were its consequences, had disturbed -for a little the merry life in the house of Wahnschaffe. Several -persons left. Among these was Herr von Wedderkampf, who told his -daughters that the ground here was getting too hot for his feet. - -But on the third evening every one was dancing again. - -It surprised Christian. He did not understand such swift forgetfulness. -He was surprised at the equanimity of his mother, the care-free mood of -his sister and brother. - -He wished to learn the name of that workingman, but no one knew. He was -told that the man’s name was Müller. Also that it was Schmidt. He was -surprised. Nor did any one seem to know exactly what motive impelled -the man to his deed. One said that it had been mere vengefulness, the -result of the flame of class hatred systematically fanned. Another said -that only a lunatic could be capable of such a deed. - -Whatever it was, this shot fired from ambush by an unknown man for an -unknown cause was not quite the same to Christian as it was to all the -others who lived about him and sought their pleasure in their various -ways. It forced him to meditation. His meditation was aimless and -fruitless enough. But it was serious, and caused him strange suffering. - -He would have liked to see the man. He would have liked to look into -his face. - -Crammon said: “Another case that makes it clear as day that the -discarding of torture has simply made the canaille more insolent. What -admirable inventions for furthering discipline and humanity were the -stocks and the pillory!” - -Christian visited his father, who sat in an armchair with his arm in a -sling. A highly conservative newspaper was spread out before him. Herr -Wahnschaffe said: “I trust that you and your friends are not practising -any undue restraint. I could not endure the thought of darkening the -mood of my guests by so much as a breath.” - -Christian was astonished at this courtesy, this distinction and -temperance, this amiable considerateness. - - -XIII - -Deep in the woods, amid ruins, Stephen Gunderam demanded of Letitia -that she decide his fate. - -A picnic in very grand style had been arranged; Letitia and Stephen had -remained behind here; and thus it had happened. - -Around them arose the ancient tree-trunks and the immemorial walls. -Above the tree-tops extended the pallid blue of the autumnal sky. His -knees upon the dry foliage, a man, using sublime and unmeasured words, -asserted his eternal love. Letitia could not withstand the scene and -him. - -Stephen Gunderam said: “If you refuse me nothing is left me but to put -a bullet through my head. I have had it in readiness for long. I swear -to you by the life of my father that I speak truly.” - -Could a girl as gentle and as easily persuaded as Letitia assume the -responsibility for such blood-guiltiness? And she gave her consent. She -did not think of any fetter, nor of the finality of such a decision, -nor of time nor of its consequences, nor of him to whom her soul was to -belong. She thought only of this moment, and that there was one here -who had spoken to her these sublime and unmeasured words. - -Stephen Gunderam leaped up, folded her in his arms and cried: “From now -on you belong to me through all eternity--every breath, every thought, -every dream of yours is mine and mine only! Never forget that--never!” - -“Let me go, you terrible man!” Letitia said, but with a shiver of -delight. She felt herself carried voluptuously upon a wave of romance. -Her nerves began to vibrate, her glance shimmered and broke. For the -first time she felt the stir of the flesh. With a soft cry she glided -from his grasp. - -Even on the way home they received congratulations. Crammon slunk -quietly away. When Christian came and gave Letitia his hand, there -was in her eyes a restless expectation, a fantastic joy that he -could not understand at all. He could not fathom what she hid behind -this expression. He could not guess that even at this moment she was -faithlessly withdrawing herself from him to whom she had just entrusted -her life, its every breath and thought and dream, and that in her -innocent but foolish way she desired to convey to Christian a sense of -this fact. - -He loved her. From hour to hour his love grew. He felt it to be almost -an inner law that he must love her--a command which said to him: This -is she to whom you must turn; a message whose burden was: In her shall -you find yourself. - -He seemed to be hearing the voice of Eva: Your path was from me to her. -I taught you to feel. Now give that feeling to a waiting heart. You -can shape it and mould it and yourself. Let it not be extinguished nor -flicker out and die. - -Thus the inner voice seemed to speak. - - -XIV - -Crammon, the thrice hardened, had a dream wherein some one reproved him -for standing by idly, while his flesh and blood was being sold to an -Argentinian ranchman. So he went to the countess, and asked her if she -indeed intended to send the tender child into a land of savages. “Don’t -you feel any dread at the thought of her utter isolation in these -regions of the farthest South?” he asked her, and rolled his hands in -and out, which gave him the appearance of an elderly usurer. - -“What are you thinking of, Herr von Crammon?” The countess was -indignant. “What right have you to question me? Or do you happen to -know a better man for her, a wealthier, more distinguished, more -presentable one? Do you imagine one can be happy only in Europe? I’ve -had a look at a good many people. They ran after us by the dozen at -Interlaken, Aix-les-Bains, at Geneva and Zürich and Baden-Baden--old -and young, Frenchmen and Russians, Germans and Englishmen, counts and -millionaires. We didn’t start out with any particular craze for the -exotic. Your friend Christian can bear witness to that! But he, I dare -say, thought himself too good for us. It’s bad enough that I have to -let my darling go across the ocean, without your coming to me and -making my heart heavier than ever!” - -But Crammon was not to be talked down. “Consider the matter very -carefully once more,” he said. “The responsibility is tremendous. Do -you realize that venomous snakes exist in those regions whose bite -kills within five seconds? I have read of storms that uproot the most -powerful trees and overturn houses nine stories high. So far as I have -been informed, certain tribes native to Terra del Fuego still practise -cannibalism. Furthermore, there are species of ants that attack human -beings and devour them bodily. The heat of summer is said to be -insufferable, and equally so the cold of winter. It is an inhospitable -region, countess, and a dirty one with dangerous inhabitants. I want -you to consider the whole matter carefully once more.” - -The countess was rather overcome. Delighted with the effect of his -words, Crammon left her with head erect. - -That evening, when Letitia was already in bed, the countess, with -arms crossed on her bosom, walked up and down in the girl’s room. Her -conscience was heavy, but she hardly knew how to begin a discussion. -All afternoon she had been writing letters and addressing announcements -of the engagement, and now she was tired. The little dog, Puck, -meanwhile sat on a silken pillow in the adjoining room, and barked -shrilly and without cause from time to time. - -Letitia stared into the dim space above her with eyes that gleamed -softly with the mystery of dreams. So rapt was she that if one had -pressed a pin into her flesh she would not have noticed it. - -At last the countess conquered herself sufficiently. She sat down -near the bed, and took Letitia’s hands into her own. “Is it true, -sweetheart,” she began, “and did Stephen tell you about all these -things that Herr von Crammon speaks of--venomous snakes and cannibals -and tornadoes and wild ants and frightful heat and cold in this -terrible country that you’re going to? If all this is true, I want to -beseech you to reconsider very thoroughly this step that you’re about -to take.” - -Letitia laughed a deep and hearty laugh. “Are you beginning to get -frightened now, auntie?” she cried, “just as I’ve been dreaming about -the future! Crammon has played an ill-timed prank. That is all. Stephen -never lies, and according to his description the Argentine is a -veritable earthly paradise. Do listen, auntie!” She said this with an -air of mystery, moved to the edge of her bed, and regarded the countess -full of confidence and delight. “The land is full of peaches as large -as a child’s head and of the most exquisite flavour. They are so -plentiful that those that cannot be eaten or sold are piled up in great -heaps and burned. They have game of all sorts, which they prepare in -wonderful ways quite unknown in Europe, and fishes and fowl and honey, -the rarest vegetables, and everything that the heart can desire.” - -The countess’ face brightened. She petted Letitia’s arm, and said: -“Well, of course, in that case, and if it is really so....” - -But Letitia went on: “When I’ve become thoroughly acclimated and -familiar with everything, I’ll ask you, dear aunt, to come out to us. -You’ll have a house of your own, a charming villa all overgrown with -flowers. Your pantries shall be filled afresh daily and you shall have -a marble bath next to your bedroom. You’ll be able to get into it as -often as you like, and you will have Negro women to wait on you.” - -“That is right, my darling,” the countess answered, and her face was -transfigured with delight. “Whether it’s a paradise or not, I am pretty -sure that it will be dirty. And dirt, as you know, is something I hate -almost as much as poisonous serpents or cannibals.” - -“Don’t be afraid, auntie,” said Letitia, “we’ll lead a wonderful life -there.” - -The countess was calmed, and embraced Letitia with overwhelming -gratitude. - - -XV - -In order to escape from the confusion at Wahnschaffe Castle, as the -new house was known, Christian and Crammon retired for several days to -Christian’s Rest. Scarcely had they settled down, when they were joined -by Judith and her companion, by Letitia and Fräulein von Einsiedel. - -The countess and Stephen Gunderam had gone to Heidelberg, where they -were expecting Frau von Febronius. Letitia was to follow them a week -later. Felix had been summoned to Leipzig, where he was to join in -the founding of a great new publishing house. After his return to the -castle, his and Judith’s wedding was to take place. - -Judith announced that she intended to enjoy the last days of her -liberty. It had not needed much persuasion to bring Letitia with her. -The companion and Fräulein von Einsiedel were regarded as chaperones, -and so with laughter and merriment these four surprised Christian and -Crammon suddenly. - -The weather was beautiful, though somewhat cold. They passed most of -their time out of doors, walking in the woods, playing golf, arranging -picnics. The evenings flew by in cheerful talk. Once Crammon read to -them Goethe’s “Torquato Tasso,” and imitated the intonation and the -rhythms of Edgar Lorm so deceptively that Judith grew excited and -could not hear enough. She was attracted by the very imitation that -he practised; to Letitia the verses were like wine; Fräulein von -Einsiedel, who had been mourning a lost love for years, struggled with -her tears at many passages. Judith, on the other hand, saw an adored -image in a magic mirror, and when the reading was over, turned the -conversation to Lorm, and besought Crammon to tell her about him. - -Crammon did as she desired. He told her of the actor’s romantic -friendship with a king, of his first marriage to a fair-haired Jewess. -He had loved her madly, and she had left him suddenly and fled to -America. He had followed her thither, and tracked her from place to -place, but all his efforts to win her back had been in vain. He had -returned in grave danger of losing himself and wasting his talent. -Lonely and divided in his soul, he had tried to settle in various -places. He had broken his contracts, been outlawed by the managers, -and barely tolerated by the public as a dangerous will o’ the wisp. At -last, however, his genius had fought down all unfortunate circumstances -as well as the weaknesses of his own nature, and he was now the most -radiant star in the heaven of his art. - -When Crammon had ended, Judith came up to him and stroked his cheeks. -“That was charming, Crammon. I want you to be rewarded.” - -Crammon laughed in his deepest bass voice, and answered: “Then I ask as -my reward that you four ladies return to-morrow morning to the castle, -and leave my friend Christian and me to each other’s silence. Isn’t it -true, Christian, dear boy? We like to brood over the mysteries of the -world.” - -“The brute!” they cried out, “the traitor! The base intriguer!” But it -was only a jesting indignation. Their return had really been set for -the next day. - -Christian arose and said: “Bernard is not wrong when he says we desire -silence. It is lovely to be surrounded by loveliness. But you girls are -too restless and unquiet.” He had spoken in jest. But as he passed his -hand over his forehead, one could see the deep seriousness in his heart. - -They all looked at him. There was something strangely proud about his -appearance. Letitia’s heart beat. When he looked at her, her eyes fell -and she blushed deeply. She loved all that he was, all that lay behind -him, all that he had experienced, all women he had loved, all men from -whom he came or to whom he went. - -Suddenly she remembered the little golden toad. She had brought it with -her and she determined to give it to him to-day. But to do that she -wanted to be alone with him. - - -XVI - -It was her wish that their meeting be at night, and she gave him a -sign. Unnoticed by the others, she succeeded in whispering to him that -she would come to him that night with a gift. He was to wait for her. - -He looked at her without a word. When she glided away, his lips -throbbed. - -After midnight, when all were asleep in the house, she left her -chamber, and mounted to the upper floor where Christian had his rooms. -She went softly but without especial fear. Bending her head forward, -she held in her hands the folds of the white silken over-garment that -she wore. Its transparent texture was more like a white shimmer, a -pearly gleam upon her flesh than a garment. It was doubled only about -her waist and bosom, and her steps were impeded by a satin riband -about her knees. Thus, while her pulses throbbed, she had to trip, to -her own amusement, like the Geisha girls she had seen in a theatre. - -When Christian had locked the door behind her, she leaned against it in -sudden weakness. - -Gently he took her wrists, and breathed a kiss upon her forehead, -smiled, and asked: “What did you want to bring to me, Letitia? I long -to know.” - -Suddenly she was aware that she had forgotten the golden toy. Shortly -before she had left her room, she had laid it in readiness; and yet she -had forgotten it. “How stupid of me!” The words slipped out, and she -gazed in shame at her little shoes of black velvet. “How stupid of me! -There was a little toad made of gold that I meant to bring to you.” - -It startled him. Then he recalled the words that he had spoken so many -months ago. The intervening time seemed thrice its natural length. -He wondered now how he could ever have been frightened of a toad. He -could, to be sure, hear his own words again: “Have a little toad made -of gold, that the evil magic may disappear.” But the monition had no -validity to-day. The spell had been broken without a talisman. - -And as he saw the girl stand before him, quivering and intoxicated, -the trembling and the ecstasy seized him too. Many others had come to -him--none so innocent and yet so guilty, none so determined and so -deluded at once. He knew those gestures, that silent yearning, the eye -that flamed and smouldered, the half-denial and the half-assent, the -clinging and repulsing, the sighs and the magical tears that tasted -like warm and salty dew. He knew! And his senses urged him with all -their power to experience and to taste it all again. - -But there were things that stood between him and his desire. There -was a pallid brunette face whose eyes were upon him with unimaginable -clearness. There was a blood-soaked face to which the black hair clung. -There was a face that had once been beautiful, swollen by the waters of -the Thames. And there was a face full of hatred and shame against the -coarse linen of a bed, and another in the storeroom of a hotel which -was swathed in a white cloth. There were other faces--faces of men and -women, thousands upon thousands, on the shore of a river, and still -others that were stamped upon and charred, which he had seen as though -they were concrete realities through the eyes of another. All these -things stood between him and his desire. - -And his heart opposed it too. And the love that he felt for Letitia. - -He grew a little paler, and a chill crept into his fingertips. He -took Letitia by the hand, and led her to the middle of the room. She -looked about her timidly, but every glance was his who filled her whole -being. She asked him concerning the pictures that hung on the wall, -and admired a picture of himself which was among them. She asked after -the meaning of a little sculptured group which he had bought in Paris: -a man and a woman emerging from the earth of which they were made, -contending with primitive power. - -Her deep voice had a more sensuous note than ever. And as he answered -her, the temptation assailed him anew to touch with his lips the warm, -rosy, throbbing curve of her shoulder, which was like a ripe fruit. But -an inescapable voice within him cried: Resist once! Resist but this -single time! - -It was difficult, but he obeyed. - -Letitia did not know what was happening to her. She shivered, and -begged him to close the window. But when he had done so, her chill -increased. She looked at him furtively. His face seemed arrogant and -alien. They had sat down on a divan, and silence had fallen upon them. -Why did I forget the little toad? Letitia thought. My folly is to blame -for everything. And instinctively she moved away from him a little. - -“Letitia,” he said, and arose, “perhaps you will understand it all some -day.” Then he kneeled on the floor at her feet, and took her cool hands -and laid them against his cheeks. - -“No, I don’t understand,” Letitia whispered, and her eyes were wet, -although she smiled, “and I shall never understand.” - -“You will! Some day you will!” - -“Never,” she asserted passionately, “never!” All things were confused -within her. She thought of flowers and stars, of dreams and images. She -thought of birds that fell dead out of the air, as he had described -them once, and a deer dying at the hunter’s feet. She thought of paths -upon which she would go, of far sea-faring, and of jewels and costly -garments. But none of these images held her. They were formed and -dissolved. A chain broke in her soul, and she felt a need to lie down -and weep for a while. Not for long. And it was possible that, when the -weeping was over, she might look forward with delight once more to the -coming day and to Stephen Gunderam and to their wedding. - -“Good-night, Christian,” she said, and gave him her hand as after -a simple chat. And all the objects in the room had changed their -appearance. On the table stood a cut-glass bowl full of meadow-saffron, -and their white stalks were like the antennæ of a polypus. The night -outside was no longer the same night. One seemed quite free now in a -peculiar way--in a defiant and vengeful way. - -Christian was amazed by her gesture and posture. He had not touched -her; yet it was a girl who had come to him, and it was a woman who -went. “I will think about it,” she said, and nodded to him with a -great, dark look. “I will learn to understand it.” - -So she went--went on into her rich, poverty-stricken, adventurous, -difficult, trifling life. - -Christian listened to the dying echo of her tread beyond the door. He -stood without moving, and his head was bent. To him, too, the night had -changed into another. Despite his obedience to the inner voice, a doubt -gnawed at his soul whether what he had done was right or wrong, good or -evil. - - -XVII - -One day Christian received a letter that bore the signature of Ivan -Michailovitch Becker. Becker informed him that he was staying for -a short time in Frankfort, and that a woman, a mutual friend, had -insisted that he should visit Christian Wahnschaffe. But this he -would not do for well-considered reasons. If, however, Christian -Wahnschaffe’s state of mind was such as their friend seemed to assume, -he would be glad to see him on some evening. - -Eva’s name was not mentioned. But twice he spoke of that woman who was -their mutual friend--twice. And Becker had added the street where he -lived and the number of the house. - -Christian’s first impulse was to ignore the invitation. He told himself -that there was nothing in common between him and Becker. The Russian -had not been congenial to him. He had disapproved and arrogantly -overlooked the man’s friendship with Eva. Whenever he thought of his -ugly face, his dragging gait, his sombre, silent presence, a sense of -discomfort seized upon him. What did the man want? Why this summons in -which there was a shadow of menace? - -After he had tried in vain to keep from brooding over this incident, -he showed the letter to Crammon, in the secret hope that his friend -would warn him against any response. Crammon read the letter, but -shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. Crammon was in a bad humour; -Crammon was hurt. He had felt for some time that Christian excluded -him from his confidence. In addition he was thinking far more of Eva -Sorel than was good for the peace of his soul. He paid ardent attention -to Fräulein von Einsiedel, nor was that lady unresponsive. But this -triumph could not restore the equilibrium of his mind, and Becker’s -letter opened his old wound anew. - -Christian put an end to his vacillation by a sudden decision, and -started out to find Becker. The house was in the suburbs, and he -had to climb the four flights of stairs of a common tenement. He was -careful to come in contact with neither the walls nor the balustrades. -When he had reached the door and pulled the bell, he was pale with -embarrassment and disgust. - -When Christian had entered the shabbily furnished room and sat opposite -Becker, what impressed him most was the stamp of suffering on the -Russian’s face. He asked himself whether this was new or whether he had -merely not perceived it before. When Becker spoke to him, his answers -were shy and awkward. - -“Madame Sorel is going to Petrograd in the spring,” Ivan Michailovitch -told him. “She has signed a three-months’ contract with the Imperial -Theatre there.” - -Christian expressed his pleasure at this information. “Are you going to -stay here long?” he asked, courteously. - -“I don’t know,” was the answer. “I’m waiting for a message here. -Afterwards I shall join my friends in Switzerland.” - -“My last conversation with Madame Sorel,” he continued, “was -exclusively about you.” He watched Christian attentively out of his -deep-set eyes. - -“About me? Ah....” Christian forced himself to a conventional smile. - -“She insisted on my remaining in communication with you. She said that -it meant much to her, but gave no reason. She never does give reasons, -though. She insisted likewise that I send her a report. Yet she did -not even give me a message for you. But she kept repeating: ‘It means -something to me, and it may mean very much to him.’ So you see that I -am only her instrument. But I hope that you are not angry with me for -annoying you.” - -“Not in the least,” Christian asserted, although he felt oppressed. -“Only I can’t imagine what is in her mind.” He sat there wondering, and -added: “She has her very personal ways!” - -Ivan Becker smiled, and the moisture of his thick lips became -unpleasantly visible. “It is very true. She is an enthusiastic -creature, and a woman of great gifts. She has power over others, and is -determined to use that power.” - -A pause ensued. - -“Can I be of assistance to you?” Christian asked conventionally. - -Becker regarded him coldly. “No,” he said, “not of the least.” He -turned his eyes to the window, from which one could see the chimneys -of the factories, the smoke, and the sinister snow-fraught air. Since -the room was unheated, he had a travelling rug spread across his knees, -and under it he hid his crippled hand. A movement of his limbs shifted -the rug, and the hand became visible. Christian knew the story of it. -Crammon had told him at the time in Paris of his meeting and his talk -with Becker. He had heard it with indifference, and had avoided looking -at the hand. - -Now he regarded it. Then he got up, and with a gesture of freedom -and assurance, which astonished even Becker, despite the Russian’s -superficial knowledge of him, he held out his own hand. Ivan -Michailovitch gave him his left hand, which Christian held long and -pressed cordially. Then he left without speaking another word. - - -XVIII - -But on the following day he returned. - -Ivan Michailovitch told him the story of his life. He offered him a -simple hospitality, made tea, and even had the room heated. He spoke -rather disconnectedly, with half-closed eyes and a morbid, suffering -smile. Now he would relate episodes of his youth, now of his later -years. The burden was always the same: oppression, need, persecution, -suffering--suffering without measure. Wherever one went, one saw -crushed hearts, happiness stamped out, and personalities destroyed. -His parents had gone under in poverty, his brothers and sisters had -drifted away and were lost, his friends had fallen in wars or died in -exile. It was a life without centre or light or hope--a world of hate -and malevolence, cruelty and darkness. - -Christian sat there and listened until late into the night. - -Next they met in a coffee house, an ugly place which Christian would -once not have endured, and sat until far into the night. Often they -sat in silence; and this silence tormented Christian, and kept him in -a state of unbearable tension. But his expression was a gentle one. - -They took walks along the river, or through the streets and parks in -the snow. Ivan Michailovitch spoke of Pushkin and Byelinsky, of Bakunin -and Herzen, of Alexander I and the legend of his translation to heaven, -and of the peasants--the poor, dark folk. He spoke of the innumerable -martyrs of forgotten names, men and women whose actions and sufferings -beat at the heart of mankind, and whose blood, as he said, was the red -dawn of the sunrise of a new and other age. - -So Christian kept disappearing from his home, and no one knew where he -went. - -Once Ivan Michailovitch said: “I am told that a workingman made a -murderous assault on your father. The man was condemned to seven years -in the penitentiary yesterday.” - -“Yes, it is true,” Christian replied. “What was his name? I have -forgotten it.” - -It turned out that the man’s name was neither Schmidt nor Müller, -but Roderick Kroll. Ivan Michailovitch knew it. “There’s a wife and -five little children left in extreme distress,” he said. “Have you -ever tried for a moment to grasp imaginatively what that means--real -distress? Is your imagination powerful enough to realize it? Have you -ever seen the countenance of a human being that suffered hunger? There -is this woman. She bore five children, and loves these children just as -your mother loves hers. Very well. The drawers are empty, the hearth -is cold, the bedding is in pawn, their clothes and shoes are in rags. -These children are human, each one, just as you and I are. They have -the same instinctive expectation of content, bread, quiet sleep, and -pure air, that you have or Herr von Crammon or countless others, who -never realize reflectively that all these things are theirs. Very well. -Now the world does not only feign to know nothing of all this, not only -resents being reminded of it, but actually demands of these beings that -they are to be silent, that they accept and endure hunger, nakedness, -cold, disease, the theft of their natural rights, and the insolent -injustice of it all, as something quite natural and inevitable. Have -you ever thought about that?” - -“It seems to me,” Christian replied, softly, “that I have never thought -at all.” - -“This man,” Ivan Michailovitch continued, “this Roderick Kroll, so -far as I have been able to learn, was systematically exasperated to -the very quick. He was an enthusiastic socialist, but somewhat of an -annoyance even to his own party on account of his extreme views and -his violent propaganda. The masters dug the ground from under his -feet. They embittered him by the constant sting of small intrigues, -and drove him to despair. The intention was to render him harmless and -to force him to silence. But tell me this: is there an extreme on the -side of the oppressed that is so unfair, so insolent, so damnable as -the extreme on the other side--the arrogance, luxury, revelling, the -hardness of heart, and the insensate extravagance of every day and -every hour? You did not even know the name of that man!” - -Christian stood still. The wind blew the snow into his face, and wet -his forehead and cheeks. “What shall I do, Ivan Michailovitch?” he -asked, slowly. - -Ivan Michailovitch stopped too. “What shall I do?” he cried. “That -is what they all ask. That is what Prince Jakovlev Grusin asked, one -of our chief magnates and marshal of the nobility in the province of -Novgorod. After he had starved his peasants, plundered his tenants, -sent his officials to Siberia, violated girls, seduced women, driven -his own sons to despair, spent his life in gluttony, drunkenness, and -whoring, and heaped crime upon crime--he went into a monastery in the -seventy-fourth year of his age, and day after day kneeled in his cell -and cried: ‘What shall I do? My Lord and Saviour, what shall I do?’ And -no one, naturally, had an answer for him. I have heard the question -asked softly by another, whose soul was clean and white. He was going -to his death, and his age was seventeen. Nine men with their rifles -stood by the trench of the fortress. He approached, reeling a little, -and his guiltless soul asked: ‘Father in Heaven, what shall I do? What -shall I do?’” - -Ivan Michailovitch walked on, and Christian followed him. “And we poor -men, we terribly poor men,” Ivan Becker said, “what shall _we_ do?” - - -XIX - -Judith’s wedding was to be celebrated with great magnificence. - -Even to the preliminary festival more than two hundred guests had been -invited. There was no end to the line of motor cars and carriages. - -The coal and iron barons of the whole province appeared, military and -civil officials of high rank with their ladies, the chief patricians -and financiers of Frankfort, members of the Court circles of Darmstadt -and Karlsruhe, and friends from afar. A tenor from Berlin, a famous -lyric singer, a Viennese comedian, a magician, and a juggler had been -engaged to furnish the guests with amusement. - -The great horse-shoe table in the dining-hall, radiant with gold, -silver, and cut glass, had three hundred and thirty covers. - -The festive throng surged up and down in the marble gallery and the -adjoining rooms. Yellow and rose predominated in the toilettes of the -ladies; the young girls were mostly in white. Bare shoulders were -agleam with diamonds and pearls. The severe black and white of the men -effectually softened the gorgeousness of the colour scheme. - -Christian was walking up and down with Randolph von Stettner, a young -lieutenant of hussars, stationed at Bonn. They had been friends since -their boyhood, had not seen each other for several years, and were -exchanging reminiscences. Randolph von Stettner said that he was -not very happy in his profession; he would much rather have taken a -university degree. He had a strong taste for the study of chemistry, -and felt out of place as a soldier. “But it is futile to kick against -the pricks,” he ended, sighing; “a man must merely take the bit between -his teeth and keep still.” - -Christian happened to observe Letitia, who stood in the centre of a -circle of men. Upon her forehead was forgetfulness; she knew nothing of -yesterday and nothing of to-morrow. There was no one else so absorbed -by the passing hour as she. - -A footman approached Christian and gave him a card. The footman frowned -doubtfully, for the card was not quite clean. On it Christian read -these pencilled words: “I. M. Becker must speak with you at once.” -Hurriedly he excused himself and went out. - -Ivan Michailovitch stood perfectly still in the outer hall. Newly -arrived guests, who gave the footmen their hats and coats, passed by -without noticing him. The men took mincing steps, the ladies sought the -mirror for a final look with their excited eyes. - -Ivan Michailovitch wore a long grey coat, shabby and wet. The -black-bearded face was pale as wax. Christian drew him into an empty -corner of the hall, where they were undisturbed. - -“I beg you to forgive me for throwing a shadow on all this festivity,” -Ivan Michailovitch began, “but I had no choice. I received a -notification of expulsion from the police this afternoon. I must leave -the city and the country within twelve hours. The simple favour I ask -of you is to take this notebook into your keeping, until I myself -or some properly identified friend asks it back.” He glanced swiftly -about him, took a thin, blue notebook out of his pocket, and gave it to -Christian, who slid it swiftly and unobtrusively into a pocket of his -evening coat. - -“It contains memoranda in Russian,” Ivan continued, “which have no -value to any one but myself, but which must not be found on me. Since I -am being expelled there is little doubt but that my person and effects -will be searched.” - -“Won’t you come and rest in my room?” Christian asked, timidly. “Won’t -you eat or drink something?” - -Ivan Michailovitch shook his head. From the hall floated the sound of -the violins, playing an ingratiating air by Puccini. - -“Won’t you at least dry your coat?” Christian asked again. The strains -of the music, the splendour there within, the merriment and laughter, -the fullness of beauty and happiness, all this presented so sharp a -contrast to the appearance of this man in a wet coat, with wax-like -face and morbidly flaming eyes, that Christian could no longer endure -his apparently unfeeling position between these two worlds, of whose -utter and terrible alienation from each other he was acutely aware. - -Ivan Michailovitch smiled. “It is kind of you to think of my coat. But -you can’t do any good. It will only get wet again.” - -“I’d like to take you, just as you are,” said Christian, and he smiled -too, “and go in there with you.” - -Ivan Michailovitch shrugged his shoulders, and his face grew dark. - -“I don’t know why I should like to do that,” Christian murmured. “I -don’t know why it tempts me. I stand before you, and you put me in the -wrong. Whether I speak or am silent does not matter. By merely being -I am in the wrong. We should not be conversing here in the servants’ -corner. You are making some demand of me, Ivan Michailovitch, are you -not? What is it that you demand?” - -The words bore witness to a confusion of the emotions that went to the -very core of his being. They throbbed with the yearning to become and -to be another man. Ivan Michailovitch, in a sudden flash of intuition, -saw and understood. At first he had suspected that here was but a -lordly whim, or that it was at best but the foolish and thoughtless -defiance of a too swiftly ardent proselyte that urged this proud and -handsome man to his words. He recognized his error now. He understood -that he heard a cry for help, and that it came from the depth of one of -those decisive moments of which life holds but few. - -“What is it that I am to demand of you, Christian Wahnschaffe?” he -asked, earnestly. “Surely not that you drag me in there to your -friends, and ask me to regard that as a definite deed and as a triumph -over yourself?” - -“It would not be that,” Christian said, with lowered eyes, “but a -simple confession of my friendship and my faith.” - -“But consider what a figure I would cut in my blouse, taken so -unwillingly and emphatically, to use the Russian proverb, into the -realm of the spheres. You would be forgiven. You would be accused -of an eccentricity, and laughed at; but it would be overlooked. But -what would happen to me? You could guard me from obvious insult. The -profound humiliation of my position would still be the same. And what -purpose would such a boastful action serve? Do you see any promise of -good in it--for myself, or you, or the others? I could accuse no one, -persuade no one, convince no one. Nor would you yourself be convinced.” - -He was silent for a few seconds, and then regarded Christian with a -kind and virile glance. Then he continued. “Had I appeared in evening -clothes, this whole conversation would be without meaning. That shows -how trivial it is. Why, Christian Wahnschaffe, should I exhibit my -blouse and coat amid the garb of your friends? Do you go with me to a -place where your coat is a blasphemy and a stain, and where my rough, -wet one is a thing of pride and advantage. I know such a house. Go with -me!” - -Christian, without answering a word, summoned a footman, took his -fur-coat, and followed Ivan Becker into the open. The lackey hurried -to the garage. In a few minutes the car appeared. Christian permitted -Ivan Michailovitch to precede him into it, asked for the address, and -sat down beside him. The car started. - - -XX - -Twice before this had Ivan Michailovitch visited the family of the -imprisoned workman, Roderick Kroll. His interest in these people was -not an immediate one. It had been evoked by the interest he took in -Christian Wahnschaffe. There was something in Christian that moved him -deeply. After their first conversation he had at once reflected long -concerning his personality and his great charm, as well as concerning -the circumstances of his life and the social soil from which he had -sprung. And since the name of the industrial baron Wahnschaffe had been -so closely connected with the trial of Roderick Kroll, and since that -trial had made quite a stir in the world, his attention had naturally -been drawn in this direction. It is possible that he had already -weighed the step he was now taking. For he was immovably convinced that -many men would be better, and deal more justly, if they could but be -brought to see, or given an opportunity to see, the realities of the -world. - -Frau Kroll and her five children had found refuge in a mere hole of a -garret at the top of a populous tenement on the extreme edge of the -city. Before that she had inhabited one of the numerous cottages for -workingmen that Albrecht Wahnschaffe had built near his factories. But -she had been driven from this home, and had moved to the city. - -The room she now had gave shelter not only to herself and her -children, the oldest of whom was twelve, but to three lodgers: a -rag-picker, a hurdy-gurdy man, and a chronically drunken vagabond. -The room had a floor-space of sixty square feet; the lodgers slept on -dirty straw sacks, the children on two ragged mattresses pushed close -together, Frau Kroll on a shawl and a bundle of old clothes in the -corner where the slanting ceiling met the floor. - -On this particular day the agent of the landlord had appeared -three times to demand the rent. The third time, since no money was -forthcoming, he had threatened to evict them all that night. Fifteen -minutes before the arrival of Ivan Becker and Christian he had appeared -with the janitor and another helper in the dim, evil-smelling room, -and had proceeded to make good his threat. His face had an expression -of good nature rather than of harshness. He was proud of the touch -of humour which he brought to the execution of his duties. Cries -and lamentations did not disturb him in the least. He said: “Hurry, -children! Come on there!” Or else: “Shoulder your guns and march! Let’s -have no scenes! Don’t get excited! No use getting on your knees! Time -is money! Quick work is good work!” - -As was usual on such occasions, a commotion stirred all the neighbours, -and they assembled in the hall. There was a yellow-haired woman in her -shift; there was one in a scarlet dressing gown; there was a cripple -without legs, an old man with a long beard, children who were fighting -one another, a painted woman with a hat as large as a cart-wheel, -another with a burning candle in her hand, while a man who had just -come in from the street in her company sought to hide in the darkness -near the roof. - -What one heard was the wailing of the Kroll children, and the hard -beseeching voice of the woman, who looked on with desperate eyes as the -agent and his men heaped up her poor possessions. The vagabond cursed, -the hurdy-gurdy man dragged his straw sack toward the door, the agent -snapped his fingers and said: “Hurry, good people, hurry! Let’s have -no tender scenes! My supper is getting cold!” - - -XXI - -Christian and Ivan Becker entered. They forced their way through the -staring crowd. Christian had on his costly fur-coat. The agent stood -still and his jaw dropped. His men instinctively touched their caps. -Ivan Michailovitch wanted to close the door, but the woman in the big -hat stood on the threshold and would not stir. “The door should be -closed,” he said to the agent, who went forward and closed it, simply -thrusting the woman roughly back. Ivan asked whether the woman and her -children were to be evicted. The agent declared that she was unable -to pay her rent, that one extension of time after another had been -granted her, but that to continue would be to create disorder and -institute a bad example. Ivan Michailovitch answered that he understood -the situation. Then he turned to Christian, and repeated the words as -though he needed to translate them into another tongue: “She cannot -pay her rent.” A whistle sounded from without, and a woman screeched. -The agent opened the door, cried out a command, and slammed it again. -Silence ensued. - -Frau Kroll was crouching among her children, her elbows dug into her -lap. She had a robust figure, and a bony face that was pale as dough -and deeply furrowed. It looked like the head of a corpse. The children -looked at her in terror: two were mother naked, and one of these had -the itch. The agent, assuming a benevolent tone, asked Ivan Becker -whether something was to be done for these people; he evidently did not -dare to address Christian. “I think we shall be able to do something -for them,” Ivan answered, and turned to Christian. - -Christian heard and saw. He nodded rapidly, and gave an impression of -timidity and passionate zeal. - -Christian’s attention somehow became fixed on a water jug with a -broken handle. The jug was stamped with a greenish pattern and the -banal arabesques bit into his mind. The snow-edged, slanting window -in the roof troubled him, and the sight of a single muddy boot. Next -a sad fascination came to him from a rope that dangled from the roof, -and from a little coal-oil lamp with a smoky chimney. His mere bodily -vision clung to these things. But they passed into his soul, and he -merged into oneness with them. He himself was that broken jug with its -green figures, the snow-edged window, the muddy boot, the dangling -rope, the smoky lamp. He was being transformed as in a melting furnace, -shape glided into shape; and although he was objectively aware of -what was taking place and also of the people--the beggar, the woman, -the children, Ivan Michailovitch, the agent, and those who waited -outside--yet it cost him a passionate effort to keep them outside of -himself for yet a little while, until they should plunge down upon his -soul with their torment, despair, cruelty, and madness, like wild dogs -throwing themselves upon a bone. - -A sigh escaped him; a disturbed and fleeting smile hovered about his -lips. One of the children, a boy of four, clad in a shapeless rag, came -to him, and gazed up at him as though he were a tower. At once the eyes -of the others were fixed on him too. At least, he felt them. His breast -seemed a fiery crucible upborne and held high by the boy’s emaciated -arms. In a moment he had filled his hand with gold pieces, and by a -gesture encouraged the child to hold out its hands. He poured the gold -into them. But they could grasp only a few. The coins rolled on the -floor, and the people there watched them in dumb amazement. - -He drew out his wallet, took from it with trembling fingers every bank -note it held, looked about, and approached the cowering woman. Then -suddenly there seized him a strange contempt for his own erectness -while she crouched on the floor. And so he kneeled, kneeled down beside -her, and let the notes slip into her lap. He did not know how much -money there was. But it was found later that the sum was four thousand -six hundred marks. He arose and took Ivan’s arm, and the latter -understood his glance. - -There was a breathless silence when they left. The agent and his men, -the lodgers, the children--all seemed turned to stone. The woman -stared at the wealth in her lap. Then she uttered a loud cry and lost -consciousness. The little boy played with the pieces of gold, and they -clinked as only gold can, faintly sweet and without hardness. - -Below, in the street, Ivan Michailovitch said to Christian: “That you -kneeled down before her--that was it, and that alone! The gift--there -was something fateful in it to me and something bitter! But that you -kneeled down beside her--ah, that was it!” And with a sudden gesture -he lifted himself on his toes, and took Christian’s head between his -hands, and kissed him with a kiss that was a breath upon the forehead. -Then he murmured a word of farewell, and hurried down the street -without looking at the waiting car. - -Christian ordered the chauffeur to drive out to Christian’s Rest. -Two hours later he was there, in deep quietude, the quietude that he -needed. He telephoned his family that unforeseen events had prevented -him from staying to the end of the evening’s festivities, but that he -would be present at the ceremony of Judith’s marriage without fail. -Then he retired to the farthest room of his house, and held vigil all -night. - - -XXII - -Letitia married six weeks after Judith. At Stephen Gunderam’s desire, -however, the wedding was a quiet one. There was a simple meal in a -hotel at Heidelberg, and those present were Frau von Febronius, the -countess, their two nephews Ottomar and Reinhold, and an Argentinian -friend of Stephen’s--a raw-boned giant who had been sent to Germany for -a year to acquire polish. - -Ottomar recited an original poem in praise of his pretty cousin, and -Reinhold had composed an address in the style of Luther’s table-talk. -Stephen Gunderam showed small appreciation of the literary culture of -his new kinsman. - -Frau von Febronius was silent even at the moment of farewell. The -countess wept very copiously. She provided Letitia with all manner of -rules and admonitions, but the most difficult of all she had delayed, -out of sheer cowardice to the very last. She drew Letitia into her own -room and, blushing and paling by turns, attempted to give the girl some -notion of the physiology of marriage. But her courage failed her even -now, and whenever she approached the real crux of her subject, she -began to stammer and grow confused. It amused Letitia immensely. - -Stephen Gunderam wanted to depart in haste, like some one anxious to -secure his booty. - -Frau von Febronius said to her sister: “I have evil presentiments in -regard to this marriage, even though the child seems quite happy. It is -only her own nature that protects her against unhappiness. It is her -only dowry, but a wonderful one.” Then the countess folded her hands, -and shed tears, and said: “If I have sinned, I pray God to forgive me.” - -The voyage proved Letitia to be an excellent sailor. For a few days she -and her husband stopped in Buenos Ayres and met many people. Stephen’s -acquaintances regarded her with sympathetic curiosity; and everything -was strange and fascinating to her--the people, the houses, animals, -plants, the very earth and sky. But most fascinating and strange to her -was still the jealous tyranny of the man she had married, although at -times the fascination held a touch of fear. But when that assailed her, -she jested even with herself, and drove it away. - -Early one morning there drew up a firmly built, heavy little coach, -with two small, swift horses, to carry them the thirty miles to the -Gunderam estate. Generously provisioned they left the city. After a -few hours the road ended as a brook is lost in sands, and before them -stretched to the very horizon the pathless plain of the pampas. - -Yet they were not unguided. On either side of the way which the horses -had to travel, poles had been driven into the grassy earth. These poles -were of about human height, and stood at intervals of about twenty -yards. Thus the horses pursued their way calmly. The Negro on the box -had no need to urge them on. The safe and monotonous journey permitted -him to sleep. - -There were no settlements at all. When the horses needed food or -came upon water, a halt was made under the open sky. No house, no -tree, no human being appeared from sun to sun, and a dread stole upon -Letitia. She had long given up talking, and Stephen had long given up -encouraging her. He slept like his coachman. - -When the sun had sunk behind a veil of whitish clouds, Letitia stood -up, and gazed searchingly over the endless plain of grass. The high -wooden posts still projected with unwearying regularity at both sides -of the uncut road. - -But suddenly she saw on one of the posts a greyish-brown bird, moveless -and bent, with huge, round, glowing eyes. - -“What kind of a bird is that?” she asked. - -Stephen Gunderam started from his slumber. “It’s an owl,” he answered. -“Have you never seen one? Every evening, when darkness falls, they sit -on the posts. Look, it is starting: there is one on each.” - -Letitia looked and saw that it was true. On every post and on either -side, far as one’s sight could reach, sat with its great, circular, -glowing eyes a heavy, slothful, solemn owl. - - - - -OR EVER THE SILVER CORD BE LOOSED - - -I - -Fraulein von Einsiedel took Crammon’s tender trifling quite seriously. -When Crammon observed this, he grew cold, and planned at once to rid -himself of the threatened complication. - -She sent him urgent little notes by her maid; he left them unanswered. -She begged him for a meeting; he promised to come but did not. She -reproached him and inquired after the reason. He cast down his eyes and -answered sadly: “I was mistaken in the hour, dear friend. For some time -my mind has been wandering. I sometimes wake in the morning and fancy -that it is still evening. I sit down at table and forget to eat. I need -treatment and shall consult a physician. You must be indulgent, Elise.” - -But Elise did not want to understand. According to Crammon’s words of -regretful deprecation, she belonged to the sort of woman who makes a -kiss or a tender meeting an excuse for drawing all sorts of tiresome -and impossible inferences. - -He said to himself: “You must be robust of soul, Bernard, and not -permit your innate delicacy to make a weakling of you. Here is a little -trap for mice, and you can smell the cheese from afar. She is pretty -and good, but alas, quite blind and deluded. As though a brief pleasure -were not to be preferred to a long wretchedness!” - -To be prepared for any event, he packed his belongings. - - -II - -Crammon had discovered where and in whose company Christian had been on -the night of the festival preceding Judith’s wedding. The chauffeur -had been indiscreet. Then Crammon, in his brotherly concern, had made -inquiries, and the rumours that had reached the castle had all been -confirmed. - -One morning, when they were both at Christian’s Rest, Crammon entered -his friend’s room and said: “I can’t hold in any longer. The sorrow of -it gnaws at me. You ought to be ashamed, Christian, especially of your -secretiveness. You join fugitive disturbers of the peace and hurlers -of bombs, and then you confuse the innocent poor by your brainless -generosity. What is it to lead to?” - -Christian smiled, and did not answer. - -“How can you expose yourself in that fashion,” Crammon cried; “yourself -and your family and your friends? I shall tell you this in confidence, -dearest boy: If you imagine that you have really helped the woman -to whom that Russian desperado dragged you, you are badly mistaken. -Fortunately I can rob you of that illusion.” - -“Did you hear anything about her?” Christian asked, with a surprising -indifference in his tone and expression. - -Crammon seemed to expand, and told his tale with breadth and unction: -“Certainly I have. I have even had dealings with the police and saved -you annoyance. The woman was to have been arrested and the money -confiscated. Luckily I was able to prevent that. I believe that the -State should keep order, but I don’t think it desirable that the -government should interfere in our private affairs. Its duty is to -safeguard us; there its function ends. So much for that! Concerning -your protégée I have nothing pleasant to report. The rain of gold -simply distracted the crowd in that house. They stuck to her and -begged, and several of them stole. Naturally there was a fight, and -some one plunged a knife into some one else’s bowels, and the maddened -woman beat them both with a coal shovel. The police had to interfere. -Then the woman moved into other quarters, and bought all sorts of -trash--furniture, beds, clothing, kitchen utensils, and even a cuckoo -clock. You have seen those little horrors. A cuckoo comes out of the -clock and screams. I was once staying with people who had three of -them. Whenever I went to sleep another cuckoo screeched; it was enough -to drive one mad. In other respects my friends were charming. - -“As for the Kroll woman--your gift robbed her of every vestige of -common sense. She keeps the money in a little box, which she carries -about and won’t let out of her sight by night or day. She buys lottery -tickets, penny dreadfuls; the children are as dirty as ever and the -household as demoralized. Only that dreadful cuckoo clock roars. So -what have you accomplished? Where is the blessing? Common people cannot -endure sudden accessions of fortune. You do not know their nature in -the slightest degree, and the best thing you can do is to leave them in -peace.” - -Christian’s eyes wandered out to the cloudy sky. Then he turned to -Crammon. He saw, as though he had never seen it before, that Crammon’s -cheeks were rather fat, and that his chin was bedded in soft flesh and -had a dimple. He could not make up his mind to answer. He smiled, and -crossed his legs! - -What shapely legs, Crammon thought and sighed, what superb legs! - - -III - -A few days later Crammon appeared again with the intention of testing -Christian. - -“I don’t like your condition, my dear boy,” he began, “and I won’t -pretend to you that I do. It’s just a week to-day that we’ve been -perishing of boredom here. I grant you it’s a delightful place in -spring and summer with agreeable companions, when one can have picnics -in the open and think of the dull and seething cities. But now in the -midst of winter, without orgies or movement or women--what is the use -of it? Why do you hide yourself? Why do you act depressed? What are -you waiting for? What have you in mind?” - -“You ask so many questions, Bernard,” Christian replied. “You should -not do that. It is as well here as elsewhere. Can you tell me any place -where it is better?” - -The last question aroused Crammon’s hopes. In the expectation of common -pleasures his face grew cheerful. “A better place? My dearest boy, any -compartment in a train is better. The greasy reception room of Madame -Simchowitz in Mannheim is better. However, we shall be able to agree. -Here is an admirable plan. Palermo, Conca d’Oro, Monte Pellegrino, and -Sicilian girls with avid glances behind their virtuous veils. From -there we shall take a flying trip to Naples to see my sweet little -friend Yvonne. She has the blackest hair, the whitest teeth, and the -most exquisite little feet in Europe. The regions between are--sublime. -Then we can send a telegram to Prosper Madruzzi, who is nursing his -spleen in his Venetian villa, and let him introduce us into the -most inaccessible circles of Roman society. There one has dealings -exclusively with contessas, marchesas, and principessas. The striking -characters of all five continents swarm there as in a fascinating -mad-house; cold-blooded American women commit indiscretions with -passionate lazzaroni, who have magical names and impossible silk socks; -every kennel there can claim to be a curiosity, every heap of stones -adds to your culture, at every step you stumble over some masterpiece -of art.” - -Christian shook his head. “It doesn’t tempt me,” he said. - -“Then I’ll propose something else,” Crammon said. “Go with me to -Vienna. It is a city worthy of your interest. Have you ever heard of -the Messiah? The Messiah is a person at whose coming the Jews believe -time will come to an end, and whom they expect to welcome with the -sound of shawms and cymbals. It is thus that every distinguished -stranger is greeted in Vienna. If you cultivate an air of mystery, -and are not too stingy in the matter of tipping, and occasionally -snub some one who is unduly familiar--all Viennese society will be -at your feet. A pleasant moral slackness rules the city. Everything -that is forbidden is permitted. The women are simply _hors concours_; -the broiled meat at Sacher is incomparable; the waltzes which you -hear whenever a musician takes up a fiddle are thrilling; a trip to -the Little House of Delight--name to be taken literally, please--is -a dream. I yearn for it all myself--the ingratiating air, the roast -chicken, the apple-pudding with whipped cream, and my own little hut -full of furniture of the age of Maria Theresa, and my two dear, old -ladies. Pull yourself together, and come with me.” - -Christian shook his head. “It is nothing for me,” he said. - -A flush of indignation spread over Crammon’s face. “Nothing for you? -Very well. I cannot place the harem of the Sultan at your disposal, nor -the gardens promised by the Prophet. I shall leave you to your fate, -and wander out into the world.” - -Christian laughed, for he did not believe him. On the next day, -however, Crammon said farewell with every sign of deep grief, and -departed. - - -IV - -Christian remained at his country house. A heavy snow-fall came, and -the year drew toward its end. - -He received no visitors. He answered neither the letters nor the -invitations of his friends. He was to have spent Christmas with his -parents at the castle, but he begged them to excuse him. - -Since he was of age, Christian’s Rest had now passed fully into his -possession, and all his objects of art were gathered here--statuary, -pictures, miniatures, and his collection of snuff-boxes. He loved these -little boxes very much. - -The dealers sent him their catalogues. He had a trusted agent at every -notable auction sale. To this man he would telegraph his orders, and -the things would arrive--a beaker of mountain crystal, a set of Dresden -porcelains, a charcoal sketch by Van Gogh. But when he looked at his -purchases, he was disappointed. They seemed neither as rare nor as -precious as he had hoped. - -He bought a sixteenth century Bible, printed on parchment, with -mani-coloured initials and a cover with silver clasps. It had cost him -fourteen thousand marks, and contained the book-plate of the Elector -Augustus of Saxony. Curiously he turned the pages without regarding the -words, which were alien and meaningless to him. Nothing delighted him -but his consciousness of the rarity and preciousness of the volume. But -he desired other things even rarer and more precious. - -Every morning he fed the birds. With a little basket of bread crumbs -he would issue from the door, and the birds would fly to him from all -directions, for they had come to know both him and the hour. They were -hungry, and he watched them busy at their little meal. And doing this -he forgot his desires. - -Once he donned his shooting suit, and went out and shot a hare. When -the animal lay before him, and he saw its dying eyes, he could not bear -to touch it. He who had hunted and killed many animals could no longer -endure this sport, and left his booty a prey to the ravens. - -Most of his walks led him through the village, which was but fifteen -minutes from his park. At the end of the village, on the high-road, -stood the forester’s house. Several times he had noticed at one of -its windows the face of a young man, whose features he seemed to -recall. He thought it must be Amadeus Voss, the forester’s son. When -he was but six he had often visited that house. Christian’s Rest had -not been built until later, and in those early years his father had -rented the game preserve here and had often lodged for some days at the -forester’s. And Amadeus had been Christian’s playmate. - -The face, which recalled his childhood to him, was pallid and -hollow-cheeked. The lips were thin and straight, and the head covered -with simple very light blond hair. The reflection of the light’s rays -in the powerful lenses of spectacles made the face seem eyeless. - -It amazed Christian that this young man should sit there for hours, -day after day, without moving, and gaze through the window-panes into -the street. The secret he felt here stirred him, and a power from some -depth seemed to reach out for him. - -One day Christian met the mayor of the village at the gate of his park. -Christian stopped him. “Tell me,” he said, “is the forester Voss still -alive?” - -“No, he died three years ago,” the man answered. “But his widow still -lives in the house. The present forester is unmarried, and lets her -have a few rooms. I suppose you are asking on account of Amadeus, who -has suddenly turned up for some strange reason--” - -“Tell me about him,” Christian asked. - -“He was to have been a priest, and was sent to the seminary at Bamberg. -One heard nothing but good of him there, and his teachers praised him -to the sky. He got stipends and scholarships, and every one expected -him to do well for himself. Last winter his superiors got him a -position as tutor to the boys of the bank president, Privy Councillor -Ribbeck. You’re familiar with the name. Very big man. The two boys -whose education Voss was to supervise lived at Halbertsroda, an estate -in Upper Franconia, and the parents didn’t visit them very often. They -say the marriage isn’t a happy one. Well, everything seemed turning out -well. Considering his gifts and the patron he had now, Amadeus couldn’t -have wanted for anything. Suddenly he drops down on us here, doesn’t -budge from the house, pays no attention to any one, becomes a burden -to his poor old mother, and growls like a dog at any one who talks to -him. There must have been crazy doings at Halbertsroda. No one knows -any details, you know. But every now and then the pot seethes over, and -then you get the rumour that there was something between him and the -Privy Councillor’s wife.” - -The man was very talkative, and Christian interrupted him at last. -“Didn’t the forester have another son?” A faint memory of some -experience of his childhood arose in him. - -“Quite right,” said the mayor. “There was another son. His name was -Dietrich, and he was a deaf-mute.” - -“Yes, I remember now,” Christian said. - -“He died at fourteen,” the mayor went on. “His death was never properly -explained. There was a celebration of the anniversary of the battle of -Sedan, and he went out in the evening to look at the bonfires. Next -morning they found his body in the fish-pond.” - -“Did he drown?” - -“He must have,” answered the mayor. - -Christian nodded farewell, and went slowly through the gate toward his -house. - - -V - -Letitia and her husband were in the Opera house at Buenos Ayres. The -operetta of the evening was as shallow as a puddle left by the rain in -the pampas. - -In the box next to theirs sat a young man, and Letitia yielded now and -then to the temptation of observing his glances of admiration. Suddenly -she felt her arm roughly grasped. It was Stephen who commanded her -silently to follow him. - -In the dim corridor he brought his bluish-white face close to her ear, -and hissed: “If you look at that fool once more, I’ll plunge my dagger -into your heart. I give you this warning. In this country one doesn’t -shilly-shally.” - -They returned to their box. Stephen smiled with a smile as glittering -as a torero’s, and put a piece of chocolate into his mouth. Letitia -looked at him sidewise, and wondered whether he really had a dagger in -his possession. - -That night, when they drove home, he almost smothered her with his -caresses. She repulsed him gently, and begged: “Show me the dagger, -Stephen. Give it to me! I want so much to see it.” - -“What dagger, silly child?” he asked, in astonishment. - -“The dagger you were going to plunge into my heart.” - -“Let that be,” he answered, in hollow tones. “This is no time to speak -of daggers and death.” - -But Letitia was stubborn. She insisted that she wanted to see it. He -took his hands from her, and fell into sombre silence. - -The incident taught Letitia that she could play with him. She no -longer feared that sombre stillness of his, nor his great skull on his -powerful neck, nor the thin mouth, nor the paling face, nor the great -strength of his extraordinary small hands. She knew that she could play -with him. - -Great fire-flies flew through the air, and settled in the grass about -them. When the carriage stopped at the villa, Letitia looked around -with a cry of delight. Sparks seemed to be falling in a golden rain. -The gleaming insects whirred about the windows, the roof, the flowery -creepers on the walls. They penetrated into the hall. - -Letitia stopped at the dark foot of the stairs, looked at the -phosphorescent glimmer, and asked fearfully and with an almost -imperceptible self-mockery in her deep voice: “Tell me, Stephen, -couldn’t they set the house on fire?” - -The Negro Scipio, who appeared with a lamp at the door, heard her words -and grinned. - - -VI - -Around Twelfth Night Randolph von Stettner with several friends came to -Christian’s Rest. The young men had called up Christian by telephone, -and he had been alone so long that he was glad to receive them and -be their host. He was always glad to see Randolph. The latter brought -with him two comrades, a Baron Forbach and a Captain von Griesingen, -and also another friend, a young university teacher, who was fulfilling -his required military service at Bonn and was therefore also in -uniform. Christian had met him before at a celebration of the Borussia -fraternity. - -A delicious meal was served, followed by excellent cigars and liqueurs. - -“It is consoling to see that you still don’t despise the comforts of -the flesh,” Randolph von Stettner said to Christian. - -Captain von Griesingen sighed: “How should one despise them? They -torment us and they flit temptingly about us! Think of all that is -desirable in the world--women, horses, wine, power, fame, money, love! -There is a dealer of jewels in Frankfort, named David Markuse, who has -a diamond that is said to be worth half a million. I have no desire for -that special object. But the world is full of things that are possessed -and give delight.” - -“It is the diamond known as Ignifer,” Dr. Leonrod remarked, “a sort of -adventurer among precious stones.” - -“Ignifer is an appropriate name for a diamond,” said Randolph. “But why -do you speak of it so gravely? What, except its price, makes it differ -from other stones? Has it had so strange a fate?” - -“Undoubtedly,” said Dr. Leonrod, “most strange. I happen to know the -details because, as a professional mineralogist, I take a certain -interest in precious stones, too.” - -“Do tell us about it!” the young officers cried. - -“Whoever buys Ignifer,” Dr. Leonrod began, “will show no little -courage. The jewel is a tragic thing. It has been proved that its -first owner was Madame de Montespan. No sooner did it come into her -possession than the king dismissed her. Marie Antoinette owned it next. -It weighed ninety-five carats at that time. But during the Revolution -it was stolen and divided, and did not reappear until fifty years -later. The recovered stone weighed sixty carats. An Englishman, named -Thomas Horst, bought it, and was soon murdered. The heirs sold it to -an American. The lady who wore it, a Mrs. Malmcote, was throttled by -a madman at a ball. Then Prince Alexander Tshernitsheff brought it to -Russia, and gave it to an actress who was his mistress. Another lover -shot and killed her on the stage. The prince was blown to pieces by a -nihilist. Then the stone was brought to Paris, and purchased by the -Sultan Abdul Hamid for his favourite wife. The woman was poisoned, and -you all know what happened to the Sultan. After the Turkish Revolution -Ignifer drifted West again, and then back to the Orient. For its new -owner, Tavernier, took a voyage to India, and was shipwrecked and -drowned. For a time it was thought that the diamond was lost. But that -was an error; it had been deposited in a safety vault in a Calcutta -bank. Now it is back in Europe, and for sale.” - -“The stone must harbour an evil spirit,” said Randolph. “I confess that -I have no desire for it. I am very little inclined to superstition; but -when the facts are as compelling as in this case, the most enlightened -scepticism seems rebuked.” - -“What does all that matter if the stone is beautiful, if it really is -incomparably lovely?” Christian cried, with a defiant look, that yet -seemed turned inward upon his soul. After this he said little, even -when the conversation drifted to other subjects. - -Next day at noon he ordered his car and drove in to Frankfort to the -shop of the jeweller David Markuse. - - -VII - -Herr Markuse knew Christian. - -Ignifer was kept in the safe of a fire-proof and burglar-proof vault. -Herr Markuse lifted the stone out of its case, laid it upon the green -cloth of a table, stepped aside, and looked at Christian. - -Christian looked silently at the concentrated radiance of the stone. -His thought was: This is the rarest and costliest thing in the world; -nothing can surpass it. And it was immediately clear to him that he -must own the jewel. - -The diamond had the faintest tinge of yellow. It had been cut so that -it had many rich facets. A little groove had been cut into it near one -end, so that a woman could wear it around her neck by a thin chain or -a silken cord. - -Herr Markuse lifted it upon a sheet of white paper and breathed upon -it. “It is not of the first water,” he said, “but it has neither rust -nor knots. There is no trace of veins or cracks, no cloudiness or -nodules. Not a flaw. The stone is one of nature’s miracles.” - -The price was five hundred and fifty thousand marks. Christian offered -the half million. Herr Markuse consulted his watch. “I promised a lady -that I would hold it,” he declared. “But the promised hour is past.” -They agreed upon five hundred and twenty thousand marks. Half was to -be paid in cash, the other in two notes running for different periods. -“The name of Wahnschaffe is sufficient guarantee,” the merchant said. - -Christian weighed the diamond in his hand, and laid it down again. - -David Markuse smiled. “In my business one learns how to judge people,” -he said without any familiarity. “You are making this purchase with a -deeper intention than you yourself are probably conscious of. The soul -of the diamond has lured you on. For the diamond has a soul.” - -“Do you really mean that?” Christian was surprised. - -“I know it. There are people who lose all shame when they see a -beautiful jewel. Their nostrils quiver, their cheeks grow pale, their -hands tremble uncertainly, their pupils expand, and they betray -themselves by every motion. Others are intimidated, or bereft of their -senses, or saddened. You gain curious insights into human nature. The -masks drop. Diamonds make people transparent.” - -The indiscreet turn of the conversation irritated Christian. But he had -often before become aware of the fact that something in him seemed to -invite the communicativeness and confidence of others. He arose, and -promised to return that evening. - -“The lady of whom I was speaking,” Markuse continued, as he accompanied -him to the door, “and who was here yesterday, is a very wonderful -lady. When she came in, I thought: is it possible for mere walking to -be so beautiful? Well, I soon found out that she is a famous dancer. -She is stopping at the Palace Hotel for a day, on her way from Paris -to Russia, merely in order to see Ignifer. I showed her the stone. She -stood looking at it for at least five minutes. She did not move, and -the expression of her face! Well, if the jewel didn’t represent a large -part of all I have in the world, I would have begged her simply to -keep it. Such moments are not exactly frequent in my business. She was -to have returned to-day, but, as I have told you, she didn’t keep her -engagement.” - -“And you don’t know her name?” Christian asked, shyly. - -“Oh, yes. Her name is Eva Sorel. Did you ever hear of her?” - -The blood came into Christian’s face. He let go the knob of the door. -“Eva Sorel is here?” he murmured. He pulled himself together, and -opened the door to an empty room that was carpeted in red, and the -walls of which were hidden by ebony cases. Almost at the same moment -the opposite door was thrown open; and, followed by four gentlemen, Eva -Sorel crossed the threshold. - -Christian stood perfectly still. - -“Eidolon!” Eva cried, and she folded her hands in that inimitably -enthusiastic and happy gesture of hers. - - -VIII - -Christian did not know the gentlemen who were with her. Their features -and garments showed them to be foreigners. Accustomed to surprising -events in Eva’s daily life, they regarded Christian with cool curiosity. - -Eva’s whole form was wrapped in a grey mole-skin coat. Her fur cap was -trimmed with an aigrette of herons’ feathers, held by a marvellous ruby -clasp. From under the cap her honey-coloured hair struggled forth. The -wintry air had given her skin an exquisite delicate tinge of pink. - -With a few steps she came stormily to Christian, and her white gloved -hands sought both of his. Her great and flaming looks drove his -conscious joy and his perceptions of her presence back upon his soul, -and fear appeared upon his features. He found himself as defenceless as -a ball flung by another’s hand. He awaited his goal. - -“Did you buy Ignifer?” That was her first question. Since he was -silent, she turned with raised brows to David Markuse. - -The merchant bowed and said: “I thought that I could no longer count on -you, Madame. I am sorry with all my heart.” - -“You are right. I hesitated too long.” Eva spoke her melodious German, -with its slightly foreign intonation. Turning to Christian she went on: -“Perhaps it makes no difference, Eidolon, whether you have it or I. It -is like a heart that ambition has turned to crystal. But you are not -ambitious. If you were, we should have met here like two birds swept by -a storm into the same cave. The preciousness of the stone almost makes -it ghostly to me, and I would permit no one to give it to me who was -not conscious of its significance. And who is there? What do they give -one? Wares from a shop, that is all.” - -David Markuse looked at her in admiration, and nodded. - -“It is said to bring misfortune to its possessors,” Christian almost -whispered. - -“Do you intend to test yourself, Eidolon, and put it to the proof? -Will you challenge the demon to prevail against you? Ah, that is what -allured me, too. Its name made me envious. As I held it, it seemed like -the navel of Buddha, from which one cannot divert one’s thought, if one -has once seen it.” - -She noticed that the people about them seemed to make Christian -hesitate, so she took his arm, and drew him behind the curtains of a -window-niche. - -“That it brings misfortune to people is certain,” Christian repeated -mechanically. “How can I keep it, Eva, since you desired it?” - -“Keep it and break the evil spell,” Eva answered, and laughed. But his -seriousness remained unchanged; and she apologized for her laughter by -a gesture, as though she were throwing aside the undue lightness of -her mood. She watched him silently. In the sharp light reflected from -the snow, her eyes were green as malachite. “What are you doing with -yourself?” she asked. “Your eyes look lonesome.” - -“I have been living rather alone for some time,” answered Christian. -His utterances were dry and precise. “Crammon too has left me.” - -“Ivan Becker wrote me about you,” Eva said in muffled tones. “I kissed -the letter. I carried it in my bosom, and said the words of it over to -myself. Is there such a thing as an awakening? Can the soul emerge from -the darkness, as a flower does from the bulb? But there you stand in -your pride, and do not move. Speak! Our time is short.” - -“Why speak at all?” - -Although his eyes seemed so unseeing, it did not escape him that Eva’s -face had changed. A new severity was on it, and a heightened will -controlled its nerves, even to the raising and lowering of her long -lashes. Experience of men and things had lent it an austere radiance, -and her unbounded mastery over them a breath of grandeur. - -“I had not forgotten that this is the city where you dwell,” she said, -“but in these driven hours there was no place for you. They count my -steps, and lie in wait for the end of my sleeping. What I should have -is either a prison or a friend unselfish enough to force me to be more -frugal of myself. In Lisbon the queen gave me a beautiful big dog, -who was so devoted to me that I felt it in my very body. A week later -he was found poisoned at the gate of the garden. I could have put on -mourning for him. How silent and watchful he was, and how he could -love!” She raised her shoulders with a little shiver, dropped them -again, and continued with hurry in her voice. “I shall summon you some -day. Will you come? Will you be ready?” - -“I shall come,” Christian answered very simply, but his heart throbbed. - -“Is your feeling for me the same--changeless and unchangeable?” In her -look there was an indescribably lyrical lift, and her body, moved by -its spirit, seemed to emerge from veils. - -He only bowed his head. - -“And how is it in the matter of _cortesia_?” She came nearer to him, -so that he felt her breath on his lips. “He smiles,” she exclaimed, -and her lips opened, showing her teeth, “instead of just once throwing -himself on his knees in rage or jubilation--he smiles. Take care, you -with your smile, that I am not tempted to extinguish your smiling some -day.” She stripped the glove from her right hand, and gave the naked -hand to Christian, who touched it with his lips. “It is a compact, -Eidolon,” she said serenely now, and with an air of seduction, “and -you will be ready.” Emerging from the niche, she turned to the -gentlemen who had come with her, and who had been holding whispered -conversations: “Messieurs, nous sommes bien pressés.” - -She inclined her head to the jeweller, and the heron feathers trembled. -The four gentlemen let her precede them swiftly, and followed her -silently and reverently. - - -IX - -When next Christian went through the village and saw Amadeus Voss at -the window, he stopped. - -Voss got up suddenly and opened the window, and thereupon Christian -approached. - -It was a time of thaw. The water dripped from the roofs and gutters. -Christian felt the moist air swept by tepid winds as something that -gives pain. - -Behind the powerful lenses the eyes of Amadeus Voss had a yellowish -glitter. “We must be old acquaintances,” he said, “although it is very -long ago since we hunted blackberries among the hedges. Very long.” He -laughed a little weakly. - -Christian had determined to lead the conversation to the dead brother -of Amadeus. There was that event in the mist of the past concerning -which he could gain no clearness, much as he might reflect. - -“I suppose everybody is wondering about me,” Voss said, in the tone -of one who would like to know what people are saying. “I seem to be a -stumbling-block to them. Don’t you think so?” - -“I mustn’t presume to judge,” Christian said, guardedly. - -“With what an expression you say that!” Voss murmured, and looked -Christian all over. “How proud you are. Yet it must have been curiosity -that made you stop.” - -Christian shrugged his shoulders. “Do you remember an incident that -took place when I stayed here with my father?” he asked gently and -courteously. - -“What kind of an incident? I don’t know. Or--but wait! Do you mean that -affair of the pig? When they killed the pig over there in the inn, and -I----” - -“Quite right. That was it,” Christian said with a faint smile. He had -scarcely spoken when the scene and the incident appeared with unwonted -clarity before his mind. - -He and Amadeus and the deaf and dumb Dietrich had been standing at -the gate. And the pig had begun to scream. At that moment Amadeus had -stretched out his arms, and held them convulsively trembling in the -air. The long, loud, and piercing cry of the beast’s death agony had -been something new and dreadful to Christian too, and had drawn him -running to the spot whence it came. He saw the gleaming knife, the -uplifted and then descending arm of the butcher, the struggle of the -short, bristly legs, and the quivering and writhing of the victim’s -body. The lips of Amadeus, who had reeled after him, had been flecked -with foam, and he pointed and moaned: “Blood, blood!” And Christian had -seen the blood on the earth, on the knife, on the white apron of the -man. He did not know what happened next. But Amadeus knew. - -He said: “When the pig screamed, a convulsive rigour fell upon me. For -many hours I lay stiff as a log. My parents were badly frightened, -for I had never had any such attacks before. What you remember is -probably how they tried to cheer me or shame me out of my collapse. -They walked into the puddle of blood and stamped about in it so that -the blood spurted. My dumb brother noticed that this only increased -my excitement. He made noises in his throat, and raised his hands -beseechingly, while my mother was hastening from the house. At that -moment you struck him in the face with your fist.” - -“It is true. I struck him,” said Christian, and his face became very -pale. - -“And why? Why did you do that? We haven’t met since that day, and we’ve -only seen each other from afar. That is, I’ve seen you. You were far -too proud and too busy with your friends to see me. But why did you -strike Dietrich that day? He had a sort of silent adoration of you. He -followed you about everywhere. Don’t you remember? We often laughed -about it. But from that day on he was changed--markedly so.” - -“I believe I hated him at that moment,” Christian said, reflectively. -“I hated him because he could neither hear nor speak. It struck me as -a sort of malevolent stubbornness.” - -“Strange! It’s strange that you should have felt so.” - -They both became silent. Christian started to leave. Voss rested his -arms on the window ledge and leaned far out. “There’s a paragraph in -the paper saying that you’ve bought a diamond for half a million. Is -that true?” - -“It is true,” Christian replied. - -“A single diamond for over half a million? I thought it was merely a -newspaper yarn. Is the diamond to be seen? Would you show it to me?” In -his face there was something of horrified revolt, of panting desire, -but also of mockery. Christian was startled. - -“With pleasure, if you’ll come to see me,” he answered, but determined -to have himself denied to Voss if the latter really came. - -For a secret stirred him again, a depth opened at his feet, an arm was -stretched out after him. - - -X - -On a certain night Letitia awoke and heard dragging, running steps, -the breathing of pursuers and pursued, whispers and hoarse curses, now -nearer, now farther. She sat up and listened. Her bed-chamber opened -upon gardens. Its doors led to the verandah that surrounded the entire -house. - -Then the hurrying steps approached; she saw forms that detached -themselves in black from the greenish night and flitted by: one, and -then another, and then a third, and after a little while a fourth. She -was frightened, but she hated to call for help. To rouse Stephen, who -slept in the adjoining room, was a risk for her, as it was for every -one. At such times he would roar like a steer, and strike out wildly. - -Letitia laughed and shuddered at the thought. - -She fought her fear, got up, threw on a dressing gown, and stepped -determinedly on the verandah. At that moment thick clouds parted and -revealed the moon. Surprised by the unexpected light, the four forms -stopped suddenly, collided against each other, and stood panting and -staring. - -What Letitia saw was old Gottlieb Gunderam and his three sons, -Riccardo, Paolo, and Demetrios, the brothers of her husband. There was -an unquenchable distrust between this father and his sons. They watched -and lay in wait for each other. If there was cash in the house, the old -man did not dare go to bed, and each of the brothers accused the rest -of wanting to rob their father. Letitia knew that much. But it was new -to her that in their dumb rage and malice they went so far as to chase -each other at night, each pursuer and pursued at once, each full of -hatred of the one in front and full of terror of the one behind him. -She laughed and shuddered. - -The old man was the first to slink away. He dragged himself to his -room, and threw himself on the bed in his clothes. Beside the bed stood -two huge travelling boxes, packed and locked. They had stood thus for -twenty years. Daily, during all that period, he had determined at -least once to flee to the house in Buenos Ayres, or even to the United -States, whenever the conflict, first with his wife and later with his -sons, became too much for him. He had never started on that flight; but -the boxes stood in readiness. - -Silently and secretively the brothers also disappeared. While Letitia -stood on the verandah and looked at the moon, she heard the rattle of a -phonograph. Riccardo had recently bought it in the city, and it often -happened that he set it to playing at night. - -Letitia stepped a little farther, and peered into the room in which the -three brothers sat with sombre faces and played poker. The phonograph -roared a vulgar waltz out of its brazen throat. - -Then Letitia laughed and shuddered. - - -XI - -Christian wondered whether Amadeus would come. Two days passed in -slightly depressing suspense. - -He had really intended to go to Waldleiningen to look after his horses. -Sometimes he could actually see their spirited yet gentle eyes, their -velvet coats, and that fine nervousness that vibrated between dignity -and restiveness. He recalled with pleasure the very odour of the -stables. - -The pure bred Scotch horse which he had bought of Denis Lay was to run -in the spring races. His grooms told him that the beautiful animal had -been in poor form for some weeks, and he thought that perhaps it missed -his tender hand. Nevertheless he did not go to Waldleiningen. - -On the third day Amadeus Voss sent a gardener to ask whether he might -call that evening. Instead Christian went down to the forester’s house -that afternoon at four, and knocked at the door. - -Voss looked at him suspiciously. With the instinct of the oppressed -classes he divined the fact that Christian wanted to keep him from his -house. But Christian was far from being as clear about his own motives -as Amadeus suspected. He scented a danger. Some magic in it drew him on -half-consciously to go forth to meet it. - -Looking about in the plain but clean and orderly room Christian saw on -the tinted wall above the bed white slips of paper on which verses of -Scripture had been copied in a large hand. One was this: “He was led -as a sheep to the slaughter; and like a lamb dumb before his shearer, -so opened he not his mouth.” And another was this: “For it is a day of -trouble, and of treading down, and of perplexity by the Lord God of -hosts in the valley of vision, breaking down the walls, and of crying -to the mountains.” And this other: “The Lord said unto me, Within a -year, within the years of an hireling, and all the glory of Kedar shall -fail.” And finally there was this: “I know thy works, that thou art -neither cold nor hot; I would thou were cold or hot. So then because -thou art lukewarm, and neither cold or hot, I will spue thee out of my -mouth.” - - * * * * * - -Christian looked at Amadeus Voss long and curiously. Then he asked, -in a very careful voice, and yet not without an inevitable tinge of -worldly mockery: “Are you very religious?” - -Amadeus frowned and answered: “Whether I answer one way or the other -it will mean equally little to you. Did you come to cross-question -me? Have we anything in common that an answer to that question could -reveal? Amadeus Voss and Christian Wahnschaffe--are those not the -names of sundered poles? What image is there that could express the -differences that divide us? Your faith and mine! And such things are -possible on the same earth!” - -“Was your youth especially hard?” Christian asked, innocently. - -Voss gave a short laugh, and looked at Christian sidewise. “D’you know -what meal days are? Of course you don’t. Well, on such days you get -your meals at strangers’ houses who feed you out of charity. Each day -of the week you’re with another family. Each week repeats the last. -Not to be thought ungrateful you must be obedient and modest. Even if -your stomach revolts at some dish, you must pretend it’s a delicacy. -If the grandfather laughs, you must laugh too; if an uncle thinks -he’s a wit, you must grin. If the daughter of the house chooses to be -insolent, you must be silent. If they respond to your greeting, it’s a -great favour; the worn overcoat with ragged lining they gave you when -winter came binds you in eternal gratitude. You come to know all the -black moods of all these people with whom you sit at table, all their -shop-worn opinions, their phrases and hypocritical expressions; and for -the necessary hour of each day you must learn to practise its special -kind of dissembling. That is the meaning of meal days.” - -He got up, walked to and fro, and resumed his seat. “The devil appeared -to me early,” he said in a hollow voice. “Perhaps I took a certain -experience of my childhood more grievously to heart than others, -perhaps the poison of it filtered deeper into me. But you cannot -forget. It is graven upon my soul that my drunken father beat my -mother. He did it every Saturday night with religious regularity. That -image is not to be obliterated.” - -Christian did not take his eyes from the face of Amadeus. - -Softly, and with a rigid glance, Voss continued: “One night before -Easter, when I was eight years old, he beat her again. I rushed into -the yard, and cried out to the neighbours for help. Then I looked up -at the window, and I saw my mother stand there wringing her hands in -despair. And she was naked.” And his voice almost died into silence as -he added: “Who is it that dare see his own mother naked?” - -Again he arose and wandered about the room. He was so full of himself -that his speech seemed indeed addressed to himself alone. “Two things -there are that made me reflect and wonder even in my childhood. -First, the very many poor creatures, whom my father reported because -they stole a little wood, and who were put in prison. I often heard -some poor, little old woman or some ragged half-starved lad beg for -mercy. There was no mercy here. My father was the forester, and had -to do his duty. Secondly, there were the many rich people who live -in this part of the country in their castles, on their estates, in -their hunting-lodges, and to whom nothing is denied that their wildest -impulses demand. Between the two one stands as between two great -revolving cylinders of steel. One is sure to be crushed to bits in the -end.” - -For a while he gazed into emptiness. “What is your opinion of an -informer?” he asked, suddenly. - -Christian answered with a forced smile: “It’s not a good one.” - -“Listen to me. In the seminary I had a fellow-student named Dippel. -His gifts were moderate, but he was a decent chap and a hard worker. -His father was a signalman on the railroad--one of the very poor, and -his son was his one hope and pride. Dippel happened to be acquainted -with a painter in whose studio he came across an album of photographs -displaying the female form in plastic poses. The adolescent boy gazed -at them again and again, and finally begged the painter to lend him the -album. Dippel slept in my dormitory. I was monitor, and I soon observed -the crowding and the sensuous atmosphere about Dippel, who had shown -the pictures to a few friends. It was like a spreading wound. I went -into the matter and ruthlessly confiscated the pictures. I informed the -faculty. Dippel was summoned, sternly examined, and expelled. Next day -we found him swinging dead from the apple tree.” - -Christian’s face flushed hotly. The tone of equanimity with which it -was recited was more repulsive than the story itself. - -Amadeus Voss continued: “You think that was a contemptible action. But -according to the principles that had been impressed on us I was merely -doing my duty. I was sixteen; and I seemed to be, and was, in a dark -hole. I needed to get out to the air and light. I was like one squeezed -in by a great throng, who cannot see what happens beyond. The fumes of -impatience throttled me, and everything in me cried out for space and -light. It was like living on the eternally dark side of the moon. I was -afraid of the might of evil; and all that I heard of men was more or -less evil. The scales rose and fell in my breast. There are hours in -which one can either become a murderer or die on the cross. I yearned -for the world. Yet I prayed much in those days, and read many books of -devotion, and practised cruel penances. Late at night, when all others -slept, a priest found me absorbed in prayer with the hair-shirt about -my body. During mass or choral singing an incomparable and passionate -devotion streamed through me. But then again I saw flags in the streets -of the city, or well-dressed women, or I stood in the railway station, -and a train of luxurious cars seemed to mock me. Or I saw a man who had -hurled himself out of a window and whose brains spattered the pavement, -and he seemed to cry out to me: Brother, brother! Then the evil one -arose in bodily form and I desired to clutch him. Yes, evil has bodily -form and only evil--injustice, stupidity, lying, all the things that -are repulsive to one to the very core, but which one must embrace and -be, if one has not been born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. To -save a ray of light for myself, I learned to play the organ. It helped -little. What does music matter, or poems or beautiful pictures, or -noble buildings, or books of philosophy, or the whole magnificent world -without? I cannot reach myself. Between me and that real self there is -something--what is it? A wall of red-hot glass. Some are accursed from -the beginning. If I ask: how could the curse be broken? there is but -one answer: the monstrous would need to come to pass, the unimaginable! -Thus it is with me.” - -Christian was shocked. “What do you mean by that?” - -“One would have to gain a new experience,” answered Amadeus Voss, “to -know a being truly human--in the highest and deepest sense.” In the -gathering dusk his face had the hue of stone. It was a well-shaped -face--long, narrow, intelligent, full of impassioned suffering. The -lenses in front of his eyes sparkled in the last light of day, and on -his fair hair was a glimmer as upon jewels. - -“Are you going to stay in the village?” Christian inquired, not from -a desire to know, but out of the distress which he felt in the heavy -silence. “You were employed by Councillor Ribbeck. Will you return to -him?” - -Voss’s nerves twitched. “Return? There is no return,” he murmured. -“Do you know Ribbeck? Well, I hardly know him myself. I saw him just -twice. The first time was when he came to the seminary to engage a -tutor for his sons. When I think of him I have the image of something -fat and frozen. I was picked out at once. My superiors approved of me -highly and desired to smooth my path. Yes. And I saw him for the second -time one night in December, when he appeared at Halbertsroda with a -commissary of police to put me out. You needn’t look at me that way. -There were no further consequences. It wouldn’t have done to permit -any.” - -He fell silent. Christian got up. Voss did not urge him to stay longer, -but accompanied him to the door. There he said in a changed voice: -“What kind of a man are you? One sits before you and pours out one’s -soul, and you sit there in silence. How does it happen?” - -“If you regret it I shall forget all you have said,” Christian answered -in his flexible, courteous way, that always had a touch of the -equivocal. - -Voss let his head droop. “Come in again when you are passing,” he -begged gently. “Perhaps then I’ll tell you about what happened there!” -He pointed with his thumb across his shoulder. - -“I shall come,” said Christian. - - -XII - -Albrecht Wahnschaffe came into his wife’s bedroom. She was in bed. It -was a magnificent curtained bed with carved posters. On both sides of -the wall hung costly tapestries representing mythological scenes. A -coverlet of blue damask concealed Frau Wahnschaffe’s majestic form. - -Gallantly he kissed the hand which she held out toward him with a weary -gesture, and glided into an armchair. “I want to talk to you about -Christian,” he said. “For some time his doings have worried me. He -drifts and drifts. The latest thing is his purchase of that diamond. -There is a challenge in such an action. It annoys me.” - -Frau Wahnschaffe wrinkled her forehead, and answered: “I see no need to -worry. Many sons of wealthy houses pass their time as Christian does. -They are like noble plants that need adornment. They seem to me to -represent a high degree of human development. They regard themselves -quite rightly as excellent within themselves. By birth and wealth they -are freed from the necessity of effort. Their very being is in their -aristocratic aloofness and inviolability.” - -Albrecht Wahnschaffe bowed. He played with his slender white fingers -that bore no sign of age. He said: “I’m sorry that I cannot quite -share your opinion. It seems to me that in the social organism each -member should exercise a function that serves the whole. I was brought -up with this view, and I cannot deny it in favour of Christian. I am -not inclined to quarrel with his mere expenditure of money, though he -has exceeded his budget considerably during the last few months. The -house of Wahnschaffe cannot be touched even by such costly pranks. What -annoys me is the aimlessness of such a life, its exceedingly obvious -lack of any inner ambition.” - -From under her wearily half-closed lids Frau Wahnschaffe regarded her -husband coolly. It angered her that he desired to draw Christian, who -had been created for repose and play, delight and beauty, into his -own turbid whirl. She answered with a touch of impatience: “You have -always let him choose his own path, and you cannot change him now. All -do not need to toil. Business is terribly unappetizing. I have borne -two sons--one for you, one for myself. Demand of yours what you will -and let him fulfil what he can. I like to think of mine and be happy -in the thought that he is alive. If anything has worried me it is the -fact that, since his trip to England, Christian has withdrawn himself -more and more from us, and also, I am told, from his friends. I hope it -means nothing. Perhaps there is a woman behind it. In that case it will -pass; he does not indulge in tragic passions. But talking exhausts me, -Albrecht. If you have other arguments, I beg you to postpone them.” - -She turned her head aside, and closed her eyes in exhaustion. Albrecht -Wahnschaffe arose, kissed her hand with the same gallant gesture, and -went out. - -But her saying that she had borne one son for him and one for herself -embittered him a little against his wife, whom he commonly regarded as -an inviolable being of finer stuff. Why did I build all this? he asked -himself, as he slowly passed through the magnificent halls. - -It was more difficult for him to approach Christian than a member -of the ministry or a distinguished foreigner. He vacillated between -issuing a request and a command. He was not sure of his authority, and -even less of any friendly understanding. But while he was spending -a few days of rest and recreation in the family’s ancestral house -at Würzburg, he sent a message to Christian, and begged him for an -interview. - - -XIII - -Crammon wrote to Christian. It was his humour to affect an archaic -manner of speech: - -“Most Honoured and Worthy Friend: With deep satisfaction I learn -that your Worship has ruefully returned to the god Dionysos, and as -a sign thereof laid down upon his altar a jewel, whose price has -caused the teeth of the Philistines in the land to rattle, and their -lame digestions to work with unwelcome swiftness. Your servant, the -undersigned, did, on the contrary, when the news of happy augury came -to him, perform a dance in his lonely closet, which so shocked the -ladies of his palace that they at once called up psychiatrists on the -telephone. Thus the world, barren of understanding, is incapable of -great reflections. - -“Unlovely are my days. I am ensnared in amorous adventures which do -not content me, and, in addition, disappoint those who are involved. -At times I sit by the charming glow of my chimney fire, and, closing -my eyes, peruse the book of memory. A bottle of golden-hued cognac is -my sole companion, and while I nourish my heart upon its artificial -warmth, the higher regions are wont to sink into the cold mystery of -mere idiocy. My mental powers are moving, like the crab, backward; my -virile powers decline. Years ago in Paris I knew a chess player, a -purblind old German, who lost every game he played, and exclaimed each -time: ‘Where are the days in which I vanquished the great Zuckertort?’ -The latter, I must explain, was a great master of the royal game. The -necessary application to myself embarrasses me. There was once a Roman -emperor famous above all others for his power over women; Maxentius -was, I believe, the man’s name. But were I to exclaim: ‘Where are the -days in which I rivalled the great Maxentius?’ it were but damnable -boasting! - -“It is a pity that you cannot be a beholder when I arise from my couch -in the morning. Were this spectacle to be tested by connoisseurs and -to be enjoyed by the laity, throngs would attend it, as whilom they -did the rising of the kings of France. The gentry of the land would -come to do me reverence, and lovely ladies would tickle me to elicit a -beam of cheer upon my face. O blessed youth, friend and playmate of my -dreams, I would have you know that the moments in which one leaves the -linen well warmed by one’s own body, and goes forth to twelve hours of -the world’s mischief, are to me moments of incomparable pitifulness. -I sit on the bed’s edge, and regard my underwear with a loud though -inward rage. Sadly I gather the remnants of my ego, and reknot the -thread of consciousness where Morpheus cut it yestereve. My soul is -strewn about, and rolls in little globules, like mercury spilt from -a broken thermometer. Only the sacrificial fumes of the tea kettle, -the fragrance of ham and of an omelet like cowslips, and, above all, -gentle words uttered by the soft lips of my considerate housekeepers, -reconcile me to my fate. - -“Dear old Regamey is dead. The Count Sinsheim has had a paralytic -stroke. My friend, Lady Constance Cuningham, a member of the highest -aristocracy, has married a wealthy American bounder. The best are -going, and the tree of life is growing bare. On my trip here I stopped -over in Munich for three days as the guest of the young Imhofs. Your -sister Judith is cutting a great figure. The painters paint her, the -sculptors hew her in marble, the poets celebrate her. Yet her ambition -is still vaulting. She desires passionately a little nine-pointed -coronet upon her linen, her liveries, and her four motors, and flirts -with everything that comes from the court or goes to it. Felix, on -the contrary, being a democrat, surrounds himself with business men, -speculators, explorers, and clever people of both sexes. Hence their -house is a mixture of Guildhall, a grain exchange, a meeting of -pettifoggers, and a jockey club. After watching the goings on for an -evening, I retired to a corner with a pretty girl, and asked her to -feel my pulse. She obeyed, and my suffering soul was soothed. - -“Our sweet Ariel, I am told, intoxicates the Poles in Warsaw and the -Muscovites in Moscow. In the latter city the students are said to have -expressed their homage by a torchlight procession, and the officers to -have covered the snowy streets from her dwelling to the theatre with -roses. I am also told that the Grand Duke Cyril, commonly known as -the human butcher, is half-mad with love of her, and is turning the -world topsy-turvy to get her. It fills me with a piercing, depthless -melancholy to think, O Ariel, that once I, too, felt thy breath. No -more than that; but it suffices. _Le moulin n’y est plus, mais le vent -y est encore._ - -“With this final remark, dear brother of my heart and sorely missed -friend, I commend you to God, and beseech you to give some sign to your -affectionately longing Bernard Gervasius C. v. W.” - -When Christian had read the letter, he smiled, and laid it quietly -aside. - - -XIV - -On the slope of the hill behind the village Christian and Amadeus Voss -met quite by chance. - -“I have been waiting for you all week,” said Voss. - -“I was going to come to you to-day,” said Christian. “Won’t you walk a -little with me?” - -Amadeus Voss turned and accompanied Christian. They climbed the -hill-top, and then turned toward the forest. Silently they walked side -by side. The sun shone through the boughs and everything was watery. -Remnants of snow rested on the dry foliage; the ground was slippery; on -the road the water flowed in the deep ruts. When they left the forest -the sun was just setting, the sky was greenish and pink, and when they -reached the first houses of Heptrich, twilight had fallen. On the whole -way they had not exchanged a syllable. At first Voss had deliberately -not kept step with Christian. Later they walked in a rhythmic harmony -that was like the prelude to their conversations. - -“I’m hungry,” said Amadeus Voss; “there is an inn yonder. Let us go.” - -They entered the guest room, which they found empty. They sat down at a -table near the oven, for the cold air had chilled them. A bar-maid lit -a lamp, and brought what they ordered. Christian, in an access of fear, -which was less only than his curiosity, thought: What will happen now? -and watched Voss attentively. - -“The other day I read a moral tale in an old book,” said Amadeus, and -he used a sharpened match as a tooth-pick in a way that made Christian -tremble with nervousness. “It tells about a king, who realized that men -and things in his country were growing worse every day, and he asked -four philosophers to find out the reason. The four wise men consulted, -and then each went to one of the four gates of the city and inscribed -thereon one of the chief reasons. The first wrote: ‘Here might is -right, and therefore this land has no law; day is night, and therefore -this land has no road; conflict is flight, and therefore this land has -no honour.’ The second wrote: ‘One is two here, and therefore this -land has no truth; friend is enemy here, therefore this land has no -troth; evil is good, therefore we see no piety.’ The third wrote: ‘The -snail pretends to be an eagle, and thieves hold all power.’ The fourth -wrote: ‘The will is our counsellor, and its counsel is evil; the penny -pronounces judgment, therefore our rule is vile; God is dead, and -therefore the land is filled with sins.’” - -He threw the match away, and leaned his head upon his hand. “In the -same book,” he went on, “there is yet another story, and perhaps you -will feel the connection between the two. Once upon a time the earth -opened in the midst of Rome, and a yawning abyss was seen. The gods -were questioned, and they made answer: ‘This abyss will not close -until some one has leaped into it of his own free will.’ None could -be persuaded to do that. At last a youth came and said: ‘If you will -let me live for one year according to my pleasure, then at the year’s -end I shall gladly and voluntarily plunge into the abyss.’ It was -decided that nothing should be forbidden him, and he used the women and -possessions of the Romans freely and at his pleasure. All yearned for -the moment to come when they could be rid of him. And when the year was -gone, he rode up on a noble charger, and with it leaped into the abyss, -which immediately closed behind him.” - -Christian shrugged his shoulders. “It is all dark to me,” he said -moodily. “Did you really want to tell me these old tales? They have no -meaning.” - -Voss laughed hoarsely to himself. “You are not nimble,” he said, “you -have not a nimble mind. Have you never felt the need of seeking refuge -in some metaphor? It is like a drug that stills pain.” - -“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Christian said, and again he -heard the other’s soft laughter. - -“Let us go,” said Christian and arose. - -“Very well. Let us go.” Voss spoke with a morose air. And they went. - - -XV - -The night air was very still and the sky sown with stars that gleamed -coldly. When the village lay behind them, they heard no sound. - -“How long were you in Ribbeck’s house?” Christian asked suddenly. - -“Ten months,” Amadeus Voss replied. “When I got to Halbertsroda, the -land lay under ice and snow. When I left, the land lay under ice and -snow. Between my coming and going, there was a spring, a summer, and an -autumn.” - -He stopped for a moment, and gazed after an animal that in the darkness -leaped across the road and disappeared in the furrows of a field. Then -he began to talk, at first in a staccato manner and drily, then vividly -and tempestuously, and at last gasping for breath. They wandered away -from the road, but were not aware of it; the hour grew late, but they -did not know it. - -Voss told his story: - -“I had never seen a house like that. The carpets, pictures, tapestries, -the silver, the many servants--it was all new to me. I had never eaten -of such dishes nor slept in such beds. I came from amid four bare -walls, from a cot, an iron stove, a wash stand, a book shelf, and a -crucifix. - -“My two pupils were eleven and thirteen. The older was blond and spare, -the younger brunette and stocky. Their hair hung down their shoulders -like manes. From the very first hour they treated me with a jeering -resistance. At first I did not see Frau Ribbeck at all. Not till a week -had passed did she summon me. She made the impression of a young girl; -she had rust-red hair and a pale, intimidated, undeveloped face. She -treated me with a contempt that I had not expected, and that drove -the blood into my temples. My meals were served to me alone. I was not -permitted to eat at the master’s table, and the servants treated me as -their equal. That gnawed at me cruelly. When Frau Ribbeck appeared in -the garden and I lifted my hat, she barely nodded, blind and shameless -in her contempt for one whom she paid. I was no more to her than thin -air! - -“It is as old as the world, this sin that was sinned against my soul. -Ye sinners against my soul, why did you let me famish? Why did I taste -of renunciation while ye revelled? How shall a hungry man withstand the -temptations which the living Tempter places before him? Do you think we -are not aware of your gluttony? All action, whether good or evil, runs -through all nature. When the grape blossoms in Madeira, the wine that -has been pressed from it stirs in a thousand casks far over sea and -land, and a new fermentation sets in. - -“One morning the boys locked the door of their room and refused -to come to their instruction. While I shook the knob they mocked -me from within. In the halls the servants stood and laughed at my -powerlessness. I went to the gardener, borrowed an axe, and crashed -through the door with three blows. A minute later I was in the room. -The boys looked at me in consternation, and realized at last that I -would not endure their insolence. The noise had brought Frau Ribbeck -to the scene. She looked at the broken door and then at me. I shall -never forget that look. She did not turn her eyes from me even while -she was speaking to the children, and that was at least ten minutes. -Her eyes asked: How dare you? Who are you? When she went out, she saw -the axe near the door and stopped a moment, and I saw her shiver. But I -knew that the direction of the wind had changed. Also it came into my -consciousness that a human woman had stood before me. - -“The teasing of my pupils was by no means at an end. On the contrary, -they annoyed me as much as possible. But they did it secretively -now, and the blame was hard to fix. I found pebbles and needles in -my bed, ink spilled over my books, a horrible rent in the best suit -of clothes I had. They jeered at me before others, lied about me to -their mother, and exchanged glances of shameless insolence when I held -them responsible. What they did was not like the ordinary mischief of -silly boys. They had been sophisticated by luxury. They were afraid -of a draught, had the rooms so overheated that one grew faint, and -thought of nothing but physical comforts. Once they fought, and the -younger bit the older’s finger. The boy went to bed for three days, and -insisted that a physician be called. Nor was this merely a case of lazy -malingering; bottomless malevolence and vengefulness entered into it. -They considered me as far beneath them, and lost no chance to make me -feel my dependent position. My mood was often bitter, but I determined -to practise patience. - -“One evening I entered the drawing-room. The hour which I had set as -the boys’ bed-time was past. Frau Ribbeck sat on the carpet, the boys -snuggled on either side of her. She was showing them the pictures in -a book. Her hair hung loose,--an unfitting thing, I thought--and its -reddish splendour covered her as well as the boys like a mantle of -brocade. The boys fixed green and evil eyes upon me. I ordered them to -bed at once. There must have been something in my tone that frightened -them and forced them to obey. Without contradiction they got up and -retired. - -“Adeline remained on the carpet. I shall simply call her Adeline, as, -indeed, I did later during our intercourse. She looked at me exactly -as she had done that day I had used the axe. One cannot well be paler -than she was by nature, but her skin now became positively transparent. -She arose, went to the table, lifted some indifferent object, and put -it down again. At the same time a mocking smile hovered upon her lips. -That smile went through and through me. And indeed the woman herself -pierced me, body and soul. You’ll misunderstand me. It doesn’t matter. -If you don’t understand, no explanations will do any good. The sheet -of ice above me cracked, and I had a glimpse of the upper world.” - -“I believe I do understand you,” said Christian. - -“To my question whether she desired me to leave the house, she replied -that, since her husband had engaged me, it was for her to respect the -arrangement. Her tone was frosty. I replied that the pressure of her -dislike made it impossible for my activities to be fruitful. With -an indirect glance at me, she answered that some method of decent -co-operation could probably be found, and that she would think it over. -Beginning with that evening, I was invited to table with her, and the -boys and she treated me with respect, if not with kindness. Late one -evening she sent for me and asked me to read to her. She gave me the -book from which I was to read. It was a current fashionable novel, -and, after I had read a few pages, I threw the volume on the table, -and said that the stuff nauseated me. She nodded, and answered that -that was quite her feeling, too, which she had not wanted to admit -even to herself, and that she was grateful to me for my frankness. I -went for my Bible, and read her the story of Samson from the Book of -Judges. It must have seemed naïve to her, for when I had finished that -mocking smile played again about her lips. Then she asked: ‘It’s hardly -necessary, is it, to be a hero in Judah to share Samson’s fate? And do -you think that what Delilah accomplished was so remarkable?’ I replied -that I had no experience of such matters, and she laughed. - -“One word led to another, and I gathered the courage to reproach her -with the morally neglected condition of her children, and with the -wounding and vulgar quality of all I had so far seen and experienced -in her house. I intentionally used the sharpest words, in order that -she might flare up in wrath and show me the door. But she remained -quite calm, and begged me to explain my ideas more fully. I did so, -not without passion, and she heard me with pleasure. Several times I -saw her breathe deeply and stretch herself and close her eyes. She -contradicted me, then agreed, defended her position, and in the end -admitted it to be indefensible. I told her that the love which she -thought she felt for her sons was really a sort of hatred, based on -a poisoning of her own soul, in which there was yet another life and -another love, which it was wicked to condemn to withering and death. -She must have misunderstood me at this point, for she looked at me with -her large eyes suddenly, and bade me go. When I had closed her door -behind me, I heard sobs. I opened the door again, and saw her sitting -there with her face hidden in her hands. I had the impulse to return to -her. But her gesture dismissed me. - -“I had never before seen any woman cry except my mother. I cannot -tell you of my feelings. If I had had a sister and grown up in her -companionship, I might have acted and felt differently. But Adeline was -the first woman whom, in any deeper sense, I truly saw. - -“Several days later she asked me whether I had any hope of forming her -boys into human beings in my sense. She said that she had reflected on -all I had urged, and had come to the conclusion that things could not -go on as they were. I answered that it was not yet too late. She begged -me to save what was possible, and announced that, in order to leave -me a free hand, she had determined to travel for a few months. Three -days later she departed. She took no personal farewell of her sons, but -wrote them a letter from Dresden. - -“I took the boys with me to a hunting lodge, that lay isolated in the -woods, at a distance of two hours from Halbertsroda. It belonged to the -Ribbeck estate, and Adeline had assigned it to me as a refuge. There -I settled down with the boys and took them sternly in hand. Sometimes -dread overcame me, when I thought of the words of Scripture: Why do -you seek constantly to change your way? Beware lest you be deceived by -Egypt, as you were deceived by Assyria. - -“A deaf, old man-servant cooked for us, and luxurious meals were a -thing of the past. The boys had to pray, to fast once a week, to -sleep on hard mattresses, and to rise at five in the morning. In every -way I broke down their stubbornness, their dull sloth, their furtive -sensuality, their plots and tricks. There was no play now, and the -days were divided with iron regularity. I shrank from no severity. I -chastised them; at the slightest disobedience I used a whip. I taught -them the meaning of pain. When they cowered naked before me, with the -bloody stripes on their bodies, I spoke to them of the martyrdom of -the saints. I kept a diary, in order that Adeline might know exactly -what had happened. The boys started when they heard me from afar; they -trembled if I but raised my head. Once I came upon them whispering -to each other in bed at night. I drove them out. They screamed and -fled out of the house from me. In their night shifts they ran into -the forest, and I, with two dogs following me, pursued them. Rain -began to pour, and at last they broke down and threw themselves on -the ground and begged for mercy. Most difficult of all it was to lead -them to Confession. But I was stronger than the Evil One within them, -and forced them to cleanse their souls. Bitter hours were the hours I -endured. But I had made a vow to Adeline in my heart. - -“The boys became thoughtful, subdued, and silent. They went into -corners and wept. When Adeline returned I took them to Halbertsroda, -and she marvelled at the change in them. They flung themselves into -her arms, but they uttered no complaint against me, either then or -when they were left alone with her. I had told them that if they -were disobedient or stubborn, we would return to the hunting lodge. -One or two days a week were spent there under any circumstances. -Gradually they came to avoid their mother, and Adeline herself was more -indifferent to them. The softish, hectic, over-tender element in their -relations had disappeared. - -“Adeline sought my companionship and conversation. She watched me, and -was condescending, weary, distracted in mind, and restless. She adorned -herself as though guests were coming, and combed her hair thrice -daily. In all respects she submitted to my regulations. There are -dulled, worm-eaten, smouldering souls that kneel before the raised axe -in another’s hand, and give only mockery to those who bend before them. -Often her loftiness and reserve overwhelmed me, and I thought that she -had no space for me in her mind. Then a look came into her eyes that -made me forget whence I came and what I was in her house. Everything -seemed possible with her. She was capable of setting fire to the house -by night, because she was bored, and because the cancer that ate at her -soul would cease its gnawing for no nobler ecstasy: she was capable -of standing from noon to night before her mirror to watch a deepening -furrow on her brow. Everything seemed possible. For is it not written: -What man knoweth what is in man except only the spirit of man that is -in him? - -“My deep temptations began on an evening when, in the course of -conversation, she carelessly laid her hand over mine, and withdrew it -hastily. That gesture snatched from my sight the things about us. In -the space between one thought and the next I had become the slave of -visions and desires. - -“She asked me to tell her about my life. I fell into that snare too, -and told her. - -“Once in the twilight I met her in the hall. She stood still, and -looked at me piercingly. Then she laughed softly and moved away. I -reeled, and the sweat stood in beads on my forehead. - -“My heart was heavy when I was alone. Visions appeared that set my -room in flames. My rosary and my missal were hidden from me, and I -could find neither. Always there rose the cry in me: Once only! Let me -taste that ecstasy but once! Then demons came and tormented me. All -the muscles and nerves and sinews of my body seemed lacerated. Do with -me as God wills, I whispered to the demons, for my heart is prepared. -During sleep a strange force hurled me from my bed, and unconsciously -I battered the walls with my head. One whole week I fasted upon bread -and water, but it did not avail. Once when I had sat down to read, a -huge ape stood before me and turned the leaves of my book. Every night -a seductive vision of Adeline came to my bed-side. She stood there and -spoke: ‘It is I, my beloved.’ Then I would rise and run senselessly -about. But she would follow me and whisper: ‘You shall be my master -and have all the good things of this world.’ But when I sought to -grasp that vision of her, it showed a sudden aversion, and she called -fluttering shadows to her aid. One was a notary with a pen and an -ink-well, another a locksmith with a red-hot hammer, there was a mason -with his trowel, an officer with naked sword, a woman with a painted -face. - -“So terrible was my state, that I understood but slowly and gradually -the dreadful realities that took place about me. One morning Adeline -came into the room where I was teaching the boys, sat down, and -listened. She drew from her finger a ring that had in it a great, -lovely pearl, played with it thoughtfully, arose, went to the window to -watch the falling of the snow, and then left the room to go into the -garden. I could not breathe or see any longer. There was an intolerable -pressure on my chest, and I had to leave the room for a little to catch -my breath. When I returned I saw in the eyes of my pupils a look of -unwonted malevolence. I paid no attention to it. From time to time -the old rebelliousness flared up in them, but I let them be. They sat -before me half-crouching, and recited their catechism softly and with -glances full of fear. - -“About ten minutes passed when Adeline returned. She said she had left -her ring on the table, and asked me whether I had seen it. She began -to search for it, and so did I. She called her maid and a footman, -who examined everything in the room; but the ring was gone. Adeline -and her servants looked at me strangely, for I stood there and could -not move. I felt at once and in every fibre that I was exposed to -their suspicion. They searched on the stairs and in the hall, in the -new fallen snow of the garden, and again in the room, since Adeline -insisted that she had taken the ring off there and forgotten it on the -table. And I confirmed this statement, although I had not actually -seen the ring on the table, since I had seen her and her gestures but -as things in a dream. All the words that were exchanged between her -and the servants seemed directed against me. I read suspicion in their -looks and changed colour, and called the boys, who had stolen away as -soon as they could, and questioned them. They suggested that their -rooms be searched, and looked at me with malignity. I begged Adeline -to have my room searched as well. She made a deprecating gesture, but -said, as though in self-justification, that she attached a peculiar -value to this ring and should hate to lose it. - -“Meantime the manager of the estate, who happened to have spent that -night at Halbertsroda, entered. He passed me by without greeting, -but with a dark and hostile glance. Then it all came over me. I saw -myself delivered over to their suspicions without defence, and I said -to myself: Perhaps you have really stolen the ring. The fall from my -previous spiritual condition to this vulgar and ugly one was so sudden, -that I broke out into wild laughter, and insisted more urgently than -ever that my room and effects and even my person be searched. The -manager spoke softly to Adeline. She looked at me wanly and went out. I -emptied my pockets in the man’s presence. He followed me to my room. I -sat down by the window while he opened drawer after drawer in my chest -and opened my wardrobe. The footman, the maid, and the two boys stood -by the door. Suddenly the manager uttered a hollow cry and held up the -ring. I had known with the utmost certainty a moment before that he -would find the ring. I had read it in the faces of the boys. Therefore -I remained quietly seated while the others looked at one another and -followed the manager out. I locked my door and walked up and down, up -and down, for many, many hours. - -“When the night was over, there was a solemn calm in my soul. I sent -a servant to ask Adeline whether she would receive me. She refused. -To justify myself in writing was a thing I scorned to do. I would but -degrade myself by asserting my innocence thus. My soul felt pure and -cold. I learned next day that the manager had long heard rumours of -the frightful cruelties I was said to inflict on the boys, who had, -moreover, accused their mother and myself of an adulterous intimacy. -Hence he had visited Halbertsroda secretly on several occasions, had -questioned the servants, and had, that very morning, caused the boys -to strip in his presence and had seen on their bodies the marks of the -stripes that they had received. Since, in addition, their entire state -of mind made him anxious, he sent a telegram to the Councillor, who -arrived during the night with an official of the police. - -“I suspect that Adeline at once saw through the plot concerning the -ring, for it was not mentioned. The commissary turned to me and spoke -vaguely of serious consequences, but I made no attempt to explain or -excuse anything I had done. I left Halbertsroda that same night. I -did not see Adeline again. She was, I have been told, sent off to a -sanatorium. Three weeks later a little package came to me by post. -I opened it and found in it the ring with the pearl. In our yard is -a very ancient well. I went to that well and cast the ring into its -depths. - -“And now you know what happened to me in that world of the higher -classes, in the house of the Councillor Ribbeck.” - - -XVI - -They had to walk a while longer before they reached the gate of -the park of Christian’s Rest. As Voss was about to take his leave, -Christian said: “You’re probably tired. Why trouble to walk to the -village? Be my guest over night.” - -“If it does not inconvenience you, I accept,” Voss answered. - -They entered the house and passed into the brightly lit hall. Amadeus -Voss gazed about him in astonishment. They went up the stairs and into -the dining hall, which was furnished in the purest style of Louis XV. -Christian led his guest through other rooms into the one that was to be -his. And Amadeus Voss wondered more and more. “This is quite another -thing from Halbertsroda,” he murmured; “it is as a feast day compared -to every day.” - -Silently they sat opposite each other at table. Then they went into the -library. A footman served the coffee on a silver platter. Voss leaned -against a column and looked upward. When the servant had gone, he said: -“Have you ever heard of the Telchinian pestilence? It is a disease -created by the envy of the Telchines, the hounds of Actæon who were -changed into men, and it destroys everything within its reach. A youth -named Euthilides saw with that eye of envy the reflection of his own -beauty in a spring, and his beauty faded.” - -Christian looked silently at the floor. - -“There is another legend of a Polish nobleman,” Amadeus continued. -“This nobleman lived alone in a white house by the Vistula river. All -his neighbours avoided him, for his envious glance brought them nothing -but misfortune. It killed their herds, set fire to their barns, and -made their children leprous. Once a beautiful maiden was pursued by -wolves and took refuge in the white house. He fell in love with her and -married her. But because the evil that was in him passed into her also, -he tore out the gleaming crystals of his eyes, and buried them near the -garden wall. He had now recovered. But the buried eyes gained new power -under the earth, and an old servitor who dug them up was slain by them.” - -Sitting on a low stool, Christian had folded his arms over his knee, -and looked up at Voss. - -“From time to time,” said Amadeus Voss, “one must expiate the lust of -the eye. Over in the village of Nettersheim a maid servant lies dying. -The poor thing is deserted by all the world. She lies in a shed by the -stables, and the peasants who think her merely lazy will not believe -that she is about to die. I have visited her more than once, in order -to expiate the lust of the eye.” - -A long silence fell upon them. When the clock in the tall Gothic case -struck twelve, they went to their rooms. - - -XVII - -In obedience to his father’s summons, Christian travelled to Würzburg. - -Their greeting was most courteous. “I hope I have not interfered with -any plans of yours,” said Albrecht Wahnschaffe. - -“I am at your disposal,” Christian said coolly. - -They took a walk on the old ramparts but said little. The beautiful dog -Freia, who was the constant companion of Albrecht Wahnschaffe, trotted -along between them. It surprised the elder Wahnschaffe to observe on -Christian’s face the signs of inner change. - -That evening, over their tea, he said with an admirably generous -gesture. “You’re to be congratulated, I understand, on a very unusual -acquisition. A wreath of legends surrounds this diamond. The incident -has caused quite a whirl of dust to fly and not a little amazement. Not -unjustly so, it seems to me, since you are neither a British Duke nor -an Indian Maharajah. Is the stone so very desirable?” - -“It is marvellous,” Christian said. And suddenly the words of Voss -slipped into his mind: One must expiate the lust of the eye. - -Albrecht Wahnschaffe nodded. “I don’t doubt it, and I understand such -passions, though, as a man of business, I must regret the tying up of -so much capital. It is an eccentricity; and the world is endangered -whenever the commoners grow eccentric. And so I should like to ask -you to reflect on this aspect of things: all the privileges which you -enjoy, all the easements of life, the possibility of satisfying your -whims and passions, the supremacy of your social station--all these -things rest on work. Need I add--on the work of your father?” - -The dog Freia had strolled out from a corner of the room, and laid her -head caressingly on Christian’s knee. Albrecht Wahnschaffe, slightly -annoyed and jealous, gave her a smart slap on one flank. - -He continued. “An exploitation of one’s capacity for work which reaches -the extent of mine involves, of course, the broadest self-denial in -all other matters. One becomes a ploughshare that tears up the earth -and rusts. Or one is like a burning substance, luminiferous but -self-consumed. Marriage, family, friendship, art, nature--these things -scarcely exist for me. I have lived like a miner in his shaft. And what -thanks do I get? Demagogues tell those whom they delude that I am a -vampire, who sucks the blood of the oppressed. These poisoners of our -public life either do not know or do not wish to know the shocks and -sufferings and renunciations that have been mine, and of which their -peaceful ‘wage-slave’ has no conception.” - -Freia snuggled closer up to Christian, licked his hand, and her eyes -begged humbly for a look. The beast’s dumb tenderness soothed him. He -frowned, and said laconically: “If it is so, and you feel it so keenly, -why do you go on working?” - -“There is such a thing as duty, my dear spoiled boy, such a thing as -loyalty to a cause,” Albrecht Wahnschaffe answered, and a gleam of -anger showed in his pale-blue eyes. “Every peasant clings to the bit of -earth into which he has put his toil. When I began to work, our country -was still a poor country; to-day it is rich. I shall not say that what -I have accomplished is considerable, when compared to the sum of our -national accomplishment, but it has counted. It is a symptom of our -rise, of our young might, of our economic welfare. We are one of the -very great nations now, and have a body as well as a countenance.” - -“What you say is doubtless most true,” Christian answered. “Unhappily -I have no instinct for such matters; my personality is defective in -things of that kind.” - -“A quarter of a century ago your fate would have been that of a -bread earner,” Albrecht Wahnschaffe continued, without reacting to -Christian’s words. “To-day you are a descendant and an heir. Your -generation looks upon a changed world and age. We older men have -fastened wings upon your shoulders, and you have forgotten how painful -it is to creep.” - -Christian, in a sombre longing for the warmth of some body, took the -dog’s head between his hands, and with a grunt of gratitude she raised -herself up and laid her paws on his shoulders. With a smile, that -included his petting of the dog, he said: “No one refuses the good -things that fall into his lap. It is true I have never asked whence -everything comes and whither it tends. To be sure, there are other ways -of living; and I may yet embrace one of them some day. Then it will -be apparent whether one becomes another man, and what kind, when the -supports or the wings, as you put it, are gone.” His face had grown -serious. - -Albrecht Wahnschaffe suddenly felt himself rather helpless before this -handsome, proud stranger who was his son. To hide his embarrassment, -he answered hastily: “A different way of living--that is just what I -mean. It was the conviction that a life which is nothing but a chain of -trifles must in the end become a burden, that made me suggest a career -to you that is worthier of your powers and gifts. How would you like -the profession of diplomacy? Wolfgang seems thoroughly satisfied with -the possibilities that he sees opening up before him. It is not too -late for you either. It will not be difficult to make up the time lost. -Your name outweighs any title of nobility. You would stay in a suitable -atmosphere; you have large means, the necessary personal qualities and -relations. Everything will adjust itself automatically.” - -Christian shook his head. “You are mistaken, father,” he said, softly -but firmly. “I have no capacity for anything like that, and no taste -for it at all.” - -“I suspected as much,” Albert Wahnschaffe said, in his liveliest -manner. “Let us not speak of it any more. My second proposal is far -more congenial to myself. I would encourage you to co-operate in the -activities of our firm. My plan is to create a representative position -for you in either our home or our foreign service. If you choose the -latter you may select your own field of activity--Japan, let us say, -or the United States. We would furnish you with credentials that would -make your position very independent. You would assume responsibilities -that are in no wise burdensome, and enjoy all the privileges of an -ambassador. All that is needed is your consent. I shall arrange all -details.” - -Christian arose from his chair. “I beg you very earnestly, father, to -drop that subject,” he said. His expression was cold and his eyes cast -down. - -Albrecht Wahnschaffe arose too. “Do not be rash, Christian,” he -admonished his son. “I shall not conceal the fact that a definitive -refusal on your part would wound me deeply. I have counted on you.” He -looked at Christian with a firm glance. But Christian was silent. - -After a while he asked: “How long ago is it since you were at the -works?” - -“It must be three or four years ago,” Christian answered. - -“It was three years ago on Whitsuntide, if I remember rightly,” -Albrecht Wahnschaffe said, with his habitual touch of pride in his -memory, which was rarely at fault. “You had agreed on a pleasure trip -in the Harz mountains with your cousin, Theo Friesen, and Theo was -anxious to pay a flying visit to the factories. He had heard of our -new welfare movement for workingmen, and was interested in it. But you -scarcely stopped after all.” - -“No, I persuaded Theo to go on. We had a long way ahead of us, and I -was anxious to get to our quarters.” - -Christian remembered the whole incident now. Evening had come before -the car drove through the streets of the factory village. He had -yielded to his cousin’s wish, but suddenly his aversion for this world -of smoke and dust and sweat and iron had awakened. He had not wanted to -leave the car, and had ordered the driver to speed up. - -Nevertheless he recalled the hellish music made up of beaten steel -and whirring wheels. He could still hear the thundering, whistling, -wheezing, screeching, hissing; he could still see the swift procession -of forges, cylinders, pumps, steam-hammers, furnaces, of all kinds; -the thousands of blackened faces, a race that seemed made of coal -in the breath of the fierce glow of white and crimson fires; misty -electric moons that quivered in space; vehicles like death barrows -swallowed up in the violet darkness; the workingmen’s homes, with their -appearance of comfort, and their reality of a bottomless dreariness; -the baths, libraries, club-houses, crêches, hospitals, infants’ homes, -ware-houses, churches, and cinemas. The stamp of force and servitude, -of all that is ugliest on earth, was bedizened and tinted in fair -colours here, and all menaces were throttled and fettered. - -Young Friesen had exhausted himself with admiration, but Christian had -not breathed freely again until their car was out on the open road and -had left the flaring horror in its panic flight. - -“And you have not been there since?” Albrecht Wahnschaffe asked. - -“No, not since that day.” - -For a while they stood opposite each other in silence. Albrecht -Wahnschaffe took Freia by her collar, and said with notable -self-control: “Take counsel with yourself. There is time. I shall -not urge you unduly, but rather wait. When you come to weigh the -circumstances, and test your own mind, you will realize that I have -your welfare at heart. Do not answer me now. When you have made a clear -decision--let me know what it is.” - -“Have I your permission to retire?” Christian asked. His father nodded, -and he bowed and left the room. - -Next morning he returned to Christian’s Rest. - - -XVIII - -In a side street of the busiest quarter of Buenos Ayres, there stood -a house that belonged to the Gunderam family. The parents of Gottlieb -Gunderam had bought it when they came to the Argentine in the middle -of the nineteenth century. In those days its value had been small, -but the development of the city had made it a considerable property. -Gottfried Gunderam received tempting offers for it, not only from -private dealers, but from the municipality. The rickety house was to be -torn down, and to be replaced by a modern apartment house. - -But Gottfried Gunderam turned a deaf ear to all offers. “The house in -which my mother died,” he declared, “shall not be sold to strangers so -long as the breath is in my body.” - -This determination did not arise so much from filial piety, as from a -superstition that was powerful enough to silence even his greed. He -feared that his mother would arise from her grave and avenge herself -on him, if he permitted the family’s ancestral home to be sold and -destroyed. Wealth, good harvests, a great age, and general well-being -were, in his opinion, dependent on his action in this matter. He would -not even allow strangers to enter the house. - -His sons and kinsmen mockingly called it the Escurial. Gottfried -Gunderam took no notice of their jeers, but he himself had, gradually -and quite seriously, slipped into the habit of calling the house the -Escurial. - -One day, long before his voyage to Germany, Stephen had cleverly -taken advantage of his father in an hour when the old man was tipsy -and merry, and had extorted a promise that the Escurial was to be his -upon his marriage. When he came home with Letitia he counted upon the -fulfilment of this promise. He intended to establish himself as a -lawyer in Buenos Ayres, and restore the neglected house. - -He reminded his father of the compact. The old man denied it bluntly. -He winked gravely. “Can you show me any record--black on white? Well, -then, what do you want? A fine lawyer you are to think that you can -enforce an agreement of which there is no record!” - -Stephen did not reply. But from time to time--coldly, methodically, -calmly--he reminded the old man of his promise. - -The old man said: “The woman you have married is not to my taste. She -doesn’t fit into our life. She reads and reads. It’s sickening. She’s -a milk-faced doll without sap. Let her be content with what she has. I -shan’t be such a fool as to plunge into expenditures on your account. -It would cost a pretty penny to make the Escurial habitable. And I have -no cash. Absolutely none.” - -Stephen estimated the available capital of his father as amounting to -between four and five millions. “You owe me my patrimony,” he answered. - -“I owe you a damned good thrashing!” the old man replied grimly. - -“Is that your last word?” - -The old man answered: “Far from it. I won’t speak my last word for a -dozen years. But I like peace at home, and so I’ll make a bargain with -you. Whenever your wife gives birth to a man-child, you shall have the -Escurial, and fifty thousand pesos to boot.” - -“Give me the promise in writing! Black on white counts--as you yourself -said.” - -The old man laughed a dry laugh. “Good!” he cried, and winked with both -eyes. “You’re improving. Glad to see that the money spent on your legal -studies wasn’t quite wasted.” With a sort of glee he sat down at his -desk, and made out the required document. - -A few weeks later Stephen said to Letitia: “Let us drive to the city. -I want to show you the Escurial.” - -The only living creature in that house was a mulatto woman ninety years -old. To rouse her one had to throw stones against the wooden shutters. -Then she appeared, bent almost double, half-blind, clothed in rags, a -yellow growth on her forehead. - -The street, which had been laid out a century before, was a yard deeper -than the more recent ones; and Stephen and Letitia had to use a short -ladder to reach the door of the house. Within everything was mildewed -and rotten, the furniture and the floors. In the corners the spiders’ -webs were like clouds, and fat hairy spiders sat in them peacefully. -The wall-paper was in rags, the window-panes were broken, and the -fire-places had caved in. - -But in the room in which the mother of Gunderam had died, there stood a -beautiful inlaid table, an antique piece from a convent of Siena. The -mosaic showed two angels inclining palm-branches toward each other, -and between the two sat an eagle. Upon the table lay the dead woman’s -jewels. Brooches and chains, rings and ear-rings and bracelets, had -lain here dust-covered for many, many years. The reputation of the old -house as being haunted had protected them more effectually than barred -windows. - -Letitia was frightened, and thought: “Am I to live here where ghosts -may appear at night to don their old splendour?” - -But when Stephen explained his plans for rebuilding and redecorating, -she recovered her gaiety, and her imagination transformed these decayed -rooms into inviting chambers and dainty boudoirs, cool halls with tall -windows and airy, carpeted stairs. - -“It depends quite simply on you whether we can have a happy and -beautiful home very soon,” Stephen declared. “I’m doing my share. I -wish I could say the same of you.” - -Letitia looked away. She knew the condition which old Gunderam had -made. - -Again and again she had to disappoint Stephen. The Escurial lay in its -deathlike sleep, and her husband’s face grew more and more sombre. He -sent her to church to pray; he strewed her bed with ground wall-nuts; -he made her drink a powder of bones dissolved in wine. He sent for an -old crone who was gifted in magic, and Letitia had to stand naked, -surrounded by seven tapers, and let the woman murmur over her body. -And she went to church and prayed, although she had no faith in her -praying and felt no devotion and knew nothing of God. Yet she shuddered -at the murmurs of the Italian witch, although when it was all over, she -laughed and made light of the whole thing. - -In spirit she conceived the image of the child which her body denied -her. The image was of uncertain sex, but of flawless loveliness. It had -the soft eyes of a deer, the features of one of Raphael’s angels, and -the exquisite soul of an ode by Hölderlin. It was destined to great -things, and the dizzying curve of its fortune knew no decline. The -thought of this dream child filled her with vaguely beautiful emotions, -and she was amazed at Stephen’s anger and growing impatience. She was -amazed and was conscious of no guilt. - -Stephen’s mother, who was known as Doña Barbara to every one, said to -her son: “I bore your father eight living creatures. Three are dead. -Four are strong men. We need not even count your sister Esmeralda. Why -is this woman barren? Chastise her, my son, beat her!” - -Stephen gritted his teeth, and took up his ox-hide whip. - - -XIX - -It was evening, and Christian went to the forester’s house. The way was -very familiar to him now. He did not analyze the inner compulsion that -drew him thither. - -Amadeus Voss sat by his lamp and read in an old book. Through the -second door of the room the shadow of his mother slipped away. - -After a while he asked: “Will you go with me to-morrow to Nettersheim?” - -“What am I to do there?” Christian questioned in his turn. - -Amadeus raised his face, and his spectacles glimmered. He murmured: -“She may be dead by this time.” - -He drummed on his knees with his fingers. Since Christian said nothing, -he began to tell him the story of the woman Walpurga, who was in the -service of his uncle, the wealthy farmer Borsche. - -“She was born in the village, a cottager’s daughter. At fifteen she -went to the city. She had heard of the fine life one leads there and -had great ambitions. She was in service here and there. Last she was in -the house of a merchant whose son seduced her; and of course, when it -was discovered, she was driven out. So it comes to pass that those who -are by nature the victims must bear a punishment in addition. - -“She bore a child, but the child died. She fell deeper and deeper, -until she became a street-walker. She practised this calling in Bochum -and in Elberfeld. But the life wore on her, and she fell ill. One day -a great home-sickness came upon her. She mustered her last strength, -and returned to her native village. She was penniless and weak, but she -was anxious to earn her bread, no matter at what wage or through what -labour. - -“But no one would hire her. Her parents were dead and she had no -relatives, so she became a public charge. She was made to feel it -grievously. One Sunday the minister inveighed against her from the -pulpit. He did not mention her name, but he spoke of vile lives and -sinks of iniquity, of visitations and punishments, and of how the anger -of the Lord was visible in an example that was before the eyes of all. -Thus she was branded and publicly delivered over to the scorn of all -people, and she determined to put an end to her life. One evening, as -Borsche was returning from his inn, he saw a woman lying in the road in -dreadful convulsions. It was Walpurga. No man was near. Borsche lifted -her on his broad back, and carried her to his farm. She confessed that -she had scraped the phosphorus from many matches and eaten it. The -farmer gave her milk as an antidote. She recovered, and was permitted -to stay on the farm. - -“On some days she could work, and then she dragged herself to the -fields. On others she could not, and lay in a remote corner. The -men servants, of whom there were many, regarded her body as common -property. Resistance was useless. Not until Borsche learned this, and -blazed out in anger, did things get better. She was only twenty-three, -and despite her illness and the wretchedness of her life, she had -preserved much of her youthful good looks. Her cheeks had a natural -glow and her eyes were clear. So whenever she could not work, the other -maids fell upon her, and called her a malingering bawd. - -“Two weeks ago I happened to be wandering in the neighbourhood of -Nettersheim, and stopped at Borsche’s house. I was well received there, -for the family think highly of me as a future priest. They talked about -Walpurga. The farmer told me her story, and asked me to have a look at -her and give my opinion as to whether she was really ill. I objected, -and asked why a physician had not seen her. He said that the doctor -from Heftrich had examined her and could find nothing wrong. So I went -to her. She lay in a shed, separated from the cows only by a wooden -partition. She was wrapped in an old horse-blanket, and a little straw -kept the chill of the earth from her body. Her healthy colour and her -normal form did not deceive me. I said to the farmer: ‘She’s like a -guttering candle.’ He and his wife seemed to believe me. But when I -demanded of them that they give the sick woman decent lodging and care, -they shrugged their shoulders, and said that it was as warm in the -stable as anywhere, and that there was no sense in taking trouble or -undergoing discomfort on account of a creature who had fallen so low. - -“On the third day I saw her again, and I have seen her on every other -day since then. My thoughts could not get rid of her any more. In all -my life no human creature has so tugged at my heart. She could no -longer get up; the most malevolent had to admit that. I sat with her in -the evil smelling shed on a wooden bench near where she lay. Each time -I came she was happier to see me. I picked wild flowers on the way, and -she took them in her hands and held them against her breast. They told -her who I was, and gradually she put many questions to me. She wanted -to know whether there really was an eternal life and eternal bliss. She -wanted to know whether Christ had died on the cross for her too. She -was afraid of the torments of purgatory, and said if they were as bad -as the torments men could inflict she was sorry for the immortal part -of her. She meant neither to revile men nor to complain of them. She -merely wanted to know. - -“And what answer could I give her? I assured her that Christ had taken -her cross upon Him too. Her other questions left me silent. One is so -dumb and desperate when a living heart thirsts after truth, and the -frozen Christ within would melt into a new day and a new sun. They are -even now in purgatory and ask when it will begin. Hidden in blackness, -they do not see the dark; consumed by flames, they are unaware of the -fire. Where is Satan’s true kingdom--here or elsewhere? And can that -elsewhere be upon any star more accursed than this? The poor man is -thrust from the wayside, the oppressed of the land creep into hiding; -from the cities come the moans of the dying, and the souls of those -who are wounded to death cry out. Yet God does not put an end to the -iniquity. And is it not written that the Lord said to Satan: ‘From -whence comest thou? And Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going -to and fro in the earth and from walking up and down in it.’ - -“She confessed her sins to me, and begged me to grant her absolution. -But nothing that seemed sinful to her seemed so to me. I saw the -desolateness and loneliness of the world. I saw the bleak rooms and the -barren walls, the streets by night with their flickering lamps, and -the men with no compassion in their eyes. That is what I saw and what -I thought of, and I took it upon my conscience to absolve her from all -guilt. I set her free and promised her Paradise. She smiled at me and -grasped my hand, and before I could prevent her she had kissed it. That -was yesterday.” - -Amadeus was silent. “That was yesterday,” he repeated, after a long -and meditative pause. “I did not go to-day, out of fear of her dying. -Perhaps she is dead even now.” - -“If you still want to go, I am ready,” said Christian timidly. “I’ll go -with you. It’s only an hour’s walk.” - -“Then let us go,” said Amadeus, with a sigh of relief, and arose. - - -XX - -An hour later they were in Borsche’s farm yard. The stable door was -open. The men servants and the maid servants stood in front of it. An -old man held a lantern high up, and they all stared into the shed. In -the dim and wavering light, their faces showed a mixture of reverence -and amazement. Within, on a pallet of straw, lay the body of Walpurga. -Its cheeks were rosy. Nothing in that countenance recalled death, but -only a peaceful sleep. - -On the wooden bench a single candle was burning; but it was near -extinction. - -Amadeus Voss passed through that group of men and women, and kneeled -at the dead woman’s feet. The old man who held the lantern whispered -something, and all the men and women kneeled down and folded their -hands. - -A cow lowed. After that there was no sound save from the bells of the -unquiet cattle. The darkness of the stable, the face of the dead woman, -which was like a face in a painting, the faces of the kneeling people, -with their blunted foreheads and hard lips, in the yellow glimmer of -the light--all these things Christian beheld, and something melted in -his breast. - -He himself watched it all from the darkness of the yard behind. - -When Amadeus Voss joined Christian, the village carpenter came to -measure the dead woman for her coffin. They started on their homeward -way in silence. - -Suddenly Christian stopped. It was near a tall mile-post. He grasped -the post with both hands, and bent his head far back, and gazed with -the utmost intensity into the drifting clouds of the night. Then he -heard Amadeus Voss say: “Is it possible? Can such things be?” - -Christian turned to him. - -“I have a strange feeling in your presence, Christian Wahnschaffe,” -Voss said in a repressed and toneless voice. And then he murmured to -himself: “Is it possible? Can the monstrous and incredible come to -pass?” - -Christian did not answer, and they wandered on. - - -XXI - -Crammon gave a dinner. Not in his own house; meetings of a certain -character were impossible there, on account of the innocent presence -of the two old maiden ladies, Miss Aglaia and Miss Constantine. The -disillusion would have been too saddening and final to the good ladies, -who were as convinced of the virtue of their lord and protector as they -were of the emperor’s majesty. - -In former years it had indeed sometimes seemed to them that their -adored one did not always tread the paths of entire purity. They had -closed an eye. Now, however, the dignity and intellectual resonance of -his personality forbade any doubt. - -Crammon had invited his guests to the private dining-room of a -well-known hotel, in which he was familiar and esteemed. The company -consisted of several young members of the nobility, to whom he was -under social obligations, and, as for ladies, there were three -beauties, entertaining, elegant, and yielding, in the precise degree -which the occasion required. Crammon called them his friends, but in -his treatment of them there was something languid and even vexed. He -gave them clearly to understand that he was only the business manager -of the feast, and that his heart was very far away. - -No one, in fact, was present to whom he was not completely indifferent. -Best of all he liked the old pianist with long, grey locks, who -closed his eyes and smiled dreamily whenever he played a melancholy -or languishing piece, just as he had done twenty years ago, when -Crammon was still fired by the dreams and ambitions of youth. He gave -the old man sweets and cigarettes, and sometimes patted his shoulder -affectionately. - -The table groaned under its burden of food and wine. Pepper was added -to the champagne to heighten every one’s thirst. There were cherries in -the fruit bowls, and the gentlemen found it amusing to drop the pits -down the semi-exposed bosoms of the ladies. The latter found it easier -and easier, as the evening advanced, to resist the law of gravitation, -and to display their charming shoes and the smooth silks and rustling -laces of their legs in astonishingly horizontal attitudes. The most -agile among them, a popular soubrette, climbed on the grand piano, and, -accompanied by the grey-haired musician, sang the latest hit of the -music halls. - -The young men joined in the chorus. - -Crammon applauded with just two fingers. “There is a sting in my soul,” -he whispered into the din. He got up and left the room. - -In the corridor the head-waiter Ferdinand was leaning alone and -somewhat wearily against the frame of a mirror. A tender intimacy of -two decades bound Crammon to this man, who had never in his life been -indiscreet, in spite of the innumerable secrets he had overheard. - -“Bad times, Ferdinand,” Crammon said. “The world is going to the -deuce.” - -“One must take things as they are, Herr von Crammon,” that dignified -individual consoled him, and handed him the bill. - -Crammon sighed. He gave directions that if his guests inquired after -him, they were to be told that he was indisposed and had gone home. - -“There is a sting in my soul,” he said, when he found himself on the -street. He determined to travel again. - -He yearned for his friend. It seemed to him that he had had no friend -but that one who had cast him off. - -He yearned for Ariel. It seemed to him that he had possessed no woman, -because she had not yielded to him who was his very conception of -genius and beauty. - -At the door of his house stood Miss Aglaia. She had heard him coming -and had hastened to meet him. It frightened Crammon, for the hour was -late. - -“There is a lady in the drawing-room,” Miss Aglaia whispered. “She -arrived at eight, and has been waiting since then. She besought us so -movingly to let her stay that we had not the heart to refuse. She is a -distinguished lady, and she has a dear face----” - -“Did she tell you her name?” Crammon asked, and the thunder-clouds -gathered on his brow. - -“No, not exactly----” - -“People who enter my dwelling are required to give their names,” -Crammon roared. “Is this a railway station or a public shelter? Go in -and ask her who she is. I shall wait here.” - -In a few minutes Miss Aglaia returned and said in a compassionate tone: -“She’s fallen asleep in an armchair. But you can take a peep at her. -I’ve left the door ajar.” - -On tip-toes Crammon passed through the hall, and peered into the -well-lit drawing-room. He recognized the sleeper at once. It was Elise -von Einsiedel. She slept with her head leaned back and inclining a -little to one side. Her face was pale, with blue circles under her -eyes, and her left arm hung down limply. - -Crammon stood there in his hat and overcoat, and gazed at her with -sombre eyes. “Unhappy child!” he murmured. - -He closed the door with all possible precaution. Then he drew Miss -Aglaia toward the door and said: “The presence of a strange lady makes -it unseemly, of course, for me to pass the night here. I shall find a -bed elsewhere. I hope you appreciate my attitude.” - -Miss Aglaia was speechless over such purity and sternness. Crammon -continued: “As early as possible in the morning, pack my bags and -bring them to meet me in time to catch the express to Ostende. And let -Constantine come with you, so that I may say good-bye to her as well. -Let the strange lady stay here as long as she desires. Entertain her -courteously and fulfil all her wishes. She has a sorrow, and deserves -kindness. If she asks after me, tell her that urgent affairs require my -presence elsewhere.” - -He went out. Sadly, and quite astonished, Miss Aglaia looked after him. -“Good-night, Aglaia,” he called out once more. Then the door closed -behind him. - - -XXII - -During the last days of April Christian received a telegram from Eva -Sorel. The message read: “From the third to the twentieth of May, Eva -Sorel will be at the Hotel Adlon, Berlin, and feels quite sure that -Christian Wahnschaffe will meet her there.” - -Christian read the message over and over. In his inner and in his outer -life all circumstances pointed to an approaching crisis. He knew that -this summons would be decisive in its influence upon his fate. Its -exact character and the extent of its power he could not predict. - -For weeks there had been a restlessness in him that robbed him of sleep -during many long hours of the night. On certain days he had called -for his motor in order to drive to some near-by city. When the car had -covered half the distance, he ordered his chauffeur to turn back. - -He had gone to Waldleiningen, and had patted his horses and played with -his dogs. But he had suddenly felt like a schoolboy who lies and plays -truant, and his pleasure in the animals had gone. At parting he had put -his arms about his favourite dog, a magnificent Great Dane, and as he -looked into the animal’s eyes it had seemed to Christian, still in his -character of a truant, that he wanted to say: “I must first go and pass -my examination.” And the dog seemed to answer: “I understand that. You -must go.” - -Also the slender horse of Denis Lay had said, with a turn of its -excessively graceful neck: “I understand that. You must go.” - -It was settled that the horse was to run in the races at Baden-Baden, -and the Irish jockey was full of confidence. But on the day of his -departure Christian was told that the animal had sickened again. He -thought: “I have loved it too insistently. Now it wants the caressing -hand, and is lonely without it.” - -With the coming of spring guests from the cities had appeared almost -daily at Christian’s Rest. But he had rarely received any one. A single -guest he could not bear at all. If there were two they could address -each other and make his silence easier. - -One day came Conrad von Westernach and Count Prosper Madruzzi, bringing -messages from Crammon. They were on their way to Holland. Christian -asked them to dine with him, but he was very laconic. Conrad von -Westernach remarked later, in his forthright fashion, to Madruzzi: -“That fellow has a damned queer smile. You never know whether he’s a -born fool or whether he’s laughing at you.” - -“It’s true,” the count agreed; “you never know where you are with him.” - - -XXIII - -Christian had given his valet orders to prepare for his journey. Then -he had gone to the green-houses to interview the gardeners. In the -meantime twilight had set in. It had rained all day, and the trees -were still dripping. But now the fresh greenery gleamed against the -afterglow, and the windows of the beautiful house were dipped in gold. - -“Herr Voss is in the library,” an old footman announced. - -Christian had begged Amadeus Voss to use the library quite freely, -whether he himself was at home or not. The servants had been -instructed. Voss had offered to catalogue the library, but as yet he -had made no beginning. He merely passed from book to book, and if one -interested him he read it and forgot the passage of time. - -The afterglow fell into the library too. Voss had taken fifty or sixty -volumes from the shelves, and he was now arranging them in stacks on a -large oak table. - -“Why do you do that, Amadeus?” Christian asked carelessly. - -“If you give me your permission, I’d like to burn these,” Amadeus Voss -answered. - -Christian was surprised. “Why?” he asked. - -“Because I lust after an _auto-da-fé_. It is worthless and corrupt -stuff, the product of idle and slothful minds. Don’t you scent the -poison of it in the atmosphere?” - -“No, I scent nothing,” said Christian, more absent-mindedly than ever. -“But burn them if it amuses you,” he answered. - -Amadeus had been in the library since three o’clock that afternoon, -and he had had a remarkable experience there. In looking about among -the shelves he had come upon a bundle of letters. By some accident it -had probably fallen behind the books and been lost sight of. He had -read a few lines of the topmost letter, and from the first words there -breathed upon him the glow of an impassioned soul. Then he had yielded -to the temptation of untying the package. He had taken the letters into -a corner, and read them swiftly and with fevered eyes. - -A few bore dates. The whole series had been written about two years -before. They were signed merely by the initial F. But in every word, in -every image, in every turn of speech there was such a fullness of love -and devotion and adoration and self-abnegation, and so wild and at the -same time so spiritual a stream of tenderness and pain, of happiness -and yearning, that Amadeus Voss seemed to glide from a world of shadows -and appearances into a far more real one. Yet in that, too, all was but -feigned and represented to lure and madden him. - -And F.--this unknown, eloquent, radiant, profoundly moved and nameless -woman--where was she now? What had she done with her love? Pressed -flowers lay between certain pages. Was the hand that plucked them -withered as they? And what had he done with her love, he whom she had -wooed so humbly and who was so riotous a spendthrift of great gifts? -He had been only twenty. He had probably taken as a pastime all that -was the fate of this full heart, and had used it and trampled it in a -consciousness of wealth that neither counts nor reckons. - -Deeper and deeper, as he read, a spear penetrated into the breast -of Amadeus. The Telchines gained power over him. He turned pale and -crimson. His fingers trembled, and his mouth shrivelled in dryness, and -his head seemed to be full of needles. Had Christian entered then, he -would have flung himself upon him in foaming hatred, to throttle or to -stab him. Here was the unattainable, the eternally closed door. And a -demon had hurled him down before it. - -He sat long in dull brooding. Then he looked about furtively, and -dropped the letters into his pocket. And then there arose in him -the desire to destroy, to annihilate something. He chose books as -sacrifices, and awaited Christian’s coming with repressed excitement. - -“It’s practically all contemporary trash,” he said drily, and pointed -to the books. “Stories like tangled thread, utterly confused, without -beginning or end. If you’ve read one page, you know a thousand. There -are descriptions of manners with a delight in what is common and mean. -The emotions riot like weeds, and the style is so noisy that you lose -all perception. Love, love, love! That’s one theme. And the other is -wretchedness! There are histories and memoirs, too. Sheer gossip! The -poems are empty rhymings by people with inflated egos. There’s popular -philosophy--self-righteous twaddle. A sincere parson’s talk were more -palatable. What is it for? Reading is a good thing, if a real spirit -absorbs me, and I forget and lose myself in it. But the unspiritual has -neither honesty nor imagination; he is a thief and a swindler.” - -“Burn it, burn it!” Christian repeated, and sat down at the other side -of the room. - -Amadeus went to the marble fire-place, which was so large that a man -could easily have lain down in it, and opened the gates of brass. Then -he carried the books there--one pile after another, and heaped them on -the flat stones. When he had thrown them all in, he set fire to the -pages of one book, and lowered his head and watched the flames spread. - -“You know that I am going to leave Christian’s Rest,” Christian said, -turning to him. It had grown quite dark now. - -Voss nodded. - -“I don’t know for how long,” Christian continued. “It may be very long -before I return.” - -Amadeus Voss said nothing. - -“What are you going to do, Amadeus?” Christian asked him. - -Voss shrugged his shoulders. Involuntarily he pressed his hand against -the inner pocket in which lay the letters of the unknown woman. - -“It is dark and oppressive in the forester’s house,” said Christian. -“Won’t you come and live here? I’ll give the necessary orders at once.” - -“Don’t make me a beggar with your alms, Christian Wahnschaffe,” Voss -answered. “If you were to give me the house, with all its forests and -gardens, you would but rob me, and leave me poorer by so much.” - -“I don’t understand that,” said Christian. - -Voss walked up and down. The carpet muffled his sturdy tread. - -“You are far too passionate, Amadeus,” Christian said. - -Amadeus stopped in front of a lectern that had been placed in a niche. -Upon it lay the great Bible that Christian had bought. It was open. The -flames of the burning books flared so brightly that he could read the -words. For a space he read in silence. Then he took the book, and going -nearer to the fire, sat down opposite Christian, and read aloud: - -“Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in -the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart and in the -sight of thine eyes: but know thou that for all these things God will -bring thee into judgment.” - -At the word, God, the almost unemphatic voice sounded like a bell. - -“Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil -days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have -no pleasure in them; while the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the -stars be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain: In the day -when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall -bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those -that look out of the windows be darkened, and the doors shall be shut -in the streets; when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall -rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall -be brought low; also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, -and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and -the grasshopper shall be a burden and desire shall fail: because man -goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the street: or ever -the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher -be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.”... - -He stopped. Christian, who had seemed scarcely to listen, had arisen -and come nearer to the fire. Now he sat down on the floor, with his -legs crossed under him, and gazed with a serene wonder into the flames. - -“How beautiful is fire!” he said softly. - -Speechlessly Amadeus Voss regarded him. Then he spoke quite suddenly. -“Let me go with you, Christian Wahnschaffe.” - -Christian did not take his eyes from the fire. - -“Let me go with you,” Voss said more insistently. “It is possible that -you may need me: it is certain that without you I am lost. Darkness is -in me and a demon. You alone break the spell. I do not know why it is -thus, but it is. Let me go with you.” - -Christian replied: “Very well, Amadeus, you shall stay with me. I want -some one to stay with me.” - -Amadeus grew pale, and his lips quivered. - -Christian said: “How beautiful is fire!” - -And Amadeus murmured: “It devours uncleanness and remains clean.” - - - - -THE NAKED FEET - - -I - -With her companion, Fräulein Stöhr, the Countess Brainitz travelled -about the world. - -She had been the guest of an incredibly aged Princess Neukirch at -Berchtesgaden. But she grew to be immensely bored, and fled to -Venice, Ravenna, and Florence. Armed with a Baedeker, and accompanied -by a guide, she “did” the galleries, churches, basilicas, palaces, -sarcophagi, and monuments, and her tirelessness reduced Fräulein Stöhr -to despair. - -She quarrelled with the gondoliers over their fare, with waiters over a -tip, with shopkeepers over the price of their wares. She thought every -coin a counterfeit, and in her terror of dirt and infection she touched -no door-knob or chair, no newspaper and no one’s hand. She washed -herself repeatedly, screeched uninterruptedly, and by her appetite -struck her companions at the table d’hôte with awe. - -With rancour in her heart she left the land of miracles and of petty -fraud. She visited her nephews, the brothers Stojenthin, in Berlin. -They were charmed at her coming, and borrowed a thousand marks of her -over the oysters and champagne. Then she proceeded to Stargard, to be -with her sisters Hilde Stojenthin and Else von Febronius. - -She was vastly amused at the middle-class ladies in Stargard, who -curtsied to her as to a queen. At their teas she lorded it over them -from the heights of a sofa covered with dotted calico. She entertained -her devoutly attentive audience with stories of the great world. At -times these anecdotes were of such a character that the judge’s widow -had to administer a warning pinch to the arm of her noble sister. - -Frau von Febronius had been ailing since the beginning of winter. -Careless exposure on a sleigh drive had brought on an attack of -pneumonia. The consequences threatened to be grave. The countess, -who not only feared illness for herself but hated it in others, grew -restive and talked of leaving. - -“When my dear husband saw his end approaching, he sent me to Mentone,” -she told Fräulein Stöhr. “Stupid and devoid of understanding as he -was--though not more so than most men--in this respect he showed a -praiseworthy delicacy of feeling. I was simply not made to bear the -sight of suffering. Charity is not among my gifts.” - -Fräulein Stöhr assumed a pastoral expression and cast her eyes to -heaven. She knew her mistress sufficiently to realize that the anecdote -of the dying count and the expedition to Mentone was a product of the -imagination. She said: “Man should prepare himself in time for his -latter end, Madame.” - -The countess was indignant. “My dear Stöhr, spare me your spiritual -wisdom! It suits only times of trouble. Pastoral consolations are not -to my taste. It is not your proper task to preach truths to me, but to -offer me agreeable illusions.” - -One evening Frau von Febronius asked to see the countess. The latter -went. But terror made her pale. She put on a hat, swathed her face in a -veil and her hands in gloves. Sighing she sat down beside her sister’s -bed, and carefully measured the distance, so as to be out of reach of -the patient’s breath. - -Frau von Febronius smiled indulgently. Her illness had smoothed the -lines of petty care and sorrow from her face, and, among her white -pillows, she looked strikingly like her daughter Letitia. “I’m sorry -to trouble you, Marion,” she began, “but I must talk to you. There’s -something that weighs on my mind, and I must confide in some one. The -fact in question should be told to one who knows me, and should not be -buried with me.” - -“I beseech you, Elsie, my poor darling, don’t talk of graves and such -things,” the countess exclaimed in a whining voice. “My appetite will -be gone for a week. If you’ll only fling the medicine bottles out of -the window, and tell all quacks to go to the devil, you’ll be well by -day after to-morrow. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t make a confession. -It reminds one of quite dreadful things.” - -But Frau von Febronius went on: “It’s no use, Marion. I must tell you -this. The reason I turn to you is because you’ve really been so very -good and kind to Letitia, and because Hilde, sensible and faithful as -she is, wouldn’t quite understand. Her notions are too conventional.” - -In whispers she now related the story of Letitia’s birth. An illness of -his earlier years had deprived her husband of the hope of posterity; -but he had yearned for a son, a child. This yearning had finally -silenced all scruples and all contradictory emotions to such an extent -that he had chosen a congenial stranger to continue his race. He had -persuaded her, his wife, whom he loved above all things, after a long -struggle. Finally she had yielded to his unheard-of demand. But when -the child was born, a progressive melancholy had seized upon her -husband. It had become incurable, and under its control he had ruined -his estate and in the end himself. He had felt nothing of the happiness -he had expected. He had, on the contrary, always shown a contemptuous -dislike of Letitia, and had avoided her as far as possible. - -“It doesn’t surprise me a bit,” the countess remarked. “You were -uncommonly naïve to be astonished. A strange child is a strange child, -no matter how it got into the nest. But it’s really like a fairy tale. -I confess I underestimated you. Such delightful sophistication! And who -is the child’s father? Who is responsible for the life of that darling -angel? He deserves great credit for his achievement.” - -Frau von Febronius mentioned the name. The countess screamed, and -leaped up as though she had been stung. “Crammon? Bernard von Crammon?” -She clasped her hands in agony. “Is that true? Aren’t you dreaming? -Consider, my dear! It must be the fever. Oh, certainly, it’s sheer -delirium. Take a little water, I beg of you, and then think carefully, -and stop talking nonsense.” - -Frau von Febronius gazed at her sister in utter amazement. “Do you know -him?” she asked. - -The countess’ voice was bitter. “Do I know him? I do. And tell me one -more thing: Does this--this--creature know? Has he always known?” - -“He knows. Two years ago he saw Letitia at our old home. Since that -time he has known. But you act as if he were the fiend incarnate, -Marion. Did you have a quarrel with him or what? You always exaggerate -so!” - -Excitedly the countess walked up and down. “He knows it, the wretch! -He has always known it, the rogue! And such dissembling as he has -practised! Such hypocrisy! The wretched rogue, I’ll bring it home to -him! I’ll seek him out!” She turned to her sister. “Forgive me, Elsie, -for letting my temperament run away with me. You are right. His name -awakened an anger of some years’ standing. My blood boils, I confess. -He may have been a man of honour and a gentleman in his youth. He must -have been, or you would never have consented to such an adventure. But -I hesitate to say what he is to-day. He is still perfectly discreet; -you need have no anxiety on that score. But I assert that even -discretion has its limits. Where these are passed, decent people shake -their heads, and virtue looks like mere baseness. _Voilà._” - -“All that you say is quite dark to me,” Frau von Febronius replied -wearily, “and I really haven’t any desire to fathom it. I wanted to -tell you this oppressive secret. Keep it to yourself. Never reveal it, -except to prevent some misfortune, or to render Letitia a service. I -don’t quite see how either purpose will ever be served by a revelation. -But it consoles me that one other human being, beside myself and that -man, knows the truth.” - -The countess gazed thoughtfully at her sister. “Your life wasn’t -exactly a gay one, was it, Elsie?” - -The sick woman answered: “No, hardly gay.” - -During the following days she rallied a little. Then came a relapse -that left no room for hope. In the middle of March she died. - -By this time the countess was already far away. Her goings and comings -were as purposeless as ever. But she nursed a favourite vision now. -Some day she would meet Crammon, confront him with her knowledge, -avenge herself upon him, challenge him and annihilate him, in a word, -enjoy a rich triumph. At times when she was alone, or even in the -presence of Miss Stöhr, whom it astonished, she would suddenly wrinkle -her childlike forehead, clench her little fists, and her shiny face -would turn red as a lobster, and her violet-blue eyes blaze as for -battle. - - -II - -It was three o’clock in the morning when Felix Imhof left a party in -the Leopoldstrasse, where there had been gaming for high stakes. He had -won several thousand marks, and the gold coins clinked in the overcoat -pocket into which he had carelessly stuffed them. - -He had had a good deal to drink, too. His head was a bit heavy. At his -first steps into the fresh air he reeled a little. - -Nevertheless he was in no mood to go home. So he wandered into a -coffee-house that was frequented by artists. He thought he might still -find a few people with whom he could chat and argue. The day he had -passed was not yet full enough of life for him. He wanted it brimming. - -In the room, which was blue with smoke, there were only two men, the -painter Weikhardt, who had recently returned from Paris, and another -painter, who looked rather ragged and stared dejectedly at the table. - -Felix Imhof joined the two. He ordered cognac and served them, but, -to his annoyance, the conversation would not get started. He got up -and invited Weikhardt to walk with him. With contemptuous joviality -he turned to the other: “Well, you old paint-slinger, your lamp seems -about burned out!” - -The man didn’t stir. Weikhardt shrugged his shoulders, and said softly: -“He has no money for bread and no place to sleep.” - -Felix Imhof plunged his hand into his pocket, and threw several gold -coins on the table. The painter looked up. Then he gathered the gold. -“Hundred and sixty marks,” he said calmly. “Pay you back on the first.” - -Imhof laughed resoundingly. - -When they were in the street, Weikhardt said good-naturedly: “He -believes every word of it. If he didn’t absolutely believe it, he -wouldn’t have taken the money. There are still eleven days before the -first--time for a world of illusions.” - -“It may be that he believes it,” Imhof replied, with an unsteady laugh, -“it may be. He even believes that he exists, and yet he’s nothing but -a melancholy corpse. O you painters, you painters!” he cried out into -the silent night. “You have no feeling for life. Paint life! You’re -still sitting by a spinning-wheel, instead of at some mighty wheel of -steel, propelled by a force of sixteen thousand horse-power. Paint my -age for me, my huge delight in being! Smell, taste, see, and grasp that -colossus! Make me feel that great rhythm, create my grandiose dreams. -Give me life--my life and its great affirmation!” - -Weikhardt said drily: “I have heard that talk before--between midnight -and dawn. When the cock crows we all calm down again, and every man -pulls the cart to which fate has hitched him.” - -Imhof stopped, and somewhat theatrically laid his hand on Weikhardt’s -shoulder. He gazed at him with his intensely black, bloodshot eyes. “I -give you a commission herewith, Weikhardt,” he said. “You have talent. -You’re the only one with a mind above your palette. Paint my portrait. -I don’t care what it costs--twenty, fifty thousand. Doesn’t matter. -Take your own time--two months, or two years. But show me--me--the -innermost me. Take this vulture’s nose, this Hapsburg lip, these -gorilla arms and spindle shanks, this coat and this chapeau claque, -and drag from it all the animating Idea. To hell with the accidents of -my phiz, which looks as though an unskilful potter had bungled it in -the making. Render my ambition, my restlessness, my inner tempo and -colourfulness, my great hunger and the time-spirit that is in me. But -you must hurry; for I am self-consumed. In a few years I shall have -burned out. My soul is tinder. Render this process with the divine -objectivity of art, and I’ll reward you like a Medici. But I must be -able to see the flame, the flaring up, the dying down, the quiver of -it! I want to see it, even if to make me see it you have to lash the -whole tradition since Raphael and Rubens into rags!” - -“You are an audacious person,” Weikhardt said, in his dry way. “But -have patience with us, and restrain your admiration for your particular -century. I do not let the age overwhelm me to the point of folly. I do -not share the reverential awe of speed and machinery that has seized -upon many young men like a new form of epilepsy. I haven’t any attitude -of adoration toward seven-league boots, express trains, dreadnoughts, -and inflated impressionism. I seek my gods elsewhere. I don’t believe -I’m the painter you’re looking for. Where were you? You’ve been -travelling again?” - -“I’m always on some road,” Felix Imhof replied. “It’s a crazy sort of -life. Let me tell you how I spent the last five days. Monday night I -went to Leipzig. Tuesday morning at nine I had a conference with some -literary people in regard to the founding of a new review. Splendid -fellows--keen critics and intellectual Jacobins, every one of them. -Then I went to an exhibition of majolicas. Bought some charming things. -At noon I left for Hamburg. On the train I read two manuscripts and -a drama, all by a young genius who’ll startle the world. That evening -attended a meeting of the directorate of the East African Development -Corporation. Festivities till late that night. Slept two hours, then -proceeded to Oldenburg to a reunion of the retired officers of my old -regiment. Talked, drank, and even danced, though the party was stag. -Six o’clock in the morning rushed to Quackenbruck, a shabby little -country town on the moors, where the officers had arranged for a little -horse race. My beast was beaten by a head. Drove to the station and -took a train for Berlin. Attended to business next morning in the -Ministry of Foreign Affairs, interviewed agents, witnessed a curious -operation in the clinic, made a flying-trip to Johannisthal, where -a new aeroplane was tried out; went to the Deutsches Theater that -evening, and saw a marvellous performance of ‘Peer Gynt.’ Drank the -night away with the actors. Next morning Dresden. Conference with two -American friends. Home to-day. Next week won’t be very different, nor -the one after that. I ought to sleep more; that’s the only thing.” He -waved his thick bamboo cane in air. - -“It is enough to frighten any one,” said Weikhardt, who took more -comfort in the contrast between his own phlegm and his companion’s -excitement. “How about your wife? What does she say to your life? She -was pointed out to me recently. She doesn’t look as if she would let -herself be pushed aside.” - -Imhof stopped again. He stood there, with his legs far apart and his -trunk bent forward, and rested on his cane. “My wife!” he said. “What -a sound that has! I have a wife. Ah, yes. I give you my word, my dear -man, I should have clean forgotten it to-night, if you hadn’t reminded -me. It’s not her fault, to be sure. She’s a born Wahnschaffe; that -means something! But somehow.... God knows what it is--the damned -rush and hurry, I suppose. You’re quite right. She’s not the sort -to be neglected or pushed to the wall. She creates her own spaces, -and within these”--he described great circles in the air with his -cane--“she dwells, cool to her fingertips, tense as a wire of steel. -A magnificent character--energetic, but with a strong sense for -decorative effects. She’s to be respected, my dear man.” - -Weikhardt had no answer ready for this outburst. Its mixture of -boasting and irony, cynicism and ecstatic excitement disarmed and -wearied him at once. They had reached a side street, which led to the -Englischer Garten, and in which stood the painter’s little house. He -wanted to say good-night. But Imhof, who seemed still unwilling to be -alone, asked: “Are you working at anything?” - -Weikhardt hesitated before answering. That was enough to make Imhof -accompany him. The sky grew grey with dawn. - -Felix Imhof recited softly to himself: - - “Where the knights repose, and streaming - Banners fold at last their gleaming, - Towers rise to the way-farers, - And the wanderers seek a spring; - And the lovely water-bearers - Lift a goblet to the dreaming - Shadow of the fleeing king.” - -Weikhardt, who would not yield to Imhof in a knowledge or love of the -poet Stefan George, continued the quotation in a caressing voice: - - “With a smile serene he watches, - Yet flits on with shyer seeming, - For beneath him fades the height, - And he fears all mortal touches, - And he almost dreads the light.” - -They entered the studio. Weikhardt lit the lamp, and let its glow fall -upon a picture that was not quite completed. It was a Descent from the -Cross. - -“Rather old-fashioned, isn’t it?” Weikhardt asked, with a sly smile. He -had grown pale. - -Imhof looked. He was a connoisseur through and through. No other had -his eye. The painters knew it. - -The picture, which reminded one of the visionary power as well as of -the brushwork of El Greco, was bizarre in composition, intense in -movement, and filled with an ecstatic passion. The forms of an old -master, through which the painter had expressed himself, were but an -appearance. The vision had been flung upon the canvas with a burning -splendour. The figures had nothing old-fashioned about them; there was -no _cliché_; they were like clouds, and the clouds like architecture. -There were no concrete things. There was a chaos, which drew meaning -and order only from the concentrated perceptions of the beholder. - -Felix Imhof folded his hands. “To have such power,” he murmured. “Great -God, to have the power to project such things!” - -Weikhardt lowered his head. He attributed little significance to these -words. A few days before he had stood in front of his canvas, and he -had imagined that a peasant was standing beside him--an old peasant or -any other simple man of the people. And it had seemed to him that this -peasant, this humble man, who knew nothing of art, had kneeled down to -pray. Not from piety, but because what he saw had in its own character -overwhelmed him. - -Almost rudely Imhof turned to the painter and said: “The picture is -mine. Under all circumstances. Mine. I must have it. Good-night.” With -his top hat set at a crazy angle, and his sleepless, dissipated face, -he was a vision to frighten one. - -At last he went home. - -Next day Crammon informed him of his arrival in Munich. He had come -because Edgar Lorm was about to give a series of performances there. - - -III - -Christian considered how he could convey money to Amadeus Voss without -humiliating him. Since it was agreed that they travel together, it was -necessary for Voss to have the proper outfit; and he possessed nothing -but what he had on. - -Amadeus Voss understood the situation. The social abyss yawned between -them. Both men gazed helplessly into it, one on each shore. - -In his own heart Voss mocked at the other’s weakness, and at the same -time loved him for his noble shame--loved him with that emotional self -that had been humiliated, estranged from the world, stamped on and -affronted from his youth on. He shuddered at the prospect of sitting -in the forester’s house again with perished hopes and empty hands, and -letting his soul bleed to death from the wounds of unattainable lures. -He brooded, regarding Christian almost with hatred. What will he do? -How will he conquer the difficulty? - -Time passed. The matter was urgent. - -On the last afternoon Christian said: “The hours crawl. Let us play -cards.” He took a pack of French cards from a drawer. - -“I haven’t touched a card in my life,” Voss said. - -“That doesn’t matter,” Christian replied. “All you need do is to tell -red from black. I’ll keep the bank. Bet on a colour. If you’ve bet on -red and I turn up red, you’ve won. How much will you risk? Let us start -with one taler.” - -“Very well, here it is,” said Voss, and put the silver coin on the -table. Christian shuffled the cards and drew one. It was red. - -“Risk your two talers now,” Christian advised. “Novices have luck.” - -Voss won the two talers. The betting continued. Once or twice he lost. -But finally he had won thirty talers. - -“Now you take the bank,” Christian proposed. He was secretly pleased -that his ruse was working so well. - -He bet ten talers and lost. Then fifteen, then twenty, then thirty, and -lost again. He risked a hundred marks, two hundred, five hundred, more -and more, and still lost. Voss’s cheeks turned hectic red, then white -as chalk: his hands trembled, his teeth rattled. He was seized by a -terror that his luck would change, but he was incapable of speech or of -asking for an end of the game. The bank notes were piled up in front of -him. In half an hour he had won over four thousand marks. - -Christian had previously marked the cards in a manner that no -inexperienced eye could detect. He knew exactly which colour Voss would -find. But the curious thing was that, though he forgot occasionally to -watch the markings, Voss still won. - -Christian got up. “We’re in a hurry,” he said. “You must get ready for -our journey, Amadeus.” - -Voss was overwhelmed by the change which had come over his life within -a few minutes. If a spark of suspicion glowed in his soul, he turned -away from it, and plunged into rich dreams. - -The motor took them to Wiesbaden, and there, with Christian’s help, -Amadeus bought garments and linen, boots, hats, gloves, cravats, a -razor, a manicure set, and a trunk. - -At ten o’clock that evening they sat in the sleeper. “Who am I now?” -asked Amadeus Voss. He looked about him with a curious and violent -glance, and pushed the blond hair from his forehead. “What do I -represent now? Give me an office and a title, Christian Wahnschaffe, in -order that I may know who I am.” - -Christian watched the other’s excitement with quiet eyes. “Why should -you think yourself another to-night or changed from yesterday?” he -asked in surprise. - - -IV - -Eva Sorel passed through the countries of Europe--a comet leaving -radiance in its wake. - -Her day was thickly peopled. It needed the flexibility of an -experienced practitioner to test and grant the many-sided demands -upon her. Monsieur Chinard, her impresario, served admirably in this -capacity. Only Susan Rappard treated the man morosely. She called him -a Figaro _pris à la retraite_. - -In addition, the dancer employed a courier and a secretary. - -Several of her adorers had been following her from city to city for -months. They were Prince Wiguniewski, a middle-aged American, named -Bradshaw, the Marquis Vicente Tavera, of the Spanish legation at -Petrograd, Herr Distelberg, a Jewish manufacturer of Vienna, and Botho -von Thüngen, a very young Hanoverian, a student in his second year. - -These, as well as others who drifted with the group from time to time, -neglected their callings, friends, and families. They needed the air -that Eva breathed in order to breathe themselves. They had the patience -of petitioners and the optimism of children. They were envious of -one another’s advantage, knowledge, and witticisms. Each noted with -malicious delight if another blundered. They vied zealously for the -friendship of Susan, and made her costly presents, in order that she -might tell them what her mistress had said and done, how she had slept, -in what mood she had awakened, and when she would receive. - -Since Count Maidanoff had joined Eva’s circle they had all been -profoundly depressed. They knew, everybody knew, who was concealed -behind this pseudonym. Against him--mighty and greatly feared--no one -hoped to prevail. - -Eva consoled them with a smile. They counted for nothing in her eyes. -“How are my chamberlains?” she asked Susan, “how do my time-killers -kill their time?” - -But she was not quite as light and serene of soul as she had once been. - - -V - -She had made the acquaintance of Count Maidanoff in Trouville. She -had been presented to him on the promenade, and a far-flung circle -of fashionables had looked on. Careful murmurs had blended with the -thunder of the sea. - -She came home and grasped Susan by the shoulders. “Don’t let me go out -again,” she said, pale and breathing heavily. “I don’t want to look -into those eyes again. I must not meet that man any more.” - -Susan exhausted herself promising this. She did not know who had -awakened such horror in her mistress. “Elle est un peu folle,” she -said to M. Labourdemont, the secretary, “mais ce grain de folie est le -meilleur de l’art.” - -The next day Count Maidanoff announced his formal call, and had to be -received. - -The conventional act of homage, to which he was entitled by his birth, -he repaid with a personal and sincere one. - -His speech was heavy and slow. He seemed to despise the words, the use -of which caused him such exertion. Sometimes he stopped in the middle -of a sentence and frowned in annoyance. Between his eyebrows there were -two straight, deep lines that made his face permanently sombre. His -smile began with an upward curl of the lips, and quivered down into his -thin, colourless beard, like the effect of a muscular paralysis. - -He went straight and without circumlocution toward his purpose. It -was commonly the office of his creatures to clear the road toward his -amatory adventures. By doing the wooing himself in this instance he -desired to single out its object by an act of especial graciousness. - -The cool timidity of the dancer had pleased him at first. Fear was to -him the most appealing quality in men. But Eva’s repressed chill in the -face of his courteous proposals confused him. His eyes became empty, -he looked bored, and asked for permission to light a cigarette. - -He talked of Paris, of a singer at the Grand Opera there. Then he -became silent, and sat there like some one who has all eternity ahead -of him. When he arose and took his leave, he looked as though he were -really asleep. - -With arms crossed Eva walked about the room till evening. During the -night she picked up books which she did not read, thought of things -that were indifferent to her, called Susan only to torment her, wrote -a letter to Ivan Becker and tore it up again. Finally, in spite of -the driving rain, she wrapped herself in a cloak and went out on the -terrace. - -Maidanoff repeated his visit. At the inevitable point Eva conveyed -to him with great delicacy that his expectations were doomed to -disappointment. He looked at her with slothful, oblique glances, and -condescended to smile. What nonsense, his morose frown seemed thereupon -to say. - -Suddenly he opened his eyes very wide. The effect was uncanny. Eva bent -her head forward in expectation, and spread out her fingers. - -He said: “You have the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. To have -seen them is to desire to know their touch.” - -Three hours later she left Trouville, accompanied by Susan and by M. -Labourdemont, and travelled to Brussels, where Ivan Becker was staying. - - -VI - -Becker lived in the suburbs, in a lonely house that stood in a -neglected garden. He received her in a tumbled room that was as big as -a public hall. Two candles burned on the table. - -He looked emaciated, and moved about restlessly, even after he had -bidden Eva welcome. - -She told him with some haste of her engagement in Russia, which she was -about to fulfil, and asked whether he had any commissions to give her. -He said that he had not. - -“The Grand Duke was attentive to me,” she said, and looked at him -expectantly. - -He nodded. After a little he sat down and said: “I must tell you a -dream I had; or, rather, a hallucination, for I lay with my eyes wide -open. Listen! - -“About a richly laid board there sat five or six young women. They were -in evening dress, with very deep décolletage, and laughed wildly and -drank champagne. With frivolous plays on words and seductive gestures, -they turned to one who sat at the head of the table. But that one had -no form: he was like a lump of dough or clay. The footmen trembled -when they approached him, and the women grew pale under their rouge -when he addressed them. In the middle of the gleaming cloth there lay, -unnoticed by any one, a corpse. It was covered with fruits, and from -its breast, between the peaches and the grapes, projected the handle of -a dagger. Blood trickled through the joints of the table and tapped in -dull drops on the carpet. - -“The meal came to an end. All were in a wildly exuberant mood. Then -that formless one arose, grasped one of the women, drew her close to -him, and demanded music. And while the thunderous music resounded, that -lump expanded and grew, and a skull appeared on it, and eyes within -that skull, and these eyes blazed in a measureless avidity. The woman -that he held became paler and paler, and sought to free herself from -his embrace. But long, thin arms grew out of his trunk. And with these -he pressed her so silently and so cruelly that she began to moan and -turn blue. And her body snapped in two in the middle. Lifeless she lay -in his arms, and nothing seemed left of her but her dress. Then the -corpse, that lay with pierced breast amid the fruit and sweets, raised -its head, and said with closed eyes: ‘Give her back to me.’ - -“Suddenly many people streamed into that room--peasants and factory -workers, soldiers and ragged women, Jews and Jewesses. An old man with -a white beard said to the formless one: ‘Give me back my daughter.’ -Others who stood behind screamed frantically: ‘Give us our daughters, -our brides, our sisters.’ Then peasants pressed forward, and bent to -the earth their melancholy faces, and said: ‘Give us our lands and -our forests.’ Over all rose the piercing voices of mothers: ‘Give us -our sons, our sons.’ The formless one receded step by step into empty -space. But even as he receded he assumed a more clearly defined shape. -The face, the hands, and the garments were brown as though encrusted -with rust or dried slime. The features of the face gave not the least -notion of that being’s character, and precisely this circumstance -heightened the despair of all beyond endurance. They cried without -ceasing: ‘Our brothers! Our sons! Our sisters! Our lands! Our forests, -O thou accursed unto all eternity!’” - -Eva said no word. - -Ivan Becker rested his head upon his hand. “One thing is certain. He -has caused so many tears to be shed, that were they gathered into one -lake, that lake were deeper than the Kremlin is tall; the blood that he -has caused to flow would be a sea in which all Moscow could be drowned.” - -He walked to and fro a few times. Then he sat down again and continued: -“He is the creator and instigator of an incomparable reign of terror. -Our living souls are his victims. Wherever there is a living soul among -us, it becomes his prey. Six thousand intellectuals were deported -during the past year. Where he sets his foot, there is death. Ruins -and fields full of murdered men mark his path. These expressions are -not to be taken metaphorically but quite, quite literally. It was -he who created the organization of the united nobility, which holds -the country in subjection, and is a modern instrument of torture on -the hugest scale. The pogroms, the murderous Finnish expedition, the -torturing of the imprisoned, the atrocities of the Black Hundreds--all -these are his work. He wastes untold millions from the public treasury; -he pardons the guilty and condemns the innocent. He throttles the -spirit of man and extinguishes all light. He is all-powerful. He is -God’s living adversary. I bow before him.” - -Eva looked up in astonishment. But Becker did not observe her. - -“There is no one who knows him. No one is able to see through him. I -believe he is satiated. Nothing affects him any longer except some -stimulus of the epidermis. The story is told that sometimes he has two -beautiful naked women fight in his presence. They have daggers and must -lacerate each other. One must bow down before that.” - -“I do not understand,” Eva whispered wide-eyed. “Why bow?” - -Becker shook his head warningly, and his monotonous voice filled the -room once more. “He has found everything between heaven and earth to -be for sale--friendship, love, the patience of a people, justice, the -Church, peace and war. First he commands or uses force; that goes -without saying. What these cannot conquer he buys. It seems, to be -sure, that pressure and force can accomplish things that would defy -and wreck ordinary mortals. While hunting bears in the Caucasus his -greatest favourite, Prince Szilaghin, fell ill. His fever was high and -he was carried into the hut of some Circassians. Szilaghin, by the way, -is a creature of incredible corruption--only twenty years old and of -astonishing though effeminate beauty. To win a bet he once disguised -himself as a cocotte, and spent a night in the streets and amusement -resorts of Petrograd. In the morning he brought back a handful of -jewels, including a magnificent bracelet of emeralds, that had been -given him as tributes to his mere beauty. It was he who fell ill in -the mountains. A mounted messenger was sent to the nearest village, -and dragged back with him an old, ignorant country doctor. The Grand -Duke pointed to his favourite writhing in delirium, and said to the old -man: ‘If he dies, you die too.’ Every hour the physician administered -a draught to the sick man. In the intervals he kneeled trembling -by the bed and prayed. As fate would have it, Szilaghin recovered -consciousness toward morning, and gradually became well. The Grand Duke -was convinced that the inexorable alternative which he had offered -the old physician had released mysterious forces in him and worked -something like a miracle. Thus he does not feel nature as a barrier to -his power.” - -A swift vividness came into Eva’s features. She got up and walked to -the window and opened it. A storm was shaking the trees. The ragged -clouds in the sky, feebly illuminated by moonlight and arching the -darkness, were like a picture of Ruysdael. Without turning she said: -“You say no one can penetrate him. There is nothing to penetrate. There -is an abyss, dark and open.” - -“It may be that you are right and that he is like an abyss,” Ivan -Becker answered softly, “but who will have the courage to descend into -it?” - -Another silence fell upon them. “Speak, Ivan, speak out at last the -thought in your mind!” Eva cried out into the night. And every fibre of -her, from the tips of her hair to the hem of her gown, was tense with -listening. - -But Becker did not answer. Only a terrible pallor came over his face. - -Eva turned around. “Shall I throw myself into his arms in order to -create a new condition in the world?” she asked proudly and calmly. -“Shall I increase his opinion of the things that can be bought among -men by the measure of my worth? Or do you think that I could persuade -him to exchange the scaffold for the confessional and the hangman’s axe -for a flute?” - -“I have not spoken of such a thing; I shall not speak of it,” said Ivan -Michailovitch with solemnly raised hand. - -“A woman can do many things,” Eva continued. “She can give herself -away, she can throw herself away, she can sell herself, she can conceal -indifference and deny her hatred. But against horror she is powerless; -that tears the heart in two. Show me a way; make me insensitive to the -horror of it; and I shall chain your tiger.” - -“I know of no way,” answered Ivan Michailovitch. “I know none, for -horror is upon me too. May God, the Eternal, enlighten you.” - -The loneliness of the room, of the house, of the storm-ploughed garden, -became as the thunder of falling boulders. - - -VII - -Her friends awaited developments in suspense. None expected her to -offer Maidanoff any serious resistance. When she seemed to hold out, -her subtlety was admired. Paris predicted a radiant future for her. -Much public curiosity centred upon her, and many newspaper columns were -devoted to her. - -When she arrived in Russia it was clear that the authorities and -officials had received special instructions. No queen could have been -treated with more subtle courtesy. Palatial rooms in a hotel were in -readiness and adorned. A slavish humility surrounded her. - -When the Grand Duke called, she begged him to rescind the orders -that made her his debtor. He devoured her words with a frosty and -lurking expression, but remained inactive. She was indignant at this -slothfulness of a rigid will, this deaf ear that listened so greedily. - -His contempt of mankind had something devastating in it. His slow eyes -seemed to say: Man, thou slimy worm, grovel and die! - -In his presence Eva felt her thoughts to be so loud at times that she -feared he would perceive them. - -She ventured to oppose and judge him. A young girl, Vera Cheskov, had -shot the governor of Petrograd. Eva had the courage to praise that -deed. The Grand Duke’s answer was smooth, and he left quite unruffled. -She challenged him more vigorously. Her infinitely expressive body -vibrated in rhythms of bitterness and outrage. She melted in grief, -rage, and sympathy. - -He watched her as one would watch a noble beast at its graceful antics -and said: “You are extraordinary, Madame. I cannot tell what wish of -yours I would leave ungranted for the reward of winning your love.” -He said that in a deep voice, which was hoarse. He had also a higher -voice, which had a grinding sound like that of rusty hinges. - -Eva’s shoulders quivered. His iron self-sufficiency reflected no image -of her or her influence. Against it all forces were shattered. - -Twice she saw him change countenance and give a start. The first time -was when she told him of her German descent. An inbred hatred against -all Germans and everything German filled him. An evil mockery glared in -his face. He determined not to believe her and dropped the subject. - -And the second time was when she spoke of Ivan Michailovitch Becker. -She could not help it; she had to bring that name to the light. It was -her symbol and talisman. - -A glance like a whip’s lash leaped out of those slothful eyes. The -two deep grooves between the eyebrows stretched like the antennæ of -an insect. A diagonal groove appeared and formed with the others a -menacing cross. The face became ashen. - -Susan was impatient. She urged her on and lured her on. “Why do you -hesitate?” she said to her mistress one evening. “So near the peak one -cannot go back. Remember our dreams in Toledo! We thought they were -insolent then. Reality puts us to shame. Take what is given you. Never -will your sweet, little dancing feet win a greater prize.” - -Eva walked in a circle about the rug. “Be quiet,” she said thoughtfully -and threateningly, “You don’t know what you are advising me to do.” - -Crouching near the fire-place, Susan’s lightless, plum-like eyes -followed her mistress. “Are you afraid?” she asked with a frown. - -“I believe I am afraid,” Eva replied. - -“Do you remember the sculptor whom we visited in Meudon last winter? -He showed us his work, and you two talked art. He said: ‘I mustn’t be -afraid of the marble; the marble must be afraid of me.’ You almost -kissed him in gratitude for those words. Don’t be afraid now. You are -the stronger.” - -Eva stood still, and sighed: “Cette maladie, qu’on appelle la sagesse!” - -Then Susan went to the piano-forte, and with her fluttering angularity -of movement began to play a Polonaise of Chopin. Eva listened for a -while. Then she went up to Susan from behind, tapped her shoulder, and -said, as the playing ceased, with a dark, strange cooing in her voice: - -“If it must be, I shall first live one summer of love, the like of -which has not been seen on earth. Do not speak, Susan. Play on, and do -not speak.” - -Susan looked up, and shook her puzzled head. - - -VIII - -On the day of Eva’s last appearance in Petrograd, a well laid high -explosive mine blew up the central building of the Agricultural -Exposition. - -The plot had been aimed at the person of the Grand Duke. His visit had -been expected, the order in which he would inspect the buildings had -been carefully mapped out. A slight maladjustment in the machinery of -his car delayed him and his train a few minutes beyond the precisely -fixed hour. - -At the very moment when he put his foot on the first step of the -building, a terrific crash resounded. The sky disappeared behind -fume and fragments. Several manufacturers and bureaucrats, who had -officiously hurried ahead, as well as ten or twelve workingmen, were -killed. The air pressure smashed the window panes in all the houses -within a mile of the spot. - -For a while the Grand Duke stood quite still. Without curiosity -or fear, but with an indescribably sombre look, he surveyed the -devastation. When he turned to go, the great crowds who had streamed -thither melted back silently at his approach. They left him a broad -path through which his abnormally long legs, accompanied by the -clinking of his sword, strode with the steps of a sower. - -For her final performance Eva had selected the rôle of the fettered -and then liberated Echo, in the pantomime called The Awakening of Pan. -It had always created enthusiasm; but this time she celebrated an -unparalleled triumph. - -She danced a dance of freedom and redemption, that affected with -complete immediacy the nerves of the thronging audiences, and released -the tensions of the day of their lives. There was a present and -significant eloquence in the barbaric defiance, the fiery terror of the -pursued. Then came her sudden rallying, her heroic determination, her -grief over a first defeat, her toying with the torch of vengeance, her -jubilant welcome of a rising dawn. - -The curtain dropped, and the twenty-five hundred people sat as though -turned to stone. Innumerable glances sought the box of the Grand Duke -and found those slothful, unseeing eyes of his. They saw the slightness -and disproportionate length of his body, the sinewy, bird-like neck -above the round collar of his uniform, the thin beard, the bumpy -forehead, and felt the atmosphere that rolled silently out from him and -dwelled in his track--the atmosphere of a million-atomed death. And in -the midst of these were those slothful eyes. - -Then the applause broke out. Distinguished ladies contorted their -bodies, toothless old men yelled like boys, sophisticated experts of -the theatre climbed on their seats and waved. When Eva appeared the -noise died down. For ten seconds nothing was heard but the sound of -breathing and the rustle of garments. - -She looked into that gleaming sea of faces. The folds of her white -Greek garment were still as marble. Then the storm of applause burst -out anew. Over the balustrade of the gallery a girl bent and stretched -out her arms, and cried with a sob in her voice, that rose above all -the plaudits: “You have understood us, little soul!” - -Eva did not understand the Russian words. But it was not necessary. She -looked up, and their sense was clear to her. - - -IX - -At midnight she appeared, as she had consented to do, in the palace of -Prince Fyodor Szilaghin. - -So soon as she was seen, a respectful murmur and then a silence -surrounded her. Bearers of the most ancient names were assembled, -the most beautiful women of society and of the court, and the -representatives of foreign powers. Several gentlemen had already formed -a group about her, when Fyodor Szilaghin approached, kissed her hand -reverently, and drew her skilfully from the group. - -She passed through several rooms at his side. He did his best to -fascinate her and succeeded in holding her attention. - -There was not a touch of banality about him. His gestures and words -were calculated to produce a desired effect with the utmost coolness -and subtlety. When he spoke he lowered his eyes a little. The ease and -fullness of speech that is characteristic of all Russians had something -iridescent in his case. An arrogant and almost cynical consciousness -of the fact that he was handsome, witty, aloof, mysterious, and much -desired never left him. His eyebrows had been touched with kohl, his -lips with rouge. The dull blackness of his hair threw into striking -relief the transparent pallor of his beardless face. - -“I find it most remarkable, Madame,” he said in a voice of unfathomable -falseness, “that your art has not to us Slavs the oversophistication -that is characteristic of most Western artists. It is identical with -nature. It would be instructive to know the paths by which, from so -different a direction, you reached the very laws and forms on which -our national dances as well as our modern orchestral innovations are -based. Undoubtedly you are acquainted with both.” - -“I am,” Eva answered, “and what I have seen is most uncommon. It has -power and character and enthusiasm.” - -“Enthusiasm and perhaps something more--wild ecstasy,” said the prince, -with a significant smile. “Without that there is no great creation in -the world. Do you not believe that Christ shared such ecstasy? As for -me, I cannot be satisfied with the commonly accepted figure of a gentle -and gently harmonious Christ.” - -“It is a new point of view. It is worth thinking about,” Eva said with -kindly tolerance. - -“However that may be,” Szilaghin went on, “among us all things are -still in the process of becoming--the dance as well as religion. I -do not hesitate to name these two in one breath. They are related as -a red rose is to a white. When I say that we are still becoming, I -mean that we have yet discovered no limits either of good or evil. A -Russian is capable of committing the most cruel murder, and of shedding -tears, within the next hour, at the sound of a melancholy song. He is -capable of all wildness, excess, and horror, but also of magnanimity -and self-abnegation. No transformation is swifter or more terrible -than his, from hate to love, love to hate, happiness to despair, -faithfulness to treachery, fear to temerity. If you trust him and yield -yourself to him, you will find him pliant, high-souled, and infinitely -tender. Disappoint and maltreat him--he will plunge into darkness -and be lost in the darkness. He can give, give, give, without end or -reflection, to the point of fanatical selflessness. Not until he is -hurled to the uttermost depths of hopelessness, does the beast in him -awaken and crash into destruction all that is about him.” The prince -suddenly stood still. “Is it indiscreet to ask, Madame, where you will -pass the month of May? I am told you intend to go to the sea-shore.” He -had said these words in a changed tone, and regarded Eva expectantly. - -The question came to her like an attack from ambush. - -Insensibly they had left the rooms destined for the guests and passed -into the extensive conservatories. Labyrinthine paths, threading -innumerable flowers and shrubs, led in all directions. A dim light -reigned, and where they stood in a somewhat theatrical isolation, -thousands of ghostly orchids exhaled a breathless fragrance. - -Skilfully and equivocally chosen as they were, the sense and purport of -Szilaghin’s words were very clear to Eva. Yet she was tempted to oppose -her own flexibility to his eel-like smoothness of mind, despite the -hidden threat of the situation. She assumed a smile, as impenetrable as -Szilaghin’s forehead and large pupils, and answered: “Yes; I am going -to Heyst. I must rest. Life in this land of hidden madmen has wearied -me. It is too bad that I must be deprived, dear Prince, of a mentor and -sage like yourself.” - -Suddenly Szilaghin dropped on one knee, and said softly: “My master -and friend beseeches you through me for the favour of being near -you wherever you may elect to go. He insists on no exact time, but -awaits your summons. I know neither the degree nor the cause of your -hesitation, dear lady, but what pledge do you demand, what surety, -for the sincerity of a feeling that avoids no test and stops at no -sacrifice?” - -“Please rise, prince,” Eva commanded him. She stepped back a pace and -stretched out her arms in a delicate gesture of unwilling intimacy. -“You are a spendthrift of yourself at this moment. Please rise.” - -“Not until you assure me that I shall be the bearer of good news. Your -decision is a grave one. Clouds are gathering and awaiting a wind that -may disperse them. Processions are on the roads praying to avert an -evil fate. I am but a single, but a chance messenger. May I rise now?” - -Eva folded her arms across her bosom, and retreated to the very wall of -hanging flowers. She became aware of the mighty and naked seriousness -of fate. “Rise,” she said, with lowered head, and twice did fire and -pallor alternate on her cheeks. - -Szilaghin arose and smiled, swiftly breathing. Again, in silent -reverence, he carried her hand to his lips. Then he led her, subtly -chatting as before, back among the other guests. - -It was twelve hours after this that Christian received the telegram -which called him to Berlin. - - -X - -Edgar Lorm played to crowded houses in Munich. His popularity was such -that he had to prolong his stay. - -It pleased Crammon enormously and puffed him up. He walked about as -though he were the sole nurse of all this glory. - -One day he was at a tea given by a literary lady. In a corner arose -laughter that was obviously directed at him. He was amused when he -discovered that the whispering group gathered there believed firmly -that he was copying Lorm’s impersonation of the Misanthrope. - -Felix Imhof writhed in laughter when he heard the story. “There’s -something very attractive in the notion to people who don’t really know -you,” he said to Crammon. “It’s far more likely that it’s the other way -around, and that Lorm created his impersonation by copying you.” - -This interpretation was very flattering. Crammon smiled in appreciation -of it. Unconsciously he deepened the lines of misanthropy in his chubby -ecclesiastical face. When Lorm had his picture taken as Alceste, -Crammon took up his stand behind the camera, and gazed steadily at the -ripe statuesqueness of the actor’s appearance. - -It was his intention to learn. The rôle which had been assigned him -in the play of the actor’s life--the play that lasted from nine -o’clock every morning until eleven at night--began to arouse his -dissatisfaction. He desired it to be less episodic. It seemed to him -that Lorm, the director of this particular play, should be persuaded -to change the cast. He told Lorm so quite frankly. For the actor was -no longer to him, as in the days of his youth, the crown and glory of -human existence and the vessel of noblest emotions, but a means to an -end. Nowadays one was forced to learn of Lorm, to conceal one’s true -feelings impenetrably, to gather all one’s energy for the moment of -one’s cue, to be thrifty of one’s self, bravely to wear a credible -mask, and thus to assure each situation of a happy ending. - -So Crammon said: “I’ve always had rather pleasant relations with my -partners. I can truly say that I’m an obliging colleague and have -always stolen away into the background when it was their turn to have -their monologues or great scenes in the centre of the stage. But two of -them, the young lover and the heroine, have undoubtedly abused my good -nature. They’ve gradually shoved me out of the play entirely. To their -own hurt, too. The action promised to be splendid. Since I’ve been -shoved into the wings, it threatens to be lost in the sand. It annoys -me.” - -Edgar Lorm smiled. “It seems to me rather that the playwright is at -fault than those two,” he answered. “And no doubt it’s a mistake in -construction. No experienced man of the theatre would dispense with a -character like yourself.” - -“Prosit,” said Crammon, and lifted his glass. They were sitting late in -the Ratskeller. - -“One must await developments,” Lorm continued. The whole charade -amused him immensely. “In the works of good authors you sometimes -find unexpected turns of the action. You mustn’t scold till the final -curtain.” - -Crammon murmured morosely. “It’s taking a long time. Some day soon I’m -going to mount the stage and find out in which act we are. I may make -an extempore insertion.” - -“For what particular line have you been engaged anyhow?” Lorm -inquired. “Man of the world, character parts, or heavy father?” - -Crammon shrugged his shoulders. The two men looked seriously at each -other. A pleasant mood gleamed about the actor’s narrow lips. “How long -is it since we’ve seen each other, old boy?” he said, and threw his -arm affectionately over Crammon’s shoulder. “It must be years. Until -recently I had a secretary who, whenever a letter came from you, would -lay it on my pillow at night. He meant that action to express something -like this: Look, Lorm, people aren’t the filthy scamps you always call -them. Well, he was an idealist who had been brought up on chicory, -potatoes, and herring. You find that sort once in a while. As for you, -my dear Crammon, you’ve put on flesh. You’re comfortable and compact in -that nice tight skin of yours. I’m still lean and feed on my own blood.” - -“My fat is only a stage property,” said Crammon sadly. “The inner me is -untouched.” - - -XI - -Whenever Lorm played, Judith Imhof was in the theatre. But she went -neither with her husband nor with Crammon. They broke in upon her mood. -She cared very little for Crammon at any time. Unless he was very -jocular, he seemed to her insufferable. - -She sat in the stalls, and in the entr’actes waved graciously and -calmly to Felix and Crammon in their box. She was careless of the -amazement of her acquaintances. If any one had the temerity to ask -why she sat alone, she answered, “Imhof is annoyed when another is -not pleased with something that arouses his enthusiasm. So we go on -different paths.” - -Inevitably the curious person would ask next: “Then you don’t care for -Lorm?” Whereupon she would reply: “Not greatly. He forces me to take a -certain interest; but I resent that. I think he’s terribly overrated.” - -One day a lady of her acquaintance asked her whether she was happy in -her marriage. “I don’t know,” she answered, and laughed. “I haven’t any -exact conception of what people mean by happiness.” Her friend then -asked her why she had married. “Very simply,” she replied, “because -being a young girl got to be such an undelightful situation that I -sought to escape from it as soon as possible.” The lady wanted to know -whether she didn’t, then, love her husband. “My dear woman,” Judith -said, “love! There’s nothing so mischievous as the loose way in which -people use that word. Most people, I believe, pretend quite shamelessly -when they talk about it, and defend it simply because they don’t want -to admit that they’ve been taken in. It’s exactly like the king’s -new clothes in the old fable. Every one acts mightily important and -enthusiastic, and won’t admit that the poor king is naked to the winds.” - -Another time she was asked whether she didn’t yearn to have a child. “A -child!” she cried out. “Horrors! Shall I bring forth more food for the -worms?” - -Once, in company, the conversation turned to the question of one’s -sensitiveness to pain. Judith asserted that she could bear any bodily -torment without moving a muscle. She was not believed. She procured a -long, golden needle, and bade one of the gentlemen pierce her whole -arm with it. When he refused in horror, she asked another of stronger -nerves who obeyed her. And really she did not twitch a muscle. The -blood gathered in a little pool. She smiled. - -Felix Imhof could weep at the least excuse. When he had a sick headache -he wept. She despised this in him. - -The actor took hold of her. She resisted in vain. The spell he cast -over her grew ever firmer, more indissoluble. She brooded over it. Was -it his transformations that attracted her so? - -Although he was forty, his body was as elegant and flexible as polished -steel. And like the ringing of steel was his voice. The words were -sparks. Under his tread the wooden stage became a palæstra. Nothing -clung or whined or crept. Everything was tension, progression, verve, -the rhythm of storms. There was no inner weight or weariness. Bugles -soared. She agreed with Felix when he said: “There is more of the true -content of our age in this man than in all the papers, editorials, -pamphlets, and plethoric three-deckers that the press has spewed forth -within the past twenty years. He has crowned the living word and made -it our king.” - -She was impatient to make the personal acquaintance of Lorm. Crammon -became the intermediary, and brought the actor to her house. She -was amazed at the homeliness of the man’s face. She resented his -insignificant, tilted nose and his mediocre forehead. But the spell was -not broken. She desired to overlook these details and succeeded. They -represented but another transformation of that self which she believed -to be so infinitely varied. - -He revealed himself as an epicure, with remnants of that greed which -marks the man who has risen from humble things. The delights of the -table induced in him outbursts of noisy merriment. Over the oysters and -the champagne he discussed his worst enemies with benevolence. - -He was so changeable of mood that it was exhausting to associate with -him. No one opposed him, and this lack of opposition had produced an -empty space about him that had almost the guise of loneliness. He -himself took it for the solitariness of the soul, and cherished it with -a proud pain. - -He discoursed only in monologues. He listened only to himself. But -he did all that with the innocence of a savage. When others spoke he -disappeared in an inner absorption, his eyes assumed a stony look. The -part of him that remained conscious was undeviatingly courteous, but -this courtesy often had an automatic air. When he came to speak again, -he delighted his hearers by his wit, his paradoxes, and his masterly -rendition of anecdotes. - -He avoided conversation with women. Beauty and coquetry made no -impression on him. When women became enthusiastic over him, his -expression was one of merely courteous attention, and his thoughts -were contemptuous. He had no adventures, and his name occurred in no -racy stories. Once out of the theatre, he lived the life of a private -gentleman of simple habits. - -With cool but delicate perceptivity Judith examined the conformation of -his character. She who was utterly without swift aspiration, whose dry -nature perceived only the utilitarian, only the expedient, who had been -stifled in mere forms from her girlhood, and esteemed nothing in others -but the external, garments, jewels, display, title, name--she was like -one possessed and charged with an electric fluid within three days. She -was fascinated primarily by external things: his eye, his voice, his -fame. But there was one deeper thing: the illusion of his art. - -She knew what she was doing. Her steps were scrupulously calculated. - -One day Lorm complained of the disorganization in his life, the -frightful waste of his substance. It was at table, and he was answered -by empty phrases. But Judith, when she succeeded in having him to -herself later, took up the subject again. She persuaded him to describe -the persons whom he held responsible, and expressed doubts of their -trustworthiness. She disapproved of arrangements that he had made, gave -him advice that he found excellent, and reproached him with the neglect -of which he confessed himself guilty. “I wade in money and suffocate in -debt,” he sighed. “In twenty years I’ll be an old man and a poor devil.” - -Her practical insight filled him with naïve admiration. He said to her: -“I’ve been told once in a while that there are such women in the world -as you, but I never believed in their existence. All I’ve ever seen -were full of empty exactions and florid emotions.” - -“You’re unjust,” she replied and smiled. “Every woman has some field in -which she has character and firmness, but the world pays no attention. -Then, too, our relation to the world is usually a false one.” - -“That is a wise remark,” said Lorm in a satisfied voice. He was a miser -of praise. - -From now on he loved to have her draw him into talk concerning his -little needs and worries. She examined him in detail, and he was glad -to submit. He brought her the bills rendered him by his tradespeople. -“They capitalize your inexperience, and cheat you,” was Judith’s -judgment of the situation. It made him feel ashamed. - -“Have you been lending money?” she asked. It appeared that he had. For -years and years he had loaned considerable sums to numerous parasites. -Judith shrugged her shoulders. “You might just as well have thrown the -money away.” - -Lorm answered: “It’s such a bother when they come and beg, and their -faces are so unappetizing. I give them what they ask just to be rid of -them.” - -In this wise their conversations moved wholly within the circle of the -prosaic things of daily life. But it was precisely this that Edgar -Lorm had missed and needed. It was as new and as moving to him, as the -discovery of a rapt and ecstatic soul to a bourgeois becoming aware of -poetry and passion. - -Judith had a dream. She lay quite naked beside a slippery, icy fish. -And she lay with it from choice, and snuggled close to its cold body. -But suddenly she began to beat it, for its cool, damp, slippery scales, -which had a gleam of silver and were opaline along its back, suddenly -inspired in her a witch-like fury. She beat and beat the creature, -until she lost consciousness and awoke exhausted. - -An excursion into the valley of the Isar was arranged. Crammon went, -and Felix, a young friend of the latter, Lorm and Judith. They took -their coffee in the garden of an inn, and on the way back, which led -through woods, they went in couples, Lorm and Judith being the last. -“I’ve lost my gold cigarette case,” Lorm announced suddenly, examining -his pocket, “I’ve got to go back the last part of the way. I know I had -it when we were in the village.” It was an object precious in itself, -and to which he attached a great value because it had been given him by -a king who had been devoted to him in an enthusiastic friendship in his -youth, and so it was irreplaceable. - -Judith nodded. “I’ll wait here,” she said, “I’m afraid I’m too tired to -cover the distance three times.” - -He walked back and left Judith standing there, leaning her head against -a tree and reflecting. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes assumed a -piercing look. It was silent in the wood; no breeze stirred, no bird -cried, no animal rustled in the bushes. Time passed. Driven not at -all by impatience, but by her thoughts, which were both violent and -decisive, she finally left her place, and walked in the direction from -which Lorm would have to come. When she had been walking for a while, -she saw something golden gleaming in the moss. It was the cigarette -case, which she picked up calmly. - -Lorm came back sorely vexed. He was silent, and as he walked beside -her, she quietly presented the case on her flat hand. He made a gesture -of joyous surprise, and she had to tell him how she had found it. - -For a while he seemed to be struggling with himself. Suddenly he said: -“How much easier life would be with you.” - -Judith answered with a smile: “You talk of it as of something -unattainable.” - -“I believe it to be so,” he murmured, with lowered head. - -“If you’re thinking of my marriage,” Judith said, still smiling, “I -consider your expression exaggerated. The way out would be simple.” - -“I wasn’t thinking of your marriage, but of your wealth.” - -“Will you tell me your meaning more clearly.” - -“At once.” He looked about him, and went up to a tree. “Do you see -that little beetle? Look how busily he works to climb the height -before him. He has probably worked his way up a considerable distance -to-day. No doubt he started before dawn. When he’s on top, he will have -accomplished something. But if I take him between my fingers now and -place him at the top, then the very path which his own labour has dug -becomes a thing of no value to him. That’s the way it is with beetles -and also with men.” - -Judith considered. “Comparisons must halt. That’s their prerogative, -you know.” She spoke with gentle mockery. “I don’t understand why one -should reject another, simply because that other doesn’t come with -empty hands. It’s a funny notion.” - -“Between a hand that is empty, and one that commands immeasurable -treasures, there is a fatal difference,” Lorm said with deep -earnestness. “I have worked my way up from poverty. You have no -faintest notion of the meaning of that word. All that I am and have, I -owe to the immediate exertions of my body and my brains. By your birth -you have been accustomed all your life to buy the bodies and the brains -of others. And though you had a thousand times more instinct and vision -for practical things and for the necessities of a sane life than you -have, yet you do not and could not comprehend the profoundly moral and -rightly revered relation of accomplishment to reward. Your adventitious -advantages have constantly made it possible for you to ignore this -relation, and to substitute for it an arbitrary will. To me your wealth -would be paralysis, a mockery and a spectre.” - -He looked at her with head thrown back. - -“And so you think our case hopeless?” Judith asked, pale and defiant. - -“Since I cannot and dare not expect you to abandon your millions and -share the fate of a play-actor, it does indeed seem hopeless.” - -Judith’s face was quite colourless. “Let us go,” she said; “the others -will remark our absence, and I dislike being gossiped about.” - -Swiftly and silently they walked on. They came to a clearing and saw -beneath a black rampart of clouds the throbbing, crimson disc of the -sun. Judith stared into it with raging fury. For the first time her -will had encountered a still stronger will. It was rage that filled her -eyes with tears, rage that wrung from her discordant laughter. When -Lorm looked at her in pained surprise, she turned away and bit her lip. - -“I’m capable of doing it,” she said to herself in her rage. And the -impulse hardened into a stubborn determination: “I will! I will!” - - -XII - -When Christian arrived in Berlin with Amadeus Voss he found, quite as -he had expected, many people and a great tumult about Eva. He could -scarcely get to her. “I am tired, Eidolon,” she cried out, when she -caught sight of him. “Take me away from everything.” - -And again, when she had escaped the oppressive host of admirers, she -said: “How good it is that you are here, Eidolon. I have waited for you -with an ache in my heart. We’ll leave to-morrow.” - -But the journey was postponed from day to day. They planned to live -alone and in retirement at the Dutch watering place that was their -immediate goal, but Christian had already met a dozen people who had -ordered accommodations there, and so he doubted the seriousness of -Eva’s intentions. People had become indispensable to her. When she was -silent she wanted, at least, to hear the voices of others; when she was -quiet she wanted movement about her. - -When he stood before her the fragrance of her body penetrated him like -a great fear. His blood flowed in such violent waves that his pulses -lost the rhythm of their beating. - -He had forgotten her face, the inimitable veracity of her gestures, -her power of feeling and inspiring ecstasy, her whole powerful, -delicate, flowerlike, radiant being. Everything seemed to yield to her, -even the elements. When she appeared in the street, the sun shone more -purely and the air was more temperate; and thus the wild turmoil about -her was transformed into a steady and obedient tide. - -Susan said to Christian: “We are to dance here, and have offers. But we -don’t like the Prussians. They seem an arid folk, who save their money -for soldiers and barracks. I haven’t seen a real face. All men and all -women look alike. They may be worthy, no doubt they are; but they seem -machine-made.” - -“Eva herself is a German,” Christian rebuked the woman’s spiteful words. - -“Bah, if a genius is cast forth from heaven and tumbles on the earth, -it is blind and cannot choose its place. Where is Herr von Crammon?” -she interrupted herself. “Why doesn’t he come to see us? And whom have -you brought in his stead?” She poked out her chin toward Amadeus Voss, -who stood timidly in a corner, and whose large spectacles made him look -like an owl. “Who is that?” - -Who is that? The same question appeared in the astonished faces of -Wiguniewski and of the Marquis of Tavera. Amadeus was new to the world -with a vengeance. The fixed expression on his features had something -so silly at times, that Christian was ashamed of him and the others -laughed. - -Voss wandered about the streets, pushed himself into crowds, surveyed -the exhibits behind the plate-glass windows of shops, stared into -coffee-houses, bought newspapers and pamphlets, but found no way of -calming his soul. All he could see was the face of the dancer, and the -gestures with which she cut a fruit or greeted a friend or bowed or sat -down in a chair or arose or smelled a flower, or the motions of her -lids and lips and neck and shoulders and hips and legs. And he found -all these things in her provocative and affected, and yet they had -bitten into his brain as acid bites into metal. - -One evening he entered Christian’s room, and his face was the colour of -dust. - -“Who really is Eva Sorel?” he asked, with a bitter rancour. “Where does -she come from? To whom does she belong? What are we doing here with -her? Tell me something about her. Enlighten me.” He threw himself into -a chair, and stared at Christian. - -When Christian, unprepared for this tempest of questions, made no -answer, he went on: “You’ve put me into a new skin, but the old Adam -writhes in it still. Is this a masquerade? If so, tell me at least what -the masks represent. I seem to be disguised too, but badly. I expect -you to improve my disguise.” - -“You aren’t disguised any worse than the others,” Christian said, with -a soothing smile. - -Voss rested his head on his two hands. “So she’s a dancer, a dancer,” -he murmured thoughtfully. “To my way of feeling there has always been -something lewd about that word and what it means. How can it help -arousing images that bring the blush to one’s cheek?” Suddenly he -looked up, and asked with a piercing glance: “Is she your mistress?” - -The blood left Christian’s face. “I think I understand what disturbs -you so,” he said. “But now that you’ve gone with me, you must bear with -me. I don’t know how long we shall stay with this crowd, and I can’t -myself tell exactly why we are here. But you must not ask me about Eva -Sorel. We must not discuss her either for praise or blame.” - -Voss was silenced. - - -XIII - -Christian, Amadeus, Bradshaw, Tavera, and Wiguniewski went by motor. -Eva used the train. - -But this way of travelling agreed with her as ill as any other. All -night she lay sleepless in her crumpled silks, her head buried among -pillows. Susan crouched by her, giving her perfume or a book or a -glass of cold lemonade. There was a prickling in her limbs that would -not let her rest, a weight on her bosom, an alternation of thought and -fancy, of willing and the weariness of willing in her mind. The hum of -the wheels on the rails cut into her nerves; the sable landscape, as -it glided by, irritated her like a delusion that forever changed and -melted. Malignity seemed to lurk in the fields; treacherous forests -seemed to block the way; she saw haunted houses and terror-stricken men. - -“What a torturer time is!” she whispered. “Oh, that it stood before me, -and I could have it whipped.” - -Susan bent nearer, and gazed at her attentively. - -Suddenly she whispered tenderly: “What do you expect of him? What is -the purpose of this new game? He’s the most banal of them all. I never -heard him make a polished or a witty remark. Does he realize what you -are? Not in his wildest dreams. His head is empty. Your art means about -as much to him as the acrobatics of a circus dancer to some dreary -shop-keeper. Nations are at your feet, and he grants you a supercilious -smile. You have given the world a new kind of delight, and this German -know-it-all is untouched and unchanged by it.” - -Eva said: “If the North Sea is too sinister, we must seek a coast in -the South.” - -Susan grew excited: “One would like to yell into his ears: ‘Get on -your knees! Pray!’ But he wouldn’t be shaken any more than the pillar -of Vendôme. Is he ever shaken by anything? I described to him how we -were adored in Russia, the ecstasy, the festivities, the outbursts of -enthusiasm. He acted as if he were hearing a moderately interesting -bit of daily news. I told him about the Grand Duke. No, don’t frown. -I had to, or I would have choked. I described that chained barbarian, -that iron soul dissolved! It’s certainly uncommon; it would make any -heart beat faster. I tried to make him visualize the situation: fifty -millions of trembling slaves and all, through his power, at your -bidding. No poet could have been more impressive than I was. If you had -heard me trying to penetrate his mind, you would have been astonished -at my talent for sewing golden threads on sack cloth. It was all in -vain. His breath came as regularly as the ticking of a clock. Once -or twice he seemed to be startled. But it was due to a breeze or a -mosquito.” - -“I wonder whether the gowns from Paris have arrived at Heyst,” Eva -said. The long oval of her face seemed to grow a trifle longer; her -lips curled a little, and her teeth showed like pallid, freshly peeled -almonds. - -“Why did you refuse yourself to him?” Susan went on. “What we possess -is part of our past, but a joy put off is a burden. Men are to be the -rungs of your ladder--no more. Let them give you magical nights, but -send them packing when the cock crows. How has he deserved a higher -office? You’ve yielded to a whim, and made a grinning idol of him. Why -did you summon him? I’m afraid you’re going to commit a folly.” - -Eva did not answer. The tip of her tongue appeared between her lips, -and she closed her eyes cunningly. Susan thought she understood those -gestures, and said: “It’s true, he has the marvellous diamond for which -you cried. But you have but to command, and they’ll trim your very -shoes with such baubles.” - -“When did you ever see me cry for a diamond?” Eva, asked indifferently. -She raised herself up, and in her transparent, wavering, blossomy -wrappings seemed like a spirit emerging from the dimness. “When did you -ever see me cry for a diamond?” she asked again, and touched Susan’s -shoulder. - -“You told me so yourself.” - -“Have you no better proof?” Eva laughed, and her laughter was her most -sensuous form of expression, as her smile was her most spiritual. - -Susan folded her hands and said resignedly: “Volvedme del otro lado, -que de esto ya estoy tostado!” It is a Spanish ejaculation, and means: -Lay me on the other side, for I have been toasted enough on this. - - -XIV - -The house that Eva had taken was not very far from the beach. It was an -old manor, which William of Orange had built, and which had belonged to -the late Duchess of Leuchtenberg until a few years ago. - -The rooms, built of mighty blocks of stone, soothed Eva. By day and -night she heard the long-drawn thunder of the waves. Whenever she -picked up a book, she dropped it again soon and listened. - -She walked through those rooms, full of ancient furniture and dark -portraits, glad to possess herself, and to await without torment him -who came to her. She greeted him with half-closed eyes, and with the -smile of one who has yielded herself wholly. - -Susan practised on a piano with muted strings. When she had finished -her task, she slunk away and remained hidden. - -Christian and Amadeus Voss had taken lodgings in a neighbouring -villa--Voss on the ground floor, Christian above. Since Christian -neither asked questions nor detained him, Voss went out in the morning -and returned in the evening or even late at night. He did not say where -he had been, or what he had seen or experienced. - -At breakfast on the third morning, he said to Christian: “It’s a -thankless task to unchain a fellow like me. I breathe a different -breath and sleep a different sleep. Somewhere my soul is ranging about, -and I’m chasing it. I’ve got to catch it first, before I know how -things are with me.” - -Christian did not look up. “We’re invited to dine with Eva Sorel -to-night,” he said. - -Voss bowed ironically. “That invitation looks damnably like charity,” -he said harshly. “I feel the resistance of those people to me, and -their strangeness, in my very bones. What a superfluous comedy! What -shall I do there? Nearly all of them talk French. I’m a provincial, a -villager, and ridiculous. And that’s worse than being a murderer or -thief. I may make up my mind to commit arson or murder, so as not to -be ridiculous any more.” He opened his mouth as though to laugh, but -uttered no sound. - -“I’m surprised, Amadeus, that your thoughts always cling to that -one point,” Christian said. “Do you really believe it to be of such -decisive importance? No one cares whether you’re poor or rich. Since -you appear in my company, no one questions your equality, or would be -so vulgar as to question it. The feelings that you express originate -in yourself, and you seem to take a kind of perverse joy in them. You -like to torment yourself, and then revenge yourself on others. I hope -you won’t take my frankness amiss.” - -Amadeus Voss grinned. “Sometimes, Christian Wahnschaffe, I’d like to -pat your head, as though I were your teacher, and say: You did that -very well. Yes, it was wonderfully well done. And yet your little arrow -went astray. To hit me, you must take better aim. It is true that the -morbidness is deep in my soul, far too deep to be eradicated by a -few inexpensive aphorisms. When this Russian prince or this Spanish -legate shake hands with me, I feel as though I had forged cheques and -would be discovered in a minute. When this lady passes by me, with her -indescribable fragrance and the rustling of her garments, I grow dizzy, -as though I dangled high over an abyss, and my whole soul writhes in -its own humiliation and slavishness. It writhes and writhes, and I -can’t help it. I was born that way. This is not my world, and cannot -become mine. The under dogs must bleed to death, for the upper dogs -consider that the order of the world. I belong to that lower kind. -My place is with those who have the odour of decayed flesh, whom all -avoid, who go about with an eternally festering wound. The law of my -being ranges me with them. I have no power to change that, nor has any -pleasant agreement. This is not my world, Wahnschaffe; and if you don’t -want me to lose my reason and do some mischief, you had better take me -out of it so soon as possible, or else send me away.” - -Christian passed the tips of his fingers over his forehead. “Have -patience, Amadeus. I believe it is not my world any longer. Give me but -a little more time in which to straighten out my own thoughts.” - -Voss’s eyes clung to Christian’s hands and lips. The words had been -quietly, almost coolly uttered, yet there was a deep conflict in -them and an expression that had power over Voss. “I cannot imagine a -man leaving this woman, if once he has her favour,” he said, with a -hovering malice on his lips, “unless she withdraws her favour.” - -Christian could not restrain a gesture of aversion. “We’ll meet -to-night then,” he said, and arose. - -An hour later Amadeus Voss saw him and Eva on the beach. He was coming -down the dunes, and saw them on the flat sands by the foam of the -waves. He stopped, shaded his eyes with his hands, and gazed out over -the ocean as though watching for a sail. The other two did not see him. -They walked along in a rhythmic unity, as of bodies that have tested -the harmony of their vibrations. After a while they, too, stopped and -stood close together, and were defined like two dark, slender shafts -against the iron grey of air and water. - -Voss threw himself into the sparse, stiff grass, and buried his -forehead in the moist sand. Thus he lay many hours. - -Evening came. Its great event was to be the appearance of Eva with the -diamond Ignifer in her hair. She wore it in an exquisitely wrought -setting of platinum, and it shone above her head, radiant and solitary, -like a ghostly flame. - -She felt its presence in every throb of her heart. It was a part of -her, at once her justification and her crown. It was no longer an -adornment but a blazing and convincing symbol of herself. - -For a while there was an almost awestruck silence. The lovely Beatrix -Vanleer, a Belgian sculptress, cried out in her astonishment and -admiration. - -The smile of gentle intoxication faded from Eva’s face, and her eyes -turned far in their sockets, and she saw Amadeus Voss, whose face was -of a bluish pallor. - -His mouth was half open like an imbecile’s, his head thrust brutally -forward, his hanging arms twitched. He approached slowly, with eyes -staring at the ineffable glow of the jewel. Those who stood on either -side of him were frightened and made way. Eva turned her face aside, -and stepped back two paces. Susan emerged beside her, and laid -protective arms about her. At the same moment Christian went up to -Voss, grasped his hand, and drew the quite obedient man aside. - -Christian’s attitude and expression had something that calmed -every one. As though nothing had happened, a vivid and twittering -conversation arose. - -Voss and Christian stood on the balcony of stone. Voss drank the salt -sea air deep into his lungs. He asked hoarsely: “Was that Ignifer?” - -Christian nodded. He listened to the sea. The waves thundered like -falling fragments of rock. - -“I have grasped the whole secret of your race,” Amadeus murmured, and -the convulsion in his face melted under the influence of Christian’s -presence. “I have understood both man and woman. In this diamond are -frozen your tears and your shudderings, your voluptuousness and your -darkness too. It is a bribe and an accursed delusion, a terrible -fetish! How keenly aware am I now of your days and nights, Wahnschaffe, -of all that is between you and her, since I have seen the gleam of this -mineral which the Lord created out of the slime, even as He created -me and you and her. That stone is without pain--earthly, and utterly -without pain, burned pure and merciless. My God, my God, and think of -me, of me!” - -Christian did not understand this outburst, but it shook him to -the soul. Its power swept aside the vexation which Voss’s shameless -eloquence had aroused. He listened to the sea. - -Voss pulled himself together. He went up to the balustrade, and said -with unnatural self-control, “You counselled patience to-day. What was -your purpose? It sounded as equivocal and as general as all you say to -me. It is convenient to talk of patience. It is a luxury like any other -luxury at your command, only less costly. There is no word, however, -worthier of hatred or contempt. It is always false. Closely looked -upon, it means cowardice and sloth. What have you in mind?” - -Christian did not answer. Or, rather, he assumed having answered; and -after a long while, and out of deep meditation, he asked: “Do you -believe that it is of any use?” - -“I don’t understand,” said Voss, and looked at him helplessly. “Use? To -what end or how?” - -Christian, however, did not enlighten him further. - -Voss wanted to go home, but Christian begged him to stay, and so they -went in and joined the others at dinner. - - -XV - -When the dinner was over, the company returned to the drawing-room. The -conversation began in French, but in deference to Mr. Bradshaw, who did -not understand that language, changed to German. - -The American directed the conversation toward the dying races of the -New World, and the tragedy of their disappearance. Eva encouraged him, -and he told of an experience he had had among the Navaho Indians. - -The Navaho tribe had offered the longest resistance to Christianity -and to its civilization. To subdue them the United States Government -forbade the practice of the immemorial Yabe Chi dance, the most -solemn ritual of their cult. The commissioner who was to convey this -order, and on whose staff Mr. Bradshaw had been, yielded to the -passionate entreaty of the tribal chief, and gave permission for a -final celebration of the dance. At midnight, by the light of campfires -and of pine torches, the brilliantly feathered and tattooed dancers -and singers appeared. The singers sang songs which told of the fates -of three heroes, who had been captured by a hostile tribe and freed by -the god Ya. He taught them to ride the lightning; they fled into the -cave of the Grizzly Bear, and thence into the realm of butterflies. -The dances gave a plastic representation of these adventures. While -the craggy mountains re-echoed the songs, and the contorted dances in -the tawny glow rose to an ecstasy of despair, a terrific storm broke. -Cascades of water poured from the sky and filled the dried river-beds -with roaring torrents; the fires were extinguished; the medicine men -prayed with uplifted arms; the dancers and singers, certain now that -they had incurred the anger of their god, whose sacred ceremony they -had consented to betray, hurled themselves in their wild pain into the -turbulent waters, which carried their bodies far down into the plain. - -When Mr. Bradshaw had ended, Eva said: “The gods are vengeful; even the -gentlest will defend their seats.” - -“That is a heathen view,” said Amadeus, in a sharp and challenging -voice. “There are no gods. There are idols, to be sure, and these must -be broken.” He looked defiantly about him, and added in a dragging -tone: “For the Lord saith, no man can look upon me and live.” - -Smiles met his outburst. Tavera had not understood, and turned to -Wiguniewski, who whispered an explanation in French. Then the Spaniard -smiled too, compassionately and maliciously. - -Voss arose with a tormented look on his face. The merriment in those -faces was like a bodily chastisement to him. From behind his glittering -eye-glasses he directed a venomous glance toward Eva, and said in -troubled tones: “In the same context of Scripture the Lord bids Israel -hurl aside its adornments that He may see what He will do with them. -The meaning is clear.” - -“He cannot expiate the lust of the eye,” Christian thought, and avoided -Eva’s glance. - -Amadeus Voss left the company and the house. On the street he ran -as though pursued, clasping his hands to his temples. He had pushed -his derby hat far back. When he reached his room, he opened his box -and drew out a package of letters. They were the stolen letters of -the unknown woman F. He sat down by his lamp, and read with tense -absorption and a burning forehead. It was not the first night that he -had passed thus. - -When Eva was alone with Christian, she asked: “Why did you bring that -man with you?” - -He laughed, and lifted her up in his arms, and carried her through many -flights of rooms and out of light into darkness. - -“The sea cries!” her lips said at his ear. - -He prayed that all sounds might die out of the world except the thunder -of the sea and that young voice at his ear. He prayed that those two -might silence the disquiet that overcame him in her very embraces and -made him, at the end of every ecstasy, yearn for its renewal. - -That slender, passionate body throbbed toward him. Yet he heard the -lamentation of an alien voice: What shall we do? - -“Why did you bring this man?” Eva asked him far in the night, between -sleep and sleep. “I cannot bear him. There is always sweat on his -forehead. He comes from a sinister world.” - -There was a bluish twilight in the room that came from the blue flame -of a blue lamp, and a bluish darkness lay beyond the windows. - -“Why don’t you answer me?” she urged, and raised herself, showing the -pale face amid its wilderness of brown hair. - -He had no answer for her. He feared the insufficiency of any -explanation, as well as the replies that she would find. - -“What is the meaning of it all? What ails you, dearest?” Eva drew him -toward her, and clung to him, and kissed his eyes thirstily. - -“I’ll ask him to avoid your presence,” said Christian. And suddenly he -saw himself and Voss in the farm yard of Nettersheim, saw the kneeling -men and maid servants, the old rusty lantern, the dead woman, and the -carpenter who was measuring her for her coffin. - -“Tell me what he means to you,” whispered Eva. “It seems to me suddenly -as though you were gone. Where are you really? Tell me, dear friend.” - -“You should have let me love you in those old days in Paris,” said -Christian gently, and softly rested his cheek against her bosom, “in -those days when Crammon and I came to you.” - -“Speak, only speak,” Eva breathed, seeking to hide the fright in her -heart. - -Her eyes gleamed, and her skin was like luminous white satin. In the -darkness her face had a spiritualized thinness; the restrained charm of -her gestures mastered the hour, and her smile was deep and intricate of -meaning, and everything about her was play and mirroring and raptness -and unexpected magic. Christian looked upon her. - -“Do you remember words that you once spoke to me?” he asked. “You said: -‘Love is an art like poetry or music, and he who does not understand -that, finds no grace in love’s sight.’ Were not those your words?” - -“Yes, they were. Speak to me, my darling!” - -He held her in his arms, and the life of her body, its warmth, its -blood that was conscious of him, and its vibration that was toward -him, made speech a little easier. “You see,” he said thoughtfully, and -caressed her hand, “I have only enjoyed women. Nothing more. I have -been ignorant of that love which is an art. It was so easy. They adored -me, and I took no pains. They put no hindrances on my path, and so -my foot passed over them. Not one demanded a fulfilment of me. They -were happy enough if I was but contented. But you, Eva, you’re not -satisfied with me. You look at me searchingly and watch me; and your -vigil continues even at those moments when one floats beyond thought -and knowledge. And it is because you are not satisfied with me. Or is -that an error, a deception?” - -“It is so very late,” said Eva, and, leaning her head back upon the -pillows, she closed her eyes. She listened to the perished echo of her -own voice, and the oppression of her heart almost robbed her of breath. - - -XVI - -It was in another night. They had been jesting and telling each other -amusing stories, and at last they had grown weary. - -Suddenly in the darkness outside of the window Christian had a vision -of his father and of the dog Freia; and his father had the tread of a -lonely man. Never had Christian seen loneliness so visibly embodied. -The dog was his only companion. He had sought for another friend, but -there had been none to go with him. - -“How is that possible?” Christian thought. - -His senses were lost in a strange drowsiness, even while he held Eva’s -beautiful body, which was as smooth and cool as ivory. And in this -drowsiness visions emerged of his brother, his sister, his mother, and -about each of them was that great loneliness and desolation. - -“How is that possible?” Christian thought. “Their lives are thronged -with people.” - -But he answered himself, and said: “Is not your own life likewise -thronged with people to suffocation, and do you not also feel that same -loneliness and desolateness?” - -Now a dark object seemed to descend upon him. It was a coat--a wet, -dripping coat. And at the same moment some one called out to him: -“Arise, Christian, arise!” But he could not arise, for those ivory arms -held him fast. - -Suddenly he became aware of Letitia. She uttered but one word: “Why?” -It seemed to him, while he slept, if indeed he slept, that he should -have chosen Letitia, who lived but for her dreams, her yearnings and -imaginings, and who had been sacrificed with her dreams to the vulgar -world of reality. It seemed to him as though Letitia, pointing to Eva, -were saying: “What do you seek of her? She knows nothing of you, but -weaves at the web of her own life. She is ambitious, and can give you -no help in your suffering; and it is only to forget and deaden the pain -of your soul that you are wasting yourself upon her.” - -Christian was astonished to find Letitia so wise. He was almost -inclined to smile at her wisdom. But he knew now clearly that he -was suffering. It was a suffering of an unfathomable nature, which -grew from hour to hour and from day to day, like the spreading of a -gangrened wound. - -His head rested on the shoulder of his beloved; her little breasts rose -from the violet shadows and had trembling contours. He felt her beauty -with every nerve, and her strangeness and exquisite lightness. He felt -that he loved her with all his thoughts and with every fibre of his -flesh, and that, despite it all, he could find no help in her. - -And again a voice cried: “Arise, Christian, arise!” But he could not -arise. For he loved this woman, and feared life without her. - -The dawn was breaking when Eva turned her face to him again: “Where are -you?” she asked. “What are you gazing at?” - -He answered: “I am with you.” - -“To the last stirrings of your thought?” - -“I don’t know. Who knows the last recesses of his mind?” - -“I want you wholly. With every breath. And something of you escapes.” - -“And you,” Christian asked evasively, “are you utterly with me?” - -She answered passionately, and with an imperious smile, as she drew -closer to him: “You are more mine than I am yours.” - -“Why?” - -“Does it frighten you? Are you miserly in your love? Yes, you are more -mine. I have broken the spell that held you and melted your soul of -stone.” - -“Melted my soul...?” Christian asked in amazement. - -“I have, my darling. Don’t you know that I’m a sorceress? I have power -over the fish in the sea, the horse on the sod, the vulture in the -air, and the invisible deities that are spoken of in the books of the -Persians. I can make of you what I would, and you must yield.” - -“That is true,” Christian admitted. - -“But your soul does not look at me,” Eva cried, and flung her arms -about him, “it is an alien soul, dark, hostile, unknown.” - -“Perhaps you’re misusing the power you have over me, and my soul -resists.” - -“It is to obey--that is all.” - -“Perhaps it is not wholly sure of you.” - -“I can give your soul only the assurance of the hour that is.” - -“What are you planning?” - -“Don’t ask me! Hold me fast with your thoughts. Don’t let me go for a -moment, or we are lost to each other. Cling to me with all your might.” - -Christian answered: “It seems to me as though I ought to know what you -mean. But I don’t want to know it. Because you see, you ... I ... all -this ... it’s too insignificant.” He shook his head in a troubled way. -“Too insignificant.” - -“What, what do you mean by that?” Eva cried in fright, and clung to -his right hand with both hers. Tensely she looked into his face. - -“Too insignificant,” Christian repeated stubbornly, as though he could -find no other words. - -Then he reflected on all he had said and heard with his accustomed -scepticism and toughmindedness, and arose and bade his friend -good-night. - - -XVII - -Edgar Lorm was playing in Karlsruhe. On a certain evening he had -increased the tempo of his playing, and given vent to his disgust with -his rôle, the piece, his colleagues, and his audience so obviously that -there had been hissing after the last act. - -“I’m a poor imbecile,” he said to his colleagues at their supper in a -restaurant. “Every play actor is a poor imbecile.” He looked at them -all contemptuously, and smacked his lips. - -“We must have had more inner harmony in the days when we were suspected -of stealing shirts from the housewife’s line and children were -frightened at our name. Don’t you think so? Or maybe you’re quite -comfortable in your stables.” - -His companions observed a respectful silence. Wasn’t he the famous man -who filled the houses, and whom both managers and critics flattered? - -Dust was whirling in the streets, the dust of summer, as he returned to -his hotel. How desolate I feel, he thought, and shook himself. Yet his -step was free and firm as a young huntsman’s. - -When he had received his key and turned toward the lift, Judith Imhof -suddenly stood before him. He started, and then drew back. - -“I am ready to be poor,” she said, almost without moving her lips. - -“Are you here on business, dear lady?” Lorm asked in a clear, cold -voice. “Undoubtedly you are expecting your husband----?” - -“I am expecting no one but you, and I am alone,” answered Judith, and -her eyes blazed. - -He considered the situation with a wrinkled face that made him look old -and homely. Then with a gesture he invited her to follow him, and they -entered the empty reading room. A single electric lamp burned above the -table covered with newspapers. They sat down in two leather armchairs. -Judith toyed nervously with her gold mesh-bag. She wore a travelling -frock, and her face was tired. - -Lorm began the conversation. “First of all: Is there any folly in your -mind that can still be prevented?” - -“None,” Judith answered in a frosty tone. “If the condition you made -was only a trick to scare me off, and you are cowardly enough to -repudiate it at the moment of its fulfilment, then, of course, I have -been self-deceived, and my business here is at an end. Don’t soothe me -with well-meant speeches. The matter was too serious to me for that.” - -“That is sharply and bitterly said, Judith, but terribly impetuous,” -Lorm said, with quiet irony. “I’m an old hand at living, and far from -young, and a good bit too experienced to fly into the passion of a -Romeo at even the most precious offers and surprises of a woman. -Suppose we discuss what you’ve done like two friends, and you postpone -for a bit any final judgment of my behaviour.” - -Judith told him that she had written her father, and requested him to -make some other disposition of the annual income which he had settled -on her at the time of her marriage, since she had determined to get a -divorce from Felix Imhof, and to marry a man who had made this step -a definite condition of their union. At the same time she had made -a legal declaration of her renunciation before a notary, which she -had brought to show Lorm, and intended thereupon to send on to her -father. All this she told him very calmly. Felix had known nothing -of her intentions at the time of her departure. She had left a note -for him in the care of his valet. “Explanations are vain under such -circumstances,” she said. “To tell a man whom one is leaving why one -is leaving him is as foolish as turning back the hands of the clock in -the hope of really bringing back hours that are dead. He knows where I -am and what I want. That’s enough. Anyhow, it’s not the sort of thing -he comprehends, and there are so many affairs in his busy life that one -more or less will make little difference.” - -Lorm sat quietly, his head bent forward, his chin resting on the -mother-of-pearl handle of his stick. His carefully combed hair, which -was brown and still rather thick, gleamed in the light. His brows were -knit. In the lines about his nose, and his wearied actor’s mouth, there -was a deep joylessness. - -A waiter appeared at the door and vanished again. - -“You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for, Judith,” Lorm -said, and tapped the floor lightly with his feet. - -“Then tell me about it, so that I can adjust myself.” - -“I’m an actor,” he said almost threateningly. - -“I know it.” - -He laid his stick on the table, and folded his hands. “I’m an actor,” -he repeated, and his face assumed the appearance of a mask. “My -profession involves my representing human nature at its moments of -extreme expressiveness. The fascination of the process consists in the -artificial concentration of passion, its immediate projection, and the -assigning to it of consequences that reality rarely or never affords. -And so it naturally happens--and this deception is the fatal law of -the actor’s life--that my person, this Edgar Lorm who faces you here, -is surrounded by a frame that suits him about as well as a Gothic -cathedral window would suit a miniature. A further consequence is that -I lack all power of adjustment to any ordered social life, and all my -attempts to bring myself in harmony with such a life have been pitiable -failures. I struggle and dance in a social vacuum. My art is beaten -foam. - -“I’ve been told of people who have a divided personality. Well, mine -is doubled, quadrupled. The real me is extinct. I detest the whole -business; I practise my profession because I haven’t any other. I’d -like to be a librarian in the service of a king or a rich man who -didn’t bother me, or own a farm in some Swiss valley. I’m not talking -about the accidental miseries of the theatre, disgusting and repulsive -as they are--the masquerading, the lies and vanities. And I don’t -want you to believe either that I’m uttering the average lament of -the spoiled mime, which is made up of inordinate self-esteem and of -coquettish fishing for flattering contradiction. - -“My suffering lies a little deeper. Its cause is, if you will try to -understand me, the spoken word. It has caused a process within me that -has poisoned my being and destroyed my soul. What word, you may ask? -The words that pass between man and man, husband and wife, friend and -friend, myself and others. Language, which you utter quite naturally, -has in my case passed through all the gamuts of expression and all the -temperatures of the mind. You use it as a peasant uses his scythe, the -tailor his needle, the soldier his weapon. To me it is a property and -a ghost, a mollusk and an echo, a thing of a thousand transformations, -but lacking outline and kernel. I cry out words, whisper them, stammer -them, moan, flute, distend them, and fill the meaningless with meaning, -and am depressed to the earth by the sublime. And I’ve been doing that -for five and twenty years. It has worn me thin; it has split my gums -and hollowed out my chest. - -“Hence all words, sincere as they may be on others’ lips, are untrue -on mine, untrue to me. They tyrannise over me and torment me, flicker -through the walls, recall to me my powerlessness and unrewarded -sacrifices, and change me into a helpless puppet. Can I ever, without -being ashamed to the very marrow, say: I love? How many meanings -have not those words! How many have I been forced to give them! If I -utter them I practise merely the old trick of my trade, and make the -pasteboard device upon my head look like a golden crown. Consider me -closely and you will see the meaning of literal despair. Words have -been my undoing. It sounds queer, I know; but it is true. It may be -that the actor is the absolute example of hopeless despair.” - -Judith looked at him rather emptily. “I don’t suppose that we’ll -torture each other much with words,” she said, merely to say something. - -But Edgar Lorm gave to this saying a subtle interpretation, and -nodded gratefully. “What an infinitely desirable condition that would -be,” he answered, in his stateliest manner; “because, you see, words -and emotions are like brothers and sisters. The thing that I detest -saying is mouldy and flat to me in the realm of feeling too. One -should be silent as fate. It may be that I am spoiled for any real -experience--drained dry. I have damned little confidence in myself, and -nothing but pity for any hand stretched out to save me. However that -may be,” he ended, and arose with elastic swiftness, “I am willing to -try.” - -He held out his hand as to a comrade. Charmed by the vividness and -knightly grace of his gesture, Judith took his hand and smiled. - -“Where are you stopping?” he asked. - -“In this hotel.” - -Chatting quite naturally he accompanied her to the door of her room. - - -XVIII - -On the next afternoon Felix Imhof suddenly appeared at the hotel. He -sent up his card to Judith, and waited in the hall. He walked up and -down, swinging his little cane, carelessly whistling through his thick -lips, his brain burdened with affairs, speculations, stock quotations, -a hundred obligations and appointments. But whenever he passed the -tall windows, he threw a curious and merry glance out into the street, -where two boys were having a fight. - -But now and then his face grew dark, and a quiver passed over it. - -The page returned, and bade him come up. - -Judith was surprised to see him. He began to talk eagerly at once. “I -have business in Liverpool, and wanted to see you once more before -leaving. A crowd of people came, who all had some business with you. -Invitations came for you, and telephone calls; your dressmaker turned -up, and letters, and I was, of course, quite helpless. I can’t very -well receive people with the agreeable information that my wife has -just taken French leave of me. There are a thousand things; you have to -disentangle them, or the confusion will be endless.” - -They talked for a while of the indifferent things which, according to -him, had brought him here. Then he added: “I had an audience with the -Prince Regent this forenoon. He bestowed a knighthood on me yesterday.” - -Judith’s face flushed, and she had the expression of one who, in a -state of hypnosis, recalls his waking consciousness. - -Felix tapped against his faultlessly creased trousers with his stick. -“I beg your pardon for venturing any criticism,” he said, “but I can’t -help observing that the whole matter might have been better managed. -To run off with that degree of suddenness--well, it wasn’t quite the -proper thing, a little beneath us, not quite fair.” - -Judith shrugged her shoulders. “Things that are inevitable might as -well be done quickly. And I don’t see that your equanimity is at all -impaired.” - -“Equanimity! Nonsense! Doesn’t enter the question.” He stood, as was -his habit, with legs stretched far apart, rocking to and fro a little, -and regarding his gleaming boots. “What has equanimity to do with it? -We’re cultivated people. I’m neither a tiger nor a Philistine. Nihil -humanum a me alienum, et cetera. You simply don’t know me. And it -doesn’t astonish me, for what chance have we ever had to cultivate -each other’s acquaintance? Marriage gave us no opportunity. We should -retrieve our lost occasions. It is this wish that I should like to take -with me into my renewed bachelorhood. You must promise not to avoid me -as rigorously in the future as you did during the eight months of our -married life.” - -“If it will give you any pleasure, I promise gladly,” Judith answered -good-humouredly. - -With that they parted. - -An hour later Felix Imhof sat in the train. With protruding eyes -he stared at the passing landscape until darkness fell. He desired -conversation, argument, the relief of some projection of his inner -self. With wrinkled brow he watched the strangers about him who knew -nothing of him or his inner wealth, of his great, rolling ideas, or his -far-reaching plans. - -At Düsseldorf he left the train. He had made up his mind to do so at -the last possible moment. He checked his luggage, and huddled in his -coat, walked, a tall, lean figure, through the midnight of the dark and -ancient streets. - -He stopped in front of one of the oldest houses. In this house he had -passed his youth. All the windows were dark. “Hello, boy!” he shouted -toward the window behind which he had once slept. The walls echoed his -voice. “O nameless boy,” he said, “where do you come from?” He was -accustomed to say of himself often: “I am of obscure origin like Caspar -Hauser.” - -But no secret weighed upon him, not even that of his own unknown -descent. He was a man of his decade--stripped of mystery, open to all -the winds. - -He entered a house, which he remembered from his student days. In a -large room, lined with greasy mirrors, there were fifteen or twenty -half-dressed girls. In his hat and coat he sat down at the piano and -played with the false energy of the dilettante. - -“Girls,” he said, “I’ve got a mad rage in me!” The girls played tricks -on him as he sat there. They hung a crimson shawl over his shoulders -and danced. - -“I’m in a rage, girls,” he repeated. “It’s got to be drowned out.” He -ordered champagne by the pailful. - -The doors were locked. The girls screeched with delight. - -“Do something to relieve my misery, girls,” he commanded, bade half a -dozen stand in a row and open their mouths. Then he rolled up hundred -mark notes like cigarettes, and stuck them between the girls’ teeth. -They almost smothered him with their caresses. - -And he drank and drank until he lost consciousness. - - -XIX - -Christian could not be without Eva. If he left her for the shortest -period, the world about him grew dark. - -Yet all their relations had the pathos of farewells. If he walked -beside her, it seemed to be for the last time. Every touch of their -hands, every meeting of their eyes had the dark glow and pain of the -irrevocable. - -His love for her was in harmony with this condition. It was clinging, -giving, patient, at times even obedient. - -It showed its nature in the way he held her cloak for her, gave her a -glass that her lips were to touch, supported her when she was weary, -waited for her if she was later than he at some appointed spot. - -She felt that often and questioned him; but he had no answer. He might -have conveyed his sensation of an eternal farewell, but he could not -have told her what was to follow it. And it became very clear to him, -that not a farewell from her alone was involved, but a farewell from -everything in the world that had hitherto been clear and pleasant and -indispensable to him. Beyond that fact he understood nothing; he had -no plans and did not make any. - -He was so void of any desire or demand that Eva yielded recklessly to -a hundred wishes, and was angry when none remained unfulfilled. She -wanted to see the real ocean. He rented a yacht, and they cruised on -the Atlantic for two weeks. She had a longing for Paris, and he took -her there in his car. They had dinner at Foyot in the Rue de Tournon, -where they had invited friends--writers, painters, musicians. On the -following day they returned. They heard of a castle in Normandy which -was said to be like a dream of the early Middle Age. She desired to see -it by moonlight; so they set out while the moon was full and cloudless -nights were expected. Then the cathedral at Rouen lured her; next the -famous roses of a certain Baron Zerkaulen near Ghent; then an excursion -into the forest of Ardennes, or a sunset over the Zuyder Zee, or a ride -in the park at Richmond, or a Rembrandt at The Hague, or a festive -procession in Antwerp. - -“Do you never get tired?” Christian asked one day, with that unquiet -smile of his that seemed a trifle insincere. - -Eva answered: “The world is big and youth is brief. Beauty yearns -toward me, exists for me, and droops when I am gone. Since Ignifer is -mine, my hunger seems insatiable. It is radiant over my earth, and -makes all my paths easy. You see, dear, what you have done.” - -“Beware of Ignifer,” said Christian, with that same, apparently -secretive smile. - -Eva’s lids drooped heavily. “Fyodor Szilaghin has arrived,” she said. - -“There are so many,” Christian answered, “I can’t possibly know them -all.” - -“You see none, but they all see you,” said Eva. “They all wonder at you -and ask: Who is that slender, distinguished man with very white teeth -and blue eyes? Do you not hear their whispering? They make me vain of -you.” - -“What do they know of me? Let them be.” - -“Women grow pale when you approach. Yesterday on the promenade there -was a flower-seller, a Flemish girl. She looked after you, and then she -began to sing. Did you not hear?” - -“No. What was the song she sang?” - -Eva covered her eyes with her hands, and sang softly and with an -expression on her lips that was half pain and half archness: - - “‘Où sont nos amoureuses? - Elles sont au tombeau, - Dans un séjour plus beau - Elles sont heureuses. - Elles sont près des anges - Au fond du ciel bleu, - Où elles chantent les louanges - De la Mère de Dieu.’ - -“It touched my very soul, and for a minute I hated you. Ah, how much -beauty of feeling streams from human hearts, and finds no vessel to -receive it!” - -Suddenly she arose, and said with a burning glance: “Fyodor Szilaghin -is here.” - -Christian went to the window. “It is raining,” he said. - -Thereupon Eva left the room, singing with a sob in her throat: - - “Où sont nos amoureuses? - Elles sont au tombeau.” - -That evening they were walking down the beach. “I met Mlle. Gamaleja,” -Eva told him. “Fyodor Szilaghin introduced her to me. She is a Tartar -and his mistress. Her beauty is like that of a venomous serpent, and as -strange as the landscape of a wild dream. There was a silent challenge -in her attitude to me, and a silent combat arose between us. We talked -about the diary of Marie Bashkirtseff. She said that such creatures -should be strangled at birth. But I see from your expression, dear man, -that you have never heard of Marie Bashkirtseff. Well, she was one of -those women who are born a century before their time and wither away -like flowers in February.” - -Christian did not answer. He could not help thinking of the faces of -the dead fishermen which he had seen the night before. - -“Mlle. Gamaleja was in London recently and brought me a message from -the Grand Duke,” Eva continued; “he’ll be here in another week.” - -Christian was still silent. Twelve women and nineteen children had -stood about the dead men. They had all been scantily clad and absorbed -in their icy grief. - -They walked up the beach and moved farther away from the tumult of the -waves. Eva said: “Why don’t you laugh? Have you forgotten how?” The -question was like a cry. - -Christian said nothing. “To-morrow,” she remarked swiftly, and caught -her veil which was fluttering in the breeze, “to-morrow there’s a -village fair at Dudzeele. Come with me to Dudzeele. Pulcinello will be -there. We will laugh, Christian, laugh!” - -“Last night there was a storm here,” Christian began at last. “You -know that, for we were long among the dunes up there. Toward morning -I walked toward the beach again, because I couldn’t sleep. Just as I -arrived they were carrying away the bloated corpses of the fishermen. -Three boats went to pieces during the night; it was quite near Molo, -but there was no chance for help. They carried seven men away to the -morgue. Some people, all humble folk, went along, and so did I. There -in that death chamber a single lantern was burning, and when they put -down the drenched bodies, puddles gathered on the floor. Coats had -been spread over the faces of the dead men; and of the women I saw but -a single one shed tears. She was as ugly as a rotten tree-trunk; but -when she wept all her ugliness was gone. Why should I laugh, Eva? Why -should I laugh? I must think of the fishermen who earn their bread day -after day out on the sea. Why should I laugh? And why to-day?” - -With both hands Eva pressed her veil against her cheeks. - -In that tone of his, which was never rudely emphatic, Christian -continued: “Yesterday at the bar Wiguniewski and Botho Thüngen showed -me a man of about fifty, a former star at the opera, who had been -famous and made money in his day. The day before he had broken down -on the street--from starvation. But in his pocket, they found twenty -francs. When he was asked why, having the money, he had not satisfied -his hunger, he answered that the money was an advance given him toward -travelling expenses. He had been engaged to sing at a cabaret in Havre. -It had taken him months to find this employment. But the fare to Havre -is thirty-five francs, and for six days he had made frantic efforts to -scrape together the additional fifteen francs. He had resisted every -temptation to touch the twenty francs, for he knew that if he took but -a single centime his life would be finally wrecked. But on this day the -date of the beginning of his engagement had lapsed, and he returned the -twenty francs to the agent. They pointed this man out to me. Leaning on -his arms, he sat before an empty cup. I meant to sit down by him, but -he went away. Why should I laugh, Eva, when there are such things to -think about? Don’t ask me to-day of all days that I should laugh.” - -Eva said nothing. But when they were at home, she flung herself in his -arms, as though beside herself, and said: “I must kiss you.” - -And she kissed him and bit his lip so hard that drops of blood appeared. - -“Go now,” she said with a commanding gesture, “go! But don’t forget -that to-morrow we shall visit the fair at Dudzeele.” - - -XX - -They drove to the fair and made their way through the crowds to the -little puppet-show. The benches were filled with children; the grown -people stood in a semi-circle. From the harbour floated the odours -of machine oil, leather, and salt herring; in the air resounded the -discords of all kinds of music and of the criers’ voices. - -Christian made a path for Eva; half-surprised and half-morosely the -people yielded. Eva followed the play with cheerful intensity. She had -loved such scenes from childhood, and now they brought back to her with -a poignant and melancholy glow the years of her obscure wanderings. - -The Pulcinello, who played the rôle of an outwitted cheat, was forced -to confess that no cunning could withstand the magic of the good -fairies. His simplicity was too obvious, and his downfall too well -deserved to awaken compassion. The rain of blows which were his final -portion constituted a satisfying victory of good morals. - -Eva applauded, and was as delighted as a child. “Doesn’t it make you -laugh, Christian?” she asked. - -And Christian laughed, not at the follies of the rogue, but because -Eva’s laughter was so infectious. - -When the curtain had fallen upon the tiny stage, they followed the -stream of people from one amusement to another. A little line of -followers was formed in their wake; a whispering passed from mouth to -mouth and each pointed out Eva to the other. Several young girls seemed -especially stubborn in their desire to follow the exquisitely dressed -lady. Eva wore a hat adorned with small roses and a cloak of silk as -blue as the sea in sunshine. - -One of the maidens had gathered a bunch of lilacs, and in front of an -inn she gave the flowers to Eva with a dainty courtesy. Eva thanked -her, and held the flowers to her face. Five or six of the girls formed -a circle about her, and took each others’ hands and danced and trilled -a melody of wild delight. - -“Now I am caught,” Eva cried merrily to Christian, who had remained -outside of the circle and had to endure the mocking glances of the -girls. - -“Yes, now you are caught,” he answered, and sought to put himself in -tune with the mood of the merrymakers. - -On the steps of the inn stood a drunken fellow, who watched the scene -before him with inexplicable fury. First he exhausted himself in wild -abuse, and when no one took notice of him, he seemed overcome by a -sort of madness. He picked up a stone from the ground, and hurled it -at the group. The girls cried out and dodged. The stone, as large as a -man’s fist, narrowly missed the arm of the girl who had presented the -flowers, and in its fall hit both of Eva’s feet. - -She grew pale and compressed her lips. Several men rushed up to the -drunken brute, who staggered into the inn. Christian had also run in -that direction; but he turned back, thinking it more important to take -care of Eva. The girls surrounded her, sympathized and questioned. - -“Can you walk?” he asked. She said yes with a determined little air, -but limped when she tried. He caught her up in his arms, and carried -her to the car, which was waiting nearby. The girls followed and waved -farewell with their kerchiefs. Hoarse cries sounded from the inn. - -“Pulcinello grew quite mad,” Eva said. She smiled and suppressed all -signs of pain. “It is nothing, darling,” she whispered after a while, -“it will pass. Don’t be alarmed.” They drove with racing speed. - -Half an hour later she was resting in an armchair in the villa. -Christian was kneeling before her, and held her naked feet in his hands. - -Susan had been quite terror stricken, when she had whisked off her -mistress’s shoes and stockings, and saw to her horror the red bruises -made by the stone. She had stammered out contradictory counsels, had -summoned the servants, and excitedly cried out for a physician. At last -Eva had asked her to be quiet and to leave the room. - -“The pain’s almost gone,” said Eva, and nestled her little feet -luxuriously into Christian’s cool hands. A maid brought in a ewer of -water and linen cloths for cold bandages. - -Christian held and regarded those two naked feet, exquisite organs -that were comparable to the hands of a great painter or to the wings -of a bird that soars far and high. And while he was taking delight in -their form, the clearly defined net of muscles, the lyrical loveliness -of the curves, the rosy toes with their translucent nails, an inner -monitor arose in him and seemed to say: “You are kneeling, Christian, -you are kneeling.” Silently, and not without a certain consternation, -he had whispered back: “Yes, I am kneeling, and why should I not?” His -eyes met Eva’s, and the gleam of delight in hers heightened his inner -discomfort. - -Eva said: “Your hands are dear physicians, and it is wonderful to have -you kneel before me, sweet friend.” - -“What is there wonderful about it?” Christian asked hesitantly. - -The twilight had fallen. Through the gently waving curtains the evening -star shone in. - -Eva shook her head. “I love it. That’s all.” Her hair fell open and -rippled down her shoulders. “I love it,” she repeated, and laid her -hands on his head, pressing it toward her knees. “I love it.” - -“But you are kneeling!” Christian heard that voice again. And suddenly -he saw a water jug with a broken handle, and a crooked window rimmed -with snow, and a single boot crusted with mud, and a rope dangling -from a beam, and an oil lamp with a sooty chimney. He saw these lowly, -poverty-stricken things. - -“Have you kneeled to many as though you adored them?” Eva asked. - -He did not answer, but her naked feet grew heavy in his hands. The -sensuous perception which they communicated to him through their -warmth, their smoothness, their instinctive flexibility vanished -suddenly, and gave way to a feeling in which fear and shame and -mournfulness were blended. These human organs, these dancing feet, -these limbs of the woman he loved, these rarest and most precious -things on earth seemed suddenly ugly and repulsive to him, and those -lowly and poverty-stricken objects--the jug with the broken handle, the -crooked window with its rim of snow, the muddy boot, the dangling rope, -the sooty lamp, these suddenly seemed to him beautiful and worthy of -reverence. - -“Tell me, have you kneeled to many?” he heard Eva’s voice, with its -almost frightened tenderness. And it seemed to him that Ivan Becker -gave answer in his stead and said: “That you kneeled down before -her--that was it, and that alone. All else was hateful and bitter; but -that you kneeled down beside her--ah, that was it!” - -He breathed deeply, with closed eyes, and became pale. And he relived, -more closely and truly than ever, that hour of fate. He felt the breath -of Becker’s kiss upon his forehead, and understood its meaning. He -understood the feverish transformations of an evil conscience that had -caused him to identify himself with that jug, that window, that boot -and rope and lamp, only to flee, only to gain time. And he understood -now that despite his change from form to form, he had well seen and -heard the beggar, the woman, Ivan Michailovitch, the sick, half-naked -children, but that his whole soul had gathered itself together in the -effort to guard himself against them for but a little while, before -they would hurl themselves upon him with all their torment, despair, -madness, cruelty, like wild dogs upon a piece of meat. - -His respite had come to an end. With an expression of haste and -firmness at once he arose. “Let me go, Eva,” he said, “send me away. It -is better that you send me away than that I wrench myself loose, nerve -by nerve, inch by inch. I cannot stay with you nor live for you.” Yet -in this very moment his love for her gathered within him like a storm -of flames, and he would have torn the heart from his breast to have -unsaid the irrevocable words. - -She sprang up swiftly as an arrow. Then she stood very still, with both -hands in her hair. - -He walked to the window. He saw the whole space of heaven before -him, the evening star and the unresting sea. And he knew that it was -all illusion, this great peace, this glittering star, this gently -phosphorescent deep, that it was but a garment and a painted curtain by -which the soul must not let itself be quieted. Behind it were terror -and horror and unfathomable pain. He understood, he understood at last. - -He understood those thousands and thousands on the shore of the Thames -and their sombre silence. He understood the shipman’s daughter, whose -violated body had lain on coarse linen. He understood Adda Castillo -and her will to destruction. He understood Jean Cardillac’s melancholy -seeking for help, and his sorrow over his wife and child. He understood -that ancient rake who cried out behind the gates of his cloister: -“What shall I do? My Lord and Saviour, what shall I do?” He understood -Dietrich, the deaf and dumb lad who had drowned himself, and Becker’s -words concerning his dripping coat, and Franz Lothar’s horror at the -intertwined bodies of the Hungarian men and maids, and the panting -hunger of Amadeus Voss and his saying concerning the silver cord and -the pitcher broken at the fountain. He understood the stony grief of -the fishermen’s wives, and the opera singer who had twenty francs in -his pocket. - -He understood. He understood. - -“Christian!” Eva cried out in a tone as though she were peering into -the darkness. - -“The night has come upon us,” Christian said, and trembled. - -“Christian!” she cried. - -Suddenly he became aware of Amadeus Voss, who emerged out there from -among the dark trees, and who seemed to have awaited him, for he made -signs to him at the window. With a hasty good-night Christian left the -room. - -Eva looked after him and did not move. - -A little later, forgetting the ache in her feet, she went into her -dressing-room, opened her jewel case, took Ignifer out, and regarded -the stone long and with brooding seriousness. - -Then she put it into her hair, and went to the mirror--cool in body, -pale of face, quiet-eyed. She folded her arms, lost in this vision of -herself. - - -XXI - -Christian and Amadeus walked across the dam toward Duinbergen. - -“I have a confession to make to you, Wahnschaffe,” Amadeus Voss began. -“I’ve been gambling, playing roulette, over at Ostende.” - -“I’ve heard about it,” said Christian absent-mindedly. “And, of course, -you lost?” - -“The devil appeared to me,” said Amadeus, in hollow tones. - -“How much did you lose?” Christian asked. - -“Maybe you think it was some refined modern devil, a hallucination, or -a product of the poetic fancy,” Amadeus continued in his breathless -and strangely hostile way. “Oh, no, it was a regular, old-fashioned -devil with a goat’s beard and great claws. And he spoke to me: ‘Take -of their superfluity; clothe your sensitiveness in armour; let them -not intimidate you, nor the breath of their insolently beautiful world -drive you into the cloudy closets of your torment.’ And with his -cunning fingers he guided the little, jumping ball for me. The light of -the lamps seemed to cry, the rouge fell from the cheeks of the women, -the spittle of poisonous greed ran down the beards of the men. I won, -Christian Wahnschaffe, I won! Ten thousand, twelve thousand--I hardly -remember how much. The thousand franc notes looked like tatters of a -faded flag. There were gleaming halls, stairs, gardens, white tables, -champagne coolers, platters of oysters; and I breathed deep and lived -and was like a lord. Strange men congratulated me, honoured me with -their company, ate with me--experienced people, spick and span and -respectable. In the Hotel de la Plage my goat-footed devil finally -became transformed into a worthy symbol. He became a spider that had a -huge egg between its feet and sucked insatiably.” - -“I believe you ought to go to bed and have a long sleep,” said -Christian drily. “How much did you lose in the end?” - -“I have lost sleep,” Amadeus admitted. “How much I lost? About fourteen -thousand. Prince Wiguniewski advanced the money; he thought you’d -return it. He’s a very distinguished person, I must say. Not a muscle -in his face moves when he’s courteous; nothing betrays the fact that he -scents the proletarian in me.” - -“I’ll straighten out the affair with him,” said Christian. - -“It is not enough, Wahnschaffe,” Amadeus answered, and his voice shook, -“it is not enough!” - -“Why isn’t it enough?” - -“Because I must go on gambling and win the money back. I can’t remain -your debtor.” - -“You will only increase your indebtedness, Amadeus. But I won’t prevent -you, if you’ll make up your mind to name a limit.” - -Amadeus laughed hoarsely. “I knew you’d be magnanimous, Christian -Wahnschaffe. Plunge the thorn deeper into my wound. Go on!” - -“I don’t understand you, Amadeus,” Christian said calmly. “Ask as much -money of me as you please. To be sure, I’d prefer to have you ask it -for another purpose.” - -“How magnanimous again, how magnanimous!” Amadeus jeered. “But suppose -that naming a limit is just what I won’t do? Suppose I want to strip -off my beggar’s shame and become frankly a robber? Would you cast me -off in that case?” - -“I don’t know what I should do,” Christian answered. “Perhaps I should -try to convince you that you are not acting justly.” - -These sober and simple words made a visible impression on Amadeus -Voss. He lowered his head and, after a while, he said: “It crushes the -heart--that interval between the hopping of the little ball and the -decision of the judge. The faded bank notes rustle up, or a round roll -of gold is driven up on a shovel. I invented a system. I divided eight -letters into groups of three and five. Once I won seventeen hundred -with my system, another time three thousand. You mustn’t leave me in -the lurch, Wahnschaffe. I have a soul, too. Three and five--that’s my -problem. I’ll break the bank. I’ll break the bank thrice--ten times! It -is possible, and therefore it can be done. Can three and five withstand -a cloudburst of gold? Would Danaë repel Perseus, or would she demand -that he bring her first the head of the Gorgon Medusa?” - -He fell silent very suddenly. Christian had laid an arm about his -shoulder, and this familiar caress was so new and unexpected that -Amadeus breathed deep as a child in its sleep. “Think of what has -happened, Amadeus,” said Christian. “Do think of the words you said to -me: ‘It is possible that you need me; it is certain that without you I -am lost.’ Have you forgotten so soon, dear friend?” - -Amadeus started. He stood still and grasped Christian’s hands: “For the -love of God ... no one has ever spoken to me thus ... no one!” - -“You will not forget it then, Amadeus?” Christian said softly. - -A weakness overcame Amadeus Voss. He looked about him with unquiet -eyes, and saw a low post to which the ships’ hawsers were made fast. -He sat down on it, and buried his face in his hands. Then he spoke -through his hands: “Look you, dear brother, I am a beaten dog; that -and nothing else. I feel as though I had leaned too long against a -cold, hard, tinted church wall. The chill has remained in my very -marrow, and I struggle because I don’t want that feeling to enslave -me. Often I think I should like to love a woman. I cannot live without -love; and yet I live on without it, day after day. Always without love! -The accursed wall is so cold. I cannot and would not and must not live -without love. I am only human, and I must know woman’s love, or I shall -freeze to death or be turned to stone or utterly destroyed. Yet I am -a Christian, and it is hard for a Christian who bears a certain image -in his heart to give himself up to woman. Help me to find a woman, -brother, I beseech you.” - -Christian looked out upon the dark sea. “How can I help him?” he -thought, and felt all the coldness of the world and the confusion of -mortal things. - -While he stood and reflected he heard from afar across the dunes a cry, -first dulled by the distance, then nearer and clearer, and then farther -away again. It was such a cry as a man might utter, at his utmost need, -in the very face of death. Amadeus Voss also lifted his head to listen. -They looked at each other. - -“We must go,” said Christian. - -They hurried in the direction of the cry, but the dunes and the beach -were equally desolate. Thrice again they heard the cry in the same -fashion, approaching and receding, but their seeking and listening and -hurrying were in vain. When they were about to return Voss said: “It -was not human. It came from something in nature. It was a spirit cry. -Such things happen oftener than men believe. It summons us somewhere. -One of us two has received a summons.” - -“It may be,” said Christian, smiling. His sense for reality could -accept such an interpretation of things only in jest. - - -XXII - -On his way to Scotland Crammon stopped over for a day in Frankfort. He -informed Christian’s mother of his presence, and she begged him with -friendly urgency to come to her. - -It was the end of June. They had tea on a balcony wreathed in fresh -green. Frau Wahnschaffe had ordered no other callers to be admitted. -For a while the conversation trickled along indifferently, and -there were long pauses. She wanted Crammon to give her some news of -Christian, from whom she had not heard since he had left Christian’s -Rest. But first, since Crammon was a confidant and a witness in the -suit, it was necessary to mention Judith’s divorce and approaching -remarriage to Edgar Lorm, and Frau Wahnschaffe’s pride rebelled at -touching on things that could, nevertheless, not be silently passed -over. - -She sought a starting point in vain. Crammon, outwardly smooth, but -really in a malicious and woodenly stubborn mood, recognized her -difficulty, but would do nothing to help her. - -“Why do you stay at a hotel, Herr von Crammon?” she asked. “We have a -right to you and it isn’t nice of you to neglect us.” - -“Don’t grudge an old tramp his freedom, dear lady,” Crammon answered, -“and anyhow it would give me a heartache to have to leave this magic -castle after just a day.” - -Frau Wahnschaffe nibbled at a biscuit. “Anything is better than a -hotel,” she said. “It’s always a bit depressing, and not least so when -it’s most luxurious. And it isn’t really nice. You are next door to -quite unknown people. And the noises! But, after all, what distinction -in life is there left to-day? It’s no longer in fashion.” She sighed. -Now she thought she had found the conversational bridge she needed, and -gave herself a jolt. “What do you think of Judith?” she said in a dull, -even voice. “A lamentable mistake. I thought her marriage to Imhof -far from appropriate and regretted it. But this! I can hardly look -my acquaintances in the face. I always feared the child’s inordinate -ambitions, her utter lack of restraint. Now she throws herself at the -head of an actor. And to add to the painful complications, there is -her bizarre renunciation of her fortune. Incomprehensible! There’s -some secret behind that, Herr von Crammon. Does she realize clearly -what it will mean to live on a more or less limited salary? It’s -incomprehensible.” - -“You need have no anxiety,” Crammon assured her. “Edgar Lorm has a -princely income and is a great artist.” - -“Ah, artists!” Frau Wahnschaffe interrupted him, with a touch of -impatience and a contemptuous gesture. “That means little. One pays -them; occasionally one pays them well. But they are uncertain people, -always on the knife’s edge. It’s customary now to make a great deal -of them, even in our circles. I’ve never understood that. Judith -will have to pay terribly for her folly, and Wahnschaffe and I are -suffering a bitter disappointment.” She sighed, and looked at Crammon -surreptitiously before she asked with apparent indifference, “Did you -hear from Christian recently?” - -Crammon said that he had not. - -“We have been without news of him for two months,” Frau Wahnschaffe -added. Another shy glance at Crammon told her that he could not give -her the information she sought. He was not sufficiently master of -himself at this moment to conceal the cause of his long and secret -sorrow. - -A peacock proudly passed the balcony, spread the gleaming magnificence -of his feathers in the sunlight, and uttered a repulsive cry. - -“I’ve been told that he’s travelling with the son of the forester,” -said Crammon, and pulled up his eyebrows so high that his face looked -like the gargoyle of a mediæval devil. “Where he has gone to, I can -only suppose; but I have no right to express such suppositions. I hope -our paths will cross. We parted in perfect friendship. It is possible -that we shall find each other again on the same basis.” - -“I have heard of the forester’s son,” Frau Wahnschaffe murmured. “It’s -strange, after all. Is it a very recent friendship?” - -“Yes, most recent. I have no explanation to offer. There’s nothing -about a forester’s son that should cause one any anxiety in itself; but -one should like to know the character of the attraction.” - -“Sometimes hideous thoughts come to me,” said Frau Wahnschaffe softly, -and the skin about her nose turned grey. Abruptly she bent forward, and -in her usually empty eyes there arose so sombre and frightened a glow, -that Crammon suddenly changed his entire opinion of this woman’s real -nature. - -“Herr von Crammon,” she began, in a hoarse and almost croaking voice, -“you are Christian’s friend; at least, you caused me to believe so. -Then act the part of a friend. Go to him; I expect it of you; don’t -delay.” - -“I shall do all that is in my power,” Crammon answered. “It was my -intention to look him up in any event. First I’m going to Dumbarton -for ten days. Then I shall seek him out. I shall certainly find him, -and I don’t believe that there is any ground for real anxiety. I still -believe that Christian is under the protection of some special deity; -but I admit that it’s just as well to see from time to time whether the -angel in question is fulfilling his duties properly.” - -“You will write me whatever happens,” Frau Wahnschaffe said, and -Crammon gave his promise. She nodded to him when he took his leave. The -glow in her eyes had died out, and when she was alone she sank into -dull brooding. - -Crammon spent the evening with acquaintances in the city. He -returned to the hotel late, and sat awhile in the lobby, immovable, -unapproachable, nourishing his misanthropy on the aspect of the -passersby. Then he examined the little directory on which the names -of the guests appeared. “What are these people doing here?” he asked -himself. “How important that looks: ‘Max Ostertag (retired banker) and -wife.’ Why Ostertag of all things? Why Max? Why: and wife?” - -Embittered he went up to his room. Embittered and world-weary he -wandered up and down the long corridor. In front of each door, both to -the right and to the left, stood two pairs of boots--one pair of men’s -and one pair of women’s. In this pairing of the boots he saw a boastful -and shameless exhibitionism of marital intimacies; for the shape and -make of the boots assured him of the legal and officially blameless -status of their owners. He seemed to see in those boots a morose -evidence of overlong, stale unions, a vulgar breadth of tread caused by -the weight of money, a commonness of mind, a self-righteous Pharisaism. - -He couldn’t resist the foolish temptation of creating confusion among -the boots of these Philistines. He looked about carefully, took a pair -of men’s boots, and joined them to a pair of women’s boots at another -door. And he continued until the original companionship of the boots -was utterly destroyed. Then he went to bed with a pleasant sensation, -comparable to that of a writer of farces who has succeeded in creating -an improbable and scarcely extricable confusion amid the puppets of his -plot. - -In the morning he was awakened by the noise of violent and angry -disputes in the hall. He raised his head, listened with satisfaction, -smiled slothfully, stretched himself, yawned, and enjoyed the -quarrelling voices as devoutly as though they were music. - - -XXIII - -When on the day after his nocturnal wandering Christian came to see -Eva, he was astonished to find her surrounded by a crowd of Russians, -Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Belgians. Until this day she had withdrawn -herself from society entirely, or else had received only at hours -previously agreed upon between Christian and herself. This unexpected -change suddenly made a mere guest of him, and pushed him from the -centre to the circumference of the circle. - -The conversation turned on the arrival of Count Maidanoff, and there -was a general exchange of speculation, both in regard to the duration -and the purpose of his visit. A political setting of the stage had -been feigned with conscious hypocrisy. There was to be a visit to the -king, and ministerial conferences. He had first stopped at the Hotel -Lettoral in Knocke, but had soon moved to the large and magnificent -Villa Herzynia, which his favourite and friend, Prince Szilaghin, had -rented. - -Szilaghin appeared soon after Christian. Wiguniewski, obviously under -orders, introduced the two men. - -“I’m going to have a few friends with me to-morrow night,” Szilaghin -said, with the peculiar courtesy of a great comedian. “I trust you will -do me the honour of joining us.” Coldly he examined Christian, whose -nerves grew painfully taut under that glance. He bowed and determined -not to go. - -Eva was in the room that gave on the balcony, and was posing for the -sculptress, Beatrix Vanleer. The latter sat with a block of paper and -made sketches. Meantime Eva chatted with several gentlemen. She held -out her hand for Christian to kiss, and ignored his questioning gaze. - -In her cinnamon dress, with her hair high on her head and a diadem of -ivory, she seemed extraordinarily strange to him. Her face had the -appearance of delicate enamel. About her chin there was a hostile air. -Gentle vibrations about the muscles at her temples seemed to portend an -inner storm. But these perceptions were fleeting. What Christian felt -about her was primarily a paralyzing coldness. - -When Mlle. Vanleer had finished for the day, Eva walked up and down -talking to a certain young Princess Helfersdorff. She led her to the -balcony, which was bathed in the sunlight, and then into her boudoir, -where she liked to be when she read or rested from her exercises. -Christian followed the two women, and felt, for the first time in his -life, that he was being humiliated. But it did not depress him as -profoundly as, an hour ago, the mere thought of such an experience -would have done. - -The Marquis Tavera joined him. Standing on the threshold of the -boudoir, they talked of indifferent things. Christian heard Eva tell -the young princess that she expected to go to Hamburg within a week. -The North German Lloyd was planning a great festivity on the occasion -of the launching of a magnificent ship, and she had been asked to -dance. “I’m really delighted at the prospect,” she added cheerfully. -“I’m little more than a name to most Germans yet. Now they’ll be able -to see me and tell me what I amount to and where I belong.” - -The young lady looked at the dancer with enthusiasm. Christian thought: -“I must speak to her at once.” In every word of Eva’s he felt an -arrow of hostility or scorn aimed at him. He left Tavera, and entered -the room. The decisiveness of his movement forced Eva to look at -him. She smiled in surprise. A scarcely perceptible shrug marked her -astonishment and censure. - -Tavera had turned to the princess, and when these two moved toward the -door, Eva seemed inclined to follow them. A gesture of Christian, which -she saw on glancing back, determined her to wait. Christian closed the -door, and Eva’s expression of amazement became intense. But he felt -that this was but acting. He slipped into a sudden embarrassment, and -could find no words. - -Eva walked up and down, touching some object here and there. “Well?” -she asked, and looked at him coldly. - -“This Szilaghin is an insufferable creature,” Christian murmured, with -lowered eyes. “I remember I once saw a mani-coloured marine animal -in an aquarium. It was very beautiful and also extremely horrible. I -couldn’t get rid of its image. I wanted constantly to go back to it, -and yet felt constantly an ugly horror of it.” - -“O la, la!” said Eva. Nothing else. And in this soft exclamation there -was contempt, impatience, and curiosity. Then she stood before him. “I -am not fond of being caged,” she said in a hard voice. “I am not fond -of being caught and isolated from my guests to be told trivial things. -You must forgive me, but it doesn’t interest me what impression Prince -Szilaghin makes on you. Or, to be quite truthful, it interests me no -longer.” - -Christian looked at her dumbly. It seemed to him that he was being -chastised, beaten, and he turned very pale. The feeling of humiliation -grew like a fever. “He invited me to his house to-morrow,” he -stammered, “and I merely wanted to tell you that I’m not going.” - -“You must go,” Eva replied swiftly. “I beg of you to go.” Avoiding the -astonished question in his eyes, she added: “Maidanoff will be there. -I wish you to see him.” - -“For what reason?” - -“You are to know what I grasp at, what I do, whither I go. Can you read -faces? I dare say not. Nevertheless, come!” - -“What have you determined on?” he asked, awkwardly and shyly. - -She gave her body a little, impatient shake. “Nothing that was not -settled long ago,” she answered, with a glassy coolness in her voice. -“Did you think that I would drag on our lovely, wild May into a -melancholy November? You might have spared us both your frankness of -last night. The dream was over no moment sooner for you than for me. -You should have known that. And if you did not know it, you should have -feigned that knowledge. A gentleman of faultless taste does not throw -down his cards while his partner is preparing to make a last bet. You -do not deserve the honourable farewell that I gave you. I should have -led you about, chained, like those stupid little beasts who are always -whining for permission to ruin themselves for my sake. They call this -thing their passion. It is a fire like any other; but I would not use -it to kindle a lamp, if I needed light to unlace my shoes.” - -She had crossed her arms and laughed softly, and moved toward the door. - -“You have misunderstood me,” said Christian overwhelmed. “You -misunderstand me wholly.” He raised his hands and barred her way. “Do -you not understand? If I had words.... But I love you so! I cannot -imagine life without you. And yet (how shall I put it into words?) I -feel like a man who owes colossal sums and is constantly dunned and -tormented, and does not know wherewith to pay nor whom. Do try to -understand! I was hasty, foolish. But I thought that you might help me.” - -It was the cry of a soul in need. But Eva did not or would not heed it. -She had built of her love a soaring arch. She thought it had fallen, -and no abyss seemed deep enough for its ruins to be hurled. She had -neither ears now nor eyes. She had decided her fate even now; and -though it frightened her, to recede was contrary to her pride and her -very blood. A sovereign gesture silenced Christian. “Enough!” she said. -“Of all the ugly things between two people, nothing is uglier than an -explanation that involves the emotions. I have no understanding for -hypochondria, and epilogues bore me. As for your creditors, see that -you seek them out and pay them. It is troublesome to keep house with -unpaid bills.” - -She went from the room. - -Christian stood very still. Slowly he lowered his head, and hid his -face in his hands. - - -XXIV - -Next day Christian received a telegram from Crammon, in which the -latter announced his arrival for the middle of the following week. -He gazed meditatively at the slip of paper, and had to reconstruct an -image of Crammon from memory, feature by feature. But it escaped him -again at once. - -At Fyodor Szilaghin’s he found about twenty people. There were eight -or ten Russians, including Wiguniewski. Then there were the brothers -Maelbeek, young Belgian aristocrats, a French naval captain, Tavera, -Bradshaw, the Princess Helfersdorff and her mother (a very common -looking person), Beatrix Vanleer, and Sinaide Gamaleja. - -Christian arrived a little later than the others, and Szilaghin was -half-sitting, half-lying on a _chaise-longue_. A young wolf crouched on -his knees, and on the arm of the _chaise-longue_ sat a green parrot. He -smiled and excused himself for not arising, pointing to the animals as -though they held him fast. - -From Wiguniewski’s anecdotes Christian knew of Szilaghin’s fondness -for such trickery. At Oxford he had once gone boating alone and at -night with an eagle chained to his skiff; at Rome he had once rented -a palace, and given a ball to the dregs of the city’s life--beggars, -cripples, prostitutes, and pimps. The boastfulness of such things was -obvious. But as Christian stood there and saw him with those animals, -the impression he received was not only one of frantic high spirits, -but also one of despair. A retroactive oppression crept over him. - -The lighting of the rooms was strikingly dim and scattered. A -thunderstorm was approaching, and the windows were all open on -account of the sultry heat; and every flicker of lightning flashed an -unexpected brightness into the rooms. - -At the invitation of several guests, Sinaide Gamaleja sat down with a -lute under a cluster of long-stemmed roses, and began to sing a Russian -song. Over her shoulders lay a gold-embroidered shawl, and her hair -was held by a band of diamonds. Her figure was fragile. She had broad -cheekbones, a wide mouth, and dully-glowing, heavy-lidded eyes. - -The greyish-yellow wolf on Szilaghin’s knees raised his head, and -blinked sleepily at the singer. The melody had awakened in him a dream -of his native steppes. But the parrot stirred too, and, croaking an -unintelligible word, he preened himself and displayed the gorgeous -plumage of his throat. Szilaghin raised a finger and bade the bird -be silent; obediently it hid its beak in the feathers which a breeze -lifted. A voluble old Russian kept talking to Szilaghin. The latter -overheard him contemptuously, and joined in the singing of the song’s -second stanza. - -His voice was melodious--a deep, dark baritone. But to Christian there -seemed something corrupt in its music, as corrupt as the half-shut, -angry, melancholy eyes with their contempt of mankind; as corrupt as -the well-chiselled, waxen face, that could pass for eighteen, yet -harboured all the experiences of an evil old age; as corrupt as the -long, pale, sinuous, nerveless hand or the sweetish, weary, clever -smile. - -The Maelbeeks, Wiguniewski, the Captain, and Tavera had settled down to -a game of baccarat in the adjoining room. In the pauses of the singing, -one could hear the click of gold and the tap of the cards on the table. -These strange noises excited the parrot; he forgot the command of his -master, and uttered a discordant cry. Sinaide Gamaleja threw the animal -a furious glance, and for a moment her hand twitched on the strings. - -At that moment Szilaghin arose, grasped the bird’s feet with one -hand, its head with the other, and twisted the head of the screaming, -agonizedly fluttering animal around and around as on an axis. Then he -tossed the green, dead thing aside with an expression of disgust, and -calmly intoned the third stanza of the song. - -A flame of satisfaction appeared in Sinaide Gamaleja’s eyes. The old -Russian, who had visited his endless babble on the sculptress, fell -suddenly silent. The wolf yawned, and, as though to confirm the fact of -his own obedience, snuggled his chin against his master’s arm. - -Christian looked down at the dead bird, whose tattered plumage gleamed -in the lightning that flashed across the floor like a fantastic -emerald. Suddenly the dead animal became to him the seal and symbol of -all the corruption, vanity, unveracity, bedizenment, and danger of all -he saw and felt. He looked at Szilaghin, at Sinaide, at the chattering -dotard, at the gamesters, and turned away. There was an acridness in -his throat and a burning in his eyes. He approached the window. The -foliage rustled out there, and the thunder pealed. And the question -arose within him: Whence does all this evil come? Whence does it come, -and why is it so hard to separate oneself from it? - -The night, the rain, and the storm drove him forth, lured him out. He -ached to lose himself in the darkness, far from men. He was afraid for -the first time in his life that he would shed tears. Never, in all -his conscious memory, had he wept. His whole body was shaken by an -emotional tumult such as he had never known, and he repressed it only -by using his utmost energy. Just as he was about to touch the knob of -the door, a lackey opened it, and Maidanoff and Eva appeared on the -threshold. Christian stood quite still; but every vestige of colour -left his face. - -A vivid stir went through the company. Szilaghin jumped up to welcome -these two. Maidanoff’s weather-beaten leanness contrasted in a striking -and sombre fashion with Eva’s flower-like symmetry of form. She wore a -garment diaphanous as breathing; it was held to her shoulders by ropes -of pearls. Her skin had a faintly golden glow; her throat and arms and -bosom pulsed with life. - -The vision absorbed Christian. He stared at her. His name was spoken, -with other names that were new to Maidanoff; and still he stared at -that unfathomable and fatal image. His heart, in its sudden, monstrous -loneliness, turned to ice; he felt both wild and stricken with -dumbness; the tension of his soul became unendurable. Curious glances -sought him out. He failed to move at the proper moment, and the moan -that arose from the confusion of his utter grief had made a thing of -mockery and scorn of him, before he fled past barren walls and stupid -lackeys into the open. - -The rain came down in torrents. He did not call his car, but walked -along the road. - - -XXV - -After losing twenty-eight thousand francs, the amount that he had -gradually borrowed from Mr. Bradshaw and Prince Wiguniewski, Amadeus -Voss got up from the gaming table, and staggered into the open. He had -a dim notion that he would seek out Christian, to tell him that he -would be able to settle the debt within twenty-four hours. - -He went to the telegraph office, and sent a message to Christian. Then -he stood beneath a chestnut tree in bloom, and muttered: “Brother, -brother.” - -A woman came along the road, and he joined her. But suddenly he burst -out into wild laughter, turned down a side street, and went on alone. - -He walked and walked for six endless hours. At two o’clock in the -morning he was in Heyst. His brain seemed to have become an insensitive -lump, incapable of light or reason. - -Masses of dark grey clouds that floated in the sky assumed to him the -aspect of women’s bodies. The clouds, which the hot night drove toward -the north, were like cloaks over the forms he desired. He felt an -obscure yearning for all the love in all the lands in which he had no -part. - -At the garden-gate of the villa he stopped and stared up at Christian’s -windows. They were open and showed light. “Brother,” he muttered again, -“brother!” Christian appeared at the window. The sight of him filled -Voss with a sudden, overwhelming hatred. “Take care, Wahnschaffe!” he -cried. - -Christian left the window, and soon appeared at the gate. Amadeus -awaited him with clenched fists. But when Christian approached, he -turned and fled down the street, and Christian looked after him. Then -his steps became slower, and Christian followed. - -After Voss had wandered about aimlessly for a time, he felt a torturing -thirst. He happened to pass a sailors’ tavern, considered for a moment, -and entered. He ordered grog, but did not touch the glass. Five or six -men sat at various tables. Three slept; the eyes of the others had a -drunken stare. The tavern keeper, an obese fellow with a criminal face, -sat behind the bar, and watched this elegantly attired guest, whose -face was so pale and so disturbed. He concluded that the late comer -was in a mood of despair, and beckoned to the bar-maid, a dark-haired, -dirty Walloon, to sit down by him. - -Impudently she did so, and started to talk. He did not understand -her. She gave a coarse laugh, and put a hand on his knee. Behind her -thin and ragged bodice her breasts stirred like animals. She had a -primitive, animal odour. He turned dizzy. Then a lust to murder stirred -in him. - -He drew from his pocket all the money he had left. There were seventy -francs--three gold and five silver coins. “The magic numbers,” he -muttered, and grew a shade paler, “three and five!” - -The Walloon woman turned greedy and caressing eyes upon the coins. The -tavern keeper, scenting business, dragged his bulk forward. - -“Strip off your clothes, and it’s yours!” said Amadeus Voss. - -She looked at him stupidly. The tavern keeper understood German and -translated the words. She laughed shrilly, and pointed toward the door. -Amadeus shook his head. “No; now; here!” He was stubborn. The girl -turned to her employer, and the two consulted in whispers. Her gestures -made it evident that she cared little for the presence of the drunken -or snoring men. She disappeared behind a brown partition that had -once been yellow. The tavern keeper gathered the money on the table, -waddled from window to window to see that the red hangings covered all -the panes, and then stood guard at the door. - -Amadeus sat there as though steeped in seething water. A few minutes -passed. Then the Walloon woman appeared from behind the partition. -The sailors looked up. One arose and gesticulated; one uttered a wild -laugh. The woman stood with lowered eyes--stubborn, careless, rubbing -one foot with the other. She was rather fat, quite without charm, and -the lines of her body had been destroyed. - -But to Amadeus Voss she was like a supernatural vision, and he gazed -upon her as though his whole soul was in that gaze. His arms reached -out, and his fingers became claws, and his lips twitched. The fishermen -and the tavern keeper no longer saw the woman. They saw him. They felt -fear. So unwonted was the sight that they did not observe the opening -of the door. The tavern keeper’s whistled warning came too late. -Christian, who entered, still saw the naked woman as she hurried toward -the partition. - -He approached Amadeus. But the latter took no notice of him. He stared -spell-bound at the spot where the woman had stood. - -Christian laid a hand upon his shoulder. Amadeus roused himself from -his absorption, turned slow, questioning eyes upon his friend, and -strangely uttered with his quivering lips these words: “Est Deus in -nobis; agitante calescimus illo.” - -Then he broke down, his forehead dropped on the table, and a shudder -shook his body. - -The tavern keeper muttered morosely. - -“Come, Amadeus,” said Christian very quietly. - -The drunken fishermen and sailors stared. - -Amadeus arose, and groped like a blind man for Christian’s hand. - -“Come, Amadeus,” Christian repeated, and his voice seemed to make a -deep impression on Voss, for he followed him without hesitation. The -tavern keeper and the sailors accompanied them into the street. - -The tavern keeper said to the men with him: “Those are what you call -gentlemen. Look how they behave! It shows you why the world is ruled so -ill.” - -“The dawn is breaking,” said one of the fishermen, and pointed to a -purple streak in the eastern heaven. - -Christian and Amadeus likewise stared at the purple seam of the east, -and Amadeus spoke again: “Est Deus in nobis; agitante calescimus illo.” - - - - -KAREN ENGELSCHALL - - -I - -On the appointed hour of the appointed day Crammon arrived. He had -prepared himself to stay and to be festive; but he was disappointed. -Eva and her train were on the point of leaving. Maidanoff had proceeded -to Paris, whither Eva was to follow him. - -Crammon had been informed of this new friendship of his idol. All other -news came to him too, and so he was aware that a quarrel had arisen -between Christian and Eva. He was the more astonished to see Christian -determined to follow Eva to Hamburg. - -They had exchanged but a few words, when the transformation in -Christian struck him. He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and -asked sympathetically: “Have you nothing to confide?” - -He spent the evening with Wiguniewski. “It isn’t possible,” he said; -“you’re mistaken. Or else the world is topsy-turvy and I can no longer -tell a man from a woman.” - -“I had no special liking for Wahnschaffe from the start,” Wiguniewski -confessed. “He’s too impenetrable, mysterious, spoiled, cold, and, if -you will, too German. Nevertheless I knew from the first that he was -the very man for Eva Sorel. You couldn’t see the two together without -a sense of delight--the sort of delight that a beautiful composition -gives you, or anything that is spiritually fitting and harmonious.” - -Crammon nodded. “He has a strange power over women,” he said. “I’ve -just had another instance which is the more remarkable as it developed -from a mere sight of his picture. At the Ashburnhams’ in Yorkshire, -where I’ve been staying, I made the acquaintance of a Viennese girl, -a banker’s daughter, rather ugly, to be frank, but with a peculiar -little sting and charm and wit of her own. Not a bad figure, though -rather--shall we say scanty? Yes. Her name is Johanna Schöntag, though -that matters little. I called her nothing but Rumpelstilzkin. That -fitted her like a glove. God knows how she got there. Her sister, a -russet-haired person who looks as though she’d jumped out of a Rubens, -is married to an attaché of some minor legation, Roumanian or Bulgarian -or something like that. The big capitalists fit their daughters into -society that way. Well, anyhow, this Rumpelstilzkin and I agreed to -amuse each other in the murky boredom of Lord and Lady Ashburnham’s -house. So one day I showed the girl a miniature of Christian which -Gaston Villiers painted for me in Paris. She looked at the picture -and her merry face grew grave, absorbed, and she handed it back to -me silently. A couple of days later she asked to see it again, and -it had the same effect on her. She asked me about the man, and I, of -course, became very eloquent, and happened to remark, too, that I -expected to meet Christian here. She insisted at once that she must -meet him, and that I must plan to have her do so. Remember she’s rather -unapproachable as a rule, fastidious, turning up her nose--her worst -feature by the way--at things that please most people. The request was -unexpected and rather a nuisance. One mustn’t, as you know, bring the -wrong people together and land one’s self in difficulties. So I said -at once: ‘The Almighty forbid!’ I admonished her gently to change her -mind, and painted the danger in its darkest hues. She laughed at me, -and asked me whether I’d grown strait-laced; then she at once developed -a most cunning plan. She had time enough. She wasn’t expected home -till the first of November, which gave her seven weeks. So she would -announce her intention of studying the Dutch galleries, the pursuit of -culture being always respectable. She had a companion and chaperone, -as it was, and her sister, who was broad-minded in such matters, could -be taken into her confidence. Her energy and astuteness made me feel -weak, and forced me into the conspiracy. Well, she arrived yesterday. -She’s at the Hotel de la Plage, a little scared, like a bird that’s -dropped out of its nest, a little dissatisfied with herself, vexed by -little attacks of morality; and I, for my part, don’t know what to do -with her. I bethought me too late that Christian isn’t to be caught by -such tricks, and now I’ve got to make it clear to the girl. All this is -by the way, prince--a sort of footnote to your discourse, which I did -not intend to interrupt.” - -Wiguniewski had listened with very slight sympathy. He began again: -“These past months, as I’ve said, have given us all an unforgettable -experience. We have seen two free personalities achieving a higher form -of union than any of the legitimized ones. But suddenly this noble -spectacle turns into a shabby farce; and it is his fault. For such a -union has its organic and natural close. A man of subtle sensitiveness -knows that, and adjusts himself accordingly. Instead of that, he -actually lets it get to the point of painful scenes. He seeks meetings -that humiliate him and make him absurd. When she is out he waits in her -rooms for her return, and endures her passing him by with a careless -nod. Once he sat waiting all night and stared into a book. He lets the -Rappard woman treat him insolently, and doesn’t seem to mind that the -fruits and flowers he sends daily are regularly refused. What is it? -What does it mean?” - -“It points to some sorrow, and assuredly to a great sorrow for me,” -Crammon sighed. “It’s incomprehensible.” - -“She entertained at dinner day before yesterday,” Wiguniewski -continued. “As though to mock him he was placed at the lower end of -the table. I didn’t even know the people who sat by him. It seems to -arouse a strange cruelty in her that he doesn’t refuse to bear these -humiliations; he, on the other hand, seems to find some inexplicable -lure in his suffering. He sat down that evening in silence. Afterwards -a curious thing happened. Groups had been formed after dinner. He -stood a few feet from Eva and gazed at her steadily. His face had a -brooding look as he observed her. She wore Ignifer, which is his gift, -and looked like Diana with a burning star above her forehead.” - -“That’s excellently well put, prince,” Crammon exclaimed. - -“The conversation touched upon many subjects without getting too -shallow. You know her admirable way of checking and disciplining talk. -Finally there arose a discussion of Flemish literature, and some one -spoke of Verhaeren. She quoted some verses of a poem of his called -‘Joy.’ The sense was somewhat as follows: My being is in everything -that lives about me; meadows and roads and trees, springs and shadows, -you become me, since I have felt you wholly. There was a murmur of -appreciation. She went to a shelf and took down a volume of Verhaeren’s -poems. She turned the pages, found the poem she sought, and suddenly -turned to Wahnschaffe. She gave him the book with a gesture of command; -he was to read the poem. He hesitated for a moment, then he obeyed. -The effect of the reading was both absurd and painful. He read like a -schoolboy, low, stammering, and as though the content were beyond his -comprehension. He felt the absurdity and painfulness of the incident -himself, for his colour changed as the ecstatic stanzas came from -his lips like an indifferent paragraph in a newspaper; and when he -had finished the reading, he laid the book aside, and left without a -glance at any one. But Eva turned to us, and said as though nothing -had happened: ‘The verses are wonderful, aren’t they?’ Yet her lips -trembled with fury. But what was her purpose? Did she want to prove to -us his inability to feel things that are beautiful and delicate? Did -she want to put him to shame, to punish him and publicly expose the -poverty of his nature? Or was it only an impatient whim, the annoyance -at his dumb watchfulness and his searching glances? Mlle. Vanleer said -later: ‘If he had read the verses like a divine poet, she would have -forgiven him.’ ‘Forgiven him what?’ I asked. She smiled, and answered: -‘Her own faithlessness.’ There may be something in that. At all events, -you should get him out of this situation, Herr von Crammon.” - -“I shall do all in my power,” said Crammon, and the lines of care about -his mouth grew deeper. He wiped his forehead. “Of course I don’t know -how far my influence goes. It would be empty boastfulness to guarantee -anything. I’ve been told too that he frequents all sorts of impossible -dives with impossible people. I could weep when I think of it. He was -the flower of modern manhood, the pride of my lengthening years, the -salt of the earth! Unfortunately he had, even when I left him, certain -attacks of mental confusion, but I put those down to the account of -that suspicious fellow, Ivan Becker.” - -“Don’t speak of him! Don’t speak of Becker!” Wiguniewski interrupted -sharply. “Not at least in that manner, I must beg and insist.” - -Crammon opened his eyes very wide, and the tip of his tongue became -visible, like a red snail peering out of its shell. He choked down his -discomfort and shrugged his shoulders. - -Wiguniewski said: “At all events you’ve given me an indication. I never -considered such a possibility. It throws a new light on many things. -It’s true, by the way, that Wahnschaffe associates with questionable -people. The queerest of them all is Amadeus Voss, a hypocrite and a -gambler. One must not couple such persons with Ivan Becker. Becker -may have set him upon a certain road. If we assume that, a number of -incidents become clear. But anything really baneful comes from Voss. -Save your friend from him!” - -“I haven’t seen the fellow yet,” Crammon murmured. “What you tell me, -Prince, doesn’t take me quite unawares. Nevertheless, I’m grateful. But -let that scoundrel beware! May I never drink another drop of honest -wine, if he escape me! Let me never again glance at a tempting bosom, -if I don’t grind this infamous cur to pulp. So help me!” - -Wiguniewski arose, and left Crammon to plan his revenge. - - -II - -The morning sun of late September was gilding sea and land, when -Crammon entered Christian’s room. Christian was sitting at his curved -writing table. The bright blue tapestries on the walls gleamed; chairs -and tables were covered by a hundred confused objects. Everything -pointed to the occupant’s departure. - -“Don’t let me disturb you, dear boy; I have time enough,” said Crammon. -He swept some things from a chair, sat down, and lit his pipe. - -But Christian put down his pen. “I don’t know what’s the matter with -me,” he said angrily, without looking at Crammon, “I can’t get two -coherent sentences down on paper. However carefully I think it out, -by the time it’s written it sounds stiff and silly. Have you the same -experience?” - -Crammon answered: “There are those who have the trick. It takes, -primarily, a certain impudence. You must never stop to ask: Is that -correct? Is it true? Is it well-founded? Scribble ahead, that’s all. -Be effective, no matter at what cost. The cleverest writers are often -the most stupid fellows. But to whom are you writing? Is the haste so -great? Letters can usually be put off.” - -“Not this time. It is a question of haste,” Christian answered. “I have -a letter from Stettner and I can’t make out his drift. He tells me that -he’s quitting the service and leaving for America. Before he goes he -wants to see me once more. He takes ship at Hamburg on October 15. Now -it fortunately happens that I’ll be in Hamburg on that date, and I want -to let him know.” - -“I don’t see any difficulty there,” Crammon said seriously. “All you -need say is: I’ll be at such a place on such a day, and expect or hope, -et cetera. Yours faithfully or sincerely or cordially, et cetera. So -he’s going to quit? Why? And run off to America? Something rotten in -the state of Denmark?” - -“He was challenged to a duel, it appears, and refused the challenge. -That’s the only reason he gives. He adds that matters shaped themselves -so that he is forced to seek a new life in the New World. It touches me -closely; I was always fond of him. I must see him.” - -“I’d be curious too to know what really happened,” said Crammon. -“Stettner didn’t strike me as a chap who’d lightly run away and risk -his honour. He was an exemplary officer. I’m afraid it’s a dreary -business. But I observe that it gives you a pretext for going to -Hamburg.” - -Christian started. “Why a pretext?” He was a little embarrassed. “I -need no pretext.” - -Crammon bent his head far forward, and laid his chin on the ivory -handle of his stick. His pipe remained artfully poised in one corner -of his mouth, and did not move as he spoke. “You don’t mean to assert, -my dearest boy, that your conscience doesn’t require some additional -motive for the trip,” he began, like a father confessor who is about to -use subtle arguments to force a confession from a stubborn malefactor, -“and you’re not going to try to make a fool of an old boon-companion -and brother of your soul. One owes something to a friend. You should -not forget under whose auspices and promises you entered the great -world, nor what securities _he_ offered--securities of the heart -and mind--who was the author and master of your radiant entry. Even -Socrates, that rogue and revolutionary, recalled such obligations on -his death bed. There was a story about a cock--some sort of a cock, -I believe. Maybe the story doesn’t fit the case at all. No matter. I -always thought the ancients rather odious. What does matter is that I -don’t like your condition, and that others who love you don’t like it. -It rends my very heart to see you pilloried, while people who can’t -tell a stud-horse from a donkey shrug their shoulders at you. It’s not -to be endured. I’d rather we’d quarrel and exchange shots at a distance -of five paces. What has happened to you? What has come over you? Have -you stopped gathering scalps to offer your own head? The hares and -the hounds, I tell you, are diverse creatures. I understand all things -human, but the divine order must be kept intact. It’s flying in the -face of providence that you should stand at the gate like a beggar. You -used to be the one who showed others the door; they whined and moaned -after you--and that was proper. I had an uncle who was something of a -philosopher, and he used to say: when a woman, a lawyer, and a stove -are at their hottest--turn your back to them. I’ve always done that, -and kept my peace of mind and my reputation. There are extenuating -circumstances in your case, I admit. There is but one such woman in a -century, and whoever possesses her may well lose his reason. But even -that should not apply to you, Christian. Splendour is your natural -portion: it is for you to grant favours; at your board the honey should -be fresh each day. And now tell me what you intend to do.” - -Christian had listened to this lengthy though wise and pregnant -discourse with great patience. At times there was a glint of mockery or -anger in his eyes. Then again he would lower them and seem embarrassed. -Sometimes he grasped the sense of Crammon’s words, sometimes he thought -of other things. It cost him an effort to recall clearly by what right -this apparently complete stranger interfered in his life and sought -to influence his decisions. And then again he felt within himself a -certain tenderness for Crammon in the memory of common experiences and -intimate talks; but all that seemed so far away and so estranged from -the present. - -He looked out of the window, from which the view was free to the -horizon where sea and sky touched. Far in the distance a little white -cloud floated like a white, round pillow. The same tenderness that he -felt for Crammon, he now felt for that little cloud. - -And as Crammon sat before him and waited for an answer, there suddenly -came into his mind the story of the ring which Amadeus had told him. -He began: “A young candidate for Holy Orders, who was tutor to the -children of a banker, fell under the suspicion of having stolen a -costly ring. He told me the story himself, and from his words I knew -that the ring, when he saw it on the hand of his employer’s wife, -aroused his desire. In addition he loved this woman, and would have -been happy to have had something by which to remember her. But he -was utterly innocent of the disappearance of the ring, and some -time after he had left that house, his innocence received the most -striking confirmation. For the lady sent him the ring as a gift. He -was wretchedly poor, and the ring would have meant much to him; but he -went and threw it into a well, a deep old-fashioned well. The costliest -thing he had ever possessed in life, he threw without hesitation or -reflection into a well--that’s what this man did.” - -“Oh, well, very well. Although ... no, I don’t quite see your meaning,” -said Crammon, discontentedly, and shifted his pipe from the right to -the left corner of his mouth. “What good did the ring do the poor fool? -How absurd to take something that reaches you in a manner so delicate -and discreet, and throw it into a well? Would not a box have served, -or a drawer? There at least it could have been found. It was a loutish -trick.” - -Crammon’s way of sitting there with his legs crossed, showing his grey -silk socks, had something about it so secure and satiated, that it -reminded one of an animal that basks in the sun and digests its food. -Christian’s disgust at his words quieted, and was replaced by a gentle, -almost compassionate tenderness. He said: “It is so hard to renounce. -You can talk about it and imagine it; you can will it and even believe -yourself capable of it. But when the moment of renunciation comes, -it is hard, it is almost impossible to give up even the humblest of -things.” - -“Yes, but why do you want to renounce?” Crammon murmured in his -vexation. “What do you mean exactly by renunciation? What is it to lead -to?” - -Christian said almost to himself: “I believe that one must cast one’s -ring into a well.” - -“If you mean by that that you intend to forget our wonderful Queen -Mab, all I have to say is--the Lord help you in your purpose,” Crammon -answered. - -“One holds fast and clings because one fears the step into the -unknown,” Christian said. - -Crammon was silent for a few minutes and wrinkled his forehead. Then he -cleared his throat and asked: “Did you ever hear about homœopathy? I’ll -explain to you what is meant by it. It means curing like with like. If -for instance some food has disagreed with you violently, and I give you -a drug that would, in a state of health, have sickened you even more -violently than your food--that would be a homœopathic treatment.” - -“So you want to cure me?” Christian asked, and smiled. “From what and -with what?” - -Crammon moved his chair nearer to Christian’s, laid a hand on his -knees, and whispered astutely: “I’ve got something for you, dear boy. -I’ve made an exquisite find. There’s a woman in your horoscope, as the -sooth-sayers put it. Some one is yearning for you, is immensely taken -with you, and dying of impatience to know you. And it’s something quite -different, a new type, something prickling and comical, indeterminate, -sensitive, a little graceless and small and not beautiful, but -enormously charming. She comes from the bourgeoisie at its most obese, -but she struggles with both hands and feet against the fate of being a -pearl in a trough. There’s your chance for employment, distraction, and -refreshment. It won’t be a long affair,--an interlude of her holidays, -but instructive, and, in the homœopathic sense, sure to work a cure. -For look you: Ariel, she is a miracle, a star, the food of the gods. -You can’t live on such nourishment; you need bread. Descend, my son, -from the high tower where you still grasp after the _miraculum cœli_ -that once flamed on your bosom. Put it out of your mind; descend, and -be contented with mortality. To-night at seven in the dining-room of -the Hotel de la Plage. Is it a bargain?” - -Christian laughed, and got up. On the table stood a vase filled with -white pinks. He took out one of the flowers, and fastened it into -Crammon’s button-hole. - -“Is it a bargain or not?” Crammon asked severely. - -“No, dear friend, there’s nothing in that for me,” Christian answered, -laughing more heartily. “Keep your find to yourself.” - -The veins on Crammon’s forehead swelled. “But I’ve promised to bring -you, and you mustn’t leave me in the lurch.” He was in a rage. “I don’t -deserve such treatment, after all the slights which you have put on me -for months. You give rights to an obscure vagabond that astonish the -whole world, and you cast aside heartlessly an old and proved friend. -That does hurt and embitter and enrage one. I’m through.” - -“Calm yourself, Bernard,” said Christian, and stooped to pick up -some blossoms that had fallen on the floor. And as he put back the -flowers into the vase, there came to him the vision of Amadeus Voss’ -white face, showing his bleeding soul and paralyzed by desire and -renunciation, even as it was turned toward the fat, morose Walloon -woman. “I don’t comprehend your stubbornness,” he continued. “Why won’t -you let me be? Don’t you know that I bring misfortune to all who love -me?” - -Crammon was startled. Despite Christian’s equivocal smile, he felt a -sudden twinge of superstitious fear. “Idiotic!” he growled. He arose -and took his hat, and still tried to wring from Christian a promise for -the evening. At that moment a knock sounded at the door, and Amadeus -Voss entered. - -“I beg your pardon,” he stammered, and looked shyly at Crammon, who had -at once assumed an attitude of hostility. “I merely wanted to ask you, -Christian, whether we are going to leave. Shall the packing be done? We -must know what to do.” - -Crammon was furious. “Fancy the scoundrel taking such a tone,” he -thought. He could hardly force himself to assume the grimace of -courtesy that became inevitable when Christian, quite hesitatingly, -introduced them to each other. - -Amadeus bowed like an applicant for some humble office. His eyes behind -their lenses clung to Crammon, like the valves of an exhaust pump. He -found Crammon repulsive at once; but he thought it advisable not only -to hide this feeling but to play the part of obsequiousness. His hatred -was so immediate and so violent, that he was afraid of showing it too -soon, and stripping himself of some chance of translating it into -action. - -Crammon sought points of attack. He treated Voss with contempt, looked -at him as though he were a wad of clothes against the wall, neither -answered him nor listened to what he said, deliberately prolonged his -stay, and paid no attention to Christian’s nervousness. Voss continued -to play the part he had selected. He agreed and bowed, rubbed the toe -of one of his boots against the sole of the other, picked up Crammon’s -stick when the latter dropped it; but as he seemed determined not to -be the first to yield, Crammon at last took pity on the silent wonder -and torment in Christian’s face. He waved his well-gloved left hand -and withdrew. He seemed to swell up in his rage like a frog. “Softly, -Bernard,” he said to himself; “guard your dignity, and do not step -into the ordure at your feet. Trust in the Lord who said: Vengeance is -mine.” He met a little dog on his path, and administered a kick to it, -so that the beast howled and scurried into an open cellar. - -Across the table Christian and Voss faced each other in silence. Voss -pulled a flower from the vase, and shredded its calyx with his thin -fingers. “So that was Herr von Crammon,” he murmured. “I don’t know why -I feel like laughing. But I can’t help it. I do.” And he giggled softly -to himself. - -“We leave to-morrow,” said Christian, held a handkerchief to his -mouth, and breathed the delicate perfume that aroused in him so many -tender and slowly fading images. - -Voss took a blossom, tore it in two, gazed tensely at the parts, and -said: “Fibre by fibre, cell by cell. I am done with this life of sloth -and parasitism. I want to cut up the bodies of men and anatomize -corpses. Perhaps one can get at the seat of weakness and vulgarity. One -must seek life at its source and death at its root. The talent of an -anatomist stirs within me. Once I wanted to be a great preacher like -Savonarola; but it’s a reckless thing to try in these days. One had -better stick to men’s bodies; their souls would bring one to despair.” - -“I believe one must work,” Christian answered softly. “It does not -matter at what. But one must work.” He turned toward the window. The -round, white cloud had vanished; the silver sea had sucked it up. - -“Have you come to that conclusion?” Voss jeered. “I’ve known it long. -The way to hell is paved with work; and only hell can burn us clean. It -is well that you have learned that much.” - - -III - -Crammon and Johanna Schöntag were sitting in a drawing-room of the -hotel. They had had dinner together. Johanna’s companion, Fräulein -Grabmeier, had already retired. - -“You must be patient, Rumpelstilzkin,” said Crammon. “I’m sorry to say -that he hasn’t bitten yet. The bait is still in the water.” - -“I’ll be patient, my lord,” said Johanna, in her slightly rough, -boyish voice, and a gleam of merriment, in which charm and ugliness -were strangely blended, passed over her face. “I don’t find it very -hard either. Everything is sure to go wrong with me in the end. If -ever unexpectedly a wish of mine is fulfilled, and something I looked -forward to does happen, I’m as wretched as I can be, because it’s never -as nice as I thought it would be. The best thing for me, therefore, is -to be disappointed.” - -“You’re a problematic soul,” said Crammon musingly. - -Johanna gave a comical sigh. “I advise you, dear friend and protector, -to get rid of me by return post.” She stretched her thin little neck -with an intentionally bizarre movement. “I simply interfere with -the traffic. I’m a personified evil omen. At my birth a lady by the -name of Cassandra appeared, and I needn’t tell you the disagreeable -things that have been said of her. You remember how when we were at -target practice at Ashburnhill I hit the bull’s-eye. Everybody was -amazed, yourself included; but I more so than any one, because it was -pure, unadulterated chance. The rifle had actually gone off before -I had taken aim. Fate gives me such small and worthless gifts, in -order to seem friendly and lull me into security. But I’m not to be -deceived. Ugh! A nun, a nun!” she interrupted herself. Her eyes became -very large, as she looked into the garden where an Ursuline nun was -passing by. Then she crossed her arms over her bosom, and counted with -extraordinary readiness: “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” -Then she laughed, and showed two rows of marvellous teeth. - -“Is it your custom to do that whenever a nun appears?” Crammon asked. -His interest in superstitions was aroused. - -“It’s the proper ritual to follow. But she was gone before I came to -one, and that augurs no good. By the way, dear baron, your sporting -terminology sounds suspicious. What does that mean: ‘he hasn’t -bitten yet; the bait is still in the water’? I beg you to restrain -yourself. I’m an unprotected girl, and wholly dependent on your -delicate chivalry. If you shake my tottering self-confidence by any -more reminiscences of the sporting world, I’ll have to telegraph for -two berths on the Vienna train. For myself and Fräulein Grabmeier, of -course.” - -She loved these daring little implications, from which she could -withdraw quite naïvely. Crammon burst into belated laughter, and that -fact stirred her merriment too. - -She was very watchful, and nothing escaped her attentive eyes. She took -a burning interest in the characters and actions of people. She leaned -toward Crammon and they whispered together, for he could tell a story -about each form and face that emerged from the crowd. The chronicle -of international biography and scandal of which he was master was -inexhaustible. If ever his memory failed him, he invented or poetized -a little. He had everything at his tongue’s end--disputes concerning -inheritances, family quarrels, illegitimate descent, adulteries, -relationships of all sorts. Johanna listened to him with a smile. She -peered at all the tables and carefully observed every uncommon detail. -She picked up and pinned down, as an entomologist does his beetles, any -chance remark or roguish expression, any silliness or peculiarity of -any of these unconscious actors of the great world or the half world. - -Suddenly the pupils of her greyish blue eyes grew very large, and -her lips curved in a bow of childlike delight. “Who is that?” she -whispered, and thrust her chin out a little in the direction of a door -at Crammon’s back. But she at once knew instinctively who it was. She -would have known it without the general raising of heads and softening -of voices, of which she became aware. - -Crammon turned around and saw Eva amid a group of ladies and gentlemen. -He arose, waited until Eva glanced in his direction, and then bowed -very low. Eva drew back a little. She had not seen him since the days -of Denis Lay. She thought a little, and nodded distantly. Then she -recognized him, kicked back her train with an incomparable grace, and, -speaking in every line before her lips moved, went up to him. - -Johanna had arisen too. Eva remarked the little figure. She gave -Crammon to understand that he had a duty toward his companion, and that -she would not refuse an introduction to the unknown girl, on whose -face enthusiasm and homage were so touchingly to be seen. Crammon -introduced Johanna in his most ceremonious manner. Johanna grew pale -and red and curtsied. She seemed to herself suddenly so negligible that -she was overcome with shame. Then she tore off the three yellow roses -at her corsage, and held them out to Eva with a sudden and yet timid -gesture. Eva liked this impulse. She felt its uniqueness and veracity, -and therefore knew its value. - - -IV - -Christian and Amadeus wandered across the Quai Kokerill in Antwerp. - -A great transatlantic liner lay, silent and empty, at the pier. The -steerage passengers waited at its side for the hour of their admission. -They were Polish peasants, Russian Jews, men and women, young ones and -aged ones, children and sucklings. They crouched on the cold stones or -on their dirty bundles. They were themselves dirty, neglected, weary, -dully brooding--a melancholy and confused mass of rags and human bodies. - -The mighty globe of the sun rolled blood-red and quivering over the -waters. - -Christian and Amadeus stopped. After a while they went on, but -Christian desired to turn back, and they did so. At a crossing near the -emigrants’ camp, a line of ten or twenty donkey-carts cut off the road. -The carts looked liked bisected kegs on wheels, and were filled with -smoked mackerels. - -“Buy mackerels!” the cart-drivers cried. “Buy mackerels!” And they -cracked their whips. - -A few of the emigrants approached and stared hungrily; they consulted -with others, who were already looking for coins in their pockets, until -finally a few determined ones proceeded to make a purchase. - -Then Christian said to Voss: “Let us buy the fish and distribute them. -What do you think?” - -Amadeus was ill pleased. He answered. “Do as you wish. Great lords must -have their little pleasures.” He felt uncomfortable amid the gathering -crowd. - -Christian turned to one of the hucksters. It was difficult to make -the man understand normal French, but gradually he succeeded. The -huckster summoned the others, and there followed excited chatter and -gesticulations. Various sums were named and considered and rejected. -This process bored Christian; it threatened to be endless. He offered -a sum that represented a considerable increase over the highest price -named, and handed his wallet to Amadeus that the men might be paid. -Then he said to the increasing throng of emigrants in German: “The fish -are yours.” - -A few understood his words, and conveyed their meaning to the others. -Timidly they ventured forward. A woman, whose skin was yellow as a -lemon from jaundice, was the first to touch a fish. Soon hundreds came. -From all sides they brought baskets, pots, nets, sacks. A few old -men kept the crowd in order. One of these, who wore a flowing white -beard and a long Jewish coat, bowed down thrice before Christian. His -forehead almost touched the earth. - -A sudden impulse compelled Christian to see in person to the just -distribution of the fish. He turned up his sleeves, and with his -delicate hands threw the greasy, malodourous fish into the vessels -held out for them. He laughed as he soiled his fingers. The hucksters -and some idle onlookers laughed too. They thought him a crazy, young -Englishman out for a lark. Suddenly his gorge rose at the odour of the -fish, and even more at the odour of these people. He smelled their -clothes and their breath, and gagged at the thought of their teeth and -fingers, their hair and shoes. A morbid compulsion forced him to think -of their naked bodies, and he shuddered at the idea of their flesh. So -he stopped, and slipped away into the twilight. - -His hands still reeked of the smoked fish. He walked through the -streets that had had nothing to do with his adventure and the night -seemed empty. - -Amadeus Voss had escaped. He waited in front of the hotel. There the -line of motor cars had gathered that was to accompany Eva on her -journey to Germany. Among the travellers were Crammon and Johanna -Schöntag. - - -V - -In October the weather turned hot on the Rio de la Plata. All day one -had to stay in the house. If one opened a window, living fire seemed -to stream in. Once Letitia fainted, when she wanted to air her stuffy -room, and opened one of the wooden shutters. - -The only spot that offered some shade and coolness toward evening -was an avenue of palms beside the river. Sometimes, during the brief -twilight, Letitia and her young sister-in-law Esmeralda would steal -away to that place. Their road passed the ranchos, the wretched -cave-like huts in which the native workmen lived. - -Once Letitia saw the people of the ranchos merrily feasting and in -their best garments. She asked for the reason, and was told that a -child had died. “They always celebrate when some one dies,” Esmeralda -told her. “How sad must their lives be to make them so in love with -death.” - -The avenue of palms was forbidden ground. When darkness came, the -bushes rustled, and furtive men slipped back and forth. Not long -before the mounted police had caught a sailor here who was wanted for -a murder in Galveston. Somehow Letitia dreamed of him. She was sure he -had killed his man through jealousy and bore the marks of a beautiful -tragedy. - -One evening she had met in this spot a young naval officer, who was a -guest on a neighbouring estate. Letitia exchanged glances with him, and -from that time on he sought some way of approaching her. But she was -like a prisoner, or like a Turkish woman in a harem. So she determined -to outwit her guards; she really fell in love with the young officer. -Her imagination made an heroic figure of him, and she began to long for -him. - -The heat increased. Letitia could not sleep at night. The mosquitoes -hummed sweetishly, and she cried like a little child. By day she locked -herself in her room, stripped off her clothes, and lay down on the cold -tiles. - -Once she was lying thus with arms outstretched. “I’m like an enchanted -princess,” she thought, “in an enchanted castle.” - -Some one knocked at the door, and she heard Stephen’s voice calling -her. Idly she raised her head, and from under her heavy lids gazed down -at her naked body. “What a bore it is,” she thought, “what a terrible -bore always to be with the same man. I want others too.” She did not -answer, and let her head droop, and rubbed her glowing cheek against -the warm skin of her upper arm. It pleased the master of the harem out -there to beg for admission; but Letitia did not open the door. - -After a while she heard a tumult in the yard--laughter, the cracking of -whips, the report of rifles, and the cries of beasts in torment. She -jumped up, slipped into a silk dressing gown, opened the window that -gave on the verandah, and peered out. - -Stephen had tied together the tails of two cats by means of a long -fuse. Along the fuse were fastened explosive bits of firework. The -hissing little rockets singed the cats’ fur, and the glowing cord -burned into their flesh. The cats tumbled about in their agony and -howled. Stephen goaded them and followed them. His brothers, bent over -the balustrade, roared with delight. Two Indians, grave and silent, -watched from the gate. - -Stephen had, of course, counted on Letitia’s opening the door in her -curiosity. A few great leaps, and he was beside her. Esmeralda, who -was in the plot, had at once faced Letitia and prevented her from -locking the door. White with rage, and with raised fist, he stormed -across the threshold. She fell to her knees, and hid her face in her -hands. - -“Why do you beat me?” she moaned, in horror and surprise. But he did -not touch her. - -His teeth gnashed. “To teach you to obey.” - -She sobbed. “Be careful! It’s not only me you’re hurting now!” - -“Damnation, what are you saying?” He stared at her crouching figure. - -“You’re hurting two now.” Letitia enjoyed fooling him. Her tears were -now tears of pity for herself. - -“Woman, is that true?” he asked. Letitia peered furtively between her -fingers, and thought mockingly: “It’s like the last act of a cheap -opera.” She nodded with a gesture of pain, and determined to deceive -him with the naval officer. - -Stephen gave a howl of triumph, danced about, threw himself down beside -her, and kissed her arms, her shoulders, and her neck. At the windows -and doors appeared Doña Barbara, Esmeralda, Stephen’s brothers, and -the servants. He lifted Letitia on his strong shoulders, and carried -her about on the verandah. He roared his orders: a feast was to be -prepared, an ox slaughtered, champagne to be put on ice. - -Letitia had no qualms of conscience. She was glad to have made a fool -of him. - -When old Gunderam learned the cause of the rejoicing in his house, he -chuckled to himself. “Fooled all the same, my sly lawyer man. In spite -of the written agreement, you won’t get the Escurial, not for a good -while, even if she has a whole litter.” With an unappetizing, broken -little comb he smoothed his iron grey beard, and poured eau de Cologne -on his head, until his hair, which was still thick, dripped. - -But, strangely enough, the lie that Letitia had told in her terror -turned out to be the truth. In a few days she was sure. Secretly she -was amazed. Every morning she stood before the mirror, and looked -at herself with a strange respect and a subtle horror. But she was -unchanged. Her mood became gently melancholy, and she threw a kiss to -her image in the glass. - -Since they were now afraid of crossing her wishes, she was permitted -to attend a ball given by Señor and Señora Küchelbäcker, and it was -there that she made the formal acquaintance of the naval lieutenant, -Friedrich Pestel. - - -VI - -Felix Imhof and the painter Weikhardt met at the exhibition of the -“secessionists” in Munich. For a while they strolled through the rooms, -and looked at the paintings; then they went out on the terrace, and sat -down at a table that commanded a view of the park. - -It was in the early afternoon, and the odours of oil and turpentine -from within blended with the fragrance of the sun-warmed plants. - -Imhof crossed his long legs, and yawned affectedly. “I’m going to leave -this admirable home of art and letters for some months,” he declared. -“I’m going to accompany the minister of colonial affairs to South West -Africa. I’m anxious to see how things are going there. Those people -need looking after. Then, too, it’s a new experience, and there will be -hunting.” - -Weikhardt was utterly self-absorbed. He was full of his own annoyances, -his inner and outer conflicts, and therefore spoke only of himself. “I -am to copy a cycle by Luini for the old Countess Matuschka,” he said. -“She has several blank walls in her castle in Galicia, and she wants -tapestries for them. But the old creature is close as the bark on the -tree, and her bargaining is repulsive.” - -Imhof also pursued his own thoughts. “I’ve read a lot about Stanhope -recently,” he said. “A tremendous fellow, modern through and through, -reporter and conquistador at the same time. The blacks called him the -‘cliff-breaker.’ It makes one’s mouth water. Simply tremendous!” - -Weikhardt continued: “But I dare say I’ll have to accept the -commission. I’ve come to the end of my tether. It’ll be good to see the -old Italians again, too. In Milan there’s a Tintoretto that’s adorable. -I’m on the track of a secret. I’m doing things that will count. The -other day I finished a picture, a simple landscape, and took it to an -acquaintance of mine. He has a rather exquisite room, and there we hung -it. The walls had grey hangings, and the furnishings were in black and -gold. He’s a rich man and wanted to buy the picture. But when I saw -how much he liked it, and saw, too, the delicate, melancholy harmony -of its colours with the tints of the room, I felt a sudden flash of -encouragement. I couldn’t bear to talk money, and I simply gave him the -thing. He accepted it quietly enough, but he continued saying: ‘How -damned good it is!’” - -“It’ll take my thoughts off myself, this little trip to the Southern -Hemisphere,” said Imhof. “I’m not exactly favoured of fortune just -now. To be frank--everything’s in the deuce of a mess. My best horse -went to smash, my favourite dog died, my wife took French leave of me, -and my friends avoid me--I don’t know why. My business is progressing -backward, and all my speculations end in losses. But, after all, what -does it matter? I say to myself: Never say die, old boy! Here’s the -great, beautiful world, and all the splendour and variety of life. If -you complain, you deserve no better. My sandwich has dropped into the -mud. All right; I must get a fresh one. Whoever goes to war must expect -wounds. The main thing is to stick to your flag. The main thing is -faith--quite simple faith.” - -It was still a question which of the two would first turn his attention -from himself, and hear his companion’s voice. Weikhardt, whose eyes -had grown sombre, spoke again: “O this dumb loneliness in a studio, -with one’s hundred failures, and the ghosts of one’s thousand hours of -despair! I have a chance to marry, and I’m going to take it, too. The -girl has no money, to be sure, but she has a heart. She’s not afraid -of my poverty, and comprehends the necessary quixotism of an artist’s -life. She comes of a Protestant family of very liberal traditions, but -two years ago she became a Catholic. When I first met her I was full -of suspicion, and assumed all sorts of reasons for her step except -the simple and human ones. It’s very difficult to see the simple and -the human things, and still more difficult to do them. Gradually I -understood what it means--to believe! and I understood what is to -be reverenced in such faith. It is faith itself that is sacred, not -that in which the faith is placed. It doesn’t matter what one has -faith in--a book, a beast, a man, a star, a god. But it must be pure -faith--immovable and unconquerable. Yes, I quite agree with you--we -need simple faith.” - -So they had found each other through a word. “When do I get my picture, -your Descent from the Cross?” Imhof inquired. - -Weikhardt did not answer the question. As he talked on, his smooth, -handsome, boyish face assumed the aspect of a quarrelsome old man’s. -Yet his voice remained gentle and slow, and his bearing phlegmatic. -“Humanity to-day has lost its faith,” he continued. “Faith has -leaked out like water from a cracked glass. Our age is tyrannised by -machinery: it is a mob rule without parallel. Who will save us from -machinery and from business? The golden calf has gone mad. The spirit -of man kowtows to a warehouse. Our watchword is to be up and doing. -We manufacture Christianity, a renaissance, culture, et cetera. If -it’s not quite the real thing, yet it will serve. Everything tends -toward the external--toward expression, line, arabesque, gesture, -mask. Everything is stuck on a hoarding and lit by electric lamps. -Everything is the very latest, until something still later begins to -function. Thus the soul flees, goodness ceases, the form breaks, and -reverence dies. Do you feel no horror at the generation that is growing -up? The air is like that before the flood.” - -“Create, O artist, and don’t philosophize,” Imhof said gently. - -Weikhardt was shamed a little. “It’s true,” he said, “we have no means -of knowing the goal of it all. But there are symptoms, typical cases -that leave little room for hope. Did you hear the story of the suicide -of the German-American Scharnitzer? He was pretty well known among -artists. He used to go to the studios himself, and buy whatever took -his fancy. He never bargained. Sometimes he would be accompanied by a -daughter of eighteen, a girl of angelic beauty. Her name was Sybil, and -he used to buy pictures for her. She was especially fond of still-life -and flower pieces. The man had been in California and made millions -in lumber. Then he returned to the fatherland to give the girl an -atmosphere of calm and culture. Sybil was his one thought, his hope, -his idol and his world. He had been married but a short time. His wife, -it is said, ran away from him. All that a life of feverish activity -had left him of deep feeling and of hope for the future was centred -in this child. He saw in her one girl in a thousand, a little saint. -And so indeed she seemed--extraordinarily dainty, proud and ethereal. -One would not have dared to touch her with one’s finger. When the two -were together, a delightful sense of harmony radiated from them. The -father, especially, seemed happy. His voluntary death caused all the -more consternation. No one suspected the motive; it was assumed that he -had suffered a moment of madness. But he left behind him a letter to -an American friend which explained everything. He had been indisposed -one day, and had had to stay in bed. Sybil had invited several girl -friends to tea, and the little company was in a room at the other end -of their suite. But all the doors between were open, even the last was -slightly ajar, so that the murmur of the girls’ voices came to him -inarticulately. A sudden curiosity seized him to know what they were -saying. He got up, slipped into a dressing gown, went softly through -the intervening rooms, and listened at the door. The conversation was -about the future of these girls--the possibilities of love, happiness, -and marriage. Each gave her ideas. Finally it was Sybil’s turn to speak -her thoughts. At first she refused; but they urged her again and again. -She said she took no interest in emotions of any sort; she didn’t yearn -for love; she wasn’t able to feel even gratitude to any one. What she -expected of marriage was simply liberation from a galling yoke. She -wanted a man who could give her all that life held--boundless luxury -and high social position--and who, moreover, would be abjectly at her -feet. That, she said, was her program, and she intended to carry it -out too. The other girls fell silent. None answered. But that hour -poisoned the father’s soul. This cynicism, uttered by the pure and -spiritual voice of the child he adored and thought a miracle of depth -and sweetness, the child on whom he had wasted all he was and had, -plunged him into an incurable melancholy, and caused him finally to end -his life.” - -“My dear fellow,” cried Imhof, and waved his arm, “that man wasn’t a -lumber merchant, he was a minor poet.” - -“It’s possible that he was,” Weikhardt replied, and smiled; “quite -possible. What does it alter? I admire a man who cannot survive the -destruction of all his ideals. It’s better than to be a cliff-breaker, -I assure you. Most people haven’t any ideals to be destroyed. They -adapt themselves endlessly, and become vulgar and sterile.” Again his -eyes grew sombre, and he added, half to himself: “Sometimes I dream of -one who neither rises nor falls, of one who walks on earth whole and -unchangeable, unswerving and unadaptable. Perfectly unadaptable. It is -of such an one that I dream.” - -Imhof jumped up, and smoothed his coat. “Talk, talk!” he rattled, -in the disagreeable military tone that he assumed in his moments of -pseudo-virility. “Talk won’t improve things.” He passed his arm through -Weikhardt’s, and as they left the terrace, which had been gradually -filling with other guests, he recited, boldly, unashamed, and in the -same tone, the alcaic stanza of Hölderlin: - - “Still man will take up arms against all who breathe; - Compelled by pride and dread he consumes himself in conflict, and - destroys the lovely - Flower of his peace that is brief of blooming.” - - -VII - -On their first evening in Hamburg, Crammon rented a box in the -playhouse, and invited Christian, Johanna Schöntag, and Herr Livholm, -one of the directors of the Lloyd, to be his guests. He had made the -latter’s acquaintance in the hotel where he had gone to pay Eva a visit -of welcome. He had liked the man, who cut a good figure, and so he had -added him to the party in order, as he put it, to keep the atmosphere -normal by the presence of an entirely neutral person. - -“Social skill,” he was accustomed to say, “is not unlike skill in -cookery and serving. Between two heavy, rich dishes there must be one -like foam that stimulates the palate quite superficially. Otherwise the -meal has no style.” - -The play was a mediocre comedy, and Christian was frankly bored. -Crammon thought it his duty to show a condescending and muffled -amusement, and now and then he gave Christian a gentle poke, to -persuade him also to show some appreciation of the performance. Johanna -was the only one who was genuinely amused. The source of her amusement -was an actor to whom a serious rôle had been assigned, but who talked -with such silly affectation and false importance that every time he -appeared she had to hold her lacy handkerchief to her lips to smother -her laughter. - -Occasionally Christian gave the girl a far and estranged glance. She -wasn’t either agreeable or the reverse; he did not know what to make of -her. This feeling of his had not changed since he had first seen her -during the journey in Eva’s company. - -She felt the coldness of his glance. Her merriment did not vanish; but -on the lower part of her face appeared a scarcely perceptible shadow of -disappointment. - -As though seeking for help, she turned to Christian. “The man is -terribly funny, don’t you think so?” It was characteristic of her to -end a question with a negative interrogation. - -“He’s certainly worth seeing,” Christian agreed politely. - -The door of the box opened, and Voss entered. He was faultlessly -dressed for the occasion; but no one had expected or invited him. -They looked at him in astonishment. He bowed calmly and without -embarrassment, stood quite still, and gave his attention to the stage. - -Crammon looked at Christian. The latter shrugged his shoulders. After a -while Crammon arose, and with sarcastic courtesy pointed to his seat. -Voss shook his head in friendly refusal, but immediately thereafter -assumed once more his air of humility and abjectness. He stammered: -“I was in the stalls and looked up. I thought there was no harm in -paying a visit.” Suddenly Crammon went out, and was heard quarrelling -with the usher. Johanna had become serious, and looked down at the -audience. Christian, as though to ward off disagreeable things, -ducked his shoulders a little. The people in the near-by seats became -indignant at the noise Crammon was making. Herr Livholm felt that the -proper atmosphere had hardly been preserved. Amadeus Voss alone showed -himself insensitive to the situation. - -He stood behind Johanna, and thought: “The hair of this woman has a -fragrance that turns one dizzy.” At the end of the act he withdrew, and -did not return. - -Late at night, when he had him alone, Crammon vented his rage on -Christian. “I’ll shoot him down like a mad dog, if he tries that sort -of thing again! What does the fellow think? I’m not accustomed to such -manners. Damned gallow’s bird--where’d he grow up? Oh, my prophetic -soul! I always distrusted people with spectacles. Why don’t you tell -him to go to hell? In the course of my sinful life, I’ve come in -contact with all kinds of people; I know the best and I know the dregs; -but this fellow is a new type. Quite new, by God! I’ll have to take a -bromide, or I won’t be able to sleep.” - -“I believe you are unjust, Bernard,” answered Christian, with lowered -eyes. But his face was stern, reserved, and cold. - - -VIII - -Amadeus Voss submitted the following plan to Christian: to go to -Berlin, first as an unmatriculated student, and later to prepare -himself for the state examination in medicine. - -Christian nodded approvingly, and added that he intended to go to -Berlin shortly too. Voss walked up and down in the room. Then he asked -brusquely: “What am I to live on? Am I to address envelopes? Or apply -for stipends? If you intend to withdraw your friendship and assistance, -say so frankly. I’ve learned to wade through the mud. The new kind -won’t offer more resistance than the old.” - -Christian was thoroughly surprised. A week ago, in Holland, he had -given Amadeus ten thousand francs. “How much will you need?” he asked. - -“Board, lodging, clothes, books....” Voss went over the items, and his -expression was that of one who formulates demands and uses the tone of -request only as a matter of courtesy. “I’ll be frugal.” - -“I shall order two thousand marks a month to be sent you,” Christian -said, with an air of aversion. The impudent demand for money pained -him. Possession weighed upon him like a mountain. He could not get his -arms free nor lift his chest, and the weight grew heavier and heavier. - -In a bowl of chrysolite on the table lay a scarf-pin with one large, -black pearl. Voss, whose hands always groped for some occupation, had -taken it up, and held it between his thumb and index finger against the -light. “Do you want the pin?” Christian asked. “Take it,” he persuaded -Amadeus, who was hesitating. “I really don’t care about it.” - -Voss approached the mirror, and with a curious smile stuck the pin into -his cravat. - -When Christian was left alone, he stood for a while quite lost in -thought. Then he sat down, and wrote to his manager at Christian’s -Rest. He wrote in his lanky script and his no less awkward style. “My -dear Herr Borkowski:--I have determined to sell Christian’s Rest, -together with all furnishings and objects of art, as well as the -park, woods, and farms. I herewith commission you to find a capable -and honest real estate dealer, who might telegraph me any favourable -offers. You know people of that sort, and need merely drive over -to Frankfort. Have the kindness to settle the matter as quietly as -possible. No advertisements are to appear in the press.” - -Then he wrote a second letter to the manager of his racing stable at -Waldleiningen. To write this he had to do more violence to his heart -than the first had cost him, for he saw constantly fixed upon him -the gentle or spirited eyes of the noble animals. He wrote: “My dear -Herr Schaller:--I have determined to discontinue my racing stable. -The horses are to be sold at auction or quietly to fanciers. I should -prefer the latter method, and I suppose you share that feeling. Baron -Deidinger of Deidingshausen was at one time much interested in Columbus -and the mare Lovely. Inquire of him whether he wants them. Admirable -and Bride o’ the Wind could be offered either to Prince Pless or -Herr von Strathmann. Have my friend Denis Lay’s Excelsior sent to -Baden-Baden, and boarded temporarily in the stables of Count Treuberg. -I don’t wish him to remain at Waldleiningen alone.” - -When he had sealed the letters, he sighed with relief. He rang, and -gave the letters to his valet. The latter had turned to go, when -Christian called him back. “I’m very sorry to have to give you notice, -Wilhelm,” he said. “I’m going to attend to myself hereafter.” - -The man could not trust his ears. He had been with Christian for three -years, and was genuinely devoted to him. - -“I’m sorry, but it’s necessary,” said Christian, looked past the man, -and had almost the same strange smile with which he had watched Amadeus -Voss at the mirror putting the black pearl pin into his cravat. - - -IX - -Crammon asserted that Amadeus Voss was paying his attentions to Johanna -Schöntag. Johanna was annoyed, and tapped him with her long gloves. “I -congratulate you on your conquest, Rumpelstilzkin,” Crammon teased her. -“To have a monster like that in leash is no small achievement. I should -advise muzzling the monster, however. What do you think, Christian, -wouldn’t you advise a muzzle, too?” - -“A muzzle?” answered Christian. “Yes, if it would keep people from -talking. So many talk too much.” - -Crammon bit his lips. The reproof struck him as harsh. Somewhere -beneath the downs of life on which he lay and enjoyed himself, there -was, evidently, a stone. The stone hurt. He sought for it, but the -softness of the down calmed him again, and he forgot his pain. - -“I was sitting in the breakfast room, and waiting for Madame Sorel,” -Johanna began in a voice whose every shading and inflection sought to -woo Christian’s ear, “when Herr Voss came in and marched straight up -to me. ‘What does that bad man want of me?’ I asked myself. He asked -me, as though we’d been bosom friends for years, whether I didn’t want -to go with him to St. Paul’s to hear the famous itinerant preacher -Jacobsen. I couldn’t help laughing, and he stalked away insulted. But -this afternoon, as I was leaving the hotel, he seemed suddenly to -spring from the earth, and invited me to a trip around the harbour. He -had rented a motor launch, and was looking for a companion. He had the -same gruff familiarity, and when he left he was quite as insulted as -before. And you call that paying attentions? I felt much more as though -he were going to drag me off and murder me. But perhaps that’s only his -manner.” She laughed. - -“You’re the only person, at all events, whom he distinguishes by -observing at all,” Crammon said, with the same mockery. - -“Or the only one whom he considers his equal,” Johanna said, with a -childlike frown. - -Christian was wondering: “Why does she laugh so often? Why are her -hands so pudgy and so very pink?” Johanna felt his disapproval, and was -as though paralysed. And yet Christian felt himself drawn toward her by -some hidden power. - -Why should he resist? Why be so ceremonious? Such was his thought, as -Johanna arose, and he, with unobtrusive glances, observed her graceful -form that still possessed the flexibility of immaturity. He saw the -nape of her slender neck, in which were expressed both the weakness of -her will and the fineness of her temper. He knew these signs; he had -often been guided by them and used them. - -Crammon, massive and magnificent in a great easy chair, spoke with -some emphasis of Eva’s appearance on the morrow. The whole city was in -a state of expectancy. But Christian and Johanna had suddenly become -truly aware of one another. - -“Are you coming along?” Christian turned carelessly, and with a sense -of boredom, to Crammon. - -“Yes, my boy, let us eat!” Crammon cried. He called Hamburg the -Paradise of Saint Bernard, concerning whom, as his patron saint and -namesake, he had instituted especial investigations, and who, according -to him, had been a mighty trencherman during his lifetime at Tours. - -A frightened, subtle, and very feminine smile hovered about Johanna’s -lips. As she preceded the two men, the motions of her dainty body -expressed a vague oppression of the spirit, and at the same time a -humorous rebellion against her own unfreedom. - - -X - -Amadeus Voss knew that he had no one’s sympathy, no one’s except -Christian’s. And him he suspected, watching him, weighing and analysing -his words and actions. In his terror of hypocrisy and treachery, he -practised both himself. Nothing healed or convinced or reconciled him. -Least of all did he pardon Christian the fact that the latter’s glance -and presence had the effect of subduing him. His bitterness moaned from -his very dreams. - -He read in the Scriptures: “There was a certain house-holder, which -planted a vineyard, and hedged it round about, and digged a winepress -in it, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into -a far country: and when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his -servants to the husbandmen that they might receive the fruits of -it. And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and killed -another, and stoned another. Again he sent other servants, more than -the first, and they did unto them likewise. But last of all, he sent -unto them his son, saying, They will reverence my son. But when the -husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves, This is the heir; -come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance. And they -caught him, and cast him out of the vineyard, and slew him.” - -Sometimes he would not leave Christian’s side for hours. He would study -his gestures and the expressions of his countenance, and all these -perceptions fed the corrosive fire in his brain. For this was the heir! -Then he would flee and bruise and stamp upon his very soul, until his -consciousness of guilt cast him down into the very dust. He would -return, and his demeanour would be a silent confession: “I can thrive -only in your presence.” It seemed to him that this silence of his was -like a cry; but it was not heard, and so his brother seemed again to -become his foe. Thus he kept passing from darkness, through fires and -fumes, back into the darkness. - -He suffered from his own embarrassment and importunateness. In the -midst of luxury and plenty, into which he had been transferred by a -fabulous turn of fortune, he suffered from the memories of his former -poverty, still felt how it had bound and throttled him, and still -rebelled against what was gone. He could not freely take what was given -him, but closed his eyes, and shuddered with both desire and a pang of -conscience. He would not look upon the pattern of his web of life. He -turned its texture around, and brooded over the significance of the -intricately knotted threads. And there was no human relationship which -did not rouse his suspicion, no harmless conversation in which he did -not seek a sting directed toward himself, no face that did not feed his -hatred, no beauty whose counter part of ugliness he did not see. To -him everything turned to poison and decay, all blossoms became noxious -weeds, all velvet a Nessus shirt, all light an evil smouldering, every -stimulus a wound: on every wall he saw the flaming letters, _mene tekel -upharsim_. - -He could not yield himself or conquer the stubbornness of his heart. -With the object of his desire in his very hands, his envy burned on. -Whatever had once humiliated him spurred his vengefulness through -retrospection. Chastisements which his father had inflicted distorted -the old man’s image beyond the grave; his fellow pupils in the seminary -had once strewn pepper into his coffee, and he could not forget it; he -could not forget the expression on the face of Adeline Ribbeck with -which she had given him his first month’s salary in a closed envelope; -he remembered the contempt and contumely of hundreds, who had inflicted -upon him their revenge for the oppression or degradation which they -themselves had endured. He could not conquer these things nor forgive -fate. The marks that had been burned into his flesh throbbed like new -wounds. - -But at other times he would cast himself into the dust in prayer and in -great need of forgiveness. Religious scruples plagued him into remorse; -he panted for an hour’s release from consciousness, judged himself with -cruel severity, and condemned himself to ascetic practices. - -And these hurled him into the other extreme of a wild, -undiscriminating, and senseless dissipation and a mad waste of money. -He could no longer resist the excitement of gambling, and fell into the -hands of sharpers, drifted into loathsome dives, where he acted the -part of a wealthy man and an aristocrat in incognito, for he desired to -test this human mask and prove its worthlessness to himself. Since his -companions took him seriously in this rôle, which filled his own mind -with shame and despair, he took his high losses with apparent calm, and -overlooked the open cheating. One evening the den in which he happened -to be was raided by the police, and he escaped by a hair’s breadth. -One creature clung to him, frightened him with possible dangers ahead, -threatened exposure, and wrung from him a considerable sum of hush -money. - -He became the prey of cocottes. He bought them jewels and frocks and -instituted nightly revels. In his eyes they were outcasts that he used -as a famishing man might slake his thirst at a mud puddle with no -clean water within reach. And he was brutally frank with them. He paid -them to endure his contempt. They were surprised, resisted only his -most infamous abuses, and laughed at his unconquerable traits of the -churchly hypocrite. Once he remained alone with a girl who was young -and pretty. He had blindfolded himself. But suddenly he fled as though -the furies were at his heels. - -Thrice he had set the date for his departure and as many times had -put it off. The image of Johanna had joined that of Eva in his soul, -and both raged in his brain. Both belonged to an unattainable world. -Yet Johanna seemed less alien; she might conceivably hear his plea. -Eva and her beauty were like a strident jeer at all he was. He had -heard so much and read so much of her art that he determined to await -her appearance, in order (as he told Christian) to form a judgment of -his own, and be no longer at the mercy of those who fed her on mere -adulation and brazen flattery. - -The audience was in full evening dress. Amadeus sat next to Christian -in the magnificent and radiant hall, in which had gathered royal and -princely persons, the senators of the free city, the heads of the -official and financial world, and representatives of every valley and -city of Germany. Christian had bought seats near the stage. Crammon, -who was an expert in matters of artistic perspective, had preferred the -first row in the balcony. With him were Johanna and Botho von Thüngen, -to whom he had emphatically explained that the play of the dancer’s -feet and legs was interfered with by the dark line of the stage below, -while from their present position its full harmony would be visible. - -Amadeus Voss had almost determined to remain rigid in mind. He hardly -resisted actively, for he did not expect anything powerful enough to -make resistance worth while. He was cold, dull, unseeing. Suddenly -there floated upon the stage a bird-like vision, a being miraculously -eased of human heaviness, one who was all rhythm, and turned the rhythm -of motion into music. She broke the chains of the soul, and made every -emotion an image, every action a myth, every step a conquest over space -and matter. But the face of Amadeus seemed to say: How can that serve -me? How does that serve you? Filled by the fury of sex, he saw only a -scabrous exhibition, and when the thunder of applause burst out, he -showed his teeth. - -Eva’s last number was a little dramatic episode, a charming _jeu -d’esprit_, which she had invented and worked out, to be accompanied by -a composition of Delibes. It was very simple. She was Pierrot playing -with a top. She regulated and guided the whimsical course of the toy. -In ever new positions, turns, and rhythms, she finally drove the top -toward a hole into which it disappeared. But this trivial action was so -filled with life by the wealth and variety of her rhythmic gestures, -so radiant with spirit and swiftest grace, so fresh in inspiration, -so heightened in the perfection of its art, that the audience watched -breathlessly, and released its own tensity in a fury of applause. - -In the foyer Crammon rushed up to Christian, and drew him through the -crowd along the dim passage way that led back of the stage. Amadeus -Voss, unnoticed by Crammon, followed them unthinkingly and morosely. -The sight of the wings, of cliffs and trees, of discarded drops, -electrical apparatus and pulleys and of the hurrying stage-hands, -stirred in him a dull and hostile curiosity. - -An excited crowd thronged toward Eva’s dressing-room. She sat in the -silken Pierrot costume of black and white, the dainty silver whip still -in her hand, amid a forest of flowers. Before her kneeled Johanna -Schöntag with an adoring moisture in her eyes. Susan gave her mistress -a glass of cool champagne. Then in a mixture of five or six languages -she tried to make it clear to the unbidden guests that they were in -the way. But each wanted a look, a word, a smile of Eva for himself. - -Next to the room in which Eva sat, and separated from it by a thin -partition with an open door, was a second dressing-room, which -contained only her costumes and a tall mirror. Accidentally pushed -in that direction, and not through any will of his own, Amadeus Voss -suddenly found himself alone in this little chamber. Having entered it, -his courage grew, and he ventured a little farther in. - -He looked around and stared at the garments that lay and hung here--the -shimmering silks, the red, green, blue, white, and yellow shawls and -veils, the fragrant webs of gauze, batiste, and tulle. There were -wholly transparent textures and the heaviest brocades. One frock -glowed like pure gold, another gleamed like silver; one seemed made of -rose-leaves, another knitted of spun glass, one of white foam and one -of amethyst. And there stood dainty shoes--a long row of them, shoes -of Morocco leather and of kid and silk; and there were hose of all -colours, and laces and ribands and antique beads and brooches. The air -was drenched with a fragrance that stung his senses--a fragrance of -precious creams and unguents, of a woman’s skin and hair. His pulses -throbbed and his face turned grey. Involuntarily he stretched out his -hand, and grasped a painted Spanish shawl. Angrily, greedily, beside -himself, he crushed it in his hands, and buried his mouth and nose in -it and trembled in every limb. - -At that moment Susan Rappard saw him, and pointed to him with a gesture -of astonishment. Eva saw him too, gently thrust Johanna aside, arose, -and approached the threshold. When she saw the man in his strange -and absorbed ecstasy, she felt as though she had been spattered with -filth, and uttered a soft, brief cry. Amadeus Voss twitched and dropped -the shawl. His eyes were wild and guilty. With a light laugh and an -expression of transcendent contempt, which summed up a long dislike, -Eva raised the little silver whip and struck him full in the face. His -features grew very white, in a contortion of voluptuousness and terror. - -In the tense silence Christian went up to Eva, took the silver whip -from her hand, and said in a tone scarcely distinguishable from his -habitual one: “Oh, no, Eva, I shall not let you do that.” He held the -handle of the whip firmly at both ends, and bent it until the fragile -metal snapped. Then he threw the two pieces on the floor. - -They gazed at each other. Disgust at Amadeus still flamed in Eva’s -face. It yielded to her astonishment at Christian’s temerity. But -Christian thought: “How beautiful she is!” And he loved her. He loved -her in her black and white Pierrot’s costume with the black velvet -buttons, he loved her with that little cap and its impudent little -tassel on her head; he loved her, and she seemed incomparable to him, -and his blood cried out after her as in those nights from which she had -driven him forth. But he also asked himself: “Why has she grown evil?” -And a strange compassion for her stole over him, and a stranger sense -of liberation. And he smiled. But to all who were watching, this smile -of his seemed a little empty. - -Again Amadeus Voss read in the Scripture: “What mean ye that ye beat -my people to pieces, and grind the faces of the poor? Because the -daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth necks and -wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling -with their feet: Therefore the Lord will strike with a scab the crown -of the head of the daughters of Zion, and the Lord will discover their -secret parts. In that day will the Lord take away the bravery of their -tinkling ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round -tires like the moon, the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers, -the bonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and the -tablets, and the earrings, the rings, and nose jewels, the changeable -suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping -pins, the glasses, and the fine linen, and the hoods and the veils. -And it shall come to pass, that instead of sweet smell there shall be -stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair -baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sack-cloth; and -burning instead of beauty. Thy men shall fall by the sword, and thy -mighty in the war. And her gates shall lament and mourn; and she being -desolate shall sit upon the ground.” - -On the same evening he left for Berlin. - - -XI - -Lorm and Judith had a magnificent apartment near the Tiergarten in -Berlin. - -Edgar Lorm flourished. Order and regularity ruled his life. With -childlike boastfulness he spoke of his home. His manager and friend, -Dr. Emanuel Herbst, congratulated him on his visible rejuvenation. - -He introduced to Judith the people whom he had long valued; but she -judged most of them sharply and without sympathy. Her characteristic -arrogance drove away many who meant well. But under the sway of his new -comforts Lorm submitted to her opinions. - -But he would not give up Emanuel Herbst. When Judith mocked at his -waddling gait, his homeliness, his piping voice, his tactless jokes, -Lorm grew serious. “I’ve known him for over twenty years. The things -that annoy you endear him to me quite as much as those precious -qualities in him which I know well, and which you’ve had no chance to -discover.” - -“No doubt he’s a monster of virtue,” Judith replied, “but he bores me -to extinction.” - -Lorm said: “One should get used to the idea that other people don’t -exist exclusively for our pleasure. Your point of view is too narrowly -that of use and luxury. There are human qualities that I value more -highly than a handsome face or polished manners. One of these is -trustworthiness. People with whom one has professional dealings often -refuse to honour the demands of common decency--especially in regard -to the keeping of their given word--with a calm frivolity that makes -one’s gorge rise. So I’m intensely grateful to Herbst, since it means -so infinitely much to me, for this--that our relations have never been -shadowed by distrust, and that our simplest verbal agreements are as -firm and as valid as a written contract.” - -Judith recognized that in this case she would have to change her -tactics. She was amiable, as though she were convinced of his virtues, -and sought to gain his favour. Dr. Herbst saw through her, but showed -no consciousness of his insight. He treated her with an elaborate -courtesy that seemed a trifle old-fashioned, and effectually concealed -his reservations. - -Sometimes in the evening she would sit with the two men, and join -in their shop talk of playwrights and plays, actors and actresses, -successes and failures. And while she seemed attentive, and even asked -an occasional question, she thought of her dressmaker, of her cook, of -her weekly account, or of her old life, that was so different and had -perished so utterly. And her eyes would grow hard. - -It would happen that she would pass through the rooms with a bitter -expression on her face and a hostile glance for the things about her. -She hated the many mirrors which Lorm required, the rugs that had been -recently bought, the pretentious furniture and paintings, the countless -bibelots, photographs, ornaments, books, and piously guarded souvenirs. - -She had never before lived in a house where other tenants above and -below reminded her of their repulsive and unfamiliar lives. She -listened to the slightest noises, and felt that she had fallen into a -slum. - -It was hardly in harmony with her nature to wait each morning until her -husband happened to rise, to see that the breakfast was complete, to -stand aside while the barber, the masseur, the chauffeur, the messenger -of the theatre, and the secretary had completed their tasks or received -their instructions; to wait again until he returned from rehearsal, -tired, annoyed, and hungry, and then to watch him at luncheon--a meal -that he required to be both rich and exquisite--gobble his food; to -guard him from noise and interruption when he memorized his lines; to -answer strange voices on the telephone, to give information, refuse -invitations, to send the troublesome away and to soothe the impatient. -She was wholly out of her natural element, but she forced herself to -endure even as she had endured bodily pain when the long needle had -been thrust through her arm. - -Emanuel Herbst, who was a keen observer and a learned student of human -nature, quietly analysed the relations of this husband and this wife. -He said to himself: “Lorm is not fulfilling her expectations; so much -is clear. She fancied she could peel him the way one peels an onion, -and that the removal of each layer would reveal something so new and -surprising as to make up to her for all she has renounced. She will -soon discover her miscalculation, for Lorm is always the same. He can’t -be stripped. He wears his costumes and puts on make-up. She will soon -reproach him for this very ability to fill empty forms with a beautiful -content, and to remain, in his own person, but a humble servitor of his -art. And the more guilty he becomes in her eyes, the more power over -him will she gain. For he is tired--tired to death of the affected, -the flatterers and sentimentalists, of the sweets and easements of his -daily life. Terribly spoiled as he is, he yearns unconsciously for -chains and a keeper.” - -The result of his reflection filled Emanuel Herbst with anxious -apprehension. - -But Judith remembered her dream--how she had lain beside a fish because -it pleased her, and then beaten it in sudden rage over its cool, moist, -slippery, opalescent scales. And she lay beside the fish and struck it, -and the fish became more and more subservient and her own. - -Her constant terror was this thought: “I am poor, impoverished, -dependent, without security.” The thought tormented her to such a -degree that she once expressed it to the housekeeper. The latter was -astonished and replied: “But in addition to your pin money, the master -gives you two thousand marks a month for the house. Why should you -yield to morbid fancies?” - -Judith looked at the woman suspiciously. She distrusted all whom she -paid. The moment they mentioned money she fancied herself robbed. - -One day the cook gave notice. She was the fourth since the -establishment of the household. A quantity of sugar was missing. There -was a quarrel, an ugly one, and Judith was told things that no one had -ever dared to tell her before. - -The secretary mislaid a key. When at last it was found Judith rushed to -the drawer which it fitted to see whether the stationery, the pencils, -and the pen-points were intact. - -The housekeeper had bought twenty yards of linen. Judith thought the -price paid too high. She drove to the shop herself. The taxi-fare -amounted to more than she could possibly have saved on the purchase. -Then she chaffered with the clerk for a reduction, until it was granted -her through sheer weariness. She told Lorm the story with a triumphant -air. He neglected to praise her. She jumped up from the table, locked -herself in her room, and went to bed. Whenever she thought that she had -some reason for anger, she went to bed. - -Lorm came to her door, knocked softly, and asked her to open it. She -let him stand long enough to regret his conduct, and then opened the -door. She told her story all over, and he listened with a charming -curiosity on his face. “You’re a jewel,” he said, and stroked her cheek -and hand. - -But it would also happen, if she really wanted something, that -she would spend sums out of all proportion to her wretched little -economies. She would see a hat, a frock, an ornament in a show window, -and not be able to tear herself away. Then she would go into the shop, -and pay the price asked at once. - -One day she visited an auction sale, and happened to come in just as -an old Viennese bon-bon dish was offered for sale. It was one of those -objects that make little show, but which delight the collector’s heart. -At first the dish didn’t tempt her at all. Then the high bidding for it -excited her, and she herself began to bid for it. It kindled something -in her, and she made bid after bid, and drove all competitors from the -field. - -Hot and excited, she came home and rushed into Lorm’s study. Emanuel -Herbst was with him. The two men sat by the fire in familiar talk. -Judith disregarded Herbst. She stood before her husband, unwrapped the -dish, and said: “Look at this exquisite thing I bought, Edgar.” - -It was toward evening, but no lights had been lit. Lorm loved the -twilight and the flicker of the fire in his chimney, which was, alas, -only a metropolitan imitation of a log fire. In the rich, red, wavering -reflection of the glow, Judith looked charming in her delight and -mobility. - -Lorm took the dish, regarded it with polite interest, drew up his -lips a little, and said: “It’s pretty.” Herbst’s face puckered into -innumerable ironical little wrinkles. - -Judith grew angry. “Pretty? Don’t you see that it’s magical, a -perfect little dream, the sweetest and rarest thing imaginable? The -connoisseurs were wild after it! Do you know what it cost? Eighteen -hundred marks. And I had six or seven rabid competitors bidding against -me. Pretty!” She gave a hard little laugh. “Give it to me. You handle -it too clumsily.” - -“Calm yourself, sweetheart,” said Lorm gently. “I suppose its virtues -are subtle.” - -But Judith was hurt, more by Herbst’s silent mockery than by Lorm’s -lack of appreciation. She threw back her head, rustled through the -room, and slammed the door behind her. When she was angry, her own -manners had, at times, a touch of commonness. - -For a while the two men were silent. Then Lorm, embarrassed and with -a deprecating smile, said: “A little dream ... for eighteen hundred -marks.... Oh, well! There’s something childlike about her.” - -Emanuel Herbst rubbed his tongue up and down between his teeth and his -upper lip. It made him look like an ancient baby. Then he ventured: -“You ought to make it clear to her that eighteen hundred marks are one -thousand eight hundred times one mark.” - -“She won’t get that far,” answered Lorm. “Somebody who has always lived -on the open sea, and is suddenly transported to a little inland lake, -finds it hard to get the new measurements and perspectives. But women -are queer creatures.” He sighed and smiled. “Have a nip of whiskey, old -man?” - -Sorrowfully Herbst rocked his Cæsarean head. “Why queer? They are -as they are, and one must treat them accordingly. Only one mustn’t -be under any mistaken impression as to what one has. For instance: -A horseshoe is not birch wood. It looks like a bow, but you can’t -bend it--not with all your might. If you string it, the string droops -slackly and will never propel your arrow. All right, let’s have your -whiskey.” - -“But occasionally,” Lorm replied cheerfully, and filled the tiny -glasses, “you can turn a horseshoe into the finest Damascene steel.” - -“Bravo! A good retort! You’re as ready as Cardinal Richelieu. Your -health!” - -“If you’ll let me be Richelieu, I’ll appoint you to be my Father -Joseph. A great rôle, by the way. Your health, old man!” - - -XII - -Crammon and Johanna Schöntag planned to drive to Stellingen to see -Hagenbeck’s famous zoological gardens, and Crammon begged Christian to -lend them his car. They were just about to start when Christian issued -from the hotel. “Why don’t you come along?” Crammon asked. “Have you -anything better to do? The three of us can have a very amusing time.” - -Christian was about to refuse, when he caught Johanna’s urgent and -beseeching look. She had the art of putting her wishes into her eyes -in such a way that one was drawn by them and lost the power to resist. -So he said: “Very well, I’ll come along,” and took the seat next to -Johanna’s. But he was silent on the whole drive. - -It was a sunny day of October. - -They wandered through the park, and Johanna made droll comments on the -animals. She stopped in front of a seal, and exclaimed: “He looks quite -like Herr Livholm, don’t you think so?” She talked to a bear as though -he were a simple sort of man, and fed him bits of sugar. She said that -the camels were incredible, and only pretended to look that way to -live up to the descriptions in the books of natural history. “They’re -almost as ugly as I am,” she added; and then, with a crooked smile: -“Only more useful. At least I was told at school that their stomachs -are reservoirs of water. Isn’t the world a queer place?” - -Christian wondered why she spoke so contemptuously of herself. She bent -over a stone balustrade, and the sight of her neck somehow touched him. -She seemed to him a vessel of poor and hurt things. - -Crammon discoursed. “It is very curious about animals. Scientists -declare they have a great deal of instinct. But what is instinct? I’ve -usually found them to be of an unlimited stupidity. On the estate -where I passed my childhood, we had a horse, a fat, timid, gentle -horse. It had but one vice: it was very ticklish. I and my playmates -were strictly enjoined from tickling it. Naturally we were constantly -tempted to tickle it. There were five of us little fellows--no higher -than table legs. Each procured a little felt hat with a cock’s feather -in it. And as the horse stood dull-eyed in front of the stable, we -marched in single file under the belly of the stupid beast, tickling -it with our feathers as we passed. The feathers tickled so frightfully -that he kicked with all fours like a mule. It’s a riddle to me to this -day how one of us, at least, failed to be killed. But it was amusing -and grotesque, and there was no sign of instinct anywhere.” - -They went to the monkey house. A crowd stood about a little platform, -on which a dainty little monkey was showing off its tricks under the -guidance of a trainer. “I have a horror of monkeys,” said Crammon. -“They annoy me through memory. Science bids me feel a relationship with -them; but after all one has one’s pride. No, I don’t acknowledge this -devilish atavism.” He turned around, and left the building in order to -wait outside. - -Alone with Christian, a wave of courage conquered Johanna’s timidity. -She took Christian’s arm and drew him nearer to the platform. She was -utterly charmed, and her delight was childlike. “How dear, how sweet, -how humble!” she cried. A spiritual warmth came from her to Christian. -He yielded himself to it, for he needed it. Her boyish voice, however, -stirred his senses and aroused his fear. She stood very close by him; -he felt her quiver, the response to the hidden erotic power that was in -him, and the other voices of his soul were silenced. - -He took her hand into his. She did not struggle, but a painful tension -showed in her face. - -Suddenly the little monkey stopped in its droll performance and -turned its lightless little eyes in terror toward the spectators. -Some shy perception had frightened it; it seemed, somehow, to think -and to recollect itself. As it became aware of the many faces, the -indistinctness of its vision seemed to take on outline and form. -Perhaps for a second it had a sight of the world and of men, and that -sight was to it a source of boundless horror. It trembled as in a -fever; it uttered a piercing cry of lamentation; it fled, and when the -trainer tried to grasp it, it leaped from the platform and frantically -sought a hiding-place. Tears glittered in its eyes and its teeth -chattered, and in spite of the animal characteristics of these gestures -and expressions, there was in them something so human and soulful that -only a few very coarse people ventured to laugh. - -To Christian there came from the little beast a breath from an alien -region of earth and forests and loneliness. His heart seemed to expand -and then to contract. “Let us go,” he said, and his own voice sounded -unpleasantly in his ears. - -Johanna listened to his words. She was all willingness to listen, all -tension and all sweet humility. - - -XIII - -Randolph von Stettner had arrived. There were still several days before -the date of his sailing, and he was on his way to Lübeck, where he -wished to say good-bye to a married sister. Christian hesitated to -promise to be in Hamburg on his friend’s return. Only after much urging -did he consent to stay. - -They dined in Christian’s room, discussed conditions in their native -province, and exchanged reminiscences. Christian, laconic as usual, was -silently amazed at the distance of all these things from his present -self. - -When the waiter had removed the dishes, Stettner gave an account of all -that had driven him to the determination to expatriate himself. While -he talked he stared with an unchanging look and expression at the table -cover. - -“You know that for some years I’ve not been comfortable in my uniform. -I saw no aim ahead except the slow and distant moments of advancement. -Some of my comrades hoped for war. Well, the life makes that hope -natural. In war one can prove one’s self in the only way that has -any meaning to a professional soldier in any army. But personally I -couldn’t share that hope. Others marry money, still others go in for -sports and gambling. None of these things attracted me. The service -itself left me utterly dissatisfied. I seemed to myself in reality an -idler who lives pretentiously on others. - -“Imagine this: you stand in the barracks yard; it’s raining, the water -makes the sand gleam; the few wretched trees drip and drip; the men -await some command with the watchfulness of well-trained dogs; the -water pours from their packs, the sergeant roars, the corporals grit -their teeth in zeal and rage; but you? With a monotony like that of -the drops that trickle from your cap, you think: ‘What will to-night -be like? And to-morrow morning? And to-morrow night?’ And the whole -year lies ahead of you like a soaked and muddy road. You think of your -desolate room with its three dozen books, the meaningless pictures, -and the carpet worn thin by many feet; you think of the report you’ve -got to hand in, and the canteen accounts you’ve got to audit, and the -stable inspection, and the next regimental ball, where the arrogant -wives of your superior officers will bore you to the point of illness -with their shallow talk; you think your way through the whole circle -of your life, and find nothing but what is trivial and cheerless as a -rainy day. Is that endurable? - -“One day I put the question to myself: What was I really accomplishing, -and what was the nature of my reward? The answer was that, from a human -and intellectual point of view, my accomplishment was an absolute zero. -My reward consisted of a number of privileges, the sum of which raised -me very high in the social scale, but gave me this position only at the -cost of surrendering my personality wholly. I had to obey my superiors -and to command my inferiors. That was all. The power to command -was conditioned in the duty to obey. And each man in the service, -whatever his station, is bound in the identical way, and is simply a -connective apparatus in a great electrical circuit. Only the humblest, -the great mass of privates, were confined to obedience. The ultimate -responsibility at the very top was lost in the vague. In spite of its -ultimate primitiveness, the structure of every military organization -has a mystery at its core. But between the arbitrary will of a very few -and the touching and incomprehensible humility of the great mass, the -parts function according to iron laws. Whoever refuses to function, or -rebels, is crushed. - -“There are those who assert that this compulsion has a moral effect and -subserves a higher conception of freedom. I was myself of that opinion -for a long time; but I did not find it permanently tenable. I felt -myself weakening, and a rebellion seething in my blood. I pulled myself -together, and fought against criticism and doubt. In vain. Something -had gone out of me. I lost the readiness to obey and the security to -command. It was torment. Above me I saw implacable idols, below me -defenceless victims. I myself was both idol and victim, implacable and -defenceless at once. It seemed to me that humanity ceased where the -circle of my activity began. My life seemed to me no longer a part of -the general life of mankind, but a fossilized petrefaction conditioned -in certain formulæ of command and obedience. - -“This condition could, of course, not remain hidden. My comrades -withdrew their confidence from me. I was observed and distrusted. -Before I had time to clarify either my mind or my affairs, an incident -occurred which forced me to a decision. A fellow officer in my -regiment, Captain von Otto, was engaged to the daughter of an eminent -judge. The wedding, although the date had been set, could not take -place. Otto had a slight attack of pulmonary trouble and had to go -South for cure. About four weeks after his departure, there was a -celebration in honour of the emperor’s birthday, and among the ladies -invited was the captain’s betrothed. Everybody was rather gay and giddy -that evening, especially a dear friend of mine, Georg Mattershausen, -a sincere, kindly chap who had just received a promotion in rank. The -captain’s betrothed, who had been his neighbour at table, was infected -by his merriment, and on the way home he begged her for a kiss. She -refused, and he was going to steal one. She now grew very serious; he -at once came to his senses, apologized with the utmost sincerity, and, -at the very door of her paternal house, received her solemn promise -to mention the incident to no one. When, however, seventeen weeks -later, Captain von Otto returned, the girl was seized by some queer -scruple, and thought it her duty to tell him of the incident between -herself and Mattershausen. The result was a challenge. The conditions -were extraordinarily severe: ten paces distance, drawn revolvers, -half a minute to aim, exchange of shots to the disablement of either -combatant. I was Mattershausen’s second. Otto, who had held himself to -be affronted and had sent the challenge, had the first shot. He aimed -carefully at the head of his adversary. I saw that. But the bullet -whistled past my friend’s ear. Mattershausen aimed, but his revolver -did not go off. This was counted a shot. New pistols were brought. Otto -aimed as carefully as before and this time shot Mattershausen straight -through the heart. Death was immediate. - -“I wonder whether you, too, think that that was a harsh punishment for -a moment of youthful thoughtlessness and impropriety. To me it seemed -terribly harsh. I felt profoundly that a crime had been committed -against my friend. Our fossilized caste had perpetrated a murder. Two -days later, in the officers’ mess, I expressed this opinion quite -frankly. There was general astonishment. One or two sharp replies were -made. Some one asked me what I would have done in such a situation. -I answered that I would certainly not have sent a challenge, that I -could never approve a notion of honour so morbid and self-centred -as to demand a human life for a trifle. Even if the young girl’s -over-tender conscience had persuaded her to break her promise, I would -have caused no further trouble, and let the little incident glide -into forgetfulness. At that there was general indignation--a great -shaking of heads, angry or troubled faces, an exchange of significant -glances. But I kept on. Mattershausen’s wretched end had hit me -damned hard, and I relieved my whole mind. So I added that, if I had -been in Mattershausen’s place, I would have refused the challenge, -quite regardless of consequences. That statement fell among them like -a bomb, and a painful silence followed. ‘I imagine you would have -reconsidered,’ said the ranking major, ‘I don’t think you would have -disregarded all the consequences.’ ‘All,’ I insisted, ‘certainly, -all!’ At that moment Captain von Otto, who had been sitting at another -table, arose, and asked frostily: ‘You would have risked the odium of -cowardice?’ I too arose, and answered: ‘Under such circumstances I -would have risked that too.’ Captain von Otto smiled a contorted smile, -and said with an emphasis that could not be misinterpreted: ‘Then I -don’t understand your sitting at the same table with officers of His -Majesty.’ He bowed stiffly, and went out. - -“The die had been cast. No one was curious as to what I would do; no -one doubted but that there was only one thing left for me to do. But -I was determined to push the matter to its logical conclusion. That -super-idol, known as the code of honour, had issued its decree; but -I was determined to refuse obedience and take the consequences upon -myself. That very evening, when I came home, two comrades were awaiting -me to offer me their services. I refused courteously. They looked at me -as though I had gone mad, and went off in absurd haste. - -“The inevitable consequences followed. You can understand that I could -no longer breathe in that air. You cannot outrage the fetishes of your -social group and go unpunished. I had to avoid insult, and learned what -it was to be an outcast. And that is bad. The imagination alone cannot -quite grasp the full horror of it. I saw clearly that there was no -place left for me in my fatherland. The way out was obvious.” - -Christian had listened to his friend’s story with unmoved countenance. -He got up, took a few turns through the room, and returned to his seat. -Then he said: “I think you did the right thing. I am sorry you must -leave us, but you did right.” - -Stettner looked up. How strange that sounded: You did right. A question -hovered on his lips. But it was not uttered. For Christian feared that -question, and silenced it by a sudden conventionality of demeanour. - - -XIV - -Christian, the brothers Maelbeek, who had followed Eva from Holland, -Botho von Thüngen, a Russian councillor of state named Koch, and -Crammon sat at luncheon in the dining hall of the hotel. - -They were talking about a woman of the streets who had been murdered. -The police had already caught the murderer. He was a man who had once -belonged to good society, but had gradually gone to the dogs. He had -throttled the woman and robbed her in a sailor’s tavern. - -Now all the prostitutes in the city had unanimously determined to show -their sister, who had sacrificed her life to her calling, a last and -very public mark of respect, and to follow her coffin to the grave. The -respectable citizens of Hamburg felt this to be a sort of challenge and -protested. But there was no legal provision by which the demonstration -could be stopped. - -“We ought to see the spectacle,” said Crammon, “even if we have to -sacrifice our siesta.” - -“Then there’s no time to be lost,” the elder Maelbeek declared, and -looked at his watch. “The friends will assemble at the house of -mourning at three sharp.” He smiled, and thought this way of putting -the matter rather witty. - -Christian said that he would go too. The motor took them to a crossing -that had been closed by the police. Here they left the car, and Herr -von Thüngen persuaded the police captain to let them pass. - -They were at once surrounded by a great throng of humble folk--sailors, -fishermen, workingmen, women, and children. The windows of the -houses were thronged with heads. The Maelbeeks and Koch stopped here, -and called Thüngen to join them. Christian walked farther. Somehow -the behaviour of his companions irritated him. He felt the kind of -curiosity which filled them as something disagreeable. He was curious -too, but in another way. Or, at least, it seemed different to him. - -Crammon remained by his side. But the throng grew rowdy. “Where are you -going?” Crammon asked peevishly. “There is no use in going farther. Let -us wait here.” - -Christian shook his head. - -“Very well. I take my stand here,” Crammon decided, and separated from -Christian. - -The latter made his way up to the dirty, old house at the door of which -the hearse was standing. It was a foggy day. The black wagon was like -a dark hole punched into the grey. Christian wanted to go a little -farther, but some young fellows purposely blocked his way. They turned -their heads, looked him over, and suspected him of being a “toff.” -Their own garb was cheap and flashy; their faces and gestures made it -clear what trade they drove. One of them was a young giant. He was half -a head taller than Christian, and his brows joined over the bridge of -his nose. On the index finger of his left hand he wore a huge carnelian -ring. - -Christian looked about him quite unintimidated. He saw hundreds of -women, literally hundreds, ranging in age from sixteen to fifty, and in -condition from bloom to utter decay, and from luxury to rags and filth. - -They had all gathered--those who had passed the zenith of their -troubled course, and those who had barely emerged from childhood, -frivolous, sanguine, vain, and already tainted with the mire of the -great city. They had come from all streets; they were recruited from -all nations and all classes; some had escaped from a sheltered youth, -others had risen from even direr depths; there were those who felt -themselves pariahs and had the outcast’s hatred in their eyes, and -there were others who showed a certain pride in their calling and -held themselves aloof. He saw cynical and careworn faces, lovely and -hardened ones, indifferent and troubled, greedy and gentle faces. Some -were painted and some pallid; and the latter seemed strangely naked. - -He was familiar with them from the streets and houses of many cities, -as every man is. He knew the type, the unfailing stamp, the acquired -gesture and look--this hard, rigid, dull, clinging, lightless look. -But he had never before seen them except when they were exercising -their function behind the gates of their calling, dissembling their -real selves and under the curse of sex. To see many hundreds of them -separated from all that, to see them as human beings stripped of the -stimulus and breath of a turbid sexuality--that was what seemed to -sweep a cloud from his eyes. - -Suddenly he thought: “I must order my hunting lodge to be sold, and the -hounds too.” - -The coffin was being carried from the house. It was covered with -flowers and wreaths; and from the wreaths fluttered ribands with gilt -inscriptions. Christian tried to read the inscriptions, but it was -impossible. The coffin had small, silver-plated feet that looked like -the paws of a cat. By some accident one of these had been broken off, -and that touched Christian, he hardly knew why, as unbearably pitiful. -An old woman followed the coffin. She seemed more vexed and angry than -grief-stricken. She wore a black dress, but the seam under one arm was -ripped open. And that too seemed unbearably pitiful. - -The hearse started off. Six men carrying lighted candles walked in -front of it. The murmur of voices became silent. The women, walking by -fours, followed the hearse. Christian stood still close pressed against -a wall, and let the procession pass him by. In a quarter of an hour the -street was quite desolate. The windows of the houses were closed. He -remained alone in the street, in the fog. - -As he walked away he reflected: “I’ve asked my father to take care of -my collection of rings. There are over four thousand of them, and many -are beautiful and costly. They could be sold too. I don’t need them. I -shall have them sold.” - -He wandered on and on, and lost all sense of the passing of time. -Evening came, and the city lights glowed through the fog. Everything -became moist, even to the gloves on his hands. - -He thought of the missing foot on the coffin of the murdered harlot, -and of the torn seam of the old woman’s dress. - -He passed over one of the great bridges of the Elbe, and then walked -along the river bank. It was a desolate region. He stopped near the -light of a street lamp, gazed into the water, drew forth his wallet, -took out a bank note of a hundred marks, turned it about in his hands, -shook his head, and then, with a gesture of disgust, threw it into the -water. He took a second and did the same. There were twenty bank notes -in his wallet. He took them out one by one, and with that expression -half of disgust, half of dreaminess, he let them glide into the river. - -The street lamps illuminated the inky water for a short distance, and -he saw the bank notes drift away. - -And he smiled and went on. - - -XV - -When he reached the hotel he felt an urgent need of warmth. By turns -he entered the library, the reception hall, the dining-room. All these -places were well heated, but their warmth did not suffice him. He -attributed his chill to walking so long in the damp. - -He took the lift and rode up to his own rooms. He changed his clothes, -wrapped himself warmly, and sat down beside the radiator, in which the -steam hissed like a caged animal. - -Yet he did not grow warm. At last he knew that his shivering was not -due to the moisture and the fog, but to some inner cause. - -Toward eleven o’clock he arose and went out into the corridor. The -stuccoed walls were divided into great squares by gilt moulding; the -floor was covered by pieces of carpet that had been joined together to -appear continuous. Christian felt a revulsion against all this false -splendour. He approached the wall, touched the stucco, and shrugged his -shoulders in contempt. - -At the end of the long corridor was Eva’s suite. He had passed the door -several times. As he passed it again he heard the sound of a piano. -Only a few keys were being gently touched. After a moment’s reflection -he knocked, opened the door, and entered. - -Susan Rappard was alone in the room. Wrapped in a fur coat, she sat at -the piano. On the music rack was propped a book that she was reading. -Her fingers passed with ghostly swiftness over the keys, but she struck -one only quite rarely. She turned her head and asked rudely: “What do -you want, Monsieur?” - -Christian answered: “If it’s possible, I should like to speak to -Madame. I want to ask her a question.” - -“Now? At night?” Susan was amazed. “We’re tired. We’re always tired at -night in this hyperborean climate, where the sun is a legend. The fog -weighs on us. Thank God, in four days we have our last performance. -Then we’ll go where the sky is blue. We’re longing for Paris.” - -“I should be very happy if I could see Madame,” Christian said. - -Susan shook her head. “You have a strange kind of patience,” she said -maliciously. “I hadn’t suspected you of being so romantic. You’re -pursuing a very foolish policy, I assure you. Go in, if you want to, -however. Ce petit laideron est chez elle, demoiselle Schöntag. She -acts the part of a court fool. Everything in the world is amusing to -her--herself not least. Well, that is coming to an end too.” - -Voices and clear laughter could be heard. The door of Eva’s rooms -opened, and she and Johanna appeared on the threshold. Eva wore a -simple white garment, unadorned but for one great chrysoprase that -held it on the left shoulder. Her skin had an amber gleam, the quiver -of her nostrils betrayed a secret irritation. The beautiful woman and -the plain one stood there side by side, each with an acute feminine -consciousness of her precise qualities: the one vital, alluring, -pulsing with distinction and freedom; the other all adoration and -yearning ambition for that vitality and that freedom. - -Tenderly and delicately Johanna had put her arm about Eva and touched -her friend’s bare shoulder with her cheek. With her bizarre smile she -said: “No one knows how it came that Rumpelstilzkin is my name.” - -They had not yet observed Christian. A gesture of Susan’s called their -attention to him. He stood in the shadow of the door. Johanna turned -pale, and her shy glance passed from Eva to Christian. She released -Eva, bowed swiftly to kiss Eva’s hand, and with a whispered good-night -slipped past Christian. - -Although Christian’s eyes were cast down, they grasped the vision -of Eva wholly. He saw the feet that he had once held naked in his -hands; under her diaphanous garment he saw the exquisite firmness -of her little breasts; he saw the arms that had once embraced him -and the perfect hands that had once caressed him. All his bodily -being was still vibrantly conscious of the smoothness and delicacy -of their touch. And he saw her before him, quite near and hopelessly -unattainable, and felt a last lure and an ultimate renunciation. - -“Monsieur has a request,” said Susan Rappard mockingly, and preparing -to leave them. - -“Stay!” Eva commanded, and the look she gave Christian was like that -she gave a lackey. - -“I wanted to ask you,” Christian said softly, “what is the meaning of -the name Eidolon by which you used to call me. My question is belated, -I know, and it may seem foolish to-day.” He smiled an embarrassed -smile. “But it torments me not to know when I think about it, and I -determined to ask you.” - -Susan gave a soundless laugh. In its belated and unmotivated urgency, -the question did, indeed, sound a little foolish. Eva seemed amused -too, but she concealed the fact. She looked at her hands and said: -“It is hard to tell you what it means--something that one sacrifices, -or a god to whom one sacrifices, a lovely and serene spirit. It means -either or perhaps both at once. Why remind ourselves of it? There is no -Eidolon any more. Eidolon was shattered, and one should not exhibit the -shards to me. Shards are ugly things.” - -She shivered a little, and her eyes shone. She turned to Susan. “Let me -sleep to-morrow till I wake. I have such evil dreams nowadays, and find -no rest till toward morning.” - - -XVI - -Passing back through the corridor Christian saw a figure standing very -still in the semi-darkness. He recognized Johanna, and he felt that -this thing was fated--that she should be standing here and waiting for -him. - -She did not look at him; she looked at the floor. Not until he came -quite close to her did she raise her eyes, and then she looked timidly -away. Her lips quivered. A question hovered on them. She knew all that -had passed between Eva and Christian. That they had once been lovers -only increased her enthusiastic admiration for them both. But what -happened between them now--her brief presence made her sure of its -character--seemed to her both shameful and incomprehensible. - -She was imaginative and sensitive, and loved those who were nobly -proud; and she suffered when such noble pride and dignity were humbled. -Her whole heart was given over to her ideal of spiritual distinction. -Sometimes she would misunderstand her own ideal, and take external -forms and modes as expressions of it. And this division in her soul, -to which she was not equal, sometimes delivered her into the power -of mere frivolity. “It is late,” she whispered timidly. It was not a -statement; it was an attempt to save herself. Each time that Christian -had been mentioned, three things had struck her mind: his elegance, his -fine pride, his power over all hearts. That was the combination that -called to her and stirred her and filled her days with longing. - -Thus she had followed Crammon in search of the great adventure, -although she had said of him but an hour after she had met him: “He is -grandiosely and grotesquely comic.” She had followed him like a slave -to a market of slaves, hoping to catch the eye of the khalif. - -But she had no faith in her own power. Voluntarily and intentionally -she crumbled the passions of her being into small desires. She suffered -from that very process and jeered at herself. She was too timid to -take greatly what she wanted. She nibbled at life and had not the -adventurousness of great enjoyments. And she mocked at her own unhappy -nature, and suffered the more. - -And now he stood before her. It frightened and surprised her, even -though she had waited for him. Since he stayed, she wanted to think -him bold and brave. But she could not, and at once she shrank into -self-contempt. “It is late,” she whispered again, nodded a good-night, -and opened the door of her room. - -But Christian begged silently with an expression that was irresistible. -He crossed the threshold behind the trembling girl. Her face grew hard. -But she was too fine to play a coquettish game. Before her blood was -stirred her eyes had yielded. The pallor of her face lit it with a new -charm. There was no hint of plainness any more. The stormy expectation -of her heart harmonized the lines of her features and melted them into -softness, gentleness, and delicacy. - -Of her power over the senses of men she was secure. She had tested -her magnetism on those whom one granted little and who gave less. -Flirtations had been used as anodynes in her social group. One had -played with false counters, and by a silent compact avoided serious -moments. But her experience failed her to-night, for here there was not -lightness but austerity. She yielded herself to this night, oblivious -of the future and its responsibilities. - - -XVII - -Stephen Gunderam had to go to Montevideo. In that city there was -a German physician who had considerable skill in the treatment of -nervous disorders; and the bull-necked giant suffered from insomnia and -nocturnal hallucinations. Furthermore, there was to be a yacht race at -Montevideo, on the results of which Stephen had bet heavily. - -He appointed Demetrios and Esmeralda as Letitia’s guardians. He said to -them: “If anything happens to my wife or she does anything unseemly, -I’ll break every bone in your bodies.” Demetrios grinned. Esmeralda -demanded that he bring her a box of sweets on his return. - -Their leave-taking was touching. Stephen bit Letitia’s ear, and said: -“Be true to me.” - -Letitia immediately began to play upon the mood of her guardians. She -gave Demetrios a hundred pesos and Esmeralda a gold bracelet. She -corresponded secretly with the naval lieutenant, Friedrich Pestel. An -Indian lad, of whose secrecy and reliability she was sure, served as -messenger. Within a week Pestel’s ship was to proceed to Cape Town, so -there was little time to be lost. He did not think he would be able to -return to the Argentine until the following winter. And Letitia loved -him dearly. - -Two miles from the estate there was an observatory in the lonely -pampas. A wealthy German cattle-man had built it, and now a German -professor with his two assistants lived there and watched the -firmament. Letitia had often asked to see the observatory, but Stephen -had always refused to let her visit it. Now she intended to make it -the scene of her meeting with Friedrich Pestel. She yearned for a long -talk with him. - -To use an observatory as a refuge for forlorn lovers--it was a notion -that delighted Letitia and made her ready to run any risk. The day and -the hour were set, and all circumstances were favourable. Riccardo and -Paolo had gone hunting; Demetrios had been sent by his father to a -farm far to the north; the old people slept. Esmeralda alone had to be -deceived. Fortunately the girl had a headache, and Letitia persuaded -her to go to bed. When twilight approached, Letitia put on a bright, -airy frock in which she could ride. She did not hesitate in spite -of her pregnancy. Then, as though taking a harmless walk, she left -the house and proceeded to the avenue of palms, where the Indian boy -awaited her with two ponies. - -It was beautiful to ride out freely into the endless plain. In the west -there still shone a reddish glow, into which projected in lacy outline -the chain of mountains. The earth suffered from drought; it had not -rained for long, and crooked fissures split the ground. Hundreds of -grasshopper traps were set up in the fields, and the pits behind them, -which were from two to three metres deep, were filled with the insects. - -When she reached the observatory, it was dark. The building was like -an oriental house of prayer. From a low structure of brick arose the -mighty iron dome, the upper part of which rotated on a movable axis. -The shutters of the windows were closed, and there was no light to be -seen. Friedrich Pestel waited at the gate; he had tethered his horse -to a post. He told her that the professor and his two assistants had -been absent for a week. She and he, he added, could enter the building -nevertheless. The caretaker, an old, fever-stricken mulatto, had given -him the key. - -The Indian boy lit the lantern that he had carried tied to his saddle. -Pestel took it, and preceded Letitia through a desolate brick hallway, -then up a wooden and finally up a spiral iron stairway. “Fortune is -kind to us,” he said. “Next week there’s going to be an eclipse of -the sun, and astronomers are arriving in Buenos Ayres from Europe. The -professor and his assistants have gone to receive them.” - -Letitia’s heart beat very fast. In the high vault of the observatory, -the little light of the lantern made only the faintest impression. The -great telescope was a terrifying shadow; the drawing instruments and -the photographic apparatus on its stand looked like the skeletons of -animals; the charts on the wall, with their strange dots and lines, -reminded her of black magic. The whole room seemed to her like the cave -of a wizard. - -Yet there was a smile of childlike curiosity and satisfaction -on Letitia’s lips. Her famished imagination needed such an hour -as this. She forgot Stephen and his jealousy, the eternally -quarrelling brothers, the wicked old man, the shrewish Doña Barbara, -the treacherous Esmeralda, the house in which she lived like a -prisoner--she forgot all that completely in this room with its magic -implements, in this darkness lit only by the dim flicker of the -lantern, beside this charming young man who would soon kiss her. At -least, she hoped he would. - -But Pestel was timid. He went up to the telescope, unscrewed the -gleaming brass cover, and said: “Let us take a look at the stars.” He -looked in. Then he asked Letitia to do the same. Letitia saw a milky -mist and flashing, leaping fires. “Are those the stars?” she asked, -with a coquettish melancholy in her voice. - -Then Pestel told her about the stars. She listened with radiant eyes, -although it didn’t in the least interest her to know how many millions -of miles distant from the earth either Sirius or Aldebaran happened -to be, and what precisely was the mystery which puzzled scientists in -regard to the southern heavens. - -“Ah,” she breathed, and there was indulgence and a dreamy scepticism in -that sound. - -The lieutenant, abandoning the cosmos and its infinities, talked about -himself and his life, of Letitia and of the impression she had made on -him, and of the fact that he thought only of her by day and by night. - -Letitia remained very, very still in order not to turn his thoughts in -another direction and thus disturb the sweet suspense of her mood. - -As befitted a man with a highly developed conscience, Pestel had -definitely laid his plans for the future. When he returned at the end -of six months, ways and means were to be found for Letitia’s divorce -from Stephen and her remarriage to him. He thought of flight only as an -extreme measure. - -He told her that he was poor. Only a very small capital was deposited -in his name in Stuttgart. He was a Suabian--simple-hearted, sober, and -accurate. - -“Ah,” Letitia sighed again, half-astonished and half-saddened. “It -doesn’t matter,” she said with determination. “I’m rich. I own a great -tract of forest land. My aunt, the Countess Brainitz, gave it to me as -a wedding present.” - -“A forest? Where?” Pestel asked, and smiled. - -“In Germany. Near Heiligenkreuz in the Rhön region. It’s as big as a -city, and when it’s sold it will bring a lot of money. I’ve never been -there, but I’ve been told that it contains large deposits of some ore. -That would have to be found and exploited. Then I’d be even richer than -if I sold the forest.” These facts had grown in Letitia’s imagination; -they were the children of the dreams and wishes she had harboured since -her slavery in this strange land. She was not lying; she had quite -forgotten that she had invented it all. She wished this thing to be so, -and it had taken on reality in her mind. - -“It’s too good, altogether too good to be true,” Pestel commented -thoughtfully. - -His words moved Letitia. She began to sob and threw herself on his -breast. Her young life seemed hard to her and ugly and surrounded by -dangers. Nothing she had hoped for had become reality. All her pretty -soap-bubbles had burst in the wind. Her tears sprang from her deep -realization of this fact and out of her fear of men and of her fate. -She yearned for a pair of strong arms to give her protection and -security. - -Pestel was also moved. He put his arms about her and ventured to kiss -her forehead. She sobbed more pitifully, and so he kissed her mouth. -Then she smiled. He said that he would love her until he died, that no -woman had ever inspired such feelings in him. - -She confessed to him that she was with child by the unloved husband to -whom she was chained. Pestel pressed her to his bosom, and said: “The -child is blood of your blood, and I shall regard it as my own.” - -The time was speeding dangerously. Holding each other’s hands they went -down the stairs. They parted with the promise to write each other daily. - -“When he returns from Africa I’ll flee with him on his ship,” Letitia -determined, as she rode home slowly across the dark plain. Everything -else seemed ugly and a bore to her. “Oh, if only it were to be soon,” -she thought in her anxiety and heart-ache. And curiosity stirred in -her to know how Pestel would behave and master the dangers and the -difficulties involved. She believed in him, and gave herself up to -tender and tempting dreams of the future. - -In the house her absence had finally been noticed, and servants had -been sent out to look for her. She slipped into the house by obscure -paths, and then emerged from her room with an air of innocence. - - -XVIII - -Stettner had returned to Hamburg. His ship was to sail on that very -evening. He had several errands in the city, and Christian and Crammon -waited for him in order to accompany him to the pier. - -Crammon said: “A captain of Hussars who suddenly turns up in mufti--I -can’t help it, there’s something desperate about it to me. I feel -as though I were on a perpetual visit of condolence. After all, he’s -déclassé, and I don’t like people in that situation. Social classes are -a divine institution; a man who interferes with them wounds his own -character. One doesn’t throw up one’s profession the way one tosses -aside a rotten apple. These are delicate and difficult matters. Common -sense may disregard them; the higher intelligence reverences them. What -is he going to do among the Yankees? What good can come of it?” - -“He’s a chemist by inclination, and scholarly in his line,” Christian -answered. “That will help.” - -“What do the Yankees care about that? He’s more likely to catch -consumption and be trodden under. He’ll be stripped of pride and -dignity. It’s a country for thieves, waiters, and renegades. Did he -have to go as far as all this?” - -“Yes,” Christian answered, “I believe he did.” - -An hour later they and Stettner arrived at the harbour. Cargoes -and luggage were still being stowed, and they strolled, Stettner -between Crammon and Christian, up and down a narrow alley lined with -cotton-bales, boxes, barrels, and baskets. The arc lamps cast radiant -light from the tall masts, and a tumult of carts and cranes, motors and -bells, criers and whistles rolled through the fog. The asphalt was wet; -there was no sky to be seen. - -“Don’t forget me wholly here in the old land,” said Stettner. A silence -followed. - -“I don’t know whether we shall be as well off in the old country in the -future as we have been in the past,” said Crammon, who occasionally had -pessimistic attacks and forebodings. “Hitherto we haven’t suffered. Our -larders and cellars have been well-stocked, nor have the higher needs -been neglected. But times are getting worse, and, unless I mistake, -clouds are gathering on the political horizon. So I can’t call it a bad -idea, my dear Stettner, to slip away quietly and amiably. I only hope -that you’ll find some secure position over there from which you may -calmly watch the spectacle of our débâcle. And when the waves rise very -high, you might think of us and have a mass said for us, that is for -me, because Christian has been expelled from the bosom of Holy Church.” - -Stettner smiled at this speech. But he became serious again at once. -“It seems to me too that, in a sense, we’re all trapped here. Yet I -have never felt myself so deeply and devotedly a German as at this -moment when I am probably leaving my fatherland forever. But in that -feeling there is a stab of pain. It seems to me as though I should -hurry from one to another and sound a warning. But what to warn them -of, or why warn them at all--I don’t know.” - -Crammon answered weightily. “My dear old Aglaia wrote me the other day -that she had dreamed of black cats all night long. She is deep, she has -a prophetic soul, and dreams like that are of evil presage. I may enter -a monastery. It is actually within the realm of the possible. Don’t -laugh, Christian; don’t laugh, my dearest boy! You don’t know all my -possibilities.” - -It had not occurred to Christian to laugh. - -Stettner stopped and gave his hands to his friends. “Good-bye, -Crammon,” he said cordially. “I’m grateful that you accompanied me. -Good-bye, dear Christian, good-bye.” He pressed Christian’s hand long -and firmly. Then he tore himself away, hastened toward the gang-plank, -and was lost in the crowd. - -“A nice fellow,” Crammon murmured. “A very nice fellow. What a pity!” - -When the car met them Christian said: “I’d like to walk a bit, either -back to the hotel or somewhere else. Will you come, Bernard?” - -“If you want me, yes. Toddling along is my portion.” - -Christian dismissed his car. He had a strange foreboding, as though -something fateful were lying in wait for him. - -“Ariel’s days here are numbered,” said Crammon. “Duty calls me away. -I must look after my two old ladies. Then I must join Franz Lothar in -Styria. We’ll hunt heath-cocks. After that I’ve agreed to meet young -Sinsheim in St. Moritz. What are your plans, my dear boy?” - -“I leave for Berlin to-morrow or the day after.” - -“And what in God’s name are you going to do there?” - -“I’m going to work.” - -Crammon stopped, and opened his mouth very wide. “Work?” he gasped, -quite beside himself. “What at? What for, O misguided one?” - -“I’m going to take courses at the university, under the faculty of -medicine.” - -Horrified, Crammon shook his head. “Work ... courses ... medicine.... -Merciful Providence, what does this mean? Is there not enough sweat in -the world, not enough bungling and half-wisdom and ugly ambition and -useless turmoil? You’re not serious.” - -“You exaggerate as usual, Bernard,” Christian answered, with a smile. -“Don’t always be a Jeremiah. What I’m going to do is something quite -simple and conventional. And I’m only going to try. I may not even -succeed; but I must try it. So much is sure.” - -Crammon raised his hand, lifted a warning index finger, and said with -great solemnity: “You are upon an evil path, Christian, upon a path of -destruction. For many, many days I have had a presentiment of terrible -things. The sleep of my nights has been embittered; a sorrow gnaws -at me and my peace has flown. How am I to hunt in the mountains when -I know you to be among the Pharisees? How shall I cast my line into -clear streams when my inner eye sees you bending over greasy volumes or -handling diseased bodies? No wine will glitter beautifully in my glass, -no girl’s eyes seem friendly any more, no pear yield me its delicate -flavour!” - -“Oh, yes, they will,” Christian said, laughing. “More than that: I -hope you’ll come to see me from time to time, to convince yourself that -you needn’t cast me off entirely.” - -Crammon sighed. “Indeed I shall come. I must come and soon, else the -spirit of evil will get entire control of you. Which may God forbid!” - - -XIX - -Johanna told Eva, whom she adored, about her life. Eva thus received an -unexpected insight into the grey depths of middle-class existence. The -account sounded repulsive. But it was stimulating to offer a spiritual -refuge to so much thirst and flight. - -She herself often seemed to her own soul like one in flight. But she -had her bulwarks. The wind of time seemed cold to her, and when she -felt a horror of the busy marionettes whose strings were in her hands, -she felt herself growing harder. The friendship which she gave to this -devoted girl seemed to her a rest in the mad race of her fate. - -They were so intimate that Susan Rappard complained. The latter opened -her eyes wide and her jealousy led her to become a spy. She became -aware of the relations that had developed between Johanna and Christian. - -At dinner there had been much merriment. Johanna had bought a number of -peaked, woollen caps. She had wrapped them carefully in white paper, -written some witty verses on each bundle, and distributed them as -favours to Eva’s guests. No one had been vexed. For despite her mockery -and gentle eccentricity, there was a charm about her that disarmed -every one. - -“How gay you are to-day, Rumpelstilzkin,” Eva said. She, too, used that -nickname. The word, which she pronounced with some difficulty, had a -peculiar charm upon her lips. - -“It is the gaiety that precedes tears,” Johanna answered, and yielded -as entirely to her superstitious terror as she had to her jesting mood. - -A wealthy ship-owner had invited Eva to view his private picture -gallery. His house was in the suburbs. She drove there with Johanna. - -Arm in arm they stood before the paintings. And in that absorbed -union there was something purifying. Johanna loved it as she loved -their common reading of poetry, when they would sit with their cheeks -almost touching. Extinguished in her selfless adoration, she forgot -what lay behind her--the anxious, sticky, unworthily ambitious life of -her family of brokers; she forgot what lay before her--oppression and -force, an inevitable and appointed way. - -Her gestures revealed a gentle glow of tenderness. - -On their way back she seemed pale. “You are cold,” Eva said, and -wrapped the robe more firmly about her friend. - -Johanna squeezed Eva’s hand gratefully. “How dear of you! I shall -always need some one to tell me when I’m hot or cold.” - -This melancholy jest moved Eva deeply. “Why do you act so humble?” -she cried. “Why do you shrink and hide and turn your vision away from -yourself? Why do you not dare to be happy?” - -Johanna answered: “Do you not know that I am a Jewess?” - -“Well?” Eva asked in her turn. “I know some very extraordinary people -who are Jews--some of the proudest, wisest, most impassioned in the -world.” - -Johanna shook her head. “In the Middle Ages the Jews were forced to -wear yellow badges on their garments,” she said. “I wear the yellow -badge upon my soul.” - -Eva was putting on a tea gown. Susan Rappard was helping her. “What’s -new with us, Susan?” Eva asked, and took the clasps out of her hair. - -Susan answered: “What is good is not new, and what is new is not good. -Your ugly little court fool is having an affair with M. Wahnschaffe. -They are very secretive, but there are whispers. I don’t understand -him. He is easily and quickly consoled. I have always said that he has -neither a mind nor a heart. Now it is plain that he has no eyes either.” - -Eva had flushed very dark. Now she became very pale. “It is a lie,” she -said. - -Susan’s voice was quite dry. “It is the truth. Ask her. I don’t think -she’ll deny it.” - -Shortly thereafter Johanna slipped into the room. She had on a dress -of simple, black velvet which set off her figure charmingly. Eva sat -before the mirror. Susan was arranging her hair. She had a book in her -hand and read without looking up. - -On a chair near the dressing-table lay an open jewel case. Johanna -stood before it, smiled timidly, and took out of it a beautifully -cut cameo, which she playfully fastened to her bosom; she looked -admiringly at a diadem and put it in her hair; she slipped on a few -rings and a pearl bracelet over her sleeve. Thus adorned she went, half -hesitatingly, half with an air of self-mockery, up to Eva. - -Slowly Eva lifted her eyes from the book, looked at Johanna, and asked: -“Is it true?” She let a few seconds pass, and then with wider open eyes -she asked once more: “Is it true?” - -Johanna drew back, and the colour left her cheeks. She suspected and -knew and began to tremble. - -Then Eva arose and went close up to her and stripped the cameo from the -girl’s bosom, the diadem from her hair, the rings from her fingers, the -bracelet from her arm, and threw the things back into the case. Then -she sat down again, took up her book, and said: “Hurry, Susan! I want -to rest a little.” - -Johanna’s breath failed her. She looked like one who has been struck. -A tender blossom in her heart was crushed forever, and from its sudden -withering arose a subtle miasma. Almost on the point of fainting she -left the room. - -As though to seal the end of a period in her life and warn her of evil -things to come, she received within two hours a telegram from her -mother which informed her of a catastrophe and urgently summoned her -home. Fräulein Grabmeier began packing at once. They were to catch the -train at five o’clock in the morning. - -From midnight on Johanna sat waiting in Christian’s room. She lit no -light. In the darkness she sat beside a table, resting her head in her -hands. She did not move, and her eyes were fixed on vacancy. - - -XX - -In the course of their talk Christian and Crammon had wandered farther -and farther into the tangled alleys around the harbour. “Let us turn -back and seek a way out,” Crammon suggested. “It isn’t very nice here. -A damnable neighbourhood, in fact.” - -He peered about, and Christian too looked around. When they had gone a -few steps farther, they came upon a man lying flat on his belly on the -pavement. He struggled convulsively, croaked obscene curses, and shook -his fist threateningly toward a red-curtained, brightly lit door. - -Suddenly the door opened, and a second man flew out. A paper box, an -umbrella, and a derby hat were pitched out after him. He stumbled -down the steps with outstretched arms, fell beside the first man, and -remained sitting there with heavy eyes. - -Christian and Crammon looked in through the open door. In the smoky -light twenty or thirty people were crouching. The monotonous crying of -a woman became audible. At times it became shriller. - -The glass door was flung shut. - -“I shall see what goes on in there,” said Christian, and mounted the -steps to the door. Crammon had only time to utter a horrified warning. -But he followed. The reek of cheap whiskey struck him as he entered -the room behind Christian. - -Beside tables and on the floor crouched men and women. In every corner -lay people, sleeping or drunk. The eyes which were turned toward the -newcomers were glassy. The faces here looked like lumps of earth. The -room, with its dirty tables, glasses, and bottles had a colour-scheme -of scarlet and yellow. Two sturdy fellows stood behind the bar. - -The woman whose crying had penetrated to the street sat on a bench -beside the wall. Blood was streaming down her face, and she continued -to utter her monotonous and almost bestial whine. In front of her, -trying hard to keep erect on legs stretched far apart, stood the -huge fellow whom Christian had observed at the public funeral of the -murdered harlot. In a hoarse voice, in the extreme jargon of the Berlin -populace, he was shouting: “Yuh gonna git what’s comin’ to yuh! I’ll -show yuh what’s what! I’ll blow off yer dam’ head-piece’n yuh cin go -fetch it in the moon!” - -On the threshold of an open door in the rear stood a stout man with -innumerable watch-charms dangling across his checked waistcoat. A fat -cigar was held between his yellow teeth. He regarded the scene with -a superior calm. It was the proprietor of the place. When he saw the -two strangers his brows went up. He first took them to be detectives, -and hastened to meet them. Then he saw his mistake and was the more -amazed. “Come into my office, gentlemen,” he said in a greasy voice, -and without removing the cigar. “Come back there, and I’ll give you a -drink of something good.” He drew Christian along by the arm. A woman -with a yellow head-kerchief arose from the floor, stretched out her -arms toward Christian, and begged for ten pfennigs. Christian drew back -as from a worm. - -An old man tried to prevent the gigantic lout from maltreating the -bleeding woman any more. He called him Mesecke and fawned upon him. -But Mesecke gave him a blow under the chin that sent him spinning and -moaning. Murmurs of protest sounded, but no one dared to offend the -giant. The proprietor whispered to Christian: “What he wants is brass; -wants her to go on the street again and earn a little. Nothing to be -done right now.” - -He grasped Crammon by the sleeve too, and drew them both through the -door into a dark hall. “I suppose you gentlemen are interested in my -establishment?” he asked anxiously. He opened a door and forced them to -enter. The room into which they came showed a tasteless attempt at such -luxury as is represented by red plush and gilt frames. The place was -small, and the furniture stood huddled together. Crossed swords hung -above a bunch of peacock feathers, and above the swords the gay cap of -a student fraternity. Between two windows stood a slanting desk covered -with ledgers. An emaciated man with a yellowish face sat at the desk -and made entries in a book. He quivered when the proprietor entered the -room, and bent more zealously over his work. - -The proprietor said: “I’ve got to take care of you gents or something -might happen. When that son of a gun is quiet you can go back and look -the place over. I guess you’re strangers here, eh?” From a shelf he -took down a bottle. “Brandy,” he whispered. “Prime stuff. You must -try it. I sell it by the bottle and by the case. A number one! Here -you are!” Crammon regarded Christian, whose face was without any sign -of disquiet. With a sombre expression he went to the table and, as -though unseeing, touched his lips to the glass which the proprietor had -filled. It was a momentary refuge, at all events. - -In the meantime a frightful noise penetrated from the outer room. -“Fighting again,” said the proprietor, listened for a moment, and then -disappeared. The noise increased furiously for a moment. Then silence -fell. The book-keeper, without raising his waxy face, said: “Nobody -can stand that. It’s that way every night. And the books here show the -profits. That man Hillebohm is a millionaire, and he rakes in more and -more money without mercy, without compassion. Nobody can stand that.” - -The words sounded like those of a madman. - -“Are we going to permit ourselves to be locked up here?” Crammon asked -indignantly. “It’s rank impudence.” - -Christian opened the door, and Crammon drew from his back pocket the -Browning revolver that was his constant companion. They passed through -the hall and stopped on the threshold of the outer room. Mesecke had -vanished. Many arms had finally expelled him. The woman from whom he -had been trying to get money was washing the blood from her face. -The old man who had been beaten when he had pleaded for her said -consolingly: “Don’t yuh howl, Karen. Things’ll get better. Keep up, -says I!” The woman hardly listened. She looked treacherous and angry. - -A tangle of yellow hair flamed on her head, high as a helmet and -unkempt. While she was bleeding she had wiped the blood with her naked -hand, and then stained her hair with it. - -“You go home now,” the proprietor commanded. “Wash your paws and give -our regards to God if you see him. Hurry up, or your sweetheart’ll be -back and give you a little more.” - -She did not move. “Well, how about it, Karen,” a woman shrilled. -“Hurry. D’yuh want some more beating?” - -But the woman did not stir. She breathed heavily, and suddenly looked -at Christian. - -“Come with us,” Christian said unexpectedly. The bar-tenders roared -with laughter. Crammon laid a hand of desperate warning on Christian’s -shoulder. - -“Come with us,” Christian repeated calmly. “We will take you home.” - -A dozen glassy eyes stared their mockery. A voice brayed: “Hell, -hell, but you’re gettin’ somethin’ elegant.” Another hummed as though -scanning verses: “If that don’t kill the bedbugs dead, I dunno what’ll -do instead! Don’t yuh be scared, Karen. Hurry! Use your legs!” - -Karen got up. She had not taken her shy and sombre eyes from Christian. -His beauty overwhelmed her. A crooked, frightened, cynical smile glided -over her full lips. - -She was rather tall. She had fine shoulders and a well-developed bosom. -She was with child--perhaps five months; it was obvious when she stood. -She wore a dark green dress with iridescent buttons, and at her neck a -flaming red riband fastened by a brooch that represented in silver, set -with garnets, a Venetian gondola, and bore the inscription: _Ricordo di -Venezia_. Her shoes were clumsy and muddy. Her hat--made of imitation -kid and trimmed with cherries of rubber--lay beside her on the bench. -She grasped it with a strange ferocity. - -Christian looked at the riband and at the silver brooch with its -inscription: _Ricordo di Venezia_. - -Crammon sought to protect their backs. For new guests were coming -in--fellows with dangerous faces. He had simply yielded to the -inevitable and incomprehensible, and determined to give a good account -of himself. He gritted his teeth over the absence of proper police -protection, and said to himself: “We won’t get out of this hole -alive, old boy.” And he thought of his comfortable hotel-bed, his -delicious, fragrant bath, his excellent breakfast, and of the box of -chocolates on his table. He thought of young girls who exhaled the -fresh sweetness of linen, of all pleasant fragrances, of Ariel’s smile -and Rumpelstilzkin’s gaiety, and of the express train that was to have -taken him to Vienna. He thought of all these things as though his last -hour had come. - -Two sailors came in dragging between them a girl who was pale and -stiff with drunkenness. Roughly they threw her on the floor. The -creature moaned, and had an expression of ghastly voluptuousness, of -strange lasciviousness on her face. She lay there stiff as a board. -The sailors, with a challenge in their voices, asked after Mesecke. -He had evidently met them and complained to them. They wanted to get -even with the proprietor. One of them had a scarlet scratch across his -forehead; the other’s arms were naked up to his shoulders and tattooed -until they were blue all over. The tattooing represented a snake, a -winged wheel, an anchor, a skull, a phallus, a scale, a fish, and many -other objects. - -Both sailors measured Christian and Crammon with impudent glances. The -one with the tattooed arms pointed to the revolver in Crammon’s hand, -and said: “If you don’t put up that there pistol I’ll make you, by God!” - -The other went up to Christian and stood so close to him that he -turned pale. Vulgarity had never yet touched him, nor had the obscene -things of the gutter splashed his garments. Contempt and disgust arose -hotly in him. These might force him to abandon his new road; for they -were more terrible than the vision of evil he had had in the house of -Szilaghin. - -But when he looked into the man’s eyes, he became aware of the fact -that the latter could not endure his glance. Those eyes twitched and -flickered and fled. And this perception gave Christian courage and -a feeling of inner power, the full effectiveness of which was still -uncertain. - -“Quiet there!” the proprietor roared at the two sailors. “I want order. -You want to get the police here, do you? That’d be fine for us all, eh? -You’re a bit crazy, eh? The girl can go with the gentlemen, if they’ll -pay her score. Two glasses champagne--that’s one mark fifty. And that -ends it.” - -Crammon laid a two-mark piece on the table. Karen Engelschall had put -on her hat, and turned toward the door. Christian and Crammon followed -her, and the proprietor followed them with sarcastic courtesy, while -the two sturdy bar-tenders formed an additional bodyguard. A few -half-drunken men sent the strains of a jeering song behind them. - -The street was empty. Karen gazed up and down it, and seemed uncertain -in which direction she should go. Crammon asked her where she lived. -She answered harshly that she didn’t want to go home. “Then where -shall we take you?” Crammon asked, forcing himself to be patient and -considerate. She shrugged her shoulders. “It don’t matter,” she said. -Then, after a while, she added defiantly. “I don’t need you.” - -They went toward the harbour, Karen between the two men. For a moment -she stopped and murmured with a shudder of fear: “But I mustn’t run -into him. No, I mustn’t.” - -“Will you suggest something then?” Crammon said to her. His impulse -was simply to decamp, but for Christian’s sake, and in the hope of -saving him uninjured from this mesh of adventures, he played the part -of interest and compassion. - -Karen Engelschall did not answer, but hurried more swiftly as she -caught sight of a figure in the light of a street lamp. Until she was -beyond its vision she gasped with terror. - -“Shall we give you money?” Crammon asked again. - -She answered furiously: “I don’t need your money. I want no money.” -Surreptitiously she gazed at Christian, and her face grew malicious and -stubborn. - -Crammon went over beside Christian, and spoke to him in French. “The -best thing would be to take her to an inn where she can get a room and -a bed. We can deposit a sum of money there, so that she is sheltered -for a while. Then she can help herself.” - -“Quite right. That will be best,” Christian replied. And, as though he -could not bear to address her, he added: “Tell her that.” - -Karen stopped. She lifted her shoulders as though she were cold, and -said in a hoarse voice: “Leave me alone. What are you two talking -about? I won’t walk another step. I’m tired. Don’t pay no attention to -me!” She leaned against the wall of a house, and her hat was pushed -forward over her forehead. She was as sorry and dissipated a looking -object as one could possibly imagine. - -“Isn’t that the sign of an inn?” Crammon asked and pointed to an -illuminated sign at the far end of the street. - -Christian, who had very keen eyes, looked and answered: “Yes. It says -‘King of Greece.’ Do go and inquire.” - -“A lovely neighbourhood and a lovely errand,” Crammon said plaintively. -“I am paying for my sins.” But he went. - -Christian remained with the woman, who looked down silently and -angrily. Her fingers scratched at her riband. Christian listened to the -beating of the tower-clock. It struck two. At last Crammon reappeared. -He beckoned from a distance and cried: “Ready.” - -Christian addressed the girl for the first time. “We’ve found a shelter -for you,” he said, a little throatily, and, quite contrary to his wont, -blinked his eyes. His own voice sounded disagreeably in his ears. “You -can stay there for some days.” - -She looked at him with eyes that glowed with hatred. An indescribable -but evil curiosity burned in her glance. Then she lowered her eyes -again. Christian was forced to speak again: “I think you will be safe -from that man there. Try to rest. Perhaps you are ill. We could summon -a physician.” - -She laughed a soft, sarcastic laugh. Her breath smelt of whiskey. - -Crammon called out again. - -“Come on then,” Christian said, mastering his aversion with difficulty. - -His voice and his words made the same overwhelming impression on her -that his appearance had done. She started to go as though she were -being propelled from behind. - -A sleepy porter in slippers stood at the door of the inn. His servile -courtesy proved that Crammon had known how to treat him. “Number 14 on -the second floor is vacant,” he said. - -“Send some one to your lodgings to-morrow for your things,” Crammon -advised the girl. - -She did not seem to hear him. Without a word of thanks or greeting she -followed the porter up the soiled red carpet of the stairs. The rubber -cherries tapped audibly against the brim of her hat. Her clumsy form -disappeared in the blackness. - -Crammon breathed a sigh of relief. “My kingdom for a four-wheeler,” he -moaned. At a nearby corner they found a cab. - - -XXI - -When Christian entered his room and switched on the electric light, he -was surprised to find Johanna sitting at the table. She shaded her eyes -from the sudden glare. He remained at the door. His frown disappeared -when he saw the deadly pallor of the girl’s face. - -“I must leave,” Johanna breathed. “I’ve received a telegram and I must -start for Vienna at once.” - -“I am about to leave, too,” Christian answered. - -For a while there was silence. Then Johanna said: “Shall I see you -again? Will you want me to? Dare I?” Her timid questions showed the old -division of her soul. She smiled a smile of patience and renunciation. - -“I shall be in Berlin,” Christian answered. “I don’t know yet where I -shall live. But whenever you want to know, ask Crammon. He is easily -reached. His two old ladies send him all letters.” - -“If you desire it, I can come to Berlin,” Johanna said with the same -patient and resigned smile. “I have relatives there. But I don’t think -that you do desire it.” Then, after a pause, during which her gentle -eyes wandered aimlessly, she said: “Then is this to be the end?” She -held her breath; she was taut as a bow-string. - -Christian went up to the table and rested the index finger of one hand -on its top. With lowered head he said slowly: “Don’t demand a decision -of me. I cannot make one. I should hate to hurt you. I don’t want -something to happen again that has happened so often before in my life. -If you feel impelled to come--come! Don’t consider me. Don’t think, -above all, that I would then leave you in the lurch. But just now is a -critical time in my life. More I cannot say.” - -Johanna could gather nothing but what was hopeless for herself from -these words. Yet through them there sounded a note that softened their -merely selfish regretfulness. With a characteristically pliant gesture, -she stretched out her arm to Christian. Her pose was formal and her -smile faint, as she said: “Then, au revoir--perhaps!” - - -XXII - -When the girl had gone, Christian lay down on the sofa and folded his -hands beneath his head. Thus he lay until dawn. He neither switched off -the light nor did he close his eyes. - -He saw the paintless stairs that led to the den where he had been and -the red carpet of the inn soiled by many feet; he saw the lamp in the -desolate street and the watch charms on the proprietor’s waistcoat; he -saw the brandy bottle on the shelf, and the green shawl of one of the -drunken women, and the tattooed symbols on the sailor’s naked arm: the -anchor, the winged wheel, the phallus, the fish, the snake; he saw the -rubber cherries on the prostitute’s hat and the silver brooch with the -garnets and the foolish motto: _Ricordo di Venezia_. - -And more and more as he thought of these things they awakened in him an -ever surer feeling of freedom and of liberation, and seemed to release -him from other things that he had hitherto loved, the rare and precious -things that he had loved so exclusively and fruitlessly. And they -seemed to release him likewise from men and women whose friendship or -love had been sterile in the end. - -As he lay there and gazed into space, he lived in these poor and mean -things, and all fruitless occupations and human relationships lost -their importance; and even the thought of Eva ceased to torment him and -betray him into fruitless humiliation. - -That radiant and regal creature allured him no more, when he thought of -the blood-stained face of the harlot. For the latter aroused in him a -feeling akin to curiosity that gradually filled his soul so entirely -that it left room for nothing else. - -Toward dawn he slumbered for an hour. Then he arose, and bathed his -face in cold water, left the hotel, hired a cab, and drove to the inn -called “The King of Greece.” - -The nightwatchman was still at his post. He recognized this early guest -and guided him with disagreeable eagerness up two flights of stairs to -the room of Karen Engelschall. - -Christian knocked. There was no answer. “You just go in, sir,” said -the porter. “There ain’t no key and the latch don’t work. All kinds of -things will happen, and it’s better for us to have the doors unlocked.” - -Christian entered. It was a room with ugly brown furnishings, a -dark-red plush sofa, a round mirror with a crack across its middle, an -electric bulb at the end of a naked wire, and a chromo-lithograph of -the emperor. Everything was dusty, worn, shabby, used-up, poor and mean. - -Karen Engelschall lay in the bed asleep. She was on her back, and her -dishevelled hair looked like a bundle of straw; her face was pale and a -little puffy. Recent scars showed on her forehead and right cheek. Her -full but flaccid breasts protruded above the coverings. - -His old and violent dislike of sleeping people stirred in Christian, -but he mastered it and regarded her face. He wondered from what social -class she had come, whether she was a sailor’s or a fisherman’s -daughter, a girl of the lower middle-classes, of the proletariat or -the peasantry. Thus his curiosity employed his mind for a while until -he became fully aware of the indescribable perturbation of that face. -It was as void of evil as of good; but as it lay there it seemed -distraught by the unheard of torment of its dreams. Then Christian -thought of the carnelian on Mesecke’s hand, and the repulsively -red stone which was like a beetle or a piece of raw flesh became -extraordinarily vivid to him. - -He made a movement and knocked against a chair; the noise awakened -Karen Engelschall. She opened her lids, and fear and horror burned in -her eyes when she observed a figure in her room; her features became -distorted with fury, and her mouth rounded itself for a cry. Then she -saw who the intruder was, and with a sigh of relief slid back among -the pillows. Her face reassumed its expression of stubbornness and of -enforced yielding. She watched, not knowing what to make of this visit, -and seemed to wonder and reflect. She drew the covers up under her -chin, and smiled a shallow, flattered smile. - -Involuntarily Christian’s eyes looked for the red riband and the silver -brooch. The girl’s garments had been flung pell-mell on a chair. The -hat with the rubber cherries lay on the table. - -“Why do you stand?” Karen Engelschall asked in a cheerful voice. -“Sit down.” Again, as in the night, his splendour and distinction -overwhelmed her. Smiling her empty smile, she wondered whether he was -a baron or a count. She had slept soundly and felt refreshed. - -“You cannot stay in this house very long,” Christian said courteously. -“I have considered what had better be done for you. Your condition -requires care. You must not expose yourself to the brutality of that -man. It would be best if you left the city.” - -Karen Engelschall laughed a harsh laugh. “Leave the city? How’s that -going to be done? Girls like me have to stay where they are.” - -“Has any one a special claim on you?” Christian asked. - -“Claim? Why? How do you mean? Oh, I see. No, no. It’s the way things -are in our business. The feller to whom you give your money, he -protects you, and the others mind him. If he’s strong and has many -friends you’re safe. They’re all rotten, but you got no choice. You get -no rest day or night, and your flesh gets tired, I can tell you.” - -“I can imagine that,” Christian replied, and for a second looked into -Karen’s round and lightless eyes, “and for that reason I wanted to -put myself at your disposal. I shall leave Hamburg either to-day or -to-morrow, and probably stay in Berlin for some months. I am ready to -take you with me. But you must not delay your decision, because I have -not yet any address in Berlin, I don’t know yet where I shall live, and -if a plan like this is delayed it is usually not carried out at all. -At the moment you have eluded your pursuer, and so the opportunity to -escape is good. You don’t need to send for your things. I can get you -whatever you need when we arrive.” - -Those words, spoken with real friendliness, did not have the effect -which Christian expected. Karen Engelschall could not realize the -simplicity and frankness of their intention. A mocking suspicion arose -in her mind. She knew of Vice Crusaders and Preachers of Salvation; -and these men her world as a rule fears as much as it does the -emissaries of the police. But she looked at Christian more sharply, -and an instinct told her that she was on the wrong track. Clumsily -considering, she drifted to other suppositions that had a tinge of -cheap romance. She thought of plots and kidnapping and a possible -fate more terrible than that under the heel of her old tormentor. -She brooded over these thoughts in haste and rage, with convulsed -features and clenched fist, passing from fear to hope and from hope to -distrust, and yet, even as on the day before, compelled by something -irresistible, a force from which she could not withdraw and which made -her struggles futile. - -“What do you want to do with me?” she asked, and gave him a penetrating -glance. - -Christian considered in order to weigh his answer carefully. “Nothing -but what I have told you.” - -She became silent and stared at her hands. “My mother lives in Berlin,” -she murmured. “Maybe you’d want me to go back to her. I don’t want to.” - -“You are to go with me.” Christian’s tone was firm and almost hard. His -chest filled with breath and exhaled the air painfully. The final word -had been spoken. - -Karen looked at him again. But now her eyes were serious and awake to -reality. “And what shall I do when I’m with you?” - -Christian answered hesitatingly: “I’ve come to no decision about that. -I must think it over.” - -Karen folded her hands. “But I’ve got to know who you are.” - -He spoke his name. - -“I am a pregnant woman,” she said with a sombre look, and for the first -time her voice trembled, “a street-walker who’s pregnant. Do you know -that? I’m the lowest and vilest thing in the whole world! Do you know -that?” - -“I know it,” said Christian, and cast down his eyes. - -“Well, what does a fine gentleman like you want to do with me? Why do -you take such an interest in me?” - -“I can’t explain that to you at the moment,” Christian answered -diffidently. - -“What am I to do? Go with you? Right away?” - -“If you are willing, I shall call for you at two, and we can drive to -the station.” - -“And you won’t be ashamed of me?” - -“No, I shall not be ashamed.” - -“You know how I look? Suppose people point their fingers at the whore -travelling with such an elegant gentleman?” - -“It does not matter what people do.” - -“All right. I’ll wait for you.” She crossed her arms over her breast -and stared at the ceiling and did not stir. Christian arose and nodded -and went out. Nor did Karen move when he was gone. A deep furrow -appeared on her forehead, the fresh scars gleamed like burns upon her -earthy skin, a dull and primitive amazement turned her eyes to stone. - - -XXIII - -When Christian crossed the reception room of the hotel he saw Crammon -sitting sadly in a chair. Christian stopped and smiled and held out -his hand. “Did you sleep well, Bernard?” he asked. - -“If that were my only difficulty I should not complain,” Crammon -answered. “I always sleep well. The troubles begin when I’m awake. Age -with his stealing steps! The old pleasures no longer sting, the old -delights are worn out. One counts on gratitude and affection, and gets -care and disappointment. I think a monastery would be the best place -for me. I must look into that plan more closely.” - -Christian laughed. “Come now, Bernard, you would be a very unsuitable -person in a monastery. Drive the black thoughts away and let us have -breakfast.” - -“All right, let us have breakfast.” Crammon arose. “Have you any idea -why poor Rumpelstilzkin suddenly fled by night? She had bad news from -home, I am told, but that’s no reason why she should have gone without -a word. It was not nice or considerate. And in a few hours Ariel too -will be lost to us. Her rooms are filled with cases and boxes, and M. -Chinard is bursting with self-importance. Black clouds are over us, and -all our lovely rainbows fade. This caviare, by the way, is excellent. -I shall withdraw into an utterly private life. Perhaps I shall hire -a secretary, either a man or a fat, appetizing, and discreet woman, -and begin to dictate my memoirs. You, my dear fellow, seem in more -excellent spirits than for a long time.” - -“Yes, excellent,” Christian said, and his smile revealed his beautiful -teeth. “Excellent!” he repeated, and held out his hand to his -astonished friend. - -“So you have finally become reconciled to your loss?” he winked, and -pointed upward with a significant gesture. - -Christian guessed his meaning. “Entirely,” he said cheerily. “I’m -completely recovered.” - -“Bravo!” said Crammon, and, comfortably eating, he philosophized: “It -would be saddening were it otherwise. I repeat what I have often said: -Ariel was born for the stars. There are blessed stars and fateful -stars. Some are inhabited by good spirits, others by demons. We have -known that from times immemorial. Let them wage their battles among -themselves. If it comes to collisions and catastrophes, it is a cosmic -matter in which we mortals have no share. When all is said and done, -you are but a mortal too, though one so blessed that you were even -granted a stay in the happy hunting grounds of the gods. But excesses -are evil. You cannot compete with Muscovite autocrats. Siegfried -can conquer the dragons in the end; were Lucifer to attack him with -fire-breathing steeds, the hero would but risk his skin in vain. Your -renunciation is as wise as it is delightful. I drink to your pleasant -future, dearest boy!” - -Christian went to a buffet where magnificent fruit was exposed for -sale. He knew Crammon’s passionate delight in rare and lovely fruit. -He selected a woven basket and placed in the middle a pine-apple cut -open so that its golden inside showed. He surrounded it with a wreath -of flawless apples and of great, amber-coloured peaches from the South -of France. They were elastic and yet firm. He added seven enormous -clusters of California grapes. He arranged the fruit artistically, -carried the basket to Crammon, and presented it to him with jesting -solemnity. - -They separated. When, late that afternoon, Crammon returned to the -hotel, he learned to his bitter amazement that Christian had left. - -He could not compose himself. It seemed to him that he was the victim -of some secret cabal. “They all leave me in the lurch,” he murmured -angrily to himself; “they make a mock of me. It’s like an epidemic. You -are through with life, Bernard Gervasius, you are in every one’s way. -Go to your cell and bemoan your fate.” - -He ordered his valet to pack, and to secure accommodations on the train -to Vienna. Then he placed the basket of fruit on the table, and in his -sad reflections plucked berry after berry of the grape. - - -XXIV - -In his quiet little house, furnished in the style of the age of Maria -Theresa, he forgot what he had suffered. He lived an idyl. - -He accompanied the two pious ladies to church, and out of -considerateness and kindness to them even prayed occasionally. His -chief prayer was: Lord, forgive those who have trespassed against me -and lead me not into temptation. On sunny afternoons the carriage -appeared and took the three for a ride through the parks. In the -evening the bill of fare for the following day was determined on, -and the national and traditional dishes were given the preference. -Then he read to the devoutly attentive Misses Aglaia and Constantine -classical poems: a canto of Klopstock’s “Messiah,” Schiller’s “Walk,” -or something by Rückert. And he still imitated the voice and intonation -of Edgar Lorm. Also he related harmless anecdotes connected with his -life; and he adorned and purified them so that they would have been -worthy of a schoolgirl’s library. - -Not till the two ladies had retired did he light his short pipe or -pour himself out a glass of cognac; he practised reminiscence or -introspection, or became absorbed in his little museum of treasures, -which he had gathered during many years. - -Shortly before his proposed meeting with Franz Lothar von Westernach, -he received an alarming letter from Christian’s mother. - -Frau Wahnschaffe informed him that Christian had ordered all his -possessions to be sold--Christian’s Rest, Waldleiningen, the hunting -lodge, the stables and kennels, the motor cars, the collections, -including the wonderful collection of rings. This incomprehensible -plan was actually being carried out, and no one had an inkling of the -motive. She herself was in the utmost despair, and begged Crammon for -some explanation and, if possible, to come to the castle. She besought -him in God’s name for some hint in regard to Christian’s actions and -state of mind. No news of her son had reached her for weeks; he seemed -lost, and they were groping in the dark. The family did not, of course, -desire his possessions to pass into the hands of strangers, and would -bid in everything, although it was both difficult and hateful to oppose -the impudent offers and the tricky manœuvres which the auction ordered -by Christian would entail. Above all, however, there was her personal -anxiety about Christian. She expected Crammon to stand by her in her -hour of need, and justify the high opinion she had formed both of his -friendship for her son and of his attachment to her family. - -Crammon re-read the lines that mentioned the sale of Christian’s Rest -and of the collections. He shook his head long and sadly, pressed his -chin into his hands, and two large tears rolled down his cheeks. - - -END OF VOL. I - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - -The following apparent errors have been corrected: - -p. 49 "Machailovitch" changed to "Michailovitch" - -p. 79 "cross-beams," changed to "cross-beams." - -p. 104 "chuch" changed to "church" - -p. 105 "insisisted" changed to "insisted" - -p. 195 "pubic" changed to "public" - -p. 198 "walk." changed to "walk.”" - -p. 207 "passsionate" changed to "passionate" - -p. 223 "Finally,in" changed to "Finally, in" - -p. 238 "elegent" changed to "elegant" - -p. 239 "aquaintance" changed to "acquaintance" - -p. 241 "int" changed to "into" - -p. 250 "orginate" changed to "originate" - -p. 250 "Wahnshaffe" changed to "Wahnschaffe" - -p. 262 "mother-of pearl" changed to "mother-of-pearl" - -p. 263 "Hy" changed to "My" - -p. 290 "Maalbeeks" changed to "Maelbeeks" - -p. 297 "Rumpelstiezkin" changed to "Rumpelstilzkin" - -p. 342 "characteritsics" changed to "characteristics" - -p. 366 "I shall" changed to "“I shall" - - -Spelling and punctuation have otherwise been kept as printed. - - -The following are used inconsistently in the text: - -careworn and care-worn - -earrings and ear-rings - -fireplace and fire-place - -fishpond and fish-pond - -flowerlike and flower-like - -heartache and heart-ache - -horseshoe and horse-shoe - -nearby and near-by - -shopkeepers and shop-keepers - -shopworn and shop-worn - -Voss’ and Voss’s - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Illusion, Volume 1 (of 2), by -Jakob Wassermann - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S ILLUSION, VOLUME 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 54794-0.txt or 54794-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/7/9/54794/ - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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